#I just think it's neat how only an unlikely hero could make it all work

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

I didn't really wanna talk ahead of the Dungeon Meshi anime but I had this thought bugging me as I was skimming the manga. So, spoilers for what's to come.

I don't think it's any coincidence that Laios' party, out of a cast of infinitely more capable people, makes it to the final floor of the Dungeon. Why? Cause they aren't heroes.

Look at Kabru, he's the poster boy for anime protagonists. He has a tragic backstory, a personal beef with the dungeon, skills trained by a master of the crafts, and a large party who seems genuinely friendly together. He has everything going for him to one day dive to the bottom and gain closure for his story but he just can't. He never will, because the dungeon does not work on his logic. It turns out that there is no plot armor against hearing a siren sing for the first time.

What about Mithrun then? Personally wronged by the Demon, he's the paradigm of vengeance. A tragic hero who will do anything it takes to get to his goal and probably die achieving it. He has a party full of dark history and interesting dynamics, really laden with moral greyness. Not Berserk but a step closer to it than Kabru's story. But he is, unfortunately, also a classic hero archetype, and although his skills are impressive they aren't fit for the ecosystem around him, singleminded vengeance will see you killed by changelings, the cold, or starvation.

Shuro, it's gotta be Shuro right? A man from a distant land but a familiar one to the primary readerbase. He goes back to train, hone his mind, collect a party, and save the love interest from a cruel fate. Perhaps he will learn there is no saving her, and tragically be forced to slay the monster she's become. His journey ends the second Faligon dies, so he has no chance, ever, of becoming the Dungeon Lord. There doesn't need to be any extra traps to deter him, he'll get what he wants at the fourth level and be gone, his desire simply isn't pointed that way.

Laios, on the other hand. None of his party are heroes, they're all here for selfish reasons and have absolutely zero illusions about heroics and greater goods. Laios is here to save Falin, he only wants his sister to be safe. And to eat and document monsters. Marcille is here for forbidden magic and Falin, and her two desires coincide with her resurrection. Chilchuck is here because he got paid up front and can't leave without rumors spreading. Senshi was always here and he just wants to live in peace with nature. None of them have heroic intent, broadly. But it also means they don't have heroic conceit either.

Laios' party will eat anything. They'll run from battle, take shortcuts. They treat monsters not as grand challenges to overcome but something to fight for their lives with. With their teeth if need be. There is no honor here there is only living. Honor gets you strangled by treasure bugs. Revenge will see you abandon your party to giant spiders for the mere shot at your target. Duty sees you skipping meals because your goal is so important. It is striking how different the dungeon is between Laios and the others. They all treat the dungeon as their personal hell to be striven against and conquered, only Laios sees it as an extension of the living world and understands his place in it. And I think that is so fucking cool, it's so multifaceted. Like, their exact skill set is perfect for getting through the dungeon because of how they all treat it. But also because the dungeon wants them there, because they have very personal, strong desires. Desires that shape their skills, and desires shaped by their skills in a kind of Ouroboros.

And it's an interesting question of how much of both factors into their progress in the story.

[cerame]

Artisan’s and Archer’s designs

So a little bit ago, I got a compliment on the two designs of Echoes of Courage I'm proudest of. I do love all these characters, but these two took a bit more creativity on my part, so I'm going to explain them because I am a sucker for design. I will try to remember as many of my own details as I can, but no promises.

Let's explain Archer first.

Behold, the most recent Link! Breath of the Wild took a departure from the classic green, so I kept with that and made his tunic the main splotch of color on him. The browns and monotone colors are subdued in comparison so that the blue can have the spotlight.

In regards to the tunic itself, botw and totk both have significant influence from traditional Japanese culture, as seen with the sheikah taking on a more japanese fashion sense and the dragons being eastern instead of european shaped, so I kept that with the design of his shirt. His tunic was originally the shape it was in botw, but after the calamity, it sustained such damage that Impa was only able to save some parts of the tunic. Using those parts, she repaired it as best she could, but Archer took a liking to Kakariko fashion anyway, so he's perfectly happy with it. In addition, with the looser fashion of the ancient clothes, I changed his belt to a more ribbony shape.

Thinking about how his shirt might have worked during botw. Perhaps he wore it as a haori, or maybe it was damaged, of a shorter cut, etc. and his Zelda made him the current one. Nothing is concrete about that yet, and I think it would be neat if it was different than it is post-totk.

The turtleneck and the leather armor from the new tunic in totk is incredibly charming to me, so I naturally had to keep it, but in order to show it off practically over the tunic I'd decided on, his sleeve got pulled down. I also designed him before totk came out but after the first trailer came out, and from the trailers, we could all tell that something was going to happen to his arm. I had no idea what purpose it would serve or how Link would end up by the end of the game, so I kept his arm covered up but outside his shirt. Turned out to be a good call.

As for his hair, I loved seeing his hair down so often in totk. It feels all free and wild and soft, so I kept it, except it felt a bit impractical to have it hanging all around him like that, so I did a half-bun. He gets to keep his hair down while tying it out of his face. This also lends itself further to eastern style inspiration.

A note on the smaller details: he does wear his amber earrings, and he's got scars across his body.

Now, we have Artisan.

It was a bit more difficult to figure out Artisan at first. I took inspiration from as many links meet aus as I could find, but everything for him is so varied, and while it's fun, it does make it difficult to nail down what does work. Unlike with Archer, I had no real direction in the beginning, so I searched for what made him unique as a Link. I also went back to the original ideas of character design, the most prominent being outlines and silhouettes. I'm still a bit iffy on his silhouette, but overall, he works.

First, the albw aspects: His bracelet from Ravio went inactive after the rifts between Lorule and Hyrule closed, but he still wears it. It's becoming comforting to him. As for the clasp on his cloak, it is absolutely the two triforces, and he got it custom-made in Hytopia. His pegasus boots are also from albw, and since Collector and Forge both had their unique pegasus boots, I had to come up with something just as striking for Artisan..... and then, I looked upon none other than the Zelda cartoon of olde, and I decided that Artisan would absolutely wear over-knee boots. So that's what he got.

Now, his triforce heroes parts. I know the green one is player one and all that jazz, but I wanted to see if I could do something not-green, just like Archer or even Piper. The sword suit in the costume catalogue stood out, and not just because the red link is wearing it in the official art. It's more tame than most other choices, and it's casually royal, which is a strange flavor of style, but I discovered after significant experimentation that when you pair it (or the idea of it) with poofy bardic sleeves (yellow, courtesy of albw's blue tunic) and gloves, it takes on an almost roguish look while maintaining the fancier feel. Also, when I lined him up next to Collector and Scout, I found that their colors together were red, blue, then green, and I couldn't not keep him blue after realizing that.

Notes: his cloak is still a bit weird to me, but I've gotten too used to it. Hytopia pushes the boundaries of fashion anyhow, so he can do whatever he likes. His hair is dyed because that's just fun, and it's braided because everyone else in this AU has short hair or a ponytail, and I wanted him to feel more well-groomed than everyone else. He gets to take care of it, and he has gotten hair care advice from Princess Styla. I didn't originally intend for this effect, but the pale outlines of white and gold on his clothing really make his outline pop. The consecutive dark colors of his tunic, pants, and boots would not work without those lines. His eyes are, in fact, purple! Ravio, in turn, has green eyes. I did doubt the choice of yellow sleeves at first, since it's not exactly the secondary color of my choice, but I went with it, and I was pleasantly surprised to see it work so well. Perhaps it was the yellow of his hair and the golden accents, but I am very pleased with it. He only comes a century or so after Collector, so I had to pick a tunic shape that could hold similarities between the two of them, which is why the collar of their outer layer is the same for both of them.

Archive

[crystalelemental]

Friends...it is with a heavy heart that I must announce...I think maybe sometimes the Pokemon anime is good.  I'm crying also.

Maybe watching the various seasons for so long has lowered my tolerance threshold, but we've been watching the Hoenn series and got through the first two seasons of it, and it's...good. Like actually pretty good.  I did like Alola a lot, I'll grant you that one, but I think that's more comparative and enjoying the general group going on.  Hoenn feels, like, legitimately good.

To keep up my usual cred, I am attributing this largely to May, who, in an effort to be as incendiary as possible, I am going to refer to as "Serena but good."  While I enjoy the Alola collective better as a group, May is the best companion Ash has and it is not close.  She's goofy, she's snappy without being mean, she's just a fantastic personality to follow, and her dynamic with Ash feels the strongest.  Having been through a lot of seasons with the lad now, Ash is at his best when he's a petulant little shit.  Kalos is boring because it's just constant action hero Ash with one (1) instance of being a bit of a brat played for drama as "This isn't the Ash I know!" which really only reinforces that Ash/Serena is a garbage pairing because girl, he has been like this for at least 80% of this journey, what are you on about?  By contrast, Ash in Hoenn is this delightful mix of an absolute brat, constantly arguing with May about his gym battles taking priority and being bullheaded and stubborn, but also being more competent as a trainer than he initially was back in Kanto, so his exploits and successes feel much more legitimate.

I think part of this is also the contrast of how bad May initially is at all this.  When you're playing the games, you take for granted that you're just shown the moves your Pokemon knows, but in a functional setting like the anime, it makes sense that there's time you have to dedicate to know this stuff.  May likes Pokemon, she wants a companion, but she doesn't...know anything.  She never really put in the time, and she doesn't know their basic attacks or how to give a command.  And that's a really interesting starting point for a new trainer, that both gives Ash a more significant role as an experiences trainer providing advice (which she will stubbornly refuse at multiple turns), and recontexualizes his earlier performance.  Ash is presented as a complete dingus in Kanto, but by comparison, he put in the work.  Even with an unexpected Pikachu he knew what it could do and how to lead, even if it wouldn't follow.  I think it's great to showcase this kind of discrepancy.

It also (as my wife pointed out) contrasts well with Max, who is a walking encyclopedia of how things work.  He has incredible book knowledge of types and moves and Pokemon broadly, but as a young kid, lacks the functional experience Ash has, and is constantly surprised by what he can do.  The fights may still cheat a bit, but my tolerance threshold has absolutely been lowered for this by now, and it makes for a neat presentation to have Ash pull out some of this nonsense that Max would never think of because he's so by the book.  It feels a lot more reasonable to have Ash doing nonsense in this context, rather than just "Oh that Ash is just so clever" when no one's surprised by it.

But back to what's important: May.  I think what's important to note about May is that, despite her initial lack of knowledge, she's not incompetent.  She does pick up moves, but only around the time she decides to pivot into contests.  At that point, she not only starts to learn the moves of her Pokemon, she starts to know how they interact and how to create a combination that dazzles a crowd.  And unlike Serena (a phrase I'll be using a lot here) who just does the show, she still gets to battle.  Battle experience and know-how is just as important to the contest circuit, and while she's not doing a gym challenge, you have a good sense that May is able to really play the battling game well.  Her victory over...shit, is it Grace?  The Medicham girl who is supremely annoying.  It's a clever victory that is, to be honest, kind of in the Ash style of using particular traits of the attack to your advantage.

But by the same token, May's still inexperienced and it shows.  She bombs her initial contest battle because she wasn't prepared.  She hits frequent mistakes because she's in a rush to do something.  She gets arrogant over her two consecutive victories, and overestimates what she can do, leading to an embarrassing defeat with Bulbasaur.  May encounters her fair share of roadblocks, but unlike Serena, her roadblocks are character moments.  Serena tended to fail based on accidents.  Fennekin accidentally trips over its ribbon, or Eevee accidentally slips and they have to recover, and so on and so forth.  When May loses, it's because she's being stubborn, or she's being rash.  May has clear character flaws that others point out; Drew is quick to identify that May is often indecisive and it throws off her Pokemon's confidence in what they're expected to do.  But that same rash nature is also how she pushes ahead and keeps herself going, so it cuts both ways.

And of course, there's her dynamic with Ash, which occasionally gets played up because male protagonist/female deuteragonist.  What I like is that their dynamic feels very sibling-like.  It's the same kind of petty arguments that May and Max get into, and the same kind of well-meaning attempts to give advice or encourage, and the same kind of stubborn refusal to hear it and irritation at feeling condescended to.  It is a great dynamic that really builds on the characters and makes their connection feel organic and sincere.  You know.  Unlike Serena.  Who kinda just fawns over Ash while he does nothing of particular note, resulting in a dynamic I could not describe in detail despite watching three seasons of it.

I think what I'm getting at is that this cast feels really natural.  I think a lot of Pokemon seasons tend to have partners and characters that feel very...gimmicky?  You know, like Clemont's "The future is now thanks to science" bit you get every goddamned episode, or Bonnie's stupid "You're a keeper bit" and Clemont's canned embarrassment response.  Or Brock, who is the sole thing holding back the Hoenn group.  You can count on most episodes having a pretty girl that Brock is going to be weird about, and you can count on Max taking over Misty's old job of pulling him away.  By and large, May and Max lack that kind of gimmick.  But they do have bits.  Max has his poindexter bit of being super knowledgeable about book stuff but also super snooty about it, particularly toward May who often doesn't know this stuff.  Meanwhile May is a goober, and her running bit of pretending to be a newscaster and commenting on what's going on around them admittedly gets me every time.  It's cute, and it's varied while still being very much the character's Thing.

To my surprise, this...might be my favorite iteration of Team Rocket, too?  Kalos Rocket felt like they leaned too hard into serious villainy to be a fun appearance each episode, while Alola Rocket did alright for themselves but largely by having longer stretches of just not being around.  Hoenn's been a fun interpretation, and I think it's because they're a good balance of relatively harmless and actually funny this time.  I'll admit, this time around they're gimmicky, repeating like the same plan at every gym battle episode, and having every theft prefaced with Meowth attempting to explain why this is a good gift for the boss.  The difference is that the gimmicks are elevated by how they're handled, as they start to catch on to the fact they're doing the same things and it never works but find ridiculous ways to justify doing it anyway, and Meowth's stories becoming more and more detached from reality until even James is pointing out that this is a stupid idea before being roped into it anyway.  Like, they're actually funny this time.

Rivals!  I kinda like that Ash doesn't have a battle rival.  He's met some people, but it's not like an ongoing thing.  I appreciate it.  May's rivals are all really good except one.  I do not like Medicham lady.  But like...the mom with the Flareon, who's part of a big fanclub for contest participants?  That's neat, I like that.  Also her daughter is like a savant, the kid should compete.  The Dusclops kid was interesting, though holy shit his family is a disaster.  Drew is a fun kind of arrogant rival, being fairly full of himself but not a dick.  He does give May legitimate advice for the smacktalk he does, and seems to genuinely care about her development and performance.  My wife is deep in the throes of contestshipping at present.  I'm not as deep, but it's a cute pair.  I think keeping him as the recurring rival was the right call.  The others have some stuff going on, but I like having a rotating cast of people just out there, with only one real focus.  Serena's rivals were...look, I only remember Shauna.  I know there were others, but the attempt to make them stand out didn't work, you kinda have to commit to just one.

The Pokemon of the season are pretty good.  The personalities of the Pokemon can help bring out a lot in the show, and I think Hoenn's strength is that it's got a high concentration of lunatics.  May's Torchic is our sweet child with one braincell.  Wurmple was cute as a Wurmple though lost a bit on evolution.  Skitty is an absolute delight.  Bulbasaur is precious.  Corphish is an energetic loon.  Torkoal's an over-emotional disaster creature and I love it.  I do think they could do a bit more with interactive traits between the Pokemon.  The only one I can really think of was Corphish being jealous of Grovyle, and Corphish stealing Torchic's food and then Combusken being like "I can kick your ass now."

The gym leaders!  Roxanne feels pretty unchanged, so nothing to comment on.  Brawly got a lot, and I kinda like what they did with him.  Wattson is hilariously passed over, they didn't even try.  Flannery, to my frustration, they did a pretty good job with.  Norman's a bit played up but I do appreciate that he's where May's obliviousness comes from.  And Winona was unfortunately far too hinged.  Lacks the lunacy of her ORAS counterpart, less invested.

The background stuff with Magma and Aqua is largely fine.  I appreciate that it's integrated well, and that they're kinda just following the games' path on this one.  It's a nice nod to me, as someone who tend to prefer the games, and I like that they get play a little early instead of tossing it all in at the end of the region.  Though one thing that was funny, the first episode absolutely used different names for Tabitha and Shelly, which threw me.  I remember being like "okay these are just anime folks," but then they show again and used the right names and something about that tickles me.

I dunno, we're having a pretty good time with Hoenn!  I'm...kinda surprised by it.  Ash has officially grown on me, something I imagine will give @alphakuriboh and @megazardx2 a smug satisfaction.  May's not quite favorite protagonist now for me, Dawn is still very much my girl though we'll see how the anime does her character, but May did secure her place as my wife's favorite.  It's good enough that I'd legitimately taken the stance that Masters should consider just using anime May's personality over games May, because I can legitimately say this one's just more interesting.  Could do without Brock, but nothing is perfect.  Two more Hoenn seasons to go.  The last one's the Frontier as I understand it, so I'll finally get to learn, like, anything about the original Frontier set.  Fun times ahead, I suppose.

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 278, Replies Part 2

1) "oh ouch, I think that Midnight definitely broke something on that fall”- She not only fell two stories through some solid tree branches, I think those rubble chunks crushed her underneath on the way down.

2) “Alright Midnight, I believe at you, you definitely has a plan ready right now, don’t you? There’s no way we gonna let that thing reach Shigaraki, oh no, you will solve this problem, for sure”- She can’t solve the problem, but she’s got a direct line to the smartest student in 1A for some aid in getting it fixed.

3) “Or maybe she’ll just synthesize a copy of Midnight’s gas- wait, can she even do that? I mean, if she knew the formula she could, I suppose? Can she create a gas? I feel like we already talked about this before but I don’t remember which consensus we reached”- It doesn’t have to be Midnight’s gas specifically, just a very strong aesthetic. And if you evaporated it, I guess it would become a gaseous form, but as it stands it’s actually more effective for it to be a liquid, so they can directly inject it into Machia’s body without it getting blown away or dispersed otherwise. I don’t know how midnight’s gas would have worked up against Dabi’s fires and the hot updrafts they create, but I bet it wouldn’t have been that good.

4) “oh no Midnight, she has no idea, it’s not like they couldn’t see a woman flying through the skies and then crashing down”- Well, most of them actually didn’t. it’s a little hard to tell, but Machia is blitzing across the forest landscape, so he tossed Mt lady aside several miles back and has nearly reached the kids by the time she catches back up. His size and his speed mean he’s like a mountain moving at the speed of a bullet train, and just as unstoppable.

5) “MIDNIGHT PLEASE STOP RAISING FLAGS THERE WE KINDA CAN’T SPARE THE TIME FOR THAT”- In her defence, she doesn’t tell the kids to fight Machia themselves, she tells them to make the sedatives, pass them onto any adult heroes around and then get out of the danger zone. Choosing to engage with Machia and cut out the middle man is Momo’s decision, but Midnight was only expecting the kids to try and inject Machia if there wasn’t anybody else who could do it for them, and even then, only because of the loss of life he’d bring otherwise. Sadly, the kids having all been evacuated from the front lines means that there really aren’t any adults around to aid them, so they’ve got to be the heroes who’ll save the day themselves this time.

6) “MOMO PLEASE DON’T DOUBT YOURSELF

WE ALL DEPEND ON YOU NOW”- Had it not been for the confidence-boosting chat she and Shoto had against Aizawa and Shoto reaffirming how amazing she is, I actually think Momo would have cracked under the pressure here. It’s a lot to ask of her, making a call that could decide whether or not her friends will live to see tomorrow, or do nothing and take the risk of the damage that Machia will unleash. Obviously, he’s gotta be stopped, but she’s being asked to weigh the likelihood of their success and survival in a split second. It’s just neat seeing how the small events like that come back to have an impact on the kids later on when the situation truly becomes serious for them.

7) “ALRIGHT, SO I ASSUME SHE WANTS TO KNOW HOW LONG SHE HAS TO SYNTHESIZE THE GAS, AND HOW MUCH OF IT SHE’LL NEED BASED ON HIS SIZE. MUDMAN IS PROBABLY MEANT TO SLOW HIM DOWN SO THEY CAN HIT HIM WITH IT”- More like how long they can afford to get into position for the most optimal plan of attack, since Momo made that serum in a second and made enough for everybody to have an chance at injecting it into Machia

8) “MT LADY IS STILL KICKING

UNLIKE KAMUI AND MIDNIGHT, YOU AINT GONNA PUT THIS MOUNTAIN DOWN”- Well, Kamui’s helping too, but even with them both getting beaten up the villains, nether one is breaking down…which bodes poorly for their chance of surviving this, or how damaged they’ll be in the aftermath. Machia isn’t even really fighting them right now, he’s just pushing past them and ignoring their attempts, and they’ve still gotten this banged up because of how unstoppable he is.

9) “HELL FUCKING YEAH MOMO! THAT’S THE SPIRIT!

TIME TO PUT THE GIANT TO SLEEP”- Time to beat Jack’s record for Giant-slaying…

@thelreads

[quirkwizard]

Rank all the quirks from Class 1-A in the order of the one you want to least to the one you want the most.

This was actually a really hard list to make because I don't really want a majority of the Quirks from Class 1-A. They're all just too combat focused for my tastes, especially close ranged ones, or just have such terrible drawbacks that would be difficult to deal with. So, unlike the last one, I'm focusing a bit more on the day-to-day utility of the Quirks because I wouldn't want a lot of these for hero work. Still, it was fun to write and think about.

One For All: I don't care how much power this Quirk offers. There is no way I would ever take on that much responsibility and pressure of being the next user, let alone all the pain I would have to go through to get there.

Invisibility: Even ignoring how few uses a Quirk like this has, I feel like I'd go insane if I couldn't see myself. It would be such an inconvenience just to live my life normally, with average tasks becoming a total pain.

Pop Off: There aren't a lot of uses for it on or off the battlefield, and what little there is would just inconvenience other people with the sticky orbs. That and I would just look silly with purple orbs on my head.

Tail: Having a prehensile tail is kind of neat, but I don't think it could use as well as Ojiro. And the fact that it is so big and always there would just be a pain to deal with. Like how would I be able to sit?

Naval Laser: Even ignoring how it’s a faulty Quirk, it just doesn’t fit for me. It's only good for offense, it's difficult to control, and it causes extreme pain to use it. It only eeks out the other ones because it doesn't infringe on my life as much.

Explosion: A lot of the same issues as "Naval Laser", but at least it's not as immediately painful to use and easier to control. Still, I can't see a lot of realistic uses for it outside of hero work except maybe the propulsion.

Frog: I guess the wall crawling is pretty good. But I vastly prefer colder weather, I don't like the idea of grabbing things with my tongue, and I'd probably end up as a hideous frog monster instead of a regular looking human like Tsuyu

Sugar Rush: This would be a good way to burn off excess sugar and get a pretty solid benefit out of it with the super strength. Losing my intelligence and all of my energy would be legitimately nightmarish to deal with, especially in a fight.

Acid: Another that's more offensive and dangerous to use, but I feel like I could get more out of it with how I could manipulate how acidic it is. In that case, I could see a few more uses for it, but at that point I'd feel like I was wasting it.

Zero Gravity: Lots of good utility with how it can make stuff float, and I believe I could deal with the nausea drawbacks easier than Uraraka. Too bad that constantly making sure I don't touch things with five fingers would be annoying. Maybe I could wear gloves?

Tape: As far as Mutant types go, it's not as intrusive, but it doesn't offer me much either. There are a lot of mundane ways tape can be used, and maybe some of the mobility would help, but that is about it. At least its drawbacks are easy to deal with.

Dupli-Arms: I'm usually a big fan of abilities that work with extra body parts, and I could see a lot of practical application in hero work or daily life. However, I don't think I could deal with the horrific mutations and general inconvenience that come with it.

Engine: Again, another non intrusive Mutant type, but arguably more useful. Even if I didn't want to fight people in close quarters with this Quirk, it would still have some uses as it would get me where I needed to go even faster without wasting time.

Half-Cold Half-Hot: It's certainly a powerful Quirk, but I feel like this would be another example of me wasting a Quirk. Like it's so powerful that anything I would do with it would just be wasteful, like using it to heat my food the to the exact way I want it.

Anivoice: As someone who would prefer to be in a supportive role, this definitely fits me pretty well. That and I feel like a lot of issues in life could be lessened by having control over animals. Whether it be controlling pets or removing pests, I think that there would be some usage for this.

Earphone Jack: Even if headphone jacks are getting pushed out of every device possible, I wouldn't mind having this. The long and prehensile nature of the jacks could make them useful as small arms, it works great as a subtle self-defense tool, and they would give me something to mess with when I'm waiting.

Hardening: I like the idea of having a shell of tough armor whenever I need it. I feel like that would improve my sense of safety and peace of mind no matter what I am doing. The extra bulk it gives is certainly a good bonus. And while it does start off weak, it's super easy to train. All I need is a few friends with bats and a free afternoon.

Dark Shadow: Just a generally useful Quirk, both in and out of hero work. Even if I didn't apply the ridiculous number of uses we see in the manga, having a summonable ally is such a great advantage in day-to-day life. The day/night cycle and emotional connection can certainly be problematic, but I feel like I could control it well enough if it comes to that.

Electrification: While it could be my frustration with how Denki uses it that makes me want this Quirk, it still has some uses. Even ignoring how good it would be in self defense, being a walking generator can have a lot of great uses with how much runs on electricity. I wouldn't have to plug in my electronics, save tons on my electrical bill, and save even more by getting an electric car.

Creation: Even if you ignore all of the health benefits a Quirk like this has, there would be so much I could do with the power to create objects. Do you know how much custom stuff I could make for people? And while I'm not the best at chemistry, I feel like I could learn enough to make use of it. I mean, if Momo was able to figure this out at four years old, I can figure enough to get by.

[turtle-go-brrrr]

4 times Leonardo was a dork and the time he wasn’t

Heya! I adore the "strong stoic character does something embarrassing or dumb" trope, and Leo has been left behing from that one. Also, my fervent Leo Simp Friend said these were all good ideas and I trust his judgment completely, so it's also for him. Enjoy, you Dork-ass Looser (affectionate) @weird-flex-but-ok

I have one of these "4 times ______ and 1 time ______" stories for each of them, I just got really inspired by him all of a sudden. But they're coming!

There might be a few typos here and there, but I really don't wanna wait any longer to post it :3

Requested: No

Pairing: None, platonic

Word count: 2500 +

Triggers: cursing, injuries, blood, intrusion

Summary: You were always sort of intimidated by the leader in blue, but a series of events shows you he might not be as serious as he wants you to think.

__________________________________________

First time

It took you a while to get along with all of them.

Not because you didn't trust them, or because they made it difficult, and certainly not because they're mutants. You're just not that good with new people, and you tend to shy away. Especially when you have New York's heroes in front of you.

So yeah. It took a while. But soon enough, you warmed up to your new friends, and you had a great time. Mikey was the first who made you feel welcomed, always asking questions about you and insisting you came to the lair in the first place. Donnie followed soon, after you started asking about what he was working on. It took a bit more work to get closer to Raph, but it turns out sarcasm was the way to go.

If only their leader was as approachable.

He never made you feel unsafe or unwelcomed, don’t get me wrong, he just kept a professional distance with you, which started to become quite painful as time went on. You tried not to take it personally, thinking he maybe was as shy as you were.

You had time anyway.

It was early in the evening when you made your way to the lair. For the first time since you met the turtles, you went there alone. You were a little nervous, thinking you might get lost in the maze of tunnels under the city, but figured you could just call someone if anything happened. Lucky for you, you found your way to your friend’s place, but not without hustle.

As you entered, you realized it was uncharacteristically quiet. The only sounds you could here were the faint music and the not so faint curses from Donatello’s lab. The smart decision seemed to be leave him alone, which is exactly what you did.

You haven’t been here long enough to know where to find the others, and as you didn’t exactly felt like staying alone in the living space, you tried finding your way to the dojo, as it was one of the other places you knew well.

Of course, now you got lost. Venturing into the sewers was fine, but walking into your friend's home wasn't, apparently.

You found something else, however. This particular tunnel led to a room you could identify as someone's room. You could see the large bed in the middle of the room, a small table with a bottle of water, a book, and a makeshift alarm. A set of twin swords were hanging on the right wall, just above a small bookshelf.

On your left was another table with a (healthy, you noted) bonsai tree, and next to that was Leonardo, facing a mirror. He had his right arm lifted up to his head, and was looking right to you through the mirror.

He looked absolutely horrified.

What the fuck.

He slowly rubbed his face in his hands, let out a long sigh, and turned to you, more tense than you've ever seen him. He cleared his throat as you pince your lips in a thin line to hold back a smile.

"Hello, Y/N. I... didnt think you'd come in so early."

Despite the badly lit room, you can see him bite the inside of his cheek.

"Yeah, uh, I didnt mean to... interrupt you," you say. Your voice is slightly shaking as it takes all of your willpower not to burst out laughing. And he definitely notices.

"You didn't! I uh, wasn't doing anything anyway. So, tell me- what brings you to the lair?" He asks, avoiding your eyes.

"Oh, Mikey invited me, he said I wasnt allowed to skip on movie night. You know how strong willed he is," you smirks, unable to handle it much longer.

Stiff as a board, you see the corner of his mouth twitching and hear him whisper, "... I wasn't flexing."

Silence.

You snort laugh hard enough to choke on it as you quickly turn around to hold yourself against the wall, the insanity of the situation crashing on you. Leo sat at the foot of his bed, head in his hands, and you could see him shake in repressed laughter once you wiped your tears away.

You sit next to him after finally calming down from the hysteria. He sighs, straightens his back and gives you a side glance.

"I'm not judging."

"You're still laughing, though."

"Yeah, but like, I guess I just wasn't expecting that. Still not judging."

He nods, still smiling. His voice is at least 3 octaves higher when he asks, "Please, don't tell the others."

"And what, give them the privilege of knowing about your little... ritual? Nah, don't worry about it."

_______________________

Second time

The second time your assumptions about the leader were subverted happended only two weeks after the... incident.

You had invited the whole crew to your place for the very first time, and they were all excited to come. You made a copious dinner: a few veggie cakes, chicken wings and a bowl of roasted potatoes. They were supposed to bring the drinks and movies, and April and Casey were in charge of the desert.

A perfect night, it seemed.

And it would have been if they could decide what to watch first without jumping at each other's throats.

"You guys need to grow up."

"Leave me out of thi-"

"Donnie's suggesting Velocipastor of all things and you think we need to grow up? Come on, Y/N, I thought you were better than that."

"Okay, first of all, how dare you. And second, this movie's a masterpie-"

"Yeah, because everyone knows that his supremior intellect means he's the only one who gets to choose a dumb movie. Why won't you guys watch Sharknado?"

"Supremior isn't a word. And it's because unlike you, peasants, I have taste." A devilish smile creeps up Donnie's face. The bastard is doing it on purpose.

"Peasants?!"

"You ugly-ass son of a-"

"Hey! Leave Dad out of this!"

"We could watch Shrek instead?"

You decided to go get some glasses in the kitchen, leaving the children to their stupid fight. Searching through your cupboard, you hear a crashing sound, quickly followed by utter and complete silence.

Oh no.

In insight, leaving them alone was maybe not the best idea. You were reconsidering bringing glasses into the mess as you made your way to the origin of the sound. And what a mess it was.

Your friends were all expressing shock in some way, Casey (surprisingly) being the most dramatic of them all with his hands right in front of his face and his jaw hanging open. They were all looking back and forth between you and another direction near the table.

The really cool bowl that held the delicious potatoes you made was broken on the floor. There was glass and potatoes everywhere, but the biggest shards were in a neat pile, right behind Leonardo, who looked like a deer in headlights.

"... nothing happended."

"I'm... starting to think it's a habit of yours," you say as you watch him not so discretely try to hide the broken pieces behind his foot.

"Look, if you keep putting your foot in there you're gonna hurt yourself. Just, step away a bit, will you?"

"I'm sorry I broke it. Let me help you clean up, I don't want you to cut yourself."

"It's okay! Don't touch it, I'll get a bag," you say as he starts to gather the biggest shards.

Won't even listen for one second, will he?

Raph was already picking up the untouched potatoes to put them in the plates on the table, and April went to the kitchen with you to retrieve the bag and cleaning supplies.

"Ew, Mikey don't eat that."

"Thirty seconds rule, baby."

"It's five seconds, you moron. And it's way over thirty anyway. Spit it out."

The rest of the night went on without further issues, but Leo still looked apologetic during the movie. Which is probably why he was standing before you as his brothers were leaving.

"Thank you for the evening. And I'm... sorry again for the bowl."

"Hey it's okay, man. Don't worry about it. As long as no one gets hurt it's not that big of a deal."

"I'll get you a new one." He doesn't wait for your answer and ruffles your hair before taking off.

"Text me when you guys get home!" You scream into the night, hoping one of them heard you.

______________________

Third time

It's surprisingly easy to mess with Fearless.

You were in the living room, getting your ass beat on Mario Kart by Mikey, when you decided to take a break for your stomach (and ego)’s sake. You made your way to the kitchen, where Leo and Raph were in a heated discussion. Raph looked

“I’m telling you, 4 inches is too small. What do you get from 4 inches ? Nothing. But 10 inches ? It really makes you feel something.”

…

What?

You looked down on the table and saw multiple ingredients lined up on the table, with a long piece of bread on the side.

Oh, sandwiches. Got it.

Leo’s back was facing you, but Raph gave you a knowing glance, one that said ‘do it’. So, you did. Not without a smirk, first.

“Oh, wow, Leo ! I didn’t think you’d be so open about that kind of conversations.” You open the fridge, hoping you can hide your smile behind the door.

“What ? What do you m-” His face falls. Raph starts chuckling next to you and it looks like Leo’s brain is rebooting. 

“I mean, I’m not judging. You do you, buddy, I’m happy for you. Just surprised you choose lunch time to talk about it.” And in other circumstances, you’d mean every word. But right now, messing with your friend is too good to pass on.

“No, hold on- I didnt mean- It’s not what you think ! I’m talking about sandwiches !” He tries to show you the ingredients currently on the table, but Raph decides it’s time to join the fun.

“Lying isn’t vey Bushido of you, Honor Boy,” he winks at you and you can’t repress a giggle.

He puts his face in his hands, knowing very well that the both of you ganged up on him but unable to save face. He just smiles, goes back on his chair and hides his head in his arms, hoping you won’t see how embarassed you made him.

“Hey, you like what you like. Have fun with your sandwiches.” You give him an innocent smile, pat him twice on the shoulder, and join Mikey back on the couch with a plate of grapes.

You could hear Raph’s light chuckle from the kitchen.

______________________

Fourth time

Mornings are hard.

And they’re even worse when you spent the whole night sewing an arm back together after a sword gave it a nasty cut. And getting glass shards off of your friend’s shell. And putting a bone back in it’s rightful place after a particularly bad fall.

Yeah. Long night. And a tense one, too.

Because with the physical pain came the chock and residual fears, the anger and blaming. Everyone was stil on guard, and all that tension was exhausting. You barely slept, too worried that one of your friend’s state would degrade if you didn’t keep an eye on them at all times. Which didn’t really help you get the rest you needed.

If you were hoping the morning would be kinder on all of you, you quickly realized that it was a mistake. While, luckily for the turles, the mutagen was already healing their physical wounds, the emotional exhaustion of the previous night was still heavy. Of all of your conscious friends, not one dared break the eerie silence.

It was weird, seeing them like this. But you couldn’t force yourself to say anything, strangely scared of what could happen. You resumed to making breakfast for everyone and bringing clean towels to the still sleeping feverish turtle in the medbay. Splinter and Mikey were at the kitchen table, quietly accepting your offering, when Leo came into the room from the medbay.

He was still half asleep, and in his drowsiness didn’t see the wall he accidentally ran into.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Everyone turned to Leo, who it took a solid minute of staring blindly at the wall to realize what just happened.

Donnie was the first to laugh. It didn’t take long for april and Mikey to join, soon followed by Splinter affectionately patting his son’s arm. Leo smiled and shook his head, as their lighthearted laugh was contagious.

The leader in blue was more of a goofball than what you first expected, and you were grateful for it in the fading tensions of the morning.

______________________

One time he wasn't

When someone intrudes your home, especially at 4 am when you were sleeping in the next room, a lot of things go through your head.

Did they take anything?

Yes. Your bag with your wallet, some cash, your credit card, your ID, and a few fidelity cards from various stores. Your laptop. A set of keys. That one blanket Raph made you (probably to carry everything without making too much noise).

Why you?

Why not? Your apartment isn't isolated, but it's not exactly on a main street either. It was probably practical for them.

Were they armed?

Who knows. Maybe. Maybe not. Probably. Statistically, most likely.

What could have happened if you had tried to confront them?

A lot of things. Maybe, if you let them know you were awake and knew what was going on, without necessarily confronting them, it would have been enough to make them run away. Or maybe there were multiple armed people, and they wouldn't hesitate to use force if necessary.

Who knows.

Can the police find this person?

Statistically? No. At least, that's what Casey told you when you asked him. Unless they got really lucky, they won't find anything.

Or at least the stuff they stole?

Again, unlikely. Unless they can trace your laptop back to the guy, or someone can give a physical description and a direction, there's not a lot they can do.

What can you do now?

Call your bank. And your insurance. And your landlord. Let them know what happened and follow their directive, they'll guide you through their procedure and help you soften the blow.

Casey was the first person you called when you woke up this night, and he was at your place within minutes with two other colleagues (the closest he could find). He spent the rest of the night reassuring you, helping you with the phone calls, asking around for witnesses, but nothing.

It's weird, feeling unsafe for the first time in a place you had called Home for years. It's disturbing. You can feel the nausea your anxiety is giving you, and a headache starts to grow at the back of your skull.

You don't really like this feeling.

So when your turtle friends dropped by the next evening without telling you and you welcomed them with a swing of your favorite pan, let's just say reactions were split.

"I can hack into your computer to find its location if you want. Wouldn't be the first time."

"What?"

"What? I mean, I didn't do it for your location last time. I know all about your search history, though."

"We're gonna have a talk about boundaries and privacy once we're done dealing with that," you sigh. You crash down on the couch next to your friend and mindlessly watch him work.

Leo comes up to you and gently nudges your shoulder. "Hey, do you have a toolbox somewhere? We brought locks to put on your door and windows. You know, just in case."

You nod, quiet, and lead him to your room where you keep most of the most useful stuff you own, including but not limited to a toolbox and a first aid kit.

Your movements were almost mechanical as you retrieved the box and handed it to him, and you decided to help him put up the locks to keep your mind occupied.

He was concerned. You looked like you were still in choc, which he could completely understand. Getting robbed is awful in itself, but getting robbed while you're sleeping in the next room? Horrific, in his mind.

He was also furious. He couldn't be there for you. This person had the nerves to go after his friend, and what if you got hurt? He wouldn't have been able to do anything about it.

He noticed he was staring when your eyes met his.

"Hey. We're gonna do whatever we can to find them. We're also gonna focus our patrols in your neighborhood for at least a few weeks, until you feel better," he puts a hand on your shoulder. "It's gonna be okay Y/N. Trust me."

You look up to him, and when you look into his eyes, you know he means it. You let your head fall against his plastron as he holds you against him, a silent promise for safety.

"Hey shorty," Raph pulls his head into the crack of the door to address you. "Wanna learn how to fight? I can turn you into a death machine."

You heard the faint "Raph, what the fuck" coming from Mikey who was still in the living room.

You gave a small laugh as you got up, Leo following you closely to the living room.

"Hey! Fighting isn't for everyone. But I could make you a really cool taser, if you want."

"What's with you and tasers?"

"They're efficient."

The bell ringed and April came in holding 4 boxes of pizza, that Mikey assisted her with as soon as she set a foot inside.

You looked around at your friends as April brandished the pizzas like a trophy while Raph and Donnie went back and forth trying to decide who, between man power and electricity, would win in a fight.

And you realized that yes, Leo was right.

It's gonna be okay.

[five-rivers]

Danger First

Chapter 3

@pocketramblr (also please let me know if you would like me to stop tagging you on these, I don't want to be annoying. :))

"WAIT!" shouted Nana abruptly, as Izuku was talking to his (weirdo) teacher. "I know who that is! Quick, get ready to turn everything off!"

"Turn what off?" asked En. "We live in a formless mental void. We don't even have electricity."

"The quirk! That's Eraserhead!"

"Oh, yeah," said Yoichi, while everyone else (sans Second and Third) scrambled to grab onto the quirk. "I remember Eight meeting him, now! So, he's a teacher, huh?"

"How do all of you forget the one person who might be capable of one-shotting All for One?" demanded Nana.

"Doesn't his quirk not work on mutations?"

"Stop daydreaming and get over here, Yoichi!"

The quirkspace began to glow faintly, ominously red, and the ghosts pulled hard on the quirk, holding it temporarily out of Izuku's reach.

Then, the red glow abated and they dropped it back into place.

"Well, that was exhausting," said Banjo. "So, we'll have to be constantly ready for that, huh?"

"As long as he's around, yeah," said Nana.

"Why did we just do that, anyway?" asked En.

"So we can continue to masquerade as a normal, non-haunted quirk?"

"We could have just let him think he didn't have a quirk, or that the anxiety-"

"Super anxiety."

"-isn't part of it."

Yoichi gasped, as if scandalized. "You'd want us to lie to Izuku?"

"Okay, seriously, what is up with you and Nine?" asked En.

Despite not having a body, Yoichi began to visibly sweat. "Nothing, nothing at all. I just... think he's neat?"

"If you're going to lie to us, can you not do it with archaeomemes?" asked Nana.

"No, no, actually, I can get behind this," said En. "Would you say Izuku has... vibes?"

Yoichi nodded solemnly.

.

"Young Midoriya!"

Izuku shrieked and jumped back from the sudden sound as All Might suddenly emerged from an otherwise innocuous bush.

Both of them froze, staring at each other.

"Are you..." said All Might, hesitantly, sounding much more like he did in his small form than usual, "alright?"

"I... think so?"

"That's good, then." All Might coughed slightly into his fist. "I was wondering if you had a few minutes."

"Of- of course!" said Izuku, immediately.

"Then allow me to lead the way!"

All Might led him through a door labeled 'staff only' and immediately deflated. "All the staff know about my condition," explained Mr. Yagi.

Izuku nodded. Then a thought occurred to him. "Mr. Yagi?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"Why, um, why don't you teach, um, as Mr. Yagi? Instead of as All Might? Wouldn't it save your time?"

Mr. Yagi stopped and scratched his head. "I hadn't really thought about it before," he admitted. "But part of the reason I took this job, other than wanting to help train the next generation of heroes, of course, is that I want to get people used to the idea that I am going to retire." He tugged on one of his bangs. "Also, ah, I'm not sure if my qualifications to teach are quite up to par without my reputation."

"I'm sure it would be fine! You're the best, after all!"

Mr. Yagi chuckled. "I'm glad you think so," he said. Then he reached behind him and opened a door. "In any case: my office."

"Wow," said Izuku, quietly, stepping in. "All Might's office..." Who knew when he'd get another opportunity like this again? He kept his eyes wide to drink in the details.

The rather sparse details. The office was rather bare. Which made sense, seeing as All Might was a brand-new teacher. It was sort of... disappointing, as thrilling as it was.

Mr. Yagi sat down behind the desk and gestured for Izuku to take one of the other chairs. It had a lot of cushioning. A lot a lot. Izuku sank down into the fluff as Mr. Yagi fiddled with a drawer on his desk. He got the drawer open, and pulled out a notebook. A notebook of the same brand Izuku liked to use, actually.

"Since your experiences with One for All are so different from mine, I thought it might be a good idea to do some research into past holders and take a leaf out of your notebook, as it were." He passed the notebook over to Izuku, who took it with shaking hands and a slightly open mouth.

"I'll treasure it," he declared, voice wobbling.

"Not so much that you don't use it, I hope," said Mr. Yagi. "As it is, it's only an overview. The earlier holders, especially, don't have many records associated with them. Consider it a starting point. I haven't had much time to work on it."

"I can't believe you found the time to write this at all," said Izuku, flipping through the pages. The information was sparse, but each holder had a basic profile, all the way back to the fourth. "I mean, between being a hero, training me, and preparing to be a teacher, I'm stunned nothing fell by the wayside!"

Mr. Yagi proceeded to turn a very interesting color.

"Uh, nothing fell by the wayside, right?"

"Why don't you take a few minutes to skim through. If anything jumps out at you right away, we can talk about it. And then I'll let you go get changed and go home, and we can discuss more later, after you've had more time with it."

"Okay!" said Izuku. He'd start with just the basic profiles. Name, date of birth, date of death, quirk... wait, those ages... "They all died young," he said, softly.

"Hero work is dangerous," said Mr. Yagi, hand going to his side.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

"Not something you need to worry about. I took care of it, years ago." The hand holding his side spasmed slightly.

"... Six years ago?" asked Izuku, aware he was pushing his luck. But this sounded both important and relevant.

There was a long pause. "Yes," said All Might, finally. "A villain with a longevity quirk. He... had a history with the first user."

Izuku got the feeling that was an understatement. It also seemed unlikely that the only application of the villain's quirk was longevity, given what he'd done to All Might. But the subject was clearly making All Might uncomfortable, so he dropped it in favor of burying his nose in the notebook again.

(Social fumbles aside, this was the most secure Izuku had felt for... a while.)

"The sixth user had a smoke quirk?"

"Yes, it seems so. Although it doesn't seem to have been actual smoke, but a biological compound."

"I wonder if that has anything to do with all the steam you release when you deflate. Actually..." he flipped back through the quirk. "I wonder if you're using Float, too, subconsciously, when you jump."

"What?"

"I- I mean," said Izuku, "I noticed, when, um, when I grabbed your ankle and also in videos of you- Your hang time is kind of messed up? You're in the air for longer than you should be, but it isn't, like, consistent? Plus, you can change direction mid-air, which I thought was because you were shooting out blasts of air pressure with your quirk, but with me on your ankle, you definitely didn't do that. There was- there was a forum I was on where some people thought your quirk tapped into magnetic fields, somehow, but that doesn't make any sense, because you'd expect a lot more electronic interference and that similar locations would produce similar results, given the Earth's magnetic field, but they don't. But subconscious, low-level use of a telekinesis-based flying quirk would explain everything. If we take into account what you said about my anxiety after the entrance exam, then that's minor expressions of three out of four of the quirks listed here, not counting the base stockpile and enhancement quirk. Do you think the unknown quirks of the second and third users might have partially manifested for you as well? Have you experienced anything else that's atypical for a strength enhancement quirk?"

Mr. Yagi stared at Izuku.

Oh, no, he'd gone too far.

"Nothing immediately comes to mind, my boy," he said, faintly. "But... magnets? Really?"

"I told you it didn't make any sense."

Mr. Yagi rubbed his chin. "There might be something, but... it's too unclear to say either way. I'll keep an eye out. It's just... a lot to take in. I thought One for All was done surprising me."

"When has it surprised you before?"

"Oh, under the influence of certain mental quirks, you can wind up hallucinating the previous users."

"Hallucinating?"

"Yes. But being under the influence of a mental quirk is always the larger issue, so..."

"Mr. Yagi," said Izuku. "That's really the kind of thing you should let people know about up front."

"I- is it?"

.

The ghosts all stared at Nana.

"Hey, don't blame this on me! None of us explained that kind of stuff before passing One for All on."

"In our defense," said En, half raising a hand, "we were usually dying when we passed it on."

"More importantly," said Hikage, "do you think Ninth is right about the quirks?"

"It would make sense," mused Yoichi. "Although then we'd have to wonder why Blackwhip didn't manifest similarly."

"Is it too much for me to get someone to use my quirk? My extremely awesome quirk, that has no downsides?"

"It is powered almost exclusively by rage."

"No downsides."

"You-"

"No. Downsides."

.

Aizawa passed him an envelope labeled 'quirk counseling' along with the standard schedule and orientation packet he was handing to everyone else. It didn't look like any of his class mates had noticed, though, for which Izuku was grateful. He didn't want to be known as a weirdo who didn't know what his own quirk was.

He heavily suspected he was tapping into Danger Sense, somehow, but he didn't know how, and the fourth user of One for All had lived so long ago there weren't any records of him. Not easily and publicly available. Everything Mr. Yagi had written in his notebook (that Izuku had probably stayed up way too late reading... and texting Mr. Yagi about it... and comparing it to his notes... and texting Mr. Yagi about that... and reviewing old All Might compilations and theory threads... and having Mr. Yagi threaten to call his mom if he didn't go to sleep...) about the fourth user had been retrieved from the journals Mr. Yagi's mentor had passed down, according to one of the source notes in the margin.

(Mr. Yagi had really neat, small handwriting, which Izuku wouldn't have ever expected from his large, dramatic signatures as All Might, and his notes were meticulous and carefully cited. If Izuku didn't know better, he would have thought it belonged to a secretary.)

But despite Izuku's suspicions, he didn't actually know. He didn't know it's range, what it defined as danger, whether or not it 'ranked' dangers, how to distinguish it from normal anxiety, or- Well. Anything, really. And he would really like to.

He opened the envelope quietly. Inside was a handwritten note instructing him to pick one of three schedules for quirk counseling and return it to Aizawa by the end of the day. The other pages were printed, with times and possible locations. Options for both before and after the school day.

Izuku felt his eyes tearing up. This was easily the nicest thing a teacher had ever done for him... Although he was nervous about being alone with Aizawa. Some of his other teachers, when they asked him to stay after class it was... not good.

Nothing bad happened, not like in movies or TV shows or the awareness videos the school had shown sometimes. The teachers didn't hurt him, really, didn't do anything to him, other than talk or yell, mostly, but it still wasn't good.

Maybe he could ask Mr. Yagi or Recovery Girl to sit in... But he already felt bad, taking up so much of their time.

He picked one of the after school schedules. He was already staying late on the other days to work with Mr. Yagi, and if something did go wrong, he wanted to have the night to recover before he had to face Aizawa again in class.

He put it to the side, so he'd remember to give it to Aizawa before he left, then looked over the class schedule. Homeroom, Math, Hero Art History, History, and English in the morning. At least this morning. The history classes alternated with something called Heroics-Applied Science and Hero Law and Ethics. Afternoons, meanwhile, were entirely occupied by Hero Basic Training.

And every class would be taught by a pro hero. He wondered if it would be rude to ask for their autographs...

.

Shouta grunted as Hizashi flopped down onto the couch next to him on the couch in the staff breakroom. "What a morning! I just love seeing all those bright little faces at the beginning of the year. Anyone have a favorite first year yet?"

Shouta kicked Hizashi through his sleeping bag. Sadly, this had no effect on the man.

"I think mine might be the little green guy. He's the only one who was actually paying attention, and you know how rare that is, when everyone is anticipating their first heroics lesson. The rest of us just pale in comparison."

Shouta attempted to kick Hizashi again, this time for an entirely different reason. Midoriya was already All Might's favorite (probably)- he did not need more pull with the staff.

"I know who my least favorite is," said Kan. "Kid's certainly dedicated and competitive, but I wouldn't be surprised if he threatened his middle school teachers into giving him those glowing reviews. His personality needs a lot of work. How did you get Nezu to saddle me with Bakugo, anyway, Eraser?"

"I had nothing to do with it."

"Don't give me that, I was going to have Monoma. At least he's a team player."

"You're being illogical," said Shouta, zipping his sleeping bag closed over his face.

"How about you, Nemuri?" asked Hizashi, cutting off Vlad King vs Eraserhead round five hundred.

"It's hard to choose! They're all so cute and eager! Full of the passion of youth! I think they're all my favorite."

"You always say that..."

The door opened and closed.

"All Might! What about you? Any favorites yet?"

Yagi coughed. "I've only had the one class of third years so far. Don't you think that's rather... premature?"

What an incredible nonanswer.

"How did that first class of yours go, anyway? They didn't sour you to the whole idea of teaching, did they?"

"Not at all! The students were wonderful. The third years are very advanced, aren't they? For some of them, I wouldn't be shocked to see that skill level on an active sidekick."

"What can I say? We start them off right," crowed Hizashi.

"They did seem a little surprised by the scenario, however."

"So was I, t'be honest," said Snipe, who was in charge of the third years.

"Ah, was it no good...?"

"It was fine. Lesson plan was a bit rough around the edges, but you and Nezu'll be goin' over that later. But... quirk traffickin' doesn't quite seem like your thing."

"Ah, well, set-pieces," he said, using the slightly derisive underground slang for large-scale spotlight hero battles, "may be what I'm known for, but before my injury, the majority of my battles and investigations weren't publicized."

"Shield laws?" asked Nemuri.

"Generally, yes, but some of the investigations were tied to others, so we were using the organized crime secrecy laws to keep those under wraps. Simply put, my popularity isn't the only reason I keep the number one spot despite Endeavor having more completed cases than me on paper."

Shouta had known there was more to All Might than 'punchy, over-the-top, eyestrain-causing, bombastic muscle guy,' but part of his stupid, illogical brain was annoyed at Yagi for pummeling that image into imaginary dust, anyway. It seemed like the man's only two flaws were horrible interpersonal skills when not using his public persona, and his vast suite of health issues, the latter of which all heroes who operated long enough picked up.

Oh, and a possible inclination towards bribery.

Made it hard to dislike him, which Shouta wanted to do, because he was loud, flashy, and gave him headaches, literal and metaphorical. He ignored the fact that Hizashi was the same way, and had forcibly become Shouta's best friend. Clearly, there was no connection here.

"By the way, why is young Aizawa completely zipped in like that?"

"Nap time," said Hizashi, solemnly.

.

"Sir?" said Iida, raising his hand.

"Yes, young man?" boomed All Might.

"There are nineteen of us. How are we handling the odd person out?"

"Excellent question! In other exercises, we may handle it differently, but for today, one of you will be working alone! Occasionally, a hero may find themselves isolated when they originally expected help. However, for better balance, I have also arranged it so the odd hero out will be taking part in the last battle, so you'll have more time to strategize!"

But the other team would also have more time to strategize, Izuku noted. He really hoped it wouldn't be him... not that he wanted to force it on any if his classmates! He just didn't want yet another handicap on the first day of training.

All Might walked around with the box of ballots, pausing for each student to take one. He reached Izuku and held the box out to him with a wink. Izuku smiled back, reached in, and grabbed one.

A chill ran up his back and he froze, fingers wrapped tightly around the little ball. Something told him this was definitely the cursed, single-person ballot. Could he let it go? Would it be considered cheating if he picked a new one?

But All Might was already walking away. Every part of his body tense, Izuku turned his hand over and forced his fingers apart.

J.

The tenth character of the Latin alphabet. For the tenth, last, team.

He watched as everyone else started to pair up, and All Might looked at him apologetically.

Izuku approximated a smile. Plus ultra, right?

[flightlessangelwings]

Marcus Moreno NSFW Alphabet

18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.3k

afab!reader

~

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Marcus is very attentive after sex, and he loves to cuddle. He’s content to hold you in his arms for as long as you want. Even after a mind blowing orgasm, nothing beats having you in his arms close and safe. And if you need anything, Marcus is right in it. Want water? He’s got you. Want a fuzzy blanket and cuddles? He’s your man.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part on himself is his arms. Marcus trained hard to keep his body in shape and that includes a lot of arm strength. But mostly he likes to wrap his arms around you and hold you close. He loves when you comment on how safe you feel in his arms.

And Marcus is a boob man for sure. He loves to worship every inch of your body, but he especially loves your boobs. He’ll spend plenty of time kissing his way up and down each mound and spend a lot of time on your nipples too. He loves to knead them softly while he thrusts into you and watch them swing when he picks up his pace. And when you’re finished having sex, he loves to hold you close with a hand on your breast and give it a soft extra little squeeze.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Marcus really likes to pull out at the last second and cum on your belly. The sight of you hot and sweaty with his cum painting your skin is a sight unlike any other for Marcus. And of course he cleans you up real well after he’s done savoring the moment; he’ll never leave you a mess like that. And he loves to watch you cum too. The faces you make are super sexy to him and the sounds are music to his ears, especially if you cry out his name when you cum. He almost loves when you cum more than he cums.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Marcus really wants to tie you up. Not only does he think you would look so sexy naked, bound and helpless on his bed, but it would show an extreme amount of trust, and that turned him on more than anything else. He’s always afraid to hurt you or try anything too wild with you, so he hasn’t asked you yet.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Marcus could count his sexual partners on one hand. He’s not the type for one night stands and he only sleeps with those he cares about. That being said, he still knows what he’s doing. Marcus likes to spend time getting to know what his partners like and what really drives them wild.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Marcus does like missionary so he can watch you while you wrap your arms and legs around him. He also likes when you’re on top and riding him. There’s just something about watching you bounce on his cock and watching himself disappear inside you that gets him off like nothing else. Marcus is a switch so he’s happy to be on top or bottom.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Oh sweet himbo Marcus Morano. He can’t help but laugh at times, and he loves to laugh during sex. Sometimes he can’t help but tickle you while he’s kissing down your body and just grin as you giggle and squirm. Sometimes he can’t resist the urge to blow a raspberry in your belly, and it especially cracks him up when you do it to him too.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps himself well groomed and he loves to be fresh and clean for you. Marcus doesn’t shave, but he keeps everything neat and trimmed. You don’t care either way, hair is natural, but he likes to go the extra mile for you. And he doesn’t mind keeping the hair shorter.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If you look up hopeless romantic in the dictionary, you’d find a picture of Marcus Moreno. He is a king of romance, and he takes great pride in sweeping you off your feet when it comes to that. There’s nothing Marcus loves more than to spend the evening wining and dining you, and he spares no expense to get all your favorites. Then he’ll spend all night making sweet love to you. Because Marcus Moreno doesn’t just have sex, he makes love.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Marcus spent a long time as a single dad so of course he jerked off fairly often. Between leading the Heroics and being a single father he didn’t have much time to date until you came into his life. He doesn’t feel as much of a need to jerk off now since he has you, but sometimes he’ll put on a little private show just for you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink, both ways. He will shower you with affection while he’s inside you and he’ll tell you how beautiful you are and how amazing you feel. And he loves it when you tell him how good he is and how well he takes care of you. Marcus does short circut when you tell him how sexy he is and how hot he looks when he is fucking you.

Nipple play. Marcus loves your breasts and loves to play with your nipples. He’ll nibble and suck marks on your skin and swirl his tongue along your nipple as he savors the way you moan and arch your back. He also loves having his own nipples played with, especially with how you do it so well.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Marcus is traitional in that sense in that he likes to have sex in the bedroom. He likes the comfort and privacy. But, he’s also known to enjoy a good shower sex at times as well. And he also surprises you sometimes when he takes you to a storage closet or someplace in headquarters for a quickie.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Marcus loves when you say his name. Something about hearing it in your voice just really turns him on. And he loves when you initiate sex. And since he knows there’s a risk of his loved ones being targeted, he loves when you can defend yourself. If he’s teaching you a new technique and you’ve got him pinned, Marcus is more turned on than ever.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Marcus will never ever do anything to hurt you. He’s too protective of you to even think about anything like that. Also he does not like the daddy kink at all. He’s a father and he doesn’t want any references to that in bed.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Your pleasure really is his pleasure, and Marcus loves to go down on you. He could happily spend hours between your legs if you’d let him, and he’ll take his time to learn everything you love. Marcus will draw it out as long as he can as he works your clit with his tongue while he hold onto your hips. He’s addicted to the taste of you, and he would forgo anything in return just to spend as long as he can in your folds.

That being said, like most men he would never turn down a blowjob, especially from you. From the moment he’s in your mouth, Marcus is at your mercy, and you both know it. You work him better than anyone ever had before, and he has to physically hold himself back from cumming too soon because of how good it feels. And of course he stares in awe every time you swallow his load.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sensual for sure. Marcus likes to take his time with you. He’ll spend hours kissing you all over before he even thinks about fucking you. Your pleasure is his pleasure for sure, and he’ll spend all the time it takes to learn what you like and what spots drive you crazy. But when he finally does enter you, he likes to start slow. Maybe just warm his cock for a little bit and just enjoy the feeling of you around him. He’ll rock out once very slowly and gently, and just watch your face contort in pleasure. Encouraged by your moans (and maybe you asking him to go faster or harder), Marcus will pick up his pace.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are part of the territory when it comes to being a hero. Sometimes there just isn’t the time Macus would like to make love to you, but he still wants you. Sometimes he’ll take you to a closet, bathroom or empty room in headquarters for a quickie when he gets back from a mission and is running on adrenaline.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Marcus is open to an extent. He isn’t into anything super kinky but if you want to try something he’ll give it a shot for you. He’s also not a super big risk taker since he wants sex to be safe for both of you. He’s got enough risk in his daily life that he doesn’t feel the need to admit to his sex life.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually he just goes for one long round, but sometimes he has a second round in him. Marcus takes his time with you for sure and he drags it out as king as he can. He loves to take the time for you both to explore each other and really pleasure each other. At times when he’s been away or too busy, he’ll want that second round with you, seemingly can’t get enough of you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Marcus doesn’t own any toys himself, but he’s open to using some with his partner if they’re open to it. The first time you use one of your vibrators during sex, he’s almost too in awe to even move. He just buries himself in you and watches as the vibrations on your clit make you mewl and squirm. And he can feel the sensations too, and thinks to himself no wonder you like this so much.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is a tease for sure, but he doesn’t even realize it. When he’s wearing his glasses, you can’t help but stare because he looks so damn good in them. He’s so effortlessly handsome that he doesn’t even know the effect those glasses have on you. And whenever you watch him cook, you’re captivated by his arms. Again, he’s totally unaware. Sometimes, he’ll place his hands gently on your hips as he slips past you in the kitchen and the way he touches you immediately makes you heat up. You’re flustered while he goes about his business completely unaware. But you’ll make him aware later when you corner him in the bedroom...

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Marcus Moreno is a moaner. Boy definitely gets into the heat of the moment and sounds pour from his mouth. Where a lot of men are quiet during sex, Marcus is almost as loud as you are. He grunts while he thrusts into you, moans when you clench around him, and praises and your name spills from his lips.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is a talker in bed, and sometimes the things that spill from Marcus’ mouth surprise you both. It’s never anything too derogatory but Marcus can get dirty when he wants to. “You feel so good baby” or “You take my cock so well” or “You like when I fuck you like this.” Marcus is definitely big into dirty talk and he loves to talk you through everything. And of course he always tells you how much he loves you while he’s fucking you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Marcus is well endowed, but he doesn’t even realize it. Honestly he doesn’t even think much about it. He’s never been the macho type so he never felt the need to brag about it or even care about what he’s packing. As long as you love what he does, he’s happy.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Since he spent so long without someone, Marcus does tend to have a high sex drive when it comes to you. He’s usually up for sex about four nights a week, as long as he’s not too tired from being a hero or a dad. But on those nights, he’s just as content to cuddle in bed and hold you close.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Between being a hero and a single dad, poor Marcus is always tired. So once he’s spent for the night, he tends to fall asleep fairly quickly. Sometimes he’ll have you wrapped in his arms with you on his chest and savors the warmth of your body. Other times, he’ll lay on your chest and enjoy the softness of your breasts and the sound of your heartbeat. Especially when you play with his hair and rub his scalp, it doesn’t take Marcus long to fall sound asleep.

[itsnothingofinterest]

So with the end supposedly approaching (relatively speaking), people have started giving some thought as to who the final threat is really going to be; Tomura Shigaraki or All For One. It’ll definitely be one of them, they’re the strongest and most established villains by a mile; but both have their own reasons for people to think they’ll be the “final boss” of the series. And far be it from me to keep my opinion to myself; I really think it’s going to be Tomura.

I’m not sure if that’s some level of controversial among the fans hoping for Shigaraki’s redemption, as I do believe the alternative’s gotten a lot of traction lately. Because understand that I’m still expecting his redemption too, and don’t expect his hypothetical final boss status to really prevent that. (Practically nothing can, it’s as much a guaranteed outcome at this point as Deku getting his sixth bonus quirk.) Realistically, the only difference would be if he & Deku then team up to fight the evil potato head, or to...just start fixing stuff I guess.

On that note, the eventual redemption is actually one of the reasons I think he’s the better choice. Almost every point of comparison between the two villain I can think of makes Tomura seem like the better choice, actually...with maybe one or two exceptions. So I wanted to go over all those points of comparison & everything they’ve got going for them as endgame villains and why the comperrisons overall seem to favour Tomura as the final boss.

1. Someone who was defeated to the power of just one man

For one, just looking at pure power levels, AFO’s just not as threatening as Tomura; and there’s not really a way to bridge that gap.

Like, Tomura’s obviously more of a threat personally; he’s got the stronger body that was scientifically enhanced, and only he has Decay on top of the AFO quirk and the collection that came with it. It is just a fact that right now, Tomura is far more powerful. And before anyone thinks that AFO could become an equal threat by just taking over & fighting in his body; that’s not true because, along with just more combat experience that doesn’t rely on an arsenal of quirks, Tomura also has that Shimura trick where you remember your origin and become super bad ass. You know, the trick that All Might used to beat AFO in Kamino. In other words, the most dangerous individual in the series right now is the AFO!Tomura body with specifically Tomura in control.

And as long as the slight edge in mentality in Tomura’s favour exists, there’s not really a way to bridge that gap and have AFO take Tomura’s place as the biggest potential threat. Restore or enhance AFO’s original body? That’s just catching it up with AFO in Tomura’s body, which is still behind Tomura in Tomura’s body. Have AFO boost Tomura’s body with him in control? It would still be better with Tomura in control. There’s no scenario where Tomura isn’t the most powerful character in BNHA.

(Well, except maybe AFO weakening him by, say, stripping him of his quirks; but if he has to make things easier for the heroes to become the most powerful, I think that kind of proves my point anyway.)

But one person can only be so dangerous, so lets talk followers. Tomura has a close knit group of friends & allies on top of a vast army super loyal to him specifically that reaches a six digit figure, and AFO...just doesn’t. And I’ll get back to this later; but I don’t think he wants one either. He sticks to just a handful of people useful to him and what’s left of his Nomu. And while maybe that is the better way for him to accomplish his own personal goals, it’s simply not as threatening as the force which Hawks thought could’ve conquered the country if the heroes hadn’t struck first.

Tomura is a country ending threat, who in the right circumstances could fight literally all of the heroes with a chance of winning, and AFO simply isn’t.

2. His own little world

And to return to what I was talking about earlier, I’m not sure he really cares to be either. Like, people say he wants to conquer everything, and I imagine he’d think regaining lots of money & power would be great down the line; but evidence seems to suggest he doesn’t really care much for the country as a whole or any of the major themes being discussed by the actual main characters at the moment.

I mean if he did, he’d probably have rescued the PLF, that army capable of competing with all of hero society. And he probably wouldn’t have told ~10,000 dangerous and powerful villains indebted to him for their freedom to just run amok while he keeps contact with only the ones useful for his personal goals. And he definitively wouldn’t be laying low & sleeping through his enemies lowest moment & giving them a month to recover, also in service to those personal goals. That activity seems to imply those personal goals matter a whole lot more to him than societal conquest.

And what are those goals? Seemingly, taking over Tomura’s body so he can finally steal One For All. To what end, we’re not 100% sure of, but I believe it’s either a) a weird pride thing where he finally has control over his brother who’s rebelled against him for decades upon decades or b) an attempt at immortality as a sentient & transferable body-controlling quirk. Either way it’s some selfish personal thing he just gets others wrapped up in.

He’s incredibly disconnected from the greater themes and conflicts of the story. He seems to have no opinions on heroics besides how people are stupid for attempting them, and no opinion on society besides that it just naturally sucks. He’s mainly just a nuisance for the actual main characters. This self-important old man stuck in his own little world is supposed to be Deku’s final opponent?

Oh, and on that note-

3. Deku who?

We’re also talking about who’s going to be the final obstacle for Deku to face; and the problem with the being AFO is that...they don’t really have much to bounce off of with each other. You might be able to argue slight foil-ment, but they don’t really know each other, nor do they have any kind of connection to each other besides Deku having OFA so he’s AFO’s enemy by default.

(In fact their latest & 2nd convo, which came out as I was drafting this post out, kind of proves that with how AFO basically just shallowly made fun of him for trying to be a hero. That’s basically the extent of their antagonism.)

In fact, I’m like 80% sure this is a major reason for the Dad For One theory existing; just to give them some connection, something to talk about. Because otherwise AFO is just an evil guy known by people Deku knows/wants to save. He’s basically just another, more dangerous Overhaul; who Deku's already fought. And to AFO, Deku’s just another OFA holder acting all high & mighty; which we also already saw him face in the Kamino fight. So what little they do offer each other has already been done for both of them. And there’s nothing wrong with that for carrying a fight, I just wonder if that can really carry the final fight.

Compare that to Shigaraki, who foils Deku in ways so numerous & obvious it’s almost hard to talk about, such as: their position as successors, strategic thinkers, very similar origins, very similar core characters, team players, red shoes, they looked really similar as kids...just to name a few parallels. Contrasting AFO, there is a lot to work with here that would contributed to a good fight that’d double as a battle of ideologies. And admittedly, we know this because it already has, this is also something we’ve seen before; but there’s a lot more unexplored with their conflict, a lot left unsaid that we could see from them arguing their viewpoints. A lot more than from Deku & AFO anyway.

I mean for Pete’s sake; All Might & Shigaraki have more in common and more to talk about than Deku & AFO. That’s a major problem if those two are meant to carry the final battle; which is why I don’t think they are.

4. Just punch him

There’s also the fact that AFO doesn’t really challenge Deku in any real way; and I’m not just talking about how All Might solo-ing him (twice) should logically mean endgame Deku should also be able to solo him. I’m more talking about how...that’s kind of all he’d need to do. If you can just beat AFO up enough then...that’s it, threat over. Wrapped up in a neat little bow.

To compare, Shigaraki is the greatest threat the heroes have ever faced, the victim most in need of saving, and to top it off, he’s got the gall to be both of those things at once. What’s a hero supposed to do with that? That’s a serious question characters are going to have to think about when deciding how to deal with Shigaraki. His position is that of, not just the greatest challenge, but a set of the greatest challenges a hero could face. And that’s before you get into his side representing those oppressed by serious systemic issues that need to be addressed as well; quite possibly simultaneously.

No one needs to address systemic corruption or prejudice to beat AFO though. They just need to punch him real hard. The biggest challenge AFO presents the heroes is “how do we make sure this guy stops being a problem for good when neither our most secure prison, nor removing his head, did the job?”

(Personally, my answer is to have Tomura do it. Because unlike Deku, Tomura actually does have a proper antagonistic relationship with AFO, so he has reason to be the one to end him besides just being the protagonist. Plus he’s under no obligation not to kill, so there’s that.)

And like yeah, that does make AFO the easier guy to deal with, and thus write an ending around (to say nothing of how he's also the most satisfying person to see punched in the face); but does that really mean Horikoshi would want to use him instead of the more interesting option of Tomura? I mean I guess we can’t be sure, there is merit in writing the easy resolution; but I’d prefer the complex finale if I were in his shoes.

5. Horikoshi’s favourite

And lastly there’s just the issue of which of the two Horikoshi’s put more work into. Spoiler alert: it’s not the guy that spent like 200 chapters in jail being menacing every one in a while.

Tomura is by far the more developed between the two, having constantly evolved over the course of the series. And more than just as a character, as described above he’s been developed as the more threatening and challenging conflict for Deku while also reflecting him in a lot of important ways. We’ve seen the growth of his power & influence, we’ve gotten to know & understand his motives, we’ve seen how he’s been failed by heroes before. Everything about him has built him up as the ultimate villain, the most desperate victim, and overall greatest challenge for Deku and the story as a whole to face.

And AFO is...nearly one of those things. Which is pretty much what he was from his first appearance. He has not developed at all over the series, and from what we can tell from his flashbacks, he hasn’t developed at all over the past ~200 years either. (I’m half tempted to call him more inciting incident then character.) What we have with AFO, as far as a character and a villain goes, is pretty much what we’re getting until he’s done. And, well; if Tomura is a better villain & a better pick for final boss than he was then, that gap’s just going to keep growing.

Like, I doubt it really needs stating how Shigaraki is probably the character Horikoshi has put the most work into in the entire series. And a lot of that work, a lot of his development, has gone to the idea of him surpassing AFO or being a villain foil to Deku, who himself is mean to surpass All Might. For his roll to be usurped by the guy he’s meant to surpass just feels like it’s going against that. Like, it’d feel almost as wrong for his character and the story around him than it would for Deku is All Might got his powers back and took over for him as main protagonist. It just doesn’t feel right for Tomura not to be the final villain, is what I’m getting at.

6. ...One saving grace

Okay, but I will admit one thing AFO has going for him that I would be remiss not to bring up. Besides being the most hated character in a series that also has Endeavor in it, I mean. He’s got this one trait that makes him an effective antagonist to anyone in the series; his complete disregard to pretty much every major theme in the series.

I mean think about it; the major themes of Shigaraki’s circle all revolve around trying to fix the society that rejected them; but AFO believes Society just naturally sucks that way as part of human nature, so their cause is doomed. And the heroes’ major themes all revolve around how to become/what it means to be a hero; but AFO believes trying to do good in that society can’t really be done & also it’s ridiculous to believe comic books are real, so their cause is also doomed and they look stupid doing it. So despite not really interacting with anyone’s core conflict or goals in favour of wrapping them up in his own, he still manages a one-sided ideological opposition with nearly every major player in the series; and that’s not nothing.

But, and I completely understand that this is just a matter of opinion, that kind of just leaves him feeling to me like a good antagonist, not a good final antagonist. I’d still prefer it be Tomura even from this perspective, because he’s able to oppose the ideologies of his opponents on purpose & with proper ideologies of his own.

To summarize:

Shigaraki feels the better choice for final boss because he’s more threatening, more interesting, both as a person and as an opponent for Deku specifically, he’s far more directly tied into the themes of the story and their resolution, & he’s had far more set up. AFO is more hated, and his callous disregard for everything everyone else holds important is something I guess, but that’s pretty much all he’s got going for him in compression. I don’t know about you, but I know who I think would carry the conclusion to the series better.

But I also know this isn’t the most popular take among my villain fan colleagues right now. So if anyone disagrees, I welcome any civil discussion about these two & their viability as final boss.

[shinsouskitten]

Todoroki nsfw alphabet

I don’t know how many times I said Shōto is a giver who focuses on your pleasure above his own in this but it is what it is

Also I only just noticed my Dabi nsfw alphabet has been called nsfw headcanons for ages and I wanna cry

Warnings: you know the drill, if you’re not over the age, please leave my page (or read my non 18+ work)

---

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

KING of aftercare. Seriously, this man will do anything for you. He’s been training as a hero his whole life, so his stamina is pretty high, and after sex he’s ready to do anything you ask of him (the post-orgasm bliss also helps)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Now Shōto has a lot to be proud of with his body, but he’s never really thought about a part of him he likes the most. If he had to choose, he’d probably say his hands, simply because of the pleasure they give you (plus that’s the source of his quirk). On his s/o he’s also unlikely to choose, because every single part of you means so much to him

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Todoroki prefers to cum inside you as it feels the most intimate. It also means there’s less to clean up, but there is a small part of him that wants to see you painted in his cum just to know what it’s like

He takes care of his body and eats well, so his cum is on the sweeter side I really wanna know if he can control the temperature of it cause that’d be amazing

D = Dirty secret (pretty clear, a dirty secret of theirs)

I don’t know if this would class as a dirty secret, but Shōto really wants to see you masturbate in front of him. He’s the kind of person to get off on knowing his s/o is getting off, so to see you pleasing yourself is the ultimate case of that

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before you, Todoroki didn’t have much experience, likely nothing if he hasn’t been in a serious relationship, but he’s a very attentive lover, so he’ll catch on to your body’s likes and dislikes pretty quickly. The first few sessions will be a bit of hit or miss I guess they never miss huh, but after that he knows exactly where to touch you to have a whimpering mess in his hands

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Seeing your face is a must for Todoroki, so any positions where he can see you are his favorites. He loves when you ride him, cause it gives you the chance to control the speed and tempo and make sure you’re having the best time

G = Goofy (how serious are they in the moment?)

He’s pretty serious. He believes sex is an intimate thing, and he’s completely invested on making sure you have the best time possible

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps himself pretty neat, usually shaved as it just makes everything easier and cleaner okay but is it also bi-coloured? Cause that’d be really cool 

I = Intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment?)

I don’t know how many times I can say that Todoroki is a killer for intimacy during sex, but he’s a killer for intimacy during sex. You know that kinda cliched idea of having rose petals covering the bed and candles around you? Well don’t be surprised when he brings out the rose petals for your first time

J = Jack off (what are their views on masturbation?)

Shōto doesn’t have the highest sex drive, so he’s unlikely to really need to jack off, and when he does, you’re usually around him to help out. If he feels horny enough and he’s not near you, he’ll probably choose the shower as the best place to deal with himself. The water is a crappy lubricant, but being in the shower means he won't be disturbed, and it’s easy to clean up afterwards

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Temperature play is something you’ll have to convince Shōto to try, but once he sees how much you enjoy it, it becomes just a regular part of sex. Not knowing whether his hands will be cold, hot, or both keeps you constantly on the edge, and the more pleasure you have, the better Shōto feels

L = Location (favorite places to do the dance with no pants)

Traditional guy wants a traditional location, so the bedroom is his favorite. Todoroki wants you to enjoy yourself as much as possible, which means foreplay is going to last for a long time, and he doesn’t want you to get uncomfortable from lying somewhere that’s not a nice warm (or cold) bed

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going, etc)

Like I said before, Shōto lives for your pleasure, sometimes more than his own. He could think about anything remotely sexual with the straightest face, but the moment he thinks about you having fun, he’s got a not-so-little problem to deal with

N = No (turn offs, something they wouldn’t do)

He’s not willing to hurt you, and he’s certainly not willing to let anyone else touch you, so threesomes and pain play are out of the question

O = Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving? how skilled are they?)

100% prefers giving. He wants you to feel good, and the moment he learns the intimate points of you body he’s happy spending days between your legs just prolonging the pleasure

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

If you ask him to go faster, he will, but Shōto usually takes his time with you, so slow and sensual is the way to go

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies)

Quickies are a pretty easy no for Todoroki, simply because he doesn’t get to spend as much time with you as he can. If it’s absolutely necessary, he’s going to make sure you can enjoy it, and it’s not uncommon for him to give you the best damn oral you’ve ever had then leave the room without even letting you touch him

R = Risk (how risky are they willing to be?)

Shōto’s not willing to be risky with you. Not only does his status as a pro hero mean he himself can’t be caught doing some less than family friendly things, he knows the kind of blow that would be to you. Whether you’re a hero or not, his fans are a little ott, so seeing him with you might lead to some issues

S = Stamina (how long do they last? how many rounds?)

I don’t know if he ever runs out of stamina. I mean, he’s been training to be a hero since he could walk, and when he’s older, his vigorous training doesn’t stop. And given the amount of rounds he puts you through before he even thinks about himself mean you’re unlikely to find the end of his stamina

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them on a partner or themselves?)

Shōto does a lot of research into toys that will increase your pleasure, he’s just initially worried about bringing those ideas up to you in case you don’t like them

U = Unfair (how much do they tease?)

He’s unlikely to tease you to begin with, unless you ask him. If he’s teasing you, it’ll be when one of you brings up the idea of edging you, although it’s not really teasing. It’s a little frustrating being brought right to the edge and then denied that glorious release, but the build up makes it so worth it in the end

V = Volume (how they sound, how loud they are, etc)

I feel like Todoroki is a moaner. Not so loud that everyone in the world would hear him though, but quiet moans reserved for your ears and your ears alone. He also talks to you. Not like asking how the weather is, but praising you and complimenting you all the while. As for you, Shōto adores hearing your voice, and the little sounds you make when he has his way with you

W = Wild card (a random headcanon)

Ngl Shōto has had many thoughts about letting you tie him up and have your way with him, but he’s just scared to voice those ideas to you. He’s just curious to see what you’d do, and it might give him more clues as to what else you like, things he’s always looking for

X = X-ray (let’s have a looksee in those pants)

I’d say Shōto has a good 7-7.5 when fully erect. Not too thick, not too thin, and a good length - the perfect balance 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s used to keeping his urges suppressed, as they tend to just get in the way of things. When he’s in a relationship his sex drive is likely to increase, simply because he has a real reason to get worked up: you

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As I mentioned, Shōto has incredible stamina, so he’s not going to fall asleep quickly. He’ll clean you up, perhaps even run you a hot bath being the aftercare god he is, and after that, he’s happy to just cuddle with you until the both of you fall asleep

[eleanore-delphinium]

Reciprocate II (2021 version)

DISCLAIMER: Repost with additional details and edits from same title piece found in DAMIRAE ENTRIES.

But this particular one didn’t really change much as compared to the 2021 version of part 1.

Finale: Reciprocate III: The After

Reciprocate II: Damian

 In a sterile white room devoid of any color and of any indication of ownership or personalization, laid a single figure on top of a white medical bed, white sheets tucked over her sternum. The room felt bright because of the color, it was also rather lonely and rather very empty—except for the pale woman with long purple hair that laid on the bed. An empty chair on her right side and bedside tables with nothing on top, on either side of her bed. Her hands laid on her sides and her eyes closed. There was no indication of movement except for her quiet breathing.

The door opened to reveal Damian Wayne in a white button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black slacks and black dress shoes. Despite his neat outfit, his hair was a mess and his eyes were bloodshot with eyebags underneath. He looked as though he had not slept well at all—which was likely the case.

Afterall, he had not slept well since the day Raven got stabbed. There were good days and bad, now—today was a better day. He walked to the empty chair beside Raven’s right hand, his back facing the door. He sat on the chair and gazed longingly at the figure on the bed.

And he recalled what had transpired that night—the night that caused Raven’s current medical condition.

Raven had fallen and her eyes slowly fluttered close. He could tell that she was trying not to lose consciousness. Raven lifted a hand towards Damian and Garfield’s general direction making Damian wonder if she was trying to reach out to him or Garfield.

‘It had to be Garfield.’, He thought because it would not make sense if Raven was trying to reach out to him. Damian couldn’t help but feel very bitter inside. She would never choose him. She would unlikely want to hold him with her dying breath. 

At this moment the creature was distracted by Tim who was on the other side, seeing this—Damian took the opportunity to run to Raven. He took note of the footsteps that followed behind him, Garfield was right behind him as they ran toward Raven.

Her raised hand was faltering and Damian felt as though his heart was about to jump out of his throat-- out of fear.

No. You cannot close your eyes. I will not allow it! 

Damian ran faster towards Raven and as her hand fell to the ground, he finally reached her side. But her eyes had also closed, and Damian held his breath as he-- so very gently, held her in his arms.

“Raven! Raven!” He called to her frantically. “No. No. No. Don’t close your eyes, please come back, stay conscious!” His breathing was ragged, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Damian bit his lip and held his breath in a conscious manner, as he tried to calm himself, and think. He had to think.

“Raven! Oh god no.” Garfield stood hovering above Raven, and the next second he was reaching out to Raven. But Damian pulled her closer to him and gave Garfield the darkest and cruelest glare Garfield had ever seen. And Garfield froze, he took a deep breath and gulped down his fear.

“Gar…” Terra came running towards Garfield, and her eyes laid on Raven. “No, if-if she didn’t try to protect me—” Damian gave Terra the same glare Garfield received, making her unable to finish her thought. She froze in fear too.

“We have to stop her bleeding.” Damian absent-mindedly said, his voice cold, and as he scanned Raven’s wound, his eye twitched. Raven had a gaping hole on her chest, Damian did not want to think about it—but the situation was truly grim.

“How are you going to—” Garfield received another glare from Damian.

Damian was not asking or seeking their help to stop Raven’s bleeding, he had said what he had said to inform them only. He will deal with Raven’s injury, no one else is suitable.

Damian reached for something in his utility belt, and he pulled out three silver balls. His facial expression seemingly frozen in a cold and uncaring manner as he placed the one-inch sized ball strategically on her gaping wound. He placed one on top and two at the bottom, forming a triangle. It beeped and glowed a faint blue and from it came out a purple like foam.

Damian’s right eye twitched, his lips pressed together so much that his lips became pale and his brows drawn so closely together, that he looked like he would punch the next person who would touch him.

He had no choice. This was the only way to ‘plug’ Raven’s gaping hole. She was losing too much blood because of it.

Damian clenched his teeth even more, if that was even possible. He leaned Raven on his right arm as his hands clenched tightly. If he had not had gloves on, then anyone would be able to see how white his fist had become. His brows still tightly knit together, it looked painful to watch his brows like that.

And to Garfield and Terra, he looked like the scariest man on earth. They seemed to fear Damian more than the unbeatable monster that had stabbed Raven into this state.

Damian hated what he had to do. He hated that he had to plug Raven like this. He hated that he knew he had to put her down now. Now.

There was a moment of hesitance, but Damian bit his lip till it bled to keep his focus.

“We need to put Raven in a safe spot,” He said in a clipped manner as he picked Raven up in his arms in a princess carry, “Distract that thing and keep him far away from her.” He continued absent-mindedly as his eyes quickly analyzed the best spot to hide her away.

And at the same time, he recalled her injury. There were no organs that were damaged, that at least is a good thing. And he hoped and prayed-- at that same moment-- that Raven can survive this.

With Damian standing on his full length, Garfield snapped out from his frozen state and had begun to reach out for Raven once again.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Damian snarled in such an unsightly manner that Garfield remembered the initial fear Damian gave him. Terra did not feel the fear again because she was looking at Garfield with worry and realization. Terra missed to see Damian’s expression and his words did not register in her mind because she knew at that moment while looking at Garfield—that Raven and Garfield will always have history.

Of course, she knew of Raven and Garfield’s relationship and didn’t mind it. Raven was simply his past. Garfield told her that he loves her, and that he would never go back to Raven—if that was something Terra worried about. And he must have kept his word. But the years Raven and him shared was something that could never be erased. And emotions built up throughout those years was something that couldn’t be replaced so easily. To realize such a thing now of all places—

Damian had accidentally hit Terra as he started moving, cutting Terra’s thoughts. For a second her eyes laid on the boy wonder—and to her, she did not see a hero protecting or saving someone. She saw a man holding someone in a way that showed he was too afraid to hold any tighter in fear of losing her. A man refusing to blink, too afraid that it would be his last sight of her and that she would turn into dust any moment now. He held her in such a cautious manner—that it hurt to see him so forlorn like that.

That was something she thought she would never see in Damian Wayne. His body—every cell seemed to radiate a want to not let go of the woman in his arms. A conflict of holding her so tightly so he can remember how it feels to hold her and yet—still, he was a man of responsibility. Despite his desire to just be with her—he knew where he stands—the monster was still there.

Terra quickly turned, refusing to see Garfield’s expression—it was something she did not want to see right now.

“I will cover for you, Damian.” She told him firmly not waiting for a response and simply initiated her suggestion.

Damian sighed loudly in the white room, his forehead resting on his hands that was propped up on the bed beside Raven’s right hand. When they finally got to neutralize the enemy, the first thing Damian did was run to where Raven was. He was so afraid that when he got there, she would be cold and blue.

But she held on.

She held on.

He sighed again, as he turned his head that was resting on his right hand towards Raven.

He begged his father to help him keep her alive, and the first few months—God those were awful. When they arrived to have her healed, nothing was working. Whatever that creature was and what he did, messed with her. He begged his father to do anything—anything. Somehow, they found a way to stabilize her and close the gaping hole in her chest—of course every step was a struggle.

Seeing her with so many tubes and monitors, some advanced tech and some actual alien tech, hurt Damian in a way that a bullet shot could not compare. And he felt so helpless. It was probably the helplessness that hit him even worse than a bullet wound. 

Damian Wayne—son of Batman, son of Bruce Wayne, a robin—a boy wonder—an assassin at some point, still a man seen as the heir of the Demon’s Head—felt so powerless despite all the titles and honor and glory those titles held. He still felt powerless.

He held the woman he had loved for years in his arms, and had to leave her in her injured state to defend the world of the very same creature that injured her in the first place. He left her all alone in a corner—not even knowing if she would be alive when he returned. He knew that having someone guard her would be a waste of manpower. He had to think of the bigger picture—because it is his responsibility, he couldn’t put her over that. And a small part of him hates himself for it.

He had seen her struggle to survive day after day, and night after night since then. The rejection her body faced—and his selfishness, thinking—hoping that she would survive it.

And she did.

She survived everything. And most of the tubes and monitors were finally taken away. Of course, she still had an IV drip and a monitor checking her vitals, just in case. Still, it was fifteen less tubes and monitors—and doctors and scientists.

Damian reached out for Raven’s right hand with his left, his palm resting on the back of her hand. He had gotten so used to all the tubes and monitors, that the first week without them was so unfamiliar to him.

Every time he visited her, he expected the tubes and monitors to multiply and revert back to when they couldn’t seem to cure her. Up until just a few weeks ago, he expected that they would return because she would become unstable again. But it never happened. He was so thankful it never happened. He slipped his right hand under hers, his worries just seemed like paranoia.

“Raven, won’t you wake up already?” He muttered as he had gotten used to talking to himself whenever he visited her.

“I still planned to confess to you,” He chuckled emptily “Won’t you at least let me do that?” He brought her hand to his forehead. “Let me be selfish…”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door to Raven’s personal room opened, revealing Damian in his robin uniform, his mask off. He walked to her in a slightly slump manner and he took her hands on his and sighed.

“I’m sorry Raven, it appears that I can’t visit you for the unforeseeable future. Something came up.” He looked at her sleeping face sadly.

“Don’t be angry, I try to visit you every day after all, even if it’s just for a couple of minutes, but I never missed a day since you got injured.” He paused a vacant look on his face. “If you ask me, I’m pretty sure they were lenient on my lack of participation in missions recently because I looked as if I had lost a lover.” He laughed in a broken manner.

“It’s funny-- how I am reacting as if I had lost a lover—when we never really got to be together. It would be nice if you wake up—at least let me confess to you clearly. And you can put a rest to my pining.” He didn’t know why, but he felt that he had to rearrange her hair before he left and so he did.

“I will come back, I promise you.” He said as he reluctantly let go of her hand. He refused to look back as he left the room, and took his mask from his utility belt and puts it on.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door opened gently again as Damian Wayne in an all-black outfit walked in. He was in his signature black turtleneck. He had on a thin black framed eyeglass on his nose and held a book on his left hand. He had gotten used to opening the door slowly and gently, out of the fear that when he opened the door she wouldn’t be there anymore.

At first, he thought that it was an unreasonable fear, but clearly it was not. He was afraid that the time he wasn’t with her, she would have long been gone. And when he comes to visit, he would be greeted with an empty bed. And he would not be able to even say his farewells.

He closed the door even more gently—because when the door is closed this time was theirs—well his. Because she was still unconscious—still very unaware of his presence.

“Hey Raven, I brought the book I last read to you—I have enough time today to read to you just a few chapters.” He said as he walked to his position beside her. He took a seat on the chair and held her right hand with his right hand. “It would be nice if you woke up soon.” He smiled grimly, the words have started becoming something he said out of habit.

Damian gave her a little recap of what he had read to her before as he held her hand. After that, he continued where he left off, holding her hand when he wasn’t flipping through pages. He read in a slow manner; his mind more aware of the fact that her hand felt so very right against his, instead of the words he was saying aloud.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Raven was still lying unconscious in the white room, on her white bed. Everything was quiet inside.

“Damian it’s been almost eight months!” Came a voice from outside the room.

“So, what Grayson!” Yelled back the voice of Damian Wayne. He was in an argument right outside of Raven’s room with Dick Grayson, his adopted brother—also known as Nightwing.

“Are you serious Dami?” A pause. “At least let others see her!”

“By others you mean Garfield, right?” A loud bang was heard from inside the room.

“Well—shit, yes! Why won’t you let Gar see her? He has been asking about her or where she is.”

“Don’t you dare bring Garfield to see her—don’t you dare!” A furious reply from Damian as shuffling footsteps were heard.

“Look man, I get it. I really do. But Damian, you can’t just hide her away from her teammates.” Dick said in a tone of anxiousness.

“You see her too.” Was Damian’s quiet response. 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” A louder bang entered Raven’s room ending Dick’s words.

“She planned to leave anyway.” Damian said defensively. There was silence for a few seconds and a frustrated humph could be heard from outside the room.

“I—I didn’t think anyone would be able to deal with seeing her in that way—I” Damian paused. “I don’t think they’d want to see her in a coma—I thought it was for the best. I—I’m sorry Grayson, I will let them see her—but—just not Garfield, Grayson. That is all I am asking from you, just not him. He caused her enough pain.” And the door to Raven’s room opened. She still laid there asleep. Damian did not wait for Dick’s reply and he slowly closed the door behind him.

He was in a black button up polo shirt tucked into his black slacks, that was held into place by a black belt with a silver metal piece and he wore his black leather shoes. He looked tired but there was no hint of anger from what had transpired outside Raven’s bedroom.

“You must have heard our little argument, huh?” He said approaching the familiar chair he always sat on when visiting her. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep.” He continued as he sat down on the chair and took her hand in his again. “Of course, I didn’t disturb your sleep, after all you're still unconscious.” A hollow chuckle soon followed.

Damian placed the back of Raven’s hand against his forehead. “You can wake up now. Scold me for being so selfish. For not allowing Garfield to visit you. In fact, for not letting anyone else visit you aside from a select few. But—mostly Garfield. I will not allow him in here too— in this space-- so why don’t you wake up and just tell me how selfish I am.” He tilted his head to look at Raven while her hand was still pressed on the temple of his head.

But as usual there was no response, he was so used to talking to himself by now. At this point, Damian was very convinced that Raven had tried to reach out for Garfield, one last time, before she fainted. And the thought was something that caused him bitterness.

Even in her near-death, Garfield was the last in her mind.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Damian was sitting on the same chair holding Raven’s hand. Three months have passed since Damian and Dick’s heated argument outside of Raven’s bedroom. He wore a red hoodie with black pants and black shoes. This time around, for the first time, he looked less tired since this whole ordeal happened.

“It looks like you had a lot of visitors this month too.” He glanced at the flowers on both bedside tables, pictures in frames of Raven with the team and other things. Now the room seemed to have a little bit of a personality.

“I think it’s great that you have some visitors. Though I admit, I think that eventually they will come to visit less and less, so I think you should wake up soon. Everyone misses you a lot. I think the longer you stay asleep people would forget about you. Everyone you know is a hero Raven, and even though you stay asleep—we still have to defend the people. Everyone’s priorities will shift and they would have less time to see you. And because they have started settling with your absence, for sure the visits will lessen. But I promise, I will visit you every day until you wake up.” Damian placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand and he froze.

His lips hovering over her hand. He wiped the spot he kissed her at, with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I should be asking permission. I didn’t—” He stared at the back of her hand. “I’m sorry I don’t know since when I started doing that, but I’m sorry. I overstepped.” He gently placed her hand back on the bed and stood up. “Let’s see what’s in the drawers, shall we?” He muttered to himself and surveyed every nook and cranny and objects in her room, keeping a mental inventory.

“We will be starting a new book soon. I no longer keep track of the books we’ve read.” He said after finishing his inspection of the room and went to sit back on the chair and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Well—I mean I keep track of the titles but no longer itemize them…” He added quietly, he used to count them but stopped at around the fifth book because it seemed like the list would continue to grow. And seeing the number rise would just be another reminder of the fact that the days waiting for Raven to wake was stretching to impossibility.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It was a little over a year since Raven has been in her comatose state. The room felt heavy and she stirred because of it. Her breathing a little louder—a little labored. Her eyes fluttered open—her vision a blur. She saw two figures at the foot of her bed. The taller one looking at the shorter man. The shorter one was looking at her startled—he seemed to have an odd skin color. She could almost swear it was green. Raven’s eyes started to roll back to unconsciousness.

“Dick, she’s awake!” It was a familiar voice; Raven couldn’t help but think.

“What?” Dick turned to look at Raven, her eyelids slowly closing, her labored breathing slowly quieting down.

“I saw her eyes open; I swear it!” She recognized the voice as Garfield, but knowing who it was did not give her any extra motivation to fight her sleepiness.

“What the fuck is going on here!” Another familiar voice furiously entered Raven’s faltering consciousness. She wanted to wake up—to fight the tiredness she was feeling. But it was simply too late now.

The door had banged open when Damian entered. Damian was still wearing his black outer coat, his shoes dirty as he had just arrived from outside. He had no time to freshen up to visit Raven because he found out what Dick was up to.

When his eyes laid on Garfield who was looking at Raven, he wanted to rip Garfield’s head off. Damian Wayne looked like he was going to pop a vein on his neck. He glared at Dick with such open hostility that Dick was taken aback, and Garfield beside him recalled the fear Damian instilled in him that night Raven got injured.

“Her eyes opened; I saw it!” Garfield said frantically, hoping that would ease Damian’s anger. Damian stole a glance at Raven—but she was at the same state he had last seen her in.

Comatose.

“I asked you one thing, Grayson!” He growled as he slowly stomped his way to Dick whose hands were up in a ‘I surrender’ way. Damian grabbed Dick’s coat collar and pulled him close. “One thing Grayson!” He shoved Dick and pointed at Garfield.

“Look—you can’t continue denying someone who wants to visit a friend.” Dick tried to calm his brother down as he straightened his coat.

“Friend?” Damian snorted in response.

“Look, Damian I begged Dick to bring me to her.” Garfield said and he received Damian’s angry glare.

“Get. Out.” Damian simply said, he looked as though he would kill either of them any second now. For some weird reason Garfield got a little more courage at that moment, he began to open his mouth. Dick seeing Garfield’s lips open—quickly intercepted by pulling Garfield by the arm and pulling him towards the door.

“I’m sorry little D, we will talk about it outside.” Dick said as he draggedGarfield out, giving Garfield a stern look to ensure Garfield’s silence. Garfield wasn’t happy but he understood that Dick was looking out for him.

Damian stood where he was, glaring at Raven as he waited for the door to close behind Dick and Garfield. He was stiff in his spot and his fists clenched so tightly. He was still very much angry. He stood like that for five more minutes before he tried to calm himself down. His fist unclenched and his brows unfurrow.

“So—well, stop pretending then—he's gone now—so wake up.” He demanded in a low voice as he hovered beside Raven near the chair. She did not move. And Damian laughed brokenly as he fell on his knees. He reached out for her right hand absentmindedly and rested his nose on the back of her palm.

“So, it turns out you just needed him to visit you to wake up?” Damian whispered as tears fell on her hand. “So why aren’t you awake already?” He sobbed.

It was never him—she never chose him.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It had been four months since Garfield had been regularly visiting Raven, and at times he would also bring Terra with him. Damian had conceded Garfield's wish to allow him visitation rights to see Raven. Damian could not stay angry at Dick for over two weeks, and the pair reconciled, despite Dick undermining Damian’s wishes. Damian understood that Dick was looking out for him.

Damian’s family was very much worried over him since Raven’s fall. He acted more detached and unapproachable. He wasn’t sleeping well and every second he could spare he was always hovering over Raven. In fact, he slept well hunched by Raven’s bedside with Raven’s hand against his hands and forehead. Damian was even unwilling to celebrate his twenty-second birthday with Raven still unconscious. And they could see the toll it was taking on Damian.

His family knew he needed a little push to try and let Raven’s state go and pushing Damian to allow Garfield entry was the way to do it. Damian needed to move on.

But here he was again, in the white room he specifically prepared for her. Her accommodations are all arranged by him, and his visits are always a constant. But the past four months were difficult, as he was also actively avoiding having to meet Garfield when Garfield was visiting Raven.

When Damian was able to take a step back from his anger at what Dick did—he knew that his family did it to distract Damian—to keep him away from lurking around Raven. He understood it was made of good intentions. Damian reached out for Raven’s hand, a habit he has come to develop long ago.

He wore a plain white shirt with jeans. His hair was not as neat as it usually was, and there were eyebags under his eyes yet again.

“But I guess I am a man who will only love one person in their lifetime.” He muttered, placing Raven’s hand against his right cheek. “I’ve come to wonder sometimes if I am unfortunate to be such a man—or to fall for you—” he studied her face; he has memorized every detail about her. How could he not when he was here, beside her so frequently.

“I’ve come to learn that loving you is not something to be regretful about. In fact, I am rather thankful for it. But you really got me pining over you, Raven.” He sighed, his eyes not capturing even the smallest of movement from Raven. “I love you.” He whispered and brushed his lips against the skin on the back of her hand.

A week and a half after, Damian paced at the foot of Raven’s bed, very much frustrated. He paused and glared at Raven, running his hands through his head, a sign of his developing anger. He stomped towards his spot as he glared at Raven again.

His hair was a mess, his eyebags had gotten darker. His clothes that was a plain black shirt with jeans had creases, very uncharacteristic of him.

“I don’t get it!” He said, containing most of his anger. “You obviously woke up the first time Garfield visited you! Tsk, as it turns out, all you need was for him to visit you-- for you to wake up. So why did you go back to sleep!” His tone louder now and he sighed to try and dispel a little of his anger. His hand at his side clenched into balls.

Damian was seething in anger, and he exhaled and inhaled in air as if he was palpitating. Finally, the anger he had dissipated. But it was replaced by raw hopelessness, anyone who would see him in such a state, would feel their hearts knot.

“You really—really got me pining over you.” Damian said as he knelt on the floor with a hunched back as he took her right hand in between his palms. “It’s funny how you pined over someone else as I pined over you—it seems that you're making me pine over you just as long as you pined over him.”

The chair he usually sat on was across the room, toppled down. A droplet of water falls in front of Damian’s right knee.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Two months passed just like that. Raven’s friends had long since stopped visiting her as frequently as they did the first three months. Asking them to take so much time off of their busy hero life was too much to ask for. But Damian always made time for her, and at almost a year and a half the toll of doing so had fully manifested.

He looked so tired, his eye bags are in the darkest shade it had been since the accident. He looked thinner, not scarily thin, but it was obvious he had lost some weight. His clothes were as neat as it could be. His white button up shirt crisp and so is his black slacks. His black leather shoes are very shiny. He placed a lot of effort in his appearance because even he could tell that his health has waned, and he was compensating with his clothes.

When Raven was in ICU for the first three months, he was in such a bad state. When she finally got relatively cured but was in comatose, he looked better-- more relaxed. Then a little after, he had to continue with his responsibilities, particularly as a hero and somehow, he managed. The weight he had initially lost, he had regained and now he had shed perhaps even more than he did at that time.

But now at almost a year and a half of juggling hero life, personal and family life. Being with Raven almost every day since the night she got hurt. To actively avoid Garfield while Garfield was visiting and arranging his own visits to go around Garfield’s visitation, but also keeping to his schedule and preference of seeing Raven on a very regular basis. And Raven still not waking up—Damian was quite spent.

He was sitting on his chair facing Raven’s right hand. His head propped onto his hands which were propped up on his knees. He was looking at Raven’s face blankly, dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

Raven’s state was always at the forefront of his mind. And when he was on a mission, he tried to put it as a lesser priority. But when he is near to death his first thought is: If I die who will look after Raven? And so, he fights with every screaming fiber he had, even when he was in such excruciating pain. After all, he still had to see her wake up.

One would think a year and a half wasn’t really a long time—but it did not feel like it has been just over a year for Damian—it felt like he has been waiting for her to wake up for five years.

He had just realized quite recently, just exactly how much stress he had gotten due to all this. And it was taking a major toll on him. He now completely understood why his family was worried about it—about him. Hindsight after all is 20/20 and he now clearly saw exactly how concerning his state was.

There was only one solution. His eyes flickered to Raven—he had not noticed that his gaze had drifted off of her and was surprised when his eyes laid on her again. He sighed and suddenly stood up, and picked up a lock of her hair.

“Raven, your hair has grown quite a bit—it's already at waist length. I thought of having it cut—but I think that should be your decision.” He placed it back down. “If you don’t wake up any time soon—I’m afraid I would have to let you go.” He mumbled to himself as he turned around to lean on the bed and gaze at the ceiling blankly.

Two weeks after, Damian was back in her room, looking even worse. This time he was just standing beside Raven with a very empty gaze. He had been standing there in his black slacks, black dress shoes and a green button up polo shirt for fifteen minutes already.

“I give up Rae.” He looked down on the ground. His words were so soft because he was very much afraid of the implications himself. He knew he had to let her go.

“I—I don’t think I can visit you like this.” He fought the tears as he said his words a little louder. And there was nothing left to say, he just softly touched her hand for a second and pulled away and then looked at her blankly.

A month after Damian’s decision to let Raven go, he realized getting to the conclusion and acknowledging what had to be done and executing his decisions were two completely different things. He was still visiting her in the same consistency that he always had. And he knew he had to fight to break the habit that he had already formed. Seeing her was second nature to him, and he simply had to break it.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Two months after, Damian was finally able to decrease his visits. And had even met Garfield a few times and actually didn’t mind it. His visit reduction was not really significant but the fact he was able to decrease it at all, was a win for him.

He was in jeans and a red shirt, looking very casual and he looked more unbothered and not so tired. His hands in his pockets as he just stood. For the first time, he looked genuinely relaxed. His gaze at her was soft and the eyebags he had been sporting in different shades, for almost two years, were significantly less dark this time.

“I know I don’t visit often anymore—and you probably can’t tell—aside from the obvious,” A small twinkle in his eyes at the little joke. The fact that he could make a joke like that, spoke volumes of how far he had come. “You really made me pine over you for the duration you pined over Garfield. Nine years—you really made this whole thing come into full circle. You pined for him for nine years and decided to move on completely—but this happens.” He gestured at her generally.

��Now I have pined for you for the same duration, and I have decided to move on too.” He said grimly and the hint of playfulness he had prior was gone. “It really came full circle.”

He just stood to her right with a small smile. He tried his best not to stay so long to visit her nowadays. Damian found that standing was the best option in order for him not to stay longer than he intended.

Damian puts his hand atop Raven’s, he has also avoided holding her hand properly or else he’d find himself sitting on his spot and just holding her hand. He would then talk to her and the intended short visit would become like his regular visits from before.

“I have decided. I am moving on—I am letting you go.” And he pulled his hand away a little too quickly, afraid of the temptation that was the familiarity of her hand against his—or maybe it was his hand against hers. After all, it was always him holding onto her.

His head had looked away to look at the flowers on her bedside tables. He has been talking to her about visiting her less, and letting her go for a few months now. At first it was just a passing thought. But the last two months, it seemed Damian had to tell her every time he visited. He was unaware of how frequent he was telling her that. But in retrospect, he could tell now that he had been dropping hints.

It started from hints, to telling her absentmindedly, to repeatedly telling her every time he visits—until finally he was able to visit less. And because Damian turned his head, he missed the small twitch of Raven’s hand when he pulled his hand away, to look at her bedside tables.

There was silence, as he looked down and closed his eyes. He squeezed his eyes for a moment then sighed as he looked at Raven, a faint smile on his lips. He took a step back, feeling as though he was leaving his heart on this spot. He then turned feeling lonely yet strong and regretful at the same time.

When he was gone, Raven’s eyebrow twitched.

The next day when Damian decided to check on Raven’s condition, he was frozen in fear to see the scientist and doctors hovering over Raven who was attached to so many monitors and tubes.

It was like he had stepped into the time she was brought in to close up her wound. He was unfrozen when she saw her spasming. He ran towards her, as her chest lifted and she was choking, black almost slime like blood came out from her mouth and spilled from her oxygen mask.

“Sir—we need you out of the way.” A doctor pulled Damian away. “Who let this one in!” The doctor added and a nurse took Damian away, trying to console him.

“This is odd—there seems to be no traces of the compound we found last time. But her body is rejecting something.” Damian heard the doctor say, at that moment Raven’s eyes opened and her line of sight fell on Damian’s instantly. Her hand lifted slowly to his direction; her eyes wet as her face slowly turned red from the lack of oxygen. A doctor had already punctured her lungs to assist her in breathing, but black blood was oozing out from it.

“Let me, the fuck go!” Damian yelled as he strongly shoved the nurse off of him. He was normally someone who didn’t do this, but seeing Raven’s face slowly contort to fear and resignation, he actually went against the nurse. He remembered when she was in ICU for the first few months he observed quietly from the distance, but he couldn’t now.

“Raven!” He called out as he knelt on the floor and held her right hand that she had stretched out. “I promise, I will not leave you. So, you have to fight this!”

She squeezed his hand in hers as best as she could as her eyes closed and a tear slipped from her eye.

“Sir—I’m sorry but you are being a distraction.” A bulky man approached Damian, giving him no choice but to let go of Raven’s hand and put his hands up as he slowly left the room.

“She’s—I heard the subject has powers—” A person in a lab gown said, perhaps a scientist.

“Patient.” A doctor cuts off the scientist.

Before Damian was shoved out of the room, he stole a glance of Raven, her hand was glowing a faint purple black hue. And it seemed that she could breathe.

“Sir—there seems to be something appearing—” And that was the last thing Damian heard before the door was shut close in front of him.

Two weeks later Raven was finally stable but still in a coma. They were fighting with her condition for those two weeks—cross referencing and analyzing data, finding and testing out new information. And everything has now calmed down. He was only allowed entry today after the stunt that he pulled.

Damian was sitting on his chair, holding her hand. He wore a white t-shirt with many creases. His hair is a slightly better case compared to his shirt. And the outfit was complete with a plain pair of jeans and casual shoes. And to top it all off, his eyebags had become darker again.

”You really scared me. God, I forgot how afraid I was of losing you recently—you really know how to make someone remember, huh?” He muttered as he put her hand against his forehead, he was shaking a bit, as he fought his tears. And he felt her hand twitch against his—and he choked as he looked at her face.

Her eyes were still close but for the first time, he actually felt her react. In two years, she finally moved. He smiled tightly and nodded his head. He brought her hand against his lips and softly kissed her hand.

“You reached out to me that night, didn’t you?” He put her hand against his cheek as he turned his head towards her again. “You have to wake up and clarify that to me.” And he heard her loudly inhale.

For the first time in months, he finally had hope that she would wake up. “I promise you; I will wait for you to wake up. This time, I will not break this promise.”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door suddenly opened with a panic stricken Damian. He was unable to take off his outer coat and change into cleaner shoes because he heard a crash from generally where Raven’s room was located, on the second floor, when he had just entered the building. 

“Raven!” He called out his fear practically at the base of his throat.

When he heard the loud crash, he feared for the worst. His eyes at first saw an empty bed, and his heart almost jumped out of his chest. The vase on her right bedside table with flowers had shattered on the floor. He quickly searched for Raven, and exhaled deeply when he spotted her at the foot of her bed. She was holding onto her bed with great difficulty. Her eyes observed Damian wearily.

He approached her, thinking that maybe this was a dream.

“Raven.” He whispered when he was two feet away, her violet eyes did not show any recognition at seeing Damian. He picked her up and carried her in his arms, and despite not recognizing him at first, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Damian.” She whispered and he squeezed him back. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, as he carried her back to her bed. He set her down gently as he pulled away, she grabbed his right hand.

“It feels so perfect.” She gently told him, and Damian was startled by her words. A smile slowly formed and he found himself chuckling.

“I’ve been here almost every day, holding your hand. Maybe your hand molded into mine—” He shook his head. "Or maybe the other way around.”

“I—my memory is kind of fuzzy,” Raven said as she laid back in bed. “But I know you, I remember you. I heard you so often. It became scary when you weren’t there.” Her eyes started to flutter, she seemed a little bit too tired. But she continued to hold his hand until she fully fell into slumber, to which her grip loosened.

Damian took the opportunity to call the doctors and scientist to inform them of her condition.

When she awoke again the doctors, scientists and Damian were talking.

  ~.~.~.~.~

 A month after, Raven was already walking by herself inside her room. She started walking around the villa quite recently. But she has not been able to walk outside yet. She found that once the door to go outside the villa was opened, her knees would buckle. So, for the past month she was mostly roaming indoors.

She had found out that this was one of Bruce Wayne’s properties, and Damian had asked for the property. Damian was someone who would never ask anything of anyone if he could do it himself, so it was surprising to everyone that Damian had asked for this villa. And because of that Bruce granted Damian the property, if not for that, in the very least to give Damian some peace of mind. At least then Damian would know Raven had a place to stay and would not be kicked out if he so much as vanished.

She also found out that Damian did not spare any expense in her recuperation and that her situation was quite odd. The creature’s origin could not be quite narrowed down, thus its effects on her were up on the air. But that was where the doctors and scientists and all the tech was for, alien tech included. With the collective resources provided, they were able to make something to assist Raven’s condition.

“Raven, I think you should really try to get out.” Damian said as he walked in. He looked so happy seeing her, just standing by the window gazing out. She turned her head to smile at him.

He looked better—in fact the happiest and relaxed he had ever been in two years. His clothes were pressed well, it was a casual attire, and he had no hint of any kind of weariness. No more eyebags, and his eyes no longer looked so dead.

“If you go with me, I can try.” She responded, she had not seen him in two weeks due to his busy schedule, with the team and talking to her doctors and scientists. Him learning and relearning everything about her condition since she got attacked, and he also had family matters, he didn’t really have time to be with Raven recently and she understood.

She kept herself busy by building her physical strength through walking within the walls of Damian’s villa. She also used the time to comb through her thoughts.

“Okay.” He agreed as he offered her his right hand and she accepted it with both her hands. Until now he couldn’t believe that she was awake.

“I really thought I was dreaming when you woke up a month ago.” He confessed again as he sighed and led her to the door.

“I’m here. Everything is still a bit fuzzy. But I know you—I trust you. Your Damian.” Raven responded unhurriedly as she placed a hand on his arm.

Fifteen minutes later, Damian came in with Raven in his arms weeping.

“I—I can’t… it—it…” And she wept.

“I’m sorry, we will take it step by step. I will be here if you ever want to try and go outside.” He comforted her as he placed her on her bed. She nodded as he wiped away her tears.

“I thought I was going to die—” She sobbed. “There was something I wanted to do… I don’t—” Another sob, “I don’t recall what.”

He held her hands and then she suddenly froze on the spot. She looked at him in the eyes, and she blinked as the tears fell. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

And this time it was his time to freeze on the spot. Raven pulled her hands away from his, and she placed her fingertips on either side of his face.

“I was afraid that I didn’t have enough time with you. I wanted to know you more.” Her vision seemed to go back to that night. “I wanted to be with you.” She absent-mindedly brushed her lips against his. And when the pressure registered in her brain, she pulled away, an apology at the tip of her tongue.

Raven was surprised to feel an even heavier pressure against her lips. And she returned the kiss as well as deepened it. She noted how she was reacting very naturally over the situation, and how inexperienced Damian was. And she pulled away.

“Is this your first kiss?” She asked him. And he looked away with a small blush on his face.

“It’s—I’m very inexperienced with dating…” He admitted, and she observed him as she wiped her tears.

“I’m assuming, I have dated before.” She replied impartially. 

“Yes, Garfield.” He responded blankly, and when the name came off Damian’s mouth, he saw her expression soften. His eye twitched as he looked away. He suddenly felt her hands against his, making him turn to look at her again.

“Gar… field…” She muttered, his hand clenching at the way she called his name. “Was he the only one I dated?” Damian nodded in response.

“I see…” She said with furrowed brows. “My head is aching a bit. I think I should rest…” Raven lets go of Damian’s hands.

“Can we try going outside again tomorrow?” Damian was pulled out from his reverie with the inquiry, surprise in his eyes.

“Of course, I would love that.” She smiled at his response.

“Can you—” She looked at him hesitatingly. “Can you hold my hand when we do?”

He was even more shocked to hear those words, and he smiled as he placed a hand on her cheek. “Of course, Raven.”

“I would like to date you, Damian.” Raven stared at Damian, who just pulled his hand away from her cheek and straightened his posture as he looked away.

“Your memory isn’t like what it was Raven, I think it’s too early to say that.” His response wasn’t something she enjoyed but Raven pressed her lips together and did not push him.

She didn’t recall her love for Garfield at the moment and assuming she would choose Damian when she does recall, would  be too much of wishful thinking on Damian's part.

~.~.~.~.~

 The sun was setting and the white room was filled with an orange hue from the setting sun outside. Raven and Damian had just arrived from walking outside. This time around she was able to stay outside longer without having flashbacks of the night she got stabbed. It was great progress. But she always held Damian as if he was the only remaining lifeboat in an open, turbulent ocean.

Damian and Raven were continuing a pleasant conversation they had outside in her bedroom, when suddenly the door opened.

“Raven!” Garfield came in with such a relieved look on his face, his eyes expectant as he searched for her. Damian and Raven’s happy conversation grew stale as they turned their head to the door.

“Raven!” He called out again when his eyes landed on her but Raven remained in place. “Of course, you wouldn’t tell me she is awake!” Garfield added with a glare to Damian, whose head was casted down.

“Tsk, Greyson.” He muttered, Greyson right behind Garfield but was hidden from Damian’s line of sight. Despite Damian’s head casted down, he took note of Raven’s reaction.

She was still, she stood in place, but Damian could tell, she was so close to running to Garfield and hugging him. And all Damian could do was squeeze his eyes shut, as he inhaled softly while clenching his fists.

Seeing Garfield, Raven felt like her soul from inside her was vibrating with excitement. And yet, at the same time it felt as though a thin layer of frost blanketed her entire body, and it was enough to render her frozen. Despite her deep desire to hug Garfield, her feet were so heavily planted on the floor, that she didn’t even move an inch. Her breathing was shallow and unhurriedly soft, and she just focused on that.

The days had passed so pleasantly after Raven woke up that Damian had thought that he had a place in her heart. But seeing her like this, he knew—Garfield still outweighs him.

“Get out.” Raven said, to which Damian snapped his head to Raven’s direction, who had simply turned her back and walked to the window. “All of you.”

Damian wanted to say something, his fists curling and uncurling by his sides, but he saw her stiff figure with crossed arms as she stubbornly looked outside. He was the last to leave.

He came back a few hours later, to see Raven sitting by the windowsill looking outside.

“He hasn’t left has he?” She whispered hoarsely not looking at who entered. Damian shook his head as he replied, even though she would not see it.

“His downstairs, hoping you’d at least see him.” He got no response, but she tilted her head.

“I didn’t see him leave.” She muttered vacantly.

“I’m here to convince you to eat dinner.” And Raven turned to look at him, a frown on her face.

“Okay,” She sighed. “But you are eating with me.”

Damian was startled at hearing this, a second passed before the words sunk in.

“Alright.” He blinked at her.

“Here.” She added and he told her that he would be back, as he left for a moment to get them their dinner.

When he arrived with food, they sat on a pub table that was added a little after Raven woke up. It could only sit two people, and it was made of some nice honey brown wood. The cushions of the chair are red and its frame is made of the same wood as the table. It was rather small for two people, but they made do.

Raven was vacantly playing with her food while Damian observed her with a frown. He had not yet scolded her for not eating, as he was giving her just a little more time.

With a sigh she said, “It’s odd, when I saw him, it felt like I just realized the world was a puzzle with missing pieces, and his presence just made all the missing pieces appear on it’s designated places. He was familiar, he was someone I knew—love, maybe even… but something didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t want to approach him. And I didn’t want him to approach me.” Damian just listened as she said her piece. 

The two were enveloped in a tranquility that evidently belonged to them, and them alone. They felt secured in each other’s presence and there was no response needed.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It took Raven three days to be able to even meet Garfield. The sun was setting, and from Raven’s window, one could see Raven talking with Garfield. They were sitting on a bench facing the sunset, their backs facing the window in Raven’s room.

So, it was a given that the two did not see Damian observing them from the window. He did not look upset nor joyful with the scene he was seeing. But once Garfield placed a hand on Raven’s hand, and she tilted her head a bit towards Garfield, you could see Damian’s face slowly turn into unpleasantness.

When the minutes passed, and Garfield nor Raven had not pulled away from one another, his face contorted to wanting to storm out from Raven’s room to standing still and just holding his breath—just hoping and wishing—that she had not chosen Garfield.

But the minutes continued to pass, and Garfield’s hand continued to rest on Raven’s hand. And Raven glanced at him with a smile forming on her lips. And Damian couldn’t help but think that despite Raven having difficulties in leaving the building with him, if it was Garfield with her—of course it would be easier for her to be outside with him-- with Garfield.

And Raven started closing in on the space between her and Garfield, and Damian did not want to see that. So, he turned around quickly, and he stood with his back against them, as he flexed his fists, and sighed. He had hurried to see her; he had gone through the garage so he was unable to see them in the yard. Once he got into her room, and she wasn’t there, Damian absentmindedly walked to the window. That was when he saw her and Garfield together on a bench, looking like lovers.

He wondered how long he stood by the window looking at them. He closed his eyes and sighed again, by the end of the day it was never him. He walked to the door without looking back.

A few days later, Raven is pacing her room anxiously. She had not seen Damian in days, she worried he saw her and Garfield the other day and that was why he was nowhere to be seen. But she wanted to explain to him what he had seen wasn’t what he thought. She had to tell him.

And she could feel the panic go up onto her throat. She sat on her bed, facing the door. She had refused to step out of her room after she talked to Garfield—not without Damian. She could not find the strength to go out of her room after her chat with Garfield.

Raven buried her hands on her face as the tears started to stream from her eyes. All she could see under her closed eyes, was the time—that night, when she reached out for Damian. The pain when that black spike hit her sternum.

She recalled her desire to be with Damian, but right now she felt it so very intensely that she was afraid. She was so afraid that she had lost that chance. And the door opened, and in an instant she was up on her feet with wide eyes. Seeing that it was Damian, she sobbed as she ran towards Damian and tackled him with a hug.

He was startled and it took a moment for him to realize that she was hugging him so tightly. He gently returned her hug.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back. I was so scared.” She wept on the nook of his shoulder, her feet not even touching the floor.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” He replied softly, and tightened his hold on her as he set her down a bit so that she could touch the floor. They stood like that for a moment.

Raven eventually pulled away and tried to collect her bearings. She wiped her tears and looked at Damian in the eyes. On the other hand, he was wishing she hadn’t pulled away-- maybe that was the only time he could hold her like that. And she reached for his hands and it felt so right.

“When Gar came, and guided me outside, I couldn’t find the strength to step through the door. All I could think about was that I need you. I need you to hold my hand as I step outside. While that night kept flashing through my mind. But he held my hand—and it felt so familiar. And all my fears just vanished.” She looked down on their feet. “And I found myself outside—with him.” There was guilt in her face and on the tone of her voice. And Damian honestly did not want to hear what she had to say next. But she held his hands tighter, making him decide to just keep quiet. A small smile formed on her lips as tears fell and splatter on the floor.

“I forgot the time I was injured, till the time before he held my hands. It felt like I could breathe again.” Damian’s right eye twitched, he wondered what was her point. She suddenly flicked her head to look at him, and he was startled.

“He will always be someone that matters to me, we will always have history. I have loved him for nine years, we shared so many memories—so many firsts. But I do not want to be with him. I want to be with you. And I know I am asking a lot, but if all these don't bother you—I would love it, if you would date me.” But she was greeted with silence. “I want you. I want to be with you.” She softly added, her confidence fading.

“I don’t mind.” He said so softly, but Raven didn’t hear it.

“If that is an issue for you, then I completely understand.” She continued on.

“I don’t mind.” He repeated.

“I know it’s been two years, and that there must have been someone you became interested in. Or maybe you’ve even dated a bit. I know we don’t talk about it, but I get that—” She squeezed her eyes, her tone ready to break in a sob.

“Raven, I want to be with you.” He cupped her cheek and tilted her head towards him. She looked at him with the slightest hint of distrust. “I’ve always wanted to be with you—I waited for you.” He said, being able to say those words felt like such a relief to Damian. And the tears started falling from Raven’s eyes as the distrust was washed away.

“I almost gave up, I admit that.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her anymore. She cupped both of his cheeks.

“If I were in your place, even I would waver.” She told him, trying to catch his dodging eyes. When she finally was able to lock her eyes with his, she added. “Garfield will always have some meaning to me—his all I have known for nine years, even before sleeping for two years—my history with him is half of my life. I was afraid. I thought he was the only one who could possibly love someone like me—I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. I want my next memories and moments-- with you. And slowly those memories I had, and my history with him, will just be a fraction of my life. I want you. I want every possible milestone with you, Damian.”

He slowly nodded, and when Raven’s eyes registered the nod, he couldn’t help but smile and chuckle. But she looked like she was going to cry out of happiness and disbelieve. This time she has chosen him.

“I never thought this day would happen.” He leaned in to rest his forehead against hers, and a soft smile formed on her lips. And they shared the moment in silence. After a while, Damian talks.

“I was afraid to ask, or open up about this, especially since you were still recuperating—and your memories are fuzzy. But who would have thought you would catch me by surprise and open up the topic yourself?” Raven took the opportunity to plant a kiss on his lips, and he conservatively kissed back to which she deepened the kiss. And she pulled away recalling Damian’s inexperience last time.

“We will take it step by step. I might still remember more about Garfield, and I might get a little confused. But remind me that I chose you since that night.” She leaned her forehead against his, eyes locked with one another. Damian’s eyes flickered with surprise and the confirmation that she chose him that night, made his eyes soften with the acknowledgement. He caressed her face with his thumb.

“I finally caught up to you.” He whispered, a giggle bubbling up on the base of Raven’s throat.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 A few months later, the white sterile room was no longer white nor empty. Raven had flipped the room with Damian’s help and approval. Its walls were now a soft lilac color. The room’s furniture was either accented with white, glass or silver metals. And the ceiling was littered with little crystals, that once the lights were off, would illuminate like stars in different colors. The medical bed swapped for a king sized bed. Her sheets were navy blue and white.

“Raven, are you ready?” Damian’s voice came from outside her open door. She turned in her white fitted dress with the thinnest spaghetti straps. Her long hair that passed her waist was tied into a fishtail braid.

“Of course!” She replied happily, as she ran towards the door, and tackled Damian with a hug and giggled.

“Excited for our brunch?” He teased.

“Absolutely!” She replied without missing a second.

Later that night they were in her bedroom. Damian sat on her bed and she was kneeling over his lap. Raven’s hair slowly unravelling from its braid. Their lips have been intertwined with one another for minutes now. He had one hand on her waist and the other on her thigh, a bit too afraid to rest it on her bum. While her hands were on his neck and on his chest.

Raven broke off the kiss, and started kissing his neck.

“If we’re going too fast, you can tell me.” She muttered in between kisses. But when she did not hear any response, she pulled away to look at him.

“I know Garfield and I had a lot of firsts together, if that bothers you…” Damian broke away from his dazed state and looked at her questioningly.

“I admit, at first it did,” His eyes followed his hand as it traveled from her thigh to her waist which he caressed. “Thinking of how he knows how to please you…” He looked back at her conflicted eyes. “But that just means I have to learn how to please you my way. You two were together for so long—it would be a given that I’m not your first. That is alright. But you are mine.” He admitted a small blush on his face. And she smiled as she kissed his eye and trailed kisses to his jawline. He was being brought back to his dazed state.

“I feel honored.” She whispered in between her kisses. And she playfully bit his ear after. Damian was startled and grabbed her butt and she gasped.

“Then I will take the lead then.” She whispered alluringly by his ear, as her hands travelled under his shirt. Her braid was completely undone at this point, soft black wavy waist length hair cascading  down her head.

 FIN.

 Bonus Scene:

Garfield and Raven were outside on the yard and they had been talking for hours that the sun had finally begun to set.

“You know, when I woke up, I couldn’t find myself to walk out of my room. Eventually, I was able to overcome it. But I found that it was so difficult to step outside the villa. All I could see was that night and being stabbed, and the last person I saw.” Raven confessed and Garfield placed a hand on hers to comfort her.

“But Damian was there, he guided me and stayed with me as we walked outside.” A small smile on her lips. “I always held him like I was in open water and he was the lifeboat. I was afraid of losing him. I mean, I still am. I still hold him so tightly, because I’m afraid that it would be my last chance with him. I thought I was going to die that night, Gar.”

“But when you offered your hand and held me, after you said you knew of my condition—my fear outside.” She glanced at the open area. “I forgot how afraid I was of going outside. It was like my fears these few months were nothing but a phantom. You were always associated with love and happy memories for me. But you and I both know, Gar, we were imperfect. We were destructive. We had become unhappy together for a very long time.” And she glanced at him fully.

“I want to say goodbye.” She finally said, and Garfield looked at her gently as Raven extended her arms to hug him. “I want to start a new romance—with Damian.” She whispered as they embraced one another.

“I wish you two happiness.” Garfield said as he pulled away.

“Yes, thank you.” She looked back at Damian’s villa. “I was so afraid I would lose him, I still do now, it's why I always hold him tightly whenever we go outside.” She looked back at the sunset that was facing them.

“I held on because of him—I’m sure it was him, I could feel his hand and hear him every now and then, until all I knew was his presence.” She mumbled mostly to herself.

 Alternate (timeline) Ending:

 Damian was asleep on the table, and had woken up with a jolt, all teary eyed.

“Damian, what’s wrong?” Raven said as she approached the table.

“I had a dream, you got injured and you were in a coma.” He replied. And he tells her what happened in his dream.

 Alternate’s Alternate Ending: (Reciprocate timeline)

 “I had a dream, you got injured and you were in a coma.” He replied as Raven sat down beside him. She gently places a hand on his, as she smiles softly.

“Damian, that did happen.” She replied unhurriedly.

[the-crows-typist]

Finally, we arrive at the fifth and final installment of our Valentine’s Event and closing with Cater Diamond paired with the word ‘Sunset’ which was requested by my good friend @twistinghearts​​. Please enjoy this, albeit, very late gift.

CW: Slow burn, OOC, minor mention of forced labor themes (in passing), minor mention of death (in flashbacks), mentions of blood, and Angst and Comfort under the cut. Please proceed with caution.

Word count: 6384

Other works: Chocolates Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd, Kiss Feat Vil, Flowers Feat. Kalim

A Heart From Me To You

A Diamond shines in different angles, in different light. It was sought after and cherished by those around him. Like the jewel his family was named after, Cater Diamond was one such person sought after by many. His skin smooth as silk, eyes teasing and bright like emeralds, and hair the shined in the sun like amber. He was a beautiful man.

“My diamond, come here.”

His lips pressed into a straight line in a moment, hesitant but readied. His green eyes look up to the aristocrat with a smile, the red birthmark on his cheek brushed by oiled fingers made a shiver rise up his spine.

“Look at me, darling. Smile at me.”  

Cater waited for the disgust to leave and his eyes to flutter closed.  What should have been a shared kiss became the swift plunge of a sword through the back, its tip barely grazing the beauty's skin with red droplets.

The clank of metal, the barking of orders; knights and guards rampaged the room in droves with arms taking him and pulling him down to the ground onto his knees. “Halt.” Came the voice of the attacker, your blade oozing at the tip as the fallen aristocrat crumples to the floor with labored breath.

Heavy footsteps come along, your eyes scanning the area of any more potential threats. Your step on the dying aristocrat on your way in yet you never regarded them with an apology, instead opting to look to the doll, to Cater.

“State your name.” You say, voice oozing with authority “What is your affiliation with this pig?” And like the namesake, the aristocrat squealed under your heavy foot. Even with the air of authority, your voice brought him a sense of calm. Freedom.

“Cater Diamond…”

There were murmurs, whispers, and looks towards him in awe, in surprise…In pity.

“Diamond?” Whispered one of the guards to another. “A jewel family?”

“That poor thing, I can’t bear to think about what has happened to those before him.”

“We can’t leave him here.” Said one of your comrades, Sebek. “This is no place for him to stay.”

“Bring him with us.” You turned to leave the room, sheathing your bloodied blade and making sure to step over the dying socialite again on your way out.

"And the pig?" Asked one of the knights who lightly kicked them in the face with a steel-toed boot.

“Do what is needed.” A cruel line brought on cruel laughter, Cater was pushed away from the room sparing him the cruelty of the knights in question. Though deep down, the diamond would have loved to see every second of it.

The trumpets sound in song at the return of the knights; Malleus Draconia, the ruling monarch, descended from his throne, and just as you had been taught and trained you knelt before him. "Your highness, we have returned safely.”

“Stand up dear one, remove your helmet.” Said the king whose fingers delicately held your helmet like a father giving affection to his child. You do so under his command, removing it to reveal your battle-torn face and with a flick of his finger and gentle caress, your wounds disappeared like dust to the wind.

“I do not doubt your abilities one bit,” He says, holding your chin and inspecting your face for any scratches he may have missed. All your life, you were taught to be the kingdom’s shield, its protector, its hero no matter what the task may be. Yet, when the Draconia family took to the throne things had become more different. “But you must be less careless.”

“It is only right that I do what I am told.”

Under a veiled sigh, he commanded you with the tone of a king. “Tell me what has been done.”

“We have eradicated one of the North’s primary figureheads and dealt surrounding the kingdom, they will no longer be a threat to us,” There was a moment of hesitation in your voice, remembering what might have been had you come in a second too late. Malleus’s eyes that shined with life could have cracked and dulled right in front of you. “We also found a doll and was able to safely remove them with no resistance.”

There was a time when those in power cast a reign of fear and greed on those they were meant to protect and a sick practice was born out of the treacherous tar of corruption.

It made Malleus’ stomach crawl knowing how many families were separated and made to kowtow to the needs and of those in power, forced to take up precious jewels as their names as a way to strip them of their identity, their humanity, their being. 

“And what of the scoundrel?”

"Squealed like a pig and died like one."

A cruel punishment meant for a cruel creature, the king nods his head sagely. “Good. And what of the doll?”

“He is currently resting in the private quarters we have provided. His name is Cater, born from the Diamond family.”

“Diamond…” His heart sinks and eyes closed, your eyes looking down to your feet when the air changed. Malleus shook his head “To think they still exist, those poor souls.”

His hand rests on your shoulder, rubbing it lightly. “Rest easy, dear one. I will request for your audience soon.”

You bow your head, sweaty soaked hair framing your face. “Thank you, your highness.”

As he gazed from the window of the small room, Cater's hands pressed against the warm glass while the sun began to set on the horizon casting an orange hue towards him. In his old room, the windows were small and high above him, only ever depositing rain or frost.

Here, however, he sees everything. From the bustling streets below to the laughs of children and adults alike. This world was warm as the orange hues of the setting sun, he liked it. His hand slid down the glass with a squeak, his mind going back to you the moment you killed the aristocrat that was coming onto him.

Even if the conversation was brief, your voice was gentle and soft, unlike the barking guards the encompassed you and held him down. If it were possible, he wanted to meet you, to speak to you again, to thank you for what you did.

A soft knock on the door and a small man emerged from behind the heavy door, his uneven hair revealed bits and pieces of magenta red that matched his playful yet worn eyes.  

“Greetings, your name is Cater Diamond correct?”

“Yes, um. Who are you?”

“Ah,” The smaller mind held a hand to his chest. “My apologies, dear one. I am Lilia Vanrouge, the royal advisor to the king.”

Cater’s body froze as scrambled to get to his knees. “F-forgive me, I—!”

“There is no need for that. A polite curtsey will do next time.”

“I came here to discuss something with you, Mr. Diamond. Please, stand up and sit on a proper chair. Though the weather is pleasant, the night brings a very bad chill to the floor, you might freeze if you continue like that!" Lilia pats his shoulder and lets out his hand for the beautiful man to take and hold.

When Cater sits down on the bed, Lilia pulls out a chair and begins to speak not long after he is seated comfortably. “As you know, the kingdom you once knew as home—.”

“That place is not my home.”

Eyes of fuchsia widen at his sudden outburst. “It was a prison and I don’t want to go back there. Ever.” His hands ball in his lap through the small giggling fits of the advisor “Then that settles one concern, on to the next.” Lilia says with a laugh, his hands on his hips and eyes narrowed to a teasing glance. “Tell me, Cater, where do you want to live from now on?”

With grunts, you hurled your ax over a block of wood and easily split it in half, adding itself to a large pile. It had been days since your last conversation with the King and you were only biding your time until your next assignment.

Your home was a comfortably small cottage near the foot of the forest isolated from the townspeople with a nice dining room that bled into the living room and the second floor being a neat storage of items to the cellar where you kept your food. Life within it was slow and boring, and you were fine with that.

You wouldn’t call your life boring nor would call your life adventurous either. It was all about duty, you were trained to be a knight, fought like a knight, and bore the pain of being so. As extreme as it may sound, you knew you deserved this life. You were born for it.

Out of habit, you pull your gloves tighter against your fingers.

Tightening your grip against the handle, you pulled it out with a huff and inspecting the sharp edge for any damage.

“It seems that you are stocked to the brim.”

Silver stands before you in comfortable attire, he had been a sort of brother-classmate as you grew together. He stood up for you as you did for him, he meant a lot to you despite the long time you were apart. "The nights get colder each passing day." You say, setting the ax down onto the ground. "I just want to be ready."

“Do you need some help carrying this inside?" Inquired the silver-haired man.

“Please.”

Inside the cottage, Silver nodded off against the warmth of the fireplace even after you set a mug of tea next to him. "Any reason you came to visit me, Silver?" The charred wood crackled against the flames that cast a comfortable orange into the room, like warm miniature sunset. In a few minutes, Silver regained his bearings; shaking his head to rid himself of the sleeping spell put over him.

Even years after he was hit by it, there had been no progress to remove it.

“I heard you came back from the North." He said. "I just wanted to know if you were doing alright. That place…" He drawled off, eyes hanging halfway down. "That place hasn't changed one bit." You say, holding the warm mug to your hand. "The winters are still perilous and the frost remains where it last sat on."

Silver hums, head lolling about, and with a sigh you stand up from your seat. Taking a blanket, you drape it over the Silver to allow him to get comfortable. Sitting back down, you try to focus on the sound of crackling fire against the cold winds that blew against your window.

By the time you awoke, Silver was already gone and the warm rays of the morning sun seeped through frosted windows, the fire long put out and now cold from water and sand. Pushing yourself off the chair, the blanket slipped off your body.

Opening the door, you were met by a world unhindered by snow. Green spread where frost would bite, birds would sing where the wind would whistle, and warmth where the unforgiving cold would settle. A carriage would soon stumble on the horizon, the royal family's insignia shining like gold. Malleus and Lilia disembark, their feet protected with layers of flowers and dewed grass.

“Your Majesty.” You say as you bow.

“It is good to see you, dear one.” The king stated, regarding you with a smile. “Lift your head for me.”

Behind him, Lilia helps down another person from the cart. Hair as bright as amber, eyes twinkling like emeralds, and lips as pink as rose quartz. Cater Diamond stood behind the royal advisor unsure of what to do but admire the scenery before him, his bare feet fiddling with the grass under him.

“What brings his majesty to this part of the kingdom?” Malleus’ hand touches your head, like a father consoling his child.

“Your final assignment.”

You didn’t know what to feel even after Malleus dropped off Cater at your home. All your life, you were taught to be a knight…And yet,

"You've done many great things for this kingdom, dear one. You are a great knight and a great leader, I am prideful of that…”

You could still feel the weight of his hand atop your head.

“But it is time that you finally found peace and through this final assignment, I hope to see that to fruition. Take care of Cater for he has chosen you as his home.”

Even with the kind words spoken onto you by the King, you feel as though you have failed in your duties as a knight. It was no wonder Silver decided to visit you, he was coming to see if you were ready for what was to come.

That one, really, ever a worrywart for his friends.

“Um, I’ll set my things here.”

Cater’s footsteps were tittering, gentle and unsure as he set a single sketchbook and pencil down onto the table. “Feel free.” You say and sit down near the fireplace. His grumbling stomach cut your thoughts, his fingers fumbling and then it hit you; your pantry was empty after you’ve been away for so long. Grimacing, you let out a sigh and starched the back of your head. You weren’t able to go on a supply run…

“…There’s a bakery not too far from here,” You say suddenly. “I can get something for you there so please make yourself at—.”

“Can I go with you?”

You didn’t answer for a moment prompting Cater to further explain with fidgeting fingers. “I was never allowed to roam outside of my room s-so I want to see the world, the Valley of Thorns! At least to an extent I can copy.” Cater holds up his sketchbook again, a warm yet sheepish smile on his lips.

Something within you popped like warm water against ice, fizzling through your body and without another word, you nodded your head at his request. “I’ll lend you my shoes, the dirt path is painful to walk on.”

You set some treats on the counter before you while Cater sat and watched the activity from a bench outside. “Oh, you’re usually alone when visiting. Who’s he?” Asked the shopkeeper, collecting the coins you set from your satchel.

"He's…Someone I've begun living with."

“Oho, I see. Well, you look like you’re in the age to begin that stage of life.”

“What, no. I—.”

Chatter echoed from beyond the glass door, a sizeable crowd gathering to Cater as he sketches the face of a woman before him. “No need to be shy about it, dear one.” He sets a few more bags of bread yet declines the offer for more coins.

“You have been a good customer since your arrival here and it doesn’t hurt to buy something extra. Besides, I’ve been wanting to try this combination out. Stewed meat in bread sounds pretty good, don’t you think?”

His smile wrinkled his face in glee against the sounds of amazement as he showed the portrait to her.

“I’ll be sure to let him taste it. Thank you very much, shopkeeper.”

“Anytime.” He winked, “You got yourself a keeper, there, dear one! Don’t let him run away.”

Shaking your head, you pushed the door open and see Cater smiling at the crowd with his sketchpad to his chest. You think back to when you first found him, how dreary he looked before he was brought to the valley.

He looked beautiful.

“Cater, let’s go.”

Emerald eyes look your way and his smile grew even larger as he got up from his seat. “Okay!” He bid farewell to his following, walking with you side by side.

“You leave the fire going through the night?” Cater asked, munching on some bread lined with melted goat’s cheese. “The valley gets cold so it’s best to keep warm as much as possible.” You add more wood to the fire and settle on the chair adjacent to it with Cater sitting across from you.

“The people here are very nice.” He said, setting down the bread on his lap. “A curious bunch, those lot.” You say while fishing out some foods from your satchel and stumbling upon the special wrapped bread handed to you by the shopkeeper. “It’s not every day they get to see someone new.”

“Is the valley that inaccessible?”

“For now, at least. His Majesty is looking for ways to open the kingdom by constructing roads leading out. Though it will take some time before it can be finished and used.” Taking it out of its packaging, you set the special bread on a heating pan above the fire carefully with a pair of long tongs.

“What’s that?” The doll asked, eyes twinkling in curiosity. “It smells good.”

“It’s a special bread from the shop. Give me a few minutes to properly warm it.”

He nods his head and waits patiently as you set the heated bread onto a plate and handing it to him. "I get to eat all of it?" He asked and you nodded your head still poised at looking into his green eyes that shined with life. "The shopkeeper wanted you to have it."

A moment of hesitance and Cater took a bite, what could only be described as pure happiness came rushing down his face in a flurry of pleased sounds as he began to eat more than his cheeks could hold. In your state of panic, you quickly got up from your seat and quick to run for a mug of water.

“Slowly now,” You say. “You’ll choke yourself if you eat so quickly.”

He drank his fill, cheek tinted red from choking and glee. Upon returning the mug, Cater wiped his lips that were swollen from the spice of the meat. "It's good." He says, holding the bread up to eat. "It's very good. Try it!"

The bread was shoved into your mouth, the spice of chili made your insides churn with burning flames. The diamond laughs at your reaction, his hair framing his face and the looming fire casting a glow of yellow as if under the light of a looming sunset.

“Do you ever explore the forest around your home?”

The fire was no longer lit and the two of you opted to spend the day out in an empty brush of grass where you continued to chop wood until your hands began to ache. "It's only when I look for herbs that I do." You reply, Cater's hand fiddling with a charcoal pencil and old-looking parchment.

It had only been a few days and this assignment was proving to be difficult for you to adjust to. Given Cater’s disposition to being isolated for long, he had the yearning to walk around and explore his new world while you would rather chop wood and wait for time to pass.

The both of you were total opposites.

“Oh,”

His eyes were downcast, pencil poking dots onto the paper absentmindedly. You look to your ax then to the large pile of wood you had created…Perhaps this will last you through a few nights. “There is one place I like to go to. It will take a few minutes to find.”

“What is it?”

You offer your hand for him to take, lifting him from his sitting position. “You will find out when we get there.” You say and with a few adjustments to your comfortable clothes, the both of you set off towards the forest clearing near your cottage. “Do we have to hold hands?” Cater asked and for a moment, your grip faltered almost to loosening.

“You’re not accustomed to the forest so I thought it was best to do so as a precaution.”

Cater smiles, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’m teasing. It’s nice to hold hands.”

The silence lasts a few but long seconds and you keep going. Past a fork and through the logs, Cater’s hold on your hands never left nor did his presence disappear. A pang of indescribable warmth settles on your chest, you look to Cater again whose eyes look the canvas of green over with wonder.

“There aren’t many trees like this back there. You’ll only see a blanket of white. Does it snow here?”

“Only a few flakes if we’re lucky. The snow gathers more north of the valley.” The both of you ascend towards your destination, the ground acting like stairs. “Perhaps, when it’s possible to acquire a horse for personal use I can take you there.”

Cater’s hand tightens against your gloved ones.

“…I’d like that.”

With one last step, the warm winds of the valley blow against you as you approach a cliff bearing down the landscape of your home and Cater’s. When the wind had settled, you begin to speak. “I come here to get some peace and quiet whenever the town’s noise gets too much for me to handle.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You let Cater move on his own, taking a few steps to look at the sea of green and bright pastel before him. He turns to you, a blush of excitement on his face. “Can I draw this? “

“You don’t need to ask, just do whatever you like.”

Blades clashed, labored breathes, the smell of death lingers through the cold. Your armor feels heavy and your hands are worn. Your opponent attempts to swing at you yet your movements are precise, your blade quick and deadly as it pierced and plunged through the armor like melted butter.

Your body burned against the cold and frost did little to cool your warm and labored breathing. The horns of a distant song blast softly into your ears, the roar of a dragon whose flames green like envy never quelled against the permafrost.

Horses rounded the perimeter, the horns of a tall man come into view. Malleus’ glowing eyes looked to yours in a glance, his royal guards outnumber you easily and push you to your knees and arms spread out.

“Your majesty.” Said one of the guards, Silver hair peeking from his helmet. “Their hand…”’

The winds beyond the cliff became a comfortable breeze and the afternoon sun began its descent into the earth, the trees hiss like rain and branches groan softly. Cater’s sleeping form lay motionless next to you, his sketchbook set between you.

Curiosity peaked and you took it into your hands, flipping through sketch after sketch. From sketches of the townsfolk to the cliff beyond…

“Hm?”

But one stood out. A sketch of you, your face is worn and sweat dripping from your chin. Your body was hunched as if you had been delivered a blow from above yet it was the eyes that hit you the most. It held meaning, a sort of peace. ‘The King Knight’ it was titled.

“Do you like it? “

Cater pushed himself up, yawning and stretching his limbs. “You had a good pose while you were chopping wood so…”

“Is this how you see me, Cater? As kind?”

"Well, you rescued me, didn't you? I think that's enough to say that you are kind."

You give him back his sketchbook and stand up. You help Cater up, his leg going limp. “Ahaha…My leg fell asleep, how embarrassing.” Your actions were sudden, going to your knees for him to hop onto your back. “O-oh, um…I might be heavy.”

“I’ve carried many people while in full armor. It’s alright.”

And soon, the both of you descent the steps carefully with Cater resting on your back and arms wrapped around your neck. “I was just doing the right thing. Anyone would have helped you in that situation.”

“And many people opt not to. You’re kind, knight. You really are.”

The sun sets over the horizon, allowing the dark colors of the night to seep through on your way back to the cottage.

The horse-drawn carriage stopped within the lush greenery of the Vanrouge estate, Lilia smiling as you and Cater disembark with the help of the horseman.

“Welcome, both of you.”

“This place is huge!” the former doll exclaims, his voice echoing through the large hallway. “Is this the treatment of the King’s favorite?” He turns to you suddenly, wrapping his arm around your neck and your eyes go wide in embarrassment. “N-no, it’s just…”

Over the months since Cater came under your care, the two of you grew closer and closer each passing day. What was once a very shy and confused doll became lively and bright, like the sunset the both of you came to enjoy together by each other’s side.

He had become important to you, very important.

“My son used to be in the same class as them in the past, they have remained connected long after," Lilia explains, walking up to them while Cater greets with a curtsy.

You couldn't say much about your own growth but you were sure that Cater was adjusting greatly to life within the valley. Being able to see the sunsets with him after a day’s worth of shopping was enough for you.

You tug at your gloves out of habit.

"Your son?" Cater wondered Lilia's magenta eyes narrowed in the same teasing glance. “Oh, you think I’m not a father Mr. Diamond? I’m older than I look, you know.”

Cater shrinks back earning a biting laugh from him.

“I merely jest, dear one. Silver is not my son by blood, I found him as a babe a decade ago during my own excursion in the North.” The royal advisor opened the large mahogany door with ease as if it were made of clay. “He’s been living with me ever since.”

“…Was he a doll too?”

Lilia was silent at that moment, stopping just short of where his son was sleeping comfortably on a chair that sat before an intricate-looking coffee table. Cater gulped, opening his mouth to apologize only for Lilia to chuckle with eyes distant in remembrance.

“From the Goshenite family. Not that it matters now, though. Silver is my own and he always will be.”

The small man walks over to his son, shaking him awake sleeping spell. A discolored mark shows itself against Silver’s neck, the birthmark of a doll. Silver stutters awake, looking at Lilia who smiles at him from above.

Cater touched his cheek, feeling for the mark against his fingers. “Goshenite…How come I’ve never seen him.”

“Some dolls were not kept in castles but put in battlefields.” You explain while Silver slowly stood up, rubbing his eyes while Lilia holds his arm to steady him. “Silver was rescued before he was put out but they couldn’t easily break what he had already learned.”

Cater watches Silver smile, the warm morning sunlight highlighting his features almost making him and his birthmark glow.

“So he was made a guard here, in the estate? In hopes that it would break the teachings.”

Father and son hold hands, Silver’s eyes rising upon seeing you. A friend he came to cherish. You tug your gloves before Silver embraces you.

The picnic by the pond was both boring and contently, you and Silver staying behind on the mat while Lilia and Silver had their fun by the water. “He seems to be having fun.” Said the former doll, his eyes slowly blinking. In your hand was a sweet drink, the citrusy aftertaste bringing a sigh of relief to your warm body.

“He is.”

The long hours spent at your leisure was something you had to slowly get used to, from going shopping with Cater to enjoying the sunsets with him just outside your small cottage. You hear Cater laugh when Lilia splashed some water at his son, soaking his hair into a messy mop. “What about you?”

Tugging your gloves, you look to the horizon of lush green fields tended by Lilia’s help. “I can’t say much. It has been a time since I’ve held a shield, much less a sword. To just hold a drink like this feels so different to me but…It feels good to just sit down, I think.”

Cater huffs a small laugh, leaning onto your shoulder. “You’re so talkative now.” A hand is brought to his hair, his form melting to yours when you massaged his scalp. “I always talk to you.”

“But this is different.”

You hear a scream of thrill on the horizon, Lilia had been pulled to the ground soaked with water. The worrying attendants ready with towels but hesitant to approach in fear Lilia would pull them in as well.

Slowly, your hands intertwine with his as he rests against your shoulder, comfortable to take a nap. The sun’s afternoon rays make Cater shine, his emerald eyes shine brilliantly as he looks to you hiding beneath the shade, his birthmark a stark red against his cheek. He was beautiful. A pang of heat burned in your chest, a heat you could not describe.

While Lilia and Silver changed out of their wet attire and Silver had collapsed back into the couch because of his sleeping spell, you stood by the door of the estate and watched the sun turn orange as it descended the sky.

“There you are, and here I thought you left without saying goodbye.”

Lilia joined you in your leisure gazing towards the sky, from within his oversized coat he pulled out a pack of cigars, offering you one until you refuse. “Cater never leaves your side at all, does he?”

You tug at your gloves again. "Cater enjoys being outside so having him visit this place is a treat for him. He enjoys you and Silver’s company, even if he doesn’t show it.”

“I don’t doubt his sincerity, Cater is lively and a treat to be around. It’s a vast difference from when we first met all those months ago.” The cigar is lit and the general takes a whiff, letting smoke puff from his mouth. He offers you one which you decline politely.

"I will be honest with you, dear one, I did not expect you to accept Malleus' assignment." The cigar hung off his fingers, the ash falling to the ground little by little. "Then again, I never thought I'd be taking care of a child with all that I've done."

You tug at your gloves just as he takes another whiff. “Dear one, does Cater know?”

“No.”

“Will you tell him?” Your gloves cut into the skin between your fingers in one sharp pull.

“…He doesn’t need to know.”

Through his nose, Lilia sighed the smoke out. “Then perhaps I should do that same. It took a long time for Silver to finally calm down, I do not want to see him suffer.” The sunset shines a bright orange over the horizon and you knew well that Cater would be watching.

Lilia’s damp hair rustled when the wind picked up, his nose taking in the fresh breeze. Magenta eyes look down to the ground. “I cannot help but think I have awoken a flame that will continue to burn me for as long as I live.”

He smiles at you suddenly, broken and vulnerable. “Perhaps the permafrost had numbed you from your burns, dear one.”

“I’m not burning.”

Lilia continued to smile, taking a swig of a cigar and enjoying the sunset in silence by your side.

The fire crackled yet you couldn't sleep, the wind had ceased and the bitter winter turned into a breeze of the evening air. Cater slept peacefully across you, his hair pushed behind his ear carefully by your fingers; leather against soft skin. You stare at his birthmark for a moment, noticing how pale it had become since his arrival.

“Perhaps the permafrost had numbed you from your own flames, dear one.”

You sit back, allowing yourself warmth against the fire next to you. It had only been months since you took up the assignment given to you personally by the king, yet you felt as if you lived your whole life with Cater. It was peaceful, so different from the day you met.

You remember the path you took and the fights that needed to be fought to achieve your mission. You remember the soldiers who blocked your path, the birthmarks on their skin.

White iridescent, Opal.

Cloudy green, Jade.

Dull and vibrant browns and black, Rutile.

You remember a young soldier, their movements sloppy and readable. Their breath labored and hold soft, it was an easy battle.

“Padparadscha…”

They whispered before crumpling to the ground, their wounds far too great to be healed or ignored. Their helmet loosened, a round blue birthmark on the back of their neck. Sapphire.

“Padparadscha…!” A hand holds your ankle, a bloody hand reaching out to you.

How long had it been since you were called that?

Your moment of hesitance was cut by another sword that put the poor soldier out of their misery. Sebek looked to you, taking your hand. “We have a mission to finish. We can’t stop here.” And you were pulled away quickly.

The fire crackled next to you, the flames licking at your skin. You wonder if that doll had a family waiting for them to come home, you wondered if all of them did…Even Cater. Even dolls had people to return to, had people they cherished. Had promises, had love, maybe even a twisted sense of happiness…

And you destroyed that; a pain hit you from the bottom up threatening to release itself from your throat. You discard your gloves into the fire, the marks against worn hands popping out the more you look.

Cater's murmurs rang through you, his hand reaches over for yours. He was gentle with you no matter what. He brings your hand closer to his face, the presence of you close brought him peace. The heat from below began to bubble again, molten against your skin.

With all you’ve done, with all you’ve killed…Why did he choose to stay with you?

“I’m burning.” You lean close to Cater, throat hoarse from silenced sobs. “I’m burning.”

Cater once thought he could never sleep an entire night through, not with the sounds his ears could hear nor the silhouettes those perceptive eyes of his picked up in the night. He never thought he could walk around his room nor see beyond the high window that only brought in rain or frost.

He never thought he would see the world before him with someone by his side. From the rise in the east and its fall in the west. He spent every peaceful second with you, and he enjoyed it. He loved it. He loved…You.

“Where are you?”

Getting off his resting place, Cater opened the door to an empty space, and with feet tickled by grass he ran; ran through the forest with wind wild against his hair. The frost wasn’t there to mist against his mouth nor was the snow a detractor for his speed.

The trees filed past like green walls and the sun peaked through the cracks, acting as a compass. You were his freedom, his life.

He loved you.

“Where are you?”

In a flurry of leaves and wind, Cater’s breath stilled at the vast stretch of land that bore green and brown. The valley of thorns’ domain was a nest of life, a warmth from the cold. The wind picks up, the flurry of birds rising higher with the wind current.

“Cater?”

In the flurry of feathers, Cater’s green eyes stared into yours, swollen and red. He bound towards you, pulling you into an embrace and sighing into your shoulder; your hands come up around his waist returning the embrace. “What are you doing out here? It’s too early.”

“You weren’t in the cottage.”

“You could have waited.”

He tightened his hug, burying his head into your neck while rubbing smooth circles around his back. The wind blew wildly at your faces. "Why did you choose me, Cater? Of all the places to choose as your home.”

“You’re kind.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Cater,”

“Stop lying to yourself.” He begged. “If you weren’t kind, you wouldn’t have helped me.”

You sigh, pulling away. “Do you really think a person like me can be kind after what I’ve done?” You raise your hands, your birthmark a bright red against your skin; like a bloodstain that will never go away. "I am a doll of the battlefield, Cater. I was born to do it. I am a doll born to take lives, I am Padparadscha.”

“I don’t care!” He leans his weight on you, your back thumping against a tree trunk. “I don’t care what jewel you are, you’re my home!!”

He pushes you again, thumping the wood “I don’t care what you did before, you were forced to do it, you didn’t like any of it and shows!”

“You’re not a doll anymore, you’re human, you’re my home.”

Fingers loosely pull your clothes, Cater’s nose on your shoulder with breath shaky. “…I know it is because when I look at you, I can feel. It—.” He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in. “And—and when I look at you, I’m home.”

“Please, I don’t want that to go away Padparadscha.”

Your hands move again, raising to card through Cater's amber hair. "…Would you like to stay here a while longer and watch the sunset?"

Cater nods his head, the both of you sliding down and let time do its course, the sun slowly inching down towards the earth with the sky bleeding yellow and purple. His thumb brushes over your birthmark and your fingers intertwine.

“Cater?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

He nuzzled into you, his beautiful features highlighted against the sun. No matter where he was, his beauty resonated with you. The beautiful man leaned in, lips brushing to yours in a kiss. 

“Thank you.”

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 3: Oath-Breaker

Sorry for taking so much longer than I thought I would! But I hope it was worth the wait! Please let me know what you think- your comments are seriously what keeps me going. love you all sm ❤︎

word count: 4108

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

It was fresh, and completely unmistakable. Within the past few hours, Lorcan Salvaterre had passed by Mistward, heading for the sea.

Rowan immediately swooped low, following the scent to where it meandered over the forest floor, his heart pounding in his chest. The trail skirted around the edge of Mistward’s perimeter, following a path that was just out of their sightline, but close enough that in the morning, the scouts would find it immediately.

It almost felt like a message.

Rowan shifted in mid-air, landing hard on his heels and already drawing the wind towards him from all directions, searching for anything, any whisper of a dark form, flitting between the oaks, quick as a shadow –

But there was nothing. Only the memory.

Rowan began to run, following the trail westward. Even though Lorcan had passed through these trees barely a few hours ago, the wind couldn’t sense him. He was already gone, miles and miles ahead. Out of the reach of Rowan’s wind.

As the trail solidified before him, Rowan’s stride lengthened, his footing becoming more sure with each step. And he longed to be able to shift again, to use the wind to propel him over the land.

He could fly so much faster than he could run, but then he risked losing the scent – a chance he could not take. So instead Rowan dug his feet into the earth, tearing through the forest mists. A predator on the hunt.

Only one thought in his head.

Why in rutting hell was Lorcan Salvaterre trying to get his attention?

···

Fenrys wasn’t there when she found out.

He was out on a run, hunting through the forests around Doranelle. Chasing down after whispers of the forest-spirits. He knew they were here: the elemental beings, as ancient as the very stones and mountains and valleys. Older than history – than time itself.

Fenrys would hear them in the night – sounds of crashing rock and tearing metal, the felling of trees when no wind blew. Still fighting their ancient wars, either uncaring or ignorant of the affairs of lesser beings. But Fenrys had never seen them, nor did he know of anyone who had.

Every now and again, he would glance a fairy or two. One of the Little Folk, going about their little-great-deeds. But it was never when he was looking for them.

It was something he and Connall used to do as young ones – charge through the forest, hunting for fairies. For the heroes of the tales their mother would tell them, over glasses of sweet fruit juice on lazy summer afternoons. Stories of battles and warriors and the hidden magic of the land. To this day, Fenrys didn’t know whether the stories were true, or if she had made them up herself.

He knew it was only purposeless distraction, and one that he would likely pay for when he returned. But he just had no idea how much.

So no, Fenrys wasn’t in the palace when Maeve found out.

But Connall was.

···

The trail was nearly a straight shot through the woods, barely deviating for trees and boulders. Lorcan was really hauling ass. And as he drew closer and closer to the coastline, and the little market town that was waiting for him there, Rowan felt his suspicions begin to grow.

It was nearing evening when Rowan finally began to hear little signs of approaching civilization – the neighing of horses, the soft thumps of an axe chopping wood. But the trail pushed on, breaching the edges of the trees, following over the cobbles through the market, out towards the end of the main street, until it came to a stop. Right at the end of the long wooden dock.

Rowan stood at the brink, right where the path met the sea. And he could feel fury coiling in his gut.

Lorcan had left. And Rowan thought he might be able to guess where his former commander was headed. But before he decided anything, before he made a plan, he needed to be absolutely sure.

Rowan turned on his heels, headed back into the village. His cloak was pulled high over his head, hiding much of his face. He let his body fall into a slump, hiding its powerful shape. Evening was coming on, and if he kept his movements sloppy and wide, he could be just another traveler, coming to wet his throat with watered-down ale.

Outside the pub, a young maid was lighting the lamps, her hair neat and apron clean. When she looked up at him, Rowan caught the glint of sharp eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t even need to go inside the tavern.

“Hello miss,” Rowan said, ever so slightly shifting his accent, letting the words fall from his mouth like marbles. “Might you be able to tell me where I could hire passage on a ship?”

Her face twisted shrewdly, and she gave him a quick once over as she straightened and said, “Depends on where you’re goin’. And how much coin you’ve got t’ spend.”

Rowan nodded, making sure to keep his clothes hidden with the cloak, knowing that an accidental glint of silver from one of his hidden blades might be enough for her to call for help from inside the tavern. And that last thing he wanted was trouble. “When was your last ship headed for Adarlan? And when will you be expecting the next one? It doesn’t have to be fast, or comfortable.”

Her expression tightened, but she answered reasonably enough. “We get a fair few ships headed to the western continent this time o’ year – the sheep’ve just been shorn and ships head that a-way bearing wool to trade for furs from the north, and steel from the south. I’m pretty sure we had a ship go through this morning.”

“And the next?” Rowan prompted, his expression schooled into neutrality.

“If you ask around the dockyards, I’m sure you might find another ship headin’ that way – once the tide comes in. And if not, then I’m sure there’ll be another come tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Rowan slipped the girl a coin. “By chance, you didn’t catch another traveler come through here today, heading the same direction – asking questions? Tall, dark hair, harsh look?”

The shrewd look fell into a scowl. “Maybe. Either way, my answer’ll cost more’n just a copper.”

Rowan slipped her another couple of coins, and she pocketed them. But her scowl didn’t soften.

“I might’ve seen your man. Came through around mid-morning, in a massive rush. Massive man, at that. Huge. Musta been six, nearly seven feet? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man that tall. And he nearly knocked me over coming in the pub to ask after passage to Rifthold. Kept his face covered though, so I couldn’t be sure.”

Rowan nodded again, but before the maid could turn to leave, he asked, “Oh – and do you happen to know a place where I could send a letter?”

“If you give it to me, I can get it to my mother and she’ll give it to the courier when he comes ‘round in the mornin’. You gonna come in for a pint?”

The maid held open the door, and Rowan followed her in, thinking it much easier to just go along with the girl, and far too wrapped up in his thoughts to come up with a polite refusal that wouldn’t leave her even more suspicious than she already was.

The tavern wasn’t bustling, but it was far from empty either. A few farmers sat at a table in the far corner, enjoying a few beers after a long day’s work, while a few younger boys, perhaps their sons, were laughing and joking across the room. There were a few other individuals – travelers like himself, or people who lived and worked in the village. But the majority of the bar was filled with sailors – teasing and joking and climbing all over each other, celebrating their last night on dry ground for many weeks to come.

Rowan headed for a quiet corner, flagging down the waitress and settling onto a creaky wooden bench. He ordered some bread and ale, which she had brought over in mere seconds, and he began to pick at it mindlessly.

There could be no doubt. Lorcan was heading for Adarlan, for Rifthold. For Aelin.

Maeve had sent him to go after Aelin. And she had ordered him to pass by Mistward, Mistward specifically, so that Rowan would be drawn into the conflict. Maybe they were planning on using him to get to Aelin, to follow him in order to find her.

The question was, why only Lorcan? Where were the twins? Gavriel? Vaughan? Would they follow Lorcan? Were they already headed for Adarlan?

Rationally, Rowan knew that Aelin was safe. That she was still somewhere in the middle of the ocean, on her way to Rifthold. But it took all of his self-control to keep himself from shifting right there, in the middle of this tavern filled with mortals, and fly out into the ocean skies to find her.

What really worried him was the idea that he would get there too late. That even if he got on a ship right at that moment, he would get to Rifthold after she had already been found, taken, overwhelmed. The idea that there were already forces there, waiting to seize her.

And no matter what, Lorcan would arrive in Rifthold hours or days before Rowan would be able to, and well before Aelin could read any letter he sent. Not that he even knew where he could send a letter. All he knew was that she used to own a hidden apartment in the slums, and that for the past six months, she had lived in a stone tower in the castle.

It seemed unlikely that she would return to either. Both were compromised, the castle being an obviously insane choice. Unless of course she had something hidden up her sleeve that she had kept from Rowan. Which felt distinctly possible. And Arobynn had to know about the apartment. She had nowhere safe to go, and Rowan had nowhere safe he could send a warning.

So the only way he would be able to tell her about Lorcan would be to go there himself. To break his oath.

Rowan knew that he could, and without much difficulty at that. But it still felt wrong – a violation of trust. If he left Wendlyn without being told to by Aelin, he would be going against her wishes. He would be taking advantage, both of the flexibility of their bond and of her trust in him.

And it definitely didn’t make things any easier that he so desperately wanted to leave in the first place. It felt like he was exploiting the opportunity to be close to her again, no matter how rationally necessary it might be. And there was a chance that she might not forgive him for it.

But no matter how much that might sting, he couldn’t live through following her requests to the letter, and Aelin dying because of it.

So, Lorcan was headed for Rifthold. And soon, Rowan would be heading there as well.

Rowan tore into the bread, newly reinvigorated. He didn’t see any reason to return to Mistward, there wasn’t anything there worth sacrificing another day for. But he did feel bad about leaving without any notice. Deserting Emrys and Malakai, and…Luca.

So as he ate, Rowan dug out a piece of paper from his pack and began to write.

Emrys,

I’m sorry. Something came up. Tell Luca to remember to practice swings off his left side just as much as his right, I don’t care if they hurt more.

When I see her, I’ll tell her you say hello.

Then he folded up the paper and sealed it, leaving it unmarked. Hopefully, even if someone – such as that suspicious maid – opened the letter to see what it said, what he wrote would be meaningless.

He spent the rest of the evening listening to the sailors’ conversation, until he heard mention of a crew headed for Rifthold. The barmaid hadn’t lied – it was a ship bearing crates of wool heading to Adarlan to trade for steel. This was their last night ashore, and they were setting sail sometime in the early morning, just before the tide shifted.

So Rowan waited a few minutes more, then left the waitress his fee, gave the maid his letter, and walked out into the lamplit village, his jaw squared and his shoulders set. Determined.

···

Fenrys returned to broken furniture. Splintered wood and broken glass. Twisted metal and shattered stone. That was the first thing he noticed.

The second thing he noticed was the silence. It stretched its fingers through the walls and corridors and archways, until it brushed through to his skin. Until it was the only touch he could feel.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Where there should be sound.

The third thing he noticed was the bodies. Their touch was even colder than the quiet. There was no red, no black. None of the usual gory signs of death. Just nothing. An absence.

Fenrys worked his way through the wreckage, his hands empty of feeling, his heart a stone in his chest. His intestines resting somewhere near his toes.

Until he reached their rooms, and found Connall in a dark huddle across the sea of space, and he was still breathing and it felt like Fenrys could breathe again too, but then Connall spoke and sound returned to the world, “Why did he leave? Why did he leave us?” and his voice was so full of fear that Fenrys felt tears sprout from his eyes like wings.

“Who?” Fenrys asked. “Who, Con? What happened?”

But then the palace stones began to thunder, and the questions that had seemed so important only a moment ago fell from his mind on a scattered breeze.

···

Rowan flitted into a dark alleyway around the back of the tavern, and once he was sure there was no one there to see, he shifted into his hawk and flew out over the small village.

From his eavesdropping earlier, he had learned that the ship headed for Rifthold was an old galleon vessel near the edge of the docks, bearing white and yellow flags. It had a large enough cargo bay that hopefully Rowan would be able to find a place to stow away, but wasn’t so large that the journey would take even longer than it should. Which was already far, far too long for his liking.

Rowan circled high above the ship a few times, making sure that he appeared as nothing more than just another sea bird, hunting for its dinner. Although most of the crew, including the captain and first mate, appeared to be drinking away their pay on the floor of the tavern in the village, the ship wasn’t completely empty.

His winds told him that at least three men were asleep below decks, their rumbling snores echoing through the wooden beams. But a few lamps still shone, and with their light Rowan could see a few flickering shadows just beneath the upper deck that made him think not all of the sailors were yet asleep.

So Rowan would have to be extremely careful in making his approach.

He waited for long minutes for those lights to vanish, and shadows to disappear. And the second they did Rowan was sailing down among the rigging, twisting and turning around the sails and masts until he could be absolutely sure that there weren’t any watchful eyes to mark his presence.

Then Rowan was swooping down into the maze of rooms below decks, making sure to avoid the various sleeping quarters, kitchens, and officers’ cabins. Heading towards the hold at the very bottom of the ship in as straight of a path as he could.

Rowan found a dark corner behind a case of flour and barrel of barley, and then shifted back into his Fae form. Once they passed the halfway mark between Adarlan and Wendlyn, magic would stop working, and he wouldn’t be able to move between forms. He had to find a place he could hide in during the day that was large enough for his Fae body. A task far easier said than done.

A ship like this had a crew in the dozens, and quarters were cramped all to hell. Every piece of available space was used, from every corner to closet and even the toilets. Only the captain would have room to stretch his legs, and even then, it was barely by a few feet. Nothing like the space he would need in order to not attract attention.

Rowan looked over the hold once again, scanning for anything that could possibly be large enough. Then he nearly huffed a laugh when he realized exactly what he needed to do.

···

When morning came, Rowan was crammed into a wooden case lined with wool. The back panel carefully pried out and its nails removed, but then leaned carefully back into place to allow him a quick exit. And the majority of the wool was now taking a trip down the coastline.

He had spent an hour or so that night carefully removing armfuls of the fiber and tossing it overboard, using his wind to propel it from the shipyard and out to sea, leaving only just enough room for himself. It was crammed, scratchy, uncomfortable, and smelled like sheep dung, but it would do.

Now, as the ship slowly meandered its way through the reef and out into open ocean, with the occasional shouts and curses of the sailors toiling above, Rowan had nothing to do but think.

For the next month.

It might just be the longest month of his life. At least he couldn’t complain about not having enough time to plan.

Aelin certainly would have a strategy, and by the time he reached her, she would have been working away at it for nearly two weeks. And while he could only guess at her aims, he knew that when he reached her, he would do whatever he could to help her reach those goals.

The question was, should he reach her at all?

Rowan knew he needed to warn her about Lorcan, but once he was actually in Rifthold, that could be done in many ways – not just by contacting her in person. And deep in his bones, Rowan knew that Lorcan had dragged him here on purpose. That the male had wanted him to follow, to pursue. There were faster ways to travel from Doranelle to the sea than to go by Mistward.

So wouldn’t it be playing right into Lorcan’s hands to join up with Aelin? Giving him exactly what he wanted?

Lorcan wasn’t familiar enough with Aelin’s scent, nor with the city of Rifthold, to track her down by himself. He would be digging in the dark – except for the trail that Rowan would give him, as easily as handing over their lives like so much coin.

Perhaps Rowan could go to Rifthold, warn Aelin anonymously, and track down Lorcan by himself. And the faster he rid himself of his former commander, the sooner Rowan would be able to reunite with his Queen.

The pain of that future made him physically flinch.

And it wasn’t only the idea of being in the same city, or even just on the same continent, as Aelin and not being beside her. It was the thought of Lorcan, Lorcan, his commander of nearly three centuries, someone he had almost once thought of as a brother, or even a friend, Lorcan, as someone he needed to dispose of.

Someone who was his enemy.

It was a heavy, uncomfortable weight. It felt strange, and wrong, to have someone he had so trusted become such a dangerous enemy. No matter how necessary he knew it might be, Rowan couldn’t really think of killing him.

It would be like destroying a part of himself, an old part, but a necessary one.

Without Lorcan, he wouldn’t have become the person he was today, wouldn’t know the things he knew, or understand what he now did. About war and sacrifice and leadership and teaching.

Lorcan had been a pillar in his life when he needed one. And while Rowan hadn’t loved him, he had respected him.

And now they were enemies.

Rowan scowled, the crate somehow becoming even more uncomfortable.

What he did know was how Lorcan worked, how he operated. If Rowan did decided to reunite with Aelin, then he would have to keep his distance. Because Lorcan was expert at finding pressure points, and using them to his advantage.

Lorcan already knew that Aelin had turned Rowan away from Maeve, knew that Rowan had chosen her over his oath, over his life.

Idiot. He was such an idiot when it came to her.

If Lorcan found out that there was anything more, that there were other, deeper feelings –

No, Rowan could keep his distance. He could keep those thoughts under control because he had to. Not only because they did no good, but because they might get Aelin killed. Or worse, captured and taken back to Maeve.

But Rowan knew that he wouldn’t be able to deal with Lorcan without her – that he wouldn’t be able to return to Rifthold without reuniting with her. No matter how much easier it might be to keep her safe if he stayed away.

The only thing that was keeping him sane was the thought that at the end of this journey through hell, stuffed in this tiny rutting box that smelled like dung, unable to lay down properly for weeks, was an image of Aelin’s face. Even if she wasn’t happy to see him, even if she didn’t forgive him breaking his oath.

For the first time in weeks, he was heading towards her, instead of away.

So Rowan curled up and turned on his side, and tried to get some sleep, as the shouts of the sailors above him faded into the rising dawn.

···

Across Wendlyn, Emrys was stirring a large pot of rabbit stew, listening to the potatoes crackling as they fried on the stove. It was a lot of work, feeding this many people each and every day. But Emrys loved it, caring for this large family of his. Making sure they were all fed. Taking in strays.

Aelin Galathynius had been such a stray, and he couldn’t say that he didn’t miss her. But he knew that she was where she was meant to be, doing what she was meant to do. No matter what that prince said, or how much he tried to hide, Emrys knew that Aelin had survived her encounter with Maeve, that they both had escaped. Together. And now she’d moved on to other – perhaps even greater – foes.

Even when she was all the way across the ocean Emrys was worried about her.

The old male just sighed, then shuffled over to the counter to begin chopping scallions to add to the stew.

But before he could start, he was interrupted by the afternoon courier, bearing a letter for him – of all people.

Emrys wiped his hands off on his apron, and took the letter from the boy’s fingers. It was unmarked, but the paper was old and worn. As if it had lived in someone’s saddlebags for some time.

Emrys ripped it open, then read through it. Unable to keep a smile off his face.

That scoundrel.

He began to untie his apron, then headed out of the kitchen to go find Luca. Emrys couldn’t really find it in himself to be disappointed in the prince, even if he had abandoned them. Had left Luca with his grief and his guilt.

The boy had finally told him and Malakai about what had happened, and they had talked and cried together into the wee hours of the morning. Even so, Emrys had really hoped that Rowan might be there to help Luca through that grief. He knew that Luca had too.

But it was not to be. Perhaps they might see each other again, in years to come. Perhaps Rowan might even be their king one day.

Emrys almost wanted to laugh. He could already see the scowl that would twist Malakai’s face when he told him the news. Rowan, gone off to chase the future. Leaving them to tend to this little piece of the present.

When Emrys told Luca what was in the letter, the boy smiled too.

···

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[thevindicativevordan]

My Superfamily Set-Up

By and large I’m fairly happy with the upcoming Infinite Frontier status quo for the Superfamily. Granted that’s in part because I’m still convinced Kara will get an ongoing or mini in 2021, probably to coincide with her show returning, and PKJ hinted at plans for Steel on Twitter. But Kon has escaped the Titans dumpsterfire for a little while, and I’ve heard good things about Thompson as a writer as well. Kenan is popping back up in a one shot written by Yang that will hopefully herald more appearances in Batman/Superman. Jon is still co-protagonist with Clark in the main books, Tanya is in the Future State Shazam book and also a candidate for the FS Justice League book, so hopefully she’ll be in Titans Academy, and Lois is poised to be a big player in the upcoming Checkmate mini by Bendis. So fingers crossed, all the core members of the Superfamily will be in stuff come end of 2021.

Now that said, were DC to suddenly realize that I alone can save Superman, and asked me what kind of status quo I would like (whether for a mainline or Elseworld book makes no difference to me), this is the basic set up that I would go with:

Superman - I’d do a traditional status quo. Superman is disguised as Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter, married to Lois Lane, etc. I’d have Ma and Pa go back to being dead since I still am not a fan of them being alive. Note that this isn’t a reaction against Bendis, I loved Bendis’ run, but I do want to play with the traditional status quo a little bit before diving into something different. Especially since so many Superman writers have traditionally completely wasted the potential of Superman’s status quo.

Lois Lane - Similar to Superman I’d go with a more traditional status quo at the start. She works at the Daily Planet, she and Clark are married, she’s the best reporter in town, etc. I would eventually have her take over as editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet from Perry, I thought that was a great idea the New 52 wasted, and I love the idea of her and Cat Grant being rivals with the Daily Planet and Catco competing. 

Jon Kent - I’d restore kid Jon and toss him back to the Super Sons, not because I think what’s been done with him has been bad, but mostly because I don’t want to write him as Superman, I want to write Clark. Jon seems to be being set up to be co-Superman, and I just don’t have any interest in writing that. To restore kid Jon without destroying Bendis’ run which I enjoyed, I’d explain that teen Jon is actually the “evil” Jon we saw from the Super Sons of Tomorrow future. He went back in time and rescued his kid self from Earth 3, and explained to him that he wanted to prevent that future from coming to pass, but that he needed to take his younger self’s place to do so. Kid Jon agreed, after all he was terrified of becoming evil in both Tomasi’s Super Sons of Tomorrow and Bendis The Man of Steel, and has basically been in hiding watching the events and also studying Hypertime so he can learn how to avoid ending up evil. 

Clark and Lois would blow up at the Jons for the lie when Teen Jon judges he’s changed things enough for his kid self to return, but both Jons could point out that both Clark and Lois have kept secrets when they deemed it necessary from each other and Jon. That would be a neat conversation to have, and a way to continue the untraditional family dynamic that Bendis set up. You could keep teen Jon as a time anomaly until Hypertime catches up with him and restores him to his timeline, with him continuing to be Superman as penance, while kid Jon goes and pals around with Damian in Williamson’s Robin or whatever.

Superwoman/Kara Zor-El - I like the idea of Kara “graduating” to the Superwoman name. It’s open right now given Lana’s retirement, and I think it would suit Kara. I would keep Kara in National, it’s her own little corner to play in, but I would keep that development from (I believe it was) Andrea Shea, where Kara gets fired from Catco because she’s a terrible intern due to always running off to be a heroine. She and Kal talk, Kara admits she doesn’t really want to be a journalist, and so she goes and interns at STAR Labs. I hate how DC keeps turning all the members of the Superfamily into Clark clones. It’s goddamn stupid and I want them to please STOP. Why the hell would Kara want to go into journalism anyway? We’ve never even seen a damn journalist on Krypton! It’s a stupid thing they did on the TV show because they wanted to swipe Clark’s stuff. Let Kara be the scientist of the Els, the one who carries on the family tradition. What form that takes is something I’m open too, I liked Venditti making her interested in history in his annual, maybe make Kara an anthropologist? That would be hilarious. 

Also give Lena to Supergirl, they can be best friends, enemies, lovers, I don’t care. But Lena is wasting away in a vault under Lexcorp last we saw, and that’s a damn shame considering how popular CW Lena is. I’d also add Natasha Irons (who I’d rename Mastersmith) and Tanya Spears (Powerhouse) to Supergirl’s supporting cast, they could play off each other as three supergenuis women).

Kon-El/Conner Kent/Scion - I’m really excited to see what Thompson is going to do with Kon on the Suicide Squad, but here’s what I would do with him. Kon would finally be able to shake off the Superboy moniker and leave that to Jon. Instead he’d take the name “Scion” as a reflection of his origins, and a tie-in to his new status quo. In the wake of Death Metal, Lex Luthor would abruptly step down as head of Lexcorp, stating that he needs time to redefine himself in the wake of his latest attempt to justify himself as the true hero by serving Perpetua, ending up with him needing Superman to save the day again. While he is away, he’s turned over complete control of Lexcorp to his sole heir: Conner. Conner is now head of one of the evilest megacorps in existence, and is one of the wealthiest men alive. Conner knows this is just another maneuver by Lex in his neverending crusade against Superman, but he’s determined to not just be another pawn. He accepts control, renames Lexcorp Superman, Inc. His mission will be to transform the megacorp into the force for good it pretends to be. Conner will have to take on not only Lex loyalists and traitorous underlings who would love to be CEO themselves within Lexcorp, but new megacorps who have flocked to Metropolis in hope of establishing themselves, now that the former Master of Metropolis has abdicated his throne. Threats within and threats without, but armed with the powers/morals of Superman and the charm/brains of Lex Luthor, Kon is just cocky enough to think he can handle it.

John Henry Irons/Steel - It will be a big year for John Henry Irons. His private company Steelworks is about to go public and make him a billionaire. Lana Lang has accepted his marriage proposal and they’re due to be wed. His niece Natasha has left the nest and is off working at STAR Labs. Irons is posed to finally resurrect the decrepit Suicide Slum and allow it to catch up to the rest of the City of Tomorrow. However there are problems: new megacorps are moving into the city in the wake of Lex Luthor leaving, people are disappearing from Suicide Slum with dark rumors are spreading about the reasons why, and the people of Suicide Slum are accusing Irons of planning to gentrify the borough. Making matters worse, weapons that Irons designed as a young man are appearing on the streets of Metropolis, attracting negative attention from the media and putting Steelworks at risk. Irons is going to have to suit up and take up the fight all over Metropolis, from the darkest levels of the Undercity, to the bright deceptive board rooms at the top of skyscrapers in the city’s heart. Irons will have to reckon with his past to secure his future, and confront the evil Metropolis would rather pretend doesn’t exist.

Kenan Kong/New Super-Man - Look just give Yang a damn Kenan book and let him go wild. Right now is either the best or worst time to give Kenan a book given the situation with Hong Kong, but if anyone is equipped to deal with it, it’s Yang. I’ll just add that I would love to see Kenan on a Global Guardians team, but I’d also love to see Justice League of China as a spinoff book of the main Justice League. Kenan is as close as DC has come to their own Spider-Man/Invincible take on Superman, Jon sadly hasn’t really differentiated himself from his dad while Kenan is VERY different. I would love to see Kenan pushed more and would buy a new book in a heartbeat. Also put out a damn New Super-Man omnibus Jim Lee, for God’s sake can’t you abuse your power to push the character you wanted created and is actually good unlike most of Wildstorm? You’re shoving Grifter back into everything but not Kenan? Christ.

So yeah that’s the Superfamily status quo I’d establish. Keeping my Clark and Lois ideas close to my chest for now, but I might go into more detail later.

[wonda-cat]

You mentioned rewriting that one analysis post on Tommy’s revival stream and I’d really look forward to it! I never got to read the full og post and that’s the only place I saw these takes. Especially the one about the afterlife being too depressing. It’s not even just about Tommy, the implication that even if every character is safe and happy by the end, this is their inevitable fate is messed up. It’s not “a neat subversion” it’s just depressing and doesn’t add anything.

Hey, anon!

I sorta decided to not rewrite it? I feel a bit differently about the essay in the end, although I still believe in most of my points. I’m also just not nearly as passionate about it as I was when I wrote it (I finished it in a single sitting, which was... interesting.) However, yes, the afterlife stuff still bothers me just the same, as well as the odd changes to Wilbur’s characterization... post mortem.

But—just for you, anon—here’s the entire meta-analysis essay anyway, with some minor edits to the stuff I don’t agree with anymore!

My Many Narrative Issues with Tommyinnit’s Revival Stream

I want to preface this by saying that I dearly love the Dream SMP and understand it isn’t exactly comparable to other mediums like TV and film. With this being the case, most criticism against it is generally in bad faith or strange in foundation. Complaining about streamers for bad acting is the best example that comes to mind. 

These aren’t professional actors. Most have never acted in this sort of setting, or even at all. Quite a few have admitted to never roleplaying before. Which is why it’s warranted to praise Tommy, Dream, Wilbur, Ranboo, and others when they deliver stellar performances. The same applies to criticism of music choice, dialogue delivery, focus, tone, etc. 

However, one such category I cannot overlook is in regards to its writing. The writing of a story is its entire foundation. It encompasses many things—conflict choice, character development, themes, and morals. The author creates the blueprints for the architect, who then expresses the story with light, sound, color, pacing, and music. It is in its execution that we see if this connection is made or broken. 

The reason I find poor writing mostly inexcusable is because it is one of the most available skills to practice and perfect. I don’t mean to say that it’s easy, I mean to say it is something anyone can attempt to cultivate. Whether they do it well or not depends on their methods and experience. If anyone can self-publish a novel and be criticized online for its quality—and even compared to the works of Mark Twain—then I find critiquing the writing of the Dream SMP to be perfectly reasonable. 

However, since the Dream SMP script is a set of loose bullet points, tearing apart dialogue and scene continuity—which is nearly all improv—is rather useless. It doesn’t exactly have a clear focus as the plot plays out. The characters talk in circles until they hit the story beat required, and then they move onto the next. Thus, when criticizing it, one should generally critique grand events and narrative-specific shifts, more so than small-scale character interactions. 

Which brings me to my main point: The broad narrative choices taken in Tommyinnit’s most recent livestream, ‘Am I dead?’ may lead to disastrous writing pitfalls in the future. 

I’ll be outlining each of my issues below, in hopes of creating a better understanding as to why I feel this way. 

This might become quite lengthy, so please bear with me for a bit.

Tommy’s relationship to Wilbur has flipped. This change is jarring and seems out of character.

Tommy and Wilbur’s friendship is rather complicated. While Wilbur does care for Tommy immensely, especially during the L’Manburg Revolution and the Election Arc, his mental spiral during exile put a massive strain on their relationship as a whole. Wilbur brushed off Tommy’s feelings and wants, while clinging to him and pushing everyone else away. He was simultaneously distant and suffocating. 

Tommy, on the other hand, has an unclear view of his mentor. Since the beginning, and even long after Wilbur’s death, Tommy held him in especially high regard. He saw him as a brother-figure and a wise leader. He followed what he said and did everything he could to impress him. Yet, Wilbur still hurt him while the two were together in exile. 

When speaking of him, Tommy tends to flip infrequently between remembering Wilbur the way he was before his mental decline and thinking of him as a monster. Both of these images conflict with each other, but they weren’t nearly as extreme as what Tommy described Wilbur as when he was revived from death. The fear Tommy displays to Wilbur is beyond intense—it feels as if the audience may have missed a month’s worth of character development. 

This can make sense, especially since it was stated that he’d spent what felt like two months in the void. However, this shift is still deeply at odds with Tommy’s previous impressions of Wilbur, which is both disheartening and confusing. The fact that Tommy would agree to stay with Dream—his abuser and murderer—over his past mentor is simply head-reeling. It paints a very different picture of Wilbur’s character, somewhat conforming to the fandom’s ableist impression of him—the idea that Wilbur is insane and irredeemable, and always will be. 

It also ignores Dream being the driving factor in Wilbur’s downfall, as well as the double-bind deal with Dream which required him to push the button, no matter the outcome. Others have pointed out that Tommy may be lying to get Dream to bring Wilbur back, and there’s compelling evidence for that. For one, Tommy and Wilbur’s conversation seemed uncomfortable, but it was certainly nothing like Tommy implied. (Unless this fear comes from something Wilbur said off-screen.) 

Tommy also begged Dream to not bring him back multiple times over, which he should know would make Dream even more tempted to, simply because he likes seeing Tommy in pain. Tommy is also a known unreliable narrator. He may be making Wilbur out to be worse than he is by accident (even still, I’d argue this is a bit of a stretch.) 

However, there are some issues with this theory. Tommy offered himself as payment to Dream if he chose to let Wilbur rest. This is a deal Tommy knows Dream is extremely unlikely to refuse. Tommy is what Dream has coveted all this time. If Tommy genuinely wanted Wilbur back, he would not offer this. This sort of compromise is Tommy’s greatest nightmare—something he would only do in response to his friends being threatened or his home being destroyed. 

To add, Tommy is not great at lying. Unless he was taught by Wilbur for those two months* in the afterlife, there’s no chance Tommy would be this good at it. Thirdly, Tommy is terrible under pressure. He uses humor to cope. When he can’t, he cries and shouts and spills his heart out. While cornered, Tommy will tell the truth about anything, especially if Dream casually debates killing him again, just for fun. 

For now, it’s too early to tell how the relationship shift will play out. In the grand scheme of things, this issue is rather minor.

Season three’s writing is needlessly bleak. The portrayal of the afterlife is a nightmare. There is no rest, not even in death.

I adore the Dream SMP storyline in its entirety. I believe the first season is fantastic, and while the second season has some narrative clarity issues, I enjoyed it just as much. Although, I would argue season one had a more concrete understanding of its Hope-Conflict balance. 

To briefly explain, the Hope in stories are its ‘highs’ and good moments. These appear when a character the audience is rooting for is narratively rewarded. They happen during character building in the text—it’s the downtime and peace that allows for connection and relatability. It’s a moment for the viewer to breathe easy. 

The other half is Conflict, an obstacle in the story that gets in the way of the main characters’ goals, beliefs, and motives. These are the ‘lows.’ They give the narrative focus and weight. They make the highs feel even higher. They establish consequences and force the characters in the story to change in order to adapt and overcome them. 

I bring up the Hope-Conflict balance because a traditional hero’s journey would have an appropriate amount of both. Their highs and lows are generally equalized, as the name suggests. However, this balance has been awkwardly skewed in the latter half of season two and in the current plot of season three. To clarify, it is perfectly reasonable, and even common, for some stories to tip the scale more to one side. 

But a common mistake for amateur writers is to create their stories as either hopelessly dark to cause the audience continuous distress for the sake of distress, or to keep everything entirely conflict-free for most of the plot. What do these both have in common? They each make the story boring and predictable. 

Season three has taken this concept and thrown a monstrously heavy weight onto the Conflict side and flipped the scale so hard it has crashed through the ceiling. The viewers are hardly given time to find any joy in Tommy’s character, as he’s thrown into yet another abusive situation, just barely after his first narrative reward. The world is painted as relentlessly violent and traumatic. 

Every person Tommy meets is morally grey, unhinged, or out to hurt him. Everything most of the characters love is taken from them by those in positions of power. Ranboo cannot even grieve properly because it scars his face. Puffy, Sam, Ranboo, and Tubbo all blame themselves for what happened to Tommy. 

The audience watches lore stream after lore stream with the same depressing tone (with the exception of Tubbo’s, but I assume that’s unintentional.) Tommy is revived after being brutally beaten to death by his abuser, surrounded by all of his greatest fears. The afterlife is revealed to be akin to inescapable torture. It’s a colorless void that wraps the individual like fabric. 

Time moves thirty times slower within. There’s nothing—nothing but the voices of others who’ve passed on before him. Dying in a world already devoid of happiness takes the characters to a place worse than hell. When a narrative delivers unfair suffering to the entire cast without a moment of joy to speak of, the story will feel simultaneously overwhelming and pointless. 

Why watch characters suffer when there’s no light at the end of the tunnel? What happiness could they strive for when we know they’ll never get to keep it? How can I be satisfied with a good ending, if I know that an afterlife too terrible to name is what awaits them, truly, at the end of their story? Death isn’t even a white void that offers rest—it is eternal torment. 

Obviously, it isn’t a good message to send by making the afterlife seem like a quiet, perfect place or an escape from pain. But making it an unspeakable anguish which awaits, assumedly, every character who will die in the future? I deeply hope Tommy was only being an extremely unreliable narrator. 

More likely, I hope the place Tommy was taken to was a Limbo of sorts, not an end-all-be-all destination for everyone.

The degree of Tommy’s narrative punishment continues to escalate, to an almost absurd degree.

Tommy is one of the most tragic characters to exist in the storyline. He was sent into war at a young age and experienced two traumatic events during it. He was exiled by the newly elected leader and witnessed his mentor Wilbur spiral and break down with paranoia. Tubbo is executed publicly in front of him. When expressing rightful anger at the person who murdered him, he’s beaten nearly to death and never receives an apology. 

Schlatt dies right in front of Tommy, after his initial refusal to hurt the ex-president. His brother-figure and mentor is killed in assisted suicide on the same day his nation is blown up. His best friend exiles him from his home for the second time. He routinely self-sacrifices to protect his country and those who live there. His most treasured possessions were taken from him and he was called selfish for trying to retrieve them (although his methods were self-destructive and volatile.) 

He was pushed to the brink of suicide after being relentlessly abused and isolated in his exile. He was horrified when he thought he was responsible for drowning Fundy. After making an objectively good decision to stand by his old friends and change for the better, his country was obliterated by the man he once idolized, his father-figure, and his abuser. 

He was left scattered and without purpose for many days. Then he fights against Dream and loses, while also reliving his trauma. He watches Tubbo almost die at the hands of someone he once thought was his friend. He doesn’t tell a single person about what happened to him in exile. The day he tries to sever his connection to Dream and heal, he’s trapped with him for a week, surrounded by everything that terrifies him. 

He threatens to kill himself, speaking about his own life as if it were an object—something to hold over Dream’s head. He blames himself for everything bad that’s ever happened to L’Manburg and his friends—internalizing a mentality as a scapegoat for everyone around him. He is forced into the role of ‘hero’ despite the title being unfair and distressing to him.

As if that weren’t enough, he’s then beaten to death by his abuser and spends what feels like two months in an afterlife that is worse than hell. When he returns, his senses are excessively heightened. Dream can cause him excruciating pain, just by pinching him. He can send Tommy into an instant panic attack, just by raising his voice. 

The punishment Tommy’s character receives is a thousand times worse than everyone he has ever met, or ever will meet. And it shows no signs of stopping, as Dream now has control over Tommy’s very mortality. Tommy now fears the slightest damage and feels as if he’s losing his best friend all over again. He is also forced into a position where he has to kill Dream out of necessity, to protect everyone he cares about.

Characters need fitting punishments in relation to their actions. Not always, but in order to be satisfying? Yes, they do. It is preferred that a main character deal with unfair situations and difficult conflicts, but this is borderline torture p*rn. Putting Tommy in these distressing and abusive situations on repeat and punishing him for doing objectively moral or healthy things is exhausting to watch. 

To quickly add, I find the general insinuation of Tommy going to hell distasteful, especially considering the contents of his storyline. I know this may be hard to believe, but Tommy is one of the most moral characters in the plot, besides Puffy and Ghostbur. He’s also the only character, followed by Ranboo, to recognize that they can be wrong and make mistakes. He changed himself in order to heal and be a better person. He was in the process of paying people back for the things he’d stolen. 

He’s learned to be hard-working and less violent through the guidance of Sam. He has apologized to everyone he’s ever hurt (with the exception of Jack Manifold, because that man is allergic to communication.) He puts himself in harm's way to protect others. He doesn’t set out to purposely hurt anyone. He goes out of his way to make connections with people and maintain them, even if others don’t reciprocate. 

He’s hopelessly optimistic, despite his outwardly bitter façade. He loved so much and put meaning into the smallest things. The thought that a person like him—a suicide and abuse survivor—would go to hell after being beaten to death by the man who took everything from him; it makes me sick to my stomach. 

The only thing more morbid than Tommy’s afterlife being different than everyone else’s, is the concept that everyone will end up in this same eternal torture, no matter what they do. Take your pick: Tommy is sentenced to anguish until the end of time for no reason, or everyone will receive the same disturbing ending, regardless of their actions.

The narrative weight of Ranboo’s character is potentially out the window.

For the past few months, I’ve watched all of Ranboo’s lore streams faithfully, curious to see what role he would play in the future. His ‘hallucinations’ of Dream seemed to be sowing the seeds for a plot that has Ranboo taking the fall for every single insidious thing Dream has done. It would also be a tragic parallel to Tommy’s trial. 

Ranboo being convinced he was the one who blew up the community house, when Dream himself admitted to doing it, was one of the bigger indicators for me. This is just one of many other unexplained occurrences. Dream seemed to be making an effort to trigger and control Ranboo, especially after Sapnap’s prison visit. It appeared, from the way he went about this, that Dream had some grand use for Ranboo as part of his plan to be freed from Pandora’s Vault. 

However, after Tommy’s stream, the way Dream explains himself makes it seem like there was no plan besides seeing if the book worked on people. And if he didn’t after all, then what was Ranboo for? Was Ranboo unimportant? Was Ranboo just some weirdo who happened to phase out when seeing smiley faces and imagined conversations that may or may not have happened? 

I bring this up more as a worry, and much less so as an active problem in the narrative. They haven’t actually thrown Ranboo to the way-side or written themselves into a corner yet. In future streams, this could very easily be explained away or developed as more information is revealed. 

Only time will tell.

The potential for Wilbur’s future development and importance to the plot is unfeasible.

I feel as if I am the only person on earth who doesn’t want Wilbur Soot or Schlatt revived. There are many reasons for this, but one of them is not a dislike for these characters. I especially adore Wilbur, as he’s one of my all-time favorites. I don’t want either of them resurrected because their stories have already been told. They each had a fitting conclusion that ended their involvement perfectly. 

Bringing Wilbur back would especially cheapen the impact of the War of the 16th. It’s the end of a man who was brought to the absolute edge and out of desperation, shame, and self-hatred, he destroyed himself alongside his creation. Bringing him back would leave the climax of the previous story hollow. My biggest issue, however, is that a lack of story importance would likely follow his return. 

The only real impact I’d like to see is through a healing arc with Tommy, an apology to Fundy, or a confrontation with Phil/Niki. But that’s really all the potential I can realistically see. While I don’t doubt Wilbur as an agent of chaos, able to create plot out of thin air; what is he going to do now? His country is gone, his friends and family are scattered about, and his mission from the 16th is already accomplished. 

What is a well-educated, charismatic politician supposed to do in a world already broken and without nations? Read poetry to himself and cry evilly? However, this is working off the assumption that Wilbur would be returning as his old self. 

If Wilbur is resurrected as a ‘villain’ of sorts, then what? He’s not good at fighting in the slightest. He would have no materials. There are no real allies he can make, other than the arctic group. On top of that, there are already more than enough villains to last a lifetime. 

We don’t need any more, I promise. Quackity seems to already be shaping up as another antagonist, alongside Sam’s slip into darker and darker shades of moral ambiguity. We also have Philza and Techno, which are already overkill. But then we have Dream who, despite being in a prison, has the ability of selective revival. This is mercilessly overpowered, especially if he makes many allies. The dude could just bring his dead friends back so they can keep fighting forever. 

Then there’s Jack Manifold and the Crimson followers; Antfrost, Bad, and Punz. That’s not even including characters who are refusing to get involved. How are Tommy, Tubbo, and Puffy expected to do literally anything to fight back?

Dream’s experiment on Tommy implies he had no backup plan to begin with. This makes his character seem both short-sighted and foolish.

When Tommy woke up after being brought back to life, Dream sounded surprised that the revival worked at all. This instantly shatters the perception that Dream was highly intelligent and thought ahead. With just a few lines of dialogue, it’s implied that Dream killed Tommy, unsure of if the resurrection would even be possible on humans. 

Which, to risk something that important, seems unbelievably stupid. Dream needs Tommy, from his perspective. Tommy is his ‘toy,’ the one who makes everything fun. If he lost him and couldn’t get him back, what then? Oh well, everything Dream was doing was all for nothing, I guess. 

Why not attempt this experiment on literally anyone else first? Like Sapnap or Bad or, hell, even Ranboo. I suppose it could be that, as soon as Dream got the book, he experimented with it after the 16th. This appears to be insinuated with Friend and Hendry’s revival, although this is uncertain. But even then, he was still unsure of the book’s effect on a human being.

Also, this means, hypothetically, Dream’s entire plan of escape hinged on the experiment working, to begin with, and also on bringing back Wilbur if it somehow did. I find this even more ridiculous. Why Wilbur? That man couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, let alone get through the traps in Pandora’s Vault. Even if he is intelligent after years* in the afterlife, that’s also a strange assumption. 

How do people learn things in the void? Where do they even get this knowledge? I’d honestly argue Techno is a far more competent choice than Wilbur. And even if Dream did bring him back and tell him he owed him his life, what’s to stop Wilbur from just killing him permanently? Or killing himself, continuously? 

No way would Wilbur want to be controlled by anyone, ever. The dude would sooner fuck off into the mountains and become a nomad than help a neon green bodysuit cosplay as Light Yagami.

Dream’s discussion about Sam implies that he wasn't playing any part in Dream’s plan, making Sam appear entirely incompetent and neglectful of Tommy.

Dream talked about Sam in a way that seems detached and unaffiliated. He also mentioned him being broken up about Tommy’s fate and not being aware he’s still alive. Dream not being partnered with, or not using Sam in his plan leaves many plot holes. I’ll go through each one. The initial incident was an explosion, coming from the roof of Pandora’s Vault. This did not affect the Redstone mechanism for the doors or dispensers. 

Meaning, Sam could’ve had Tommy leave the way that was expected for visitors after he investigated and found no issues. This likely couldn’t have been done in less than a day, but it would be better than an entire week. If Tommy was required to stay for longer, due to protocol, he could’ve gotten Tommy out and then placed him in one of the minor cells for the remainder of the time. 

Also, no one else lost a canon life for leaving via the splash potion of harming and returning outside the maximum-security cell; why would Tommy? To add, Sam being uninvolved means that the explosion could have only been caused by Ranboo or Foolish. That, or it was placed long before and timed for the moment Tommy entered the main cell. (I’m going to ignore how ludicrous it is that someone would know the exact time Tommy would’ve entered the room with Dream.) 

If Ranboo was the person behind the detonation, this implies he was necessary for Dream to kill Tommy to test the book. But that makes it even stranger. If this was Dream’s goal all along, why not kill Tommy the instant he was trapped with him? It makes no sense for him to wait so long. 

Sam is also directly at fault for not letting Tommy out, even after the week was up. There was no reason not to. He already knew there were no issues with the prison at that point. Although, to be fair to Sam, his character may have been paranoid and checking everything more than necessary, just in case. But this still isn’t a good excuse for him ignoring protocol in this one instance, and yet, not in any of the others. 

All of these plot holes or inconsistencies would be removed if it was revealed that Dream was blackmailing Sam in some way, or Sam had been working with him since the get-go. That Sam was the person who set off the explosion in the first place to trap Tommy inside. It would also explain Sam’s refusal to let Tommy out and by keeping him in there for longer than necessary. 

This can also coexist with Sam’s attachment and care for Tommy. He probably wasn’t told about Dream’s plan to test the book and genuinely believed Dream wouldn’t hurt him. On top of that, Dream is known to be a pathological liar, so his statements about Ranboo and Sam could be entire fabrications. 

Who knows?

The Book of Revival invalidates death entirely. The narrative now lacks both tension and consequence.

Another way the Dream SMP differs from other storytelling media is in the way it goes about its character deaths. In a TV show, for example, there will be characters who die just because, or when it’s important to the plot. However, it seems as if the Dream SMP is hesitant to commit to killing its characters. And there are many reasons for that. 

The most important one being, killing someone’s character excludes them from the story and some of their livelihoods depend on them regularly streaming on the server. There is also the issue of the cast becoming extremely sparse if characters keep dying. Typically, in stories, when you kill a character, you should introduce another. 

This keeps the cast from dwindling as the storyline goes on. This means the writers would have to find new streamers to join, who will develop their own characters and relationships with the plot’s continued momentum. This can be stressful and daunting to those who may be newly added in the future. 

Keeping this in mind, the Book of Revival is annoying from a writer’s perspective. When death is no longer an issue for a story hinged on its characters’ mortality, then what do you have as a consequence anymore? We’ve explored every kind under the sun; from abuse, to betrayal, to loss, to destruction. 

In stories, traditionally, death is a finality. It’s a conclusion. Whether it’s good or not depends on the character’s actions, its build-up, and the event’s execution. Without this lingering sense of danger, tension evaporates from the story. 

Why should I care if Tommy loses in a fight to someone, if he’ll just come back a day later? Why should I care about what happened to Wilbur, if he just returns as if nothing happened? The answer is simple: I won’t. I will no longer care if Tubbo or Ranboo or Sam die in the story, because the idea of revival even being a possible outcome leaves me unenthused and uncaring. 

The Dream SMP likes to flirt with death. It teases the demise of its main characters many, many times. More so Tommy’s than anyone else’s. Wilbur’s failed resurrection, which had unforeseen and unfortunate outcomes, is now strange in comparison to Tommy’s, which happened without a hitch. 

To be fair, we actually don’t see how many attempts it took. But here’s the problem; Dream could do it without the book being physically present. He’s trapped in a prison with nothing on him, meaning he doesn’t need any materials either. It’s also implied he could do this as many times as he feels, for anyone he wants. This would be exceedingly overpowered, if not for one thing—Dream himself is mortal (at least, I fucking hope he’s mortal.) 

If someone kills him one last time, that knowledge is gone forever. And I’m glad they’ve established at least some way for Tommy to win. Because at this point, I was losing faith. 

There is also the bare minimum establishment that Dream can refuse to bring back those he doesn’t care for. He can also use it as a shield, holding this power over other people. If Dream is gone, death is permanent. But isn’t that how death is supposed to be, anyway? 

What a bleak premise—the afterlife is pure eternal torture while life is cheapened by a lack of consequences.

Conclusion

All this to say, I am cautiously optimistic for the future. I hope dearly that every single one of these can be disproven or developed in the coming livestreams. Obviously, there’s not enough information to really determine what the end result will be, or how everything will fall into place. 

Every time I have theorized about the story, it has done something completely different and pleasantly surprised me. I want this trend to continue. 

Surprise me again—I’ll be here to see where it goes.

[anjuschiffer]

Coming In For A Diagnosis and Leaving With A Date

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @theatreandcomicfreak!!!! Sure, we’ve only known each other for a few months, but Mina! You’re so freaking amazing and I’m so glad to have met you!

So to celebrate, I wrote this for you! Enjoy it! And hope you have a wonderful day :D

------

He was here to help Damian on taking down a small-time criminal, so why were they having such a hard time taking him down?

“Damian, are you sure that-” Garfield started, only to get interrupted by his friend.

“I’m going to be fine. Go and rest. I’ll be sure to update you on-” Static filled their communication, Garfield already fearing the worst. 

“Damian.” No response. “Damian!” Garfield yelled out, quickly coming to a halt, bearing the slight burn he got from the roof asphalt. Who cares if he was bleeding from his arm. Who cares if he couldn’t retain his form for any longer than five minutes. He had to go back! Damian was in danger-

“Well, look what we have here. A lost kitten.” Garfield quickly whipped his head to see Catwoman. Or Selina as Damian called her. Despite Selina and Bruce being together for several years, the two still wouldn’t get together, much to Damian’s annoyance. If you asked Garfield, Damian probably wanted her to officially be part of the family already, not that Damian already considered her as such.

“Please don’t do that.” Garfield said, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. All the hairs on his body relaxed, but his heart still raced quickly against his chest. “Do you know what’s going on?” Garfield watched as Selina hummed, looking over to where Damian was last heard from.

“He’s going to be fine, kid. He can handle this. And if anything, he’s got Bat out there as well.” She assured, looking at the gash across his arm. “You, on the other hand, won’t if you don’t get that treated.”

“I’m fine.” Garfield protested, wincing when Selina placed pressure on his wound.

“I beg to differ.” Selina said, quickly taking out her phone, a corner of her lips curving as she typed something, pocketing it away once she was down. “See that apartment over there?”

“Yeah?” Garfield looked over to where she was pointing, an apartment building just a block over. If Garfield squinted just a tiny bit, he was able to see a few plants sitting by the window ledge. “What about that-”

“Go there and wait inside.” Selina instructed, ushering him to go. “Someone will be there shortly to help you treat that wound of yours.” Garfield turned to go, but remained seated where he was. “I’ll make sure to update you on Damian’s whereabouts.”

Seeing as Selina wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, Garfield made his way to the open apartment, carefully stepping over the plants, finding himself stepping onto a sofa. He promptly took off his shoes, not wanting to dirty the poor furniture anymore than what he had already done.

As he chose to sit, he took note of how organized -and white- the room was, the cabinets meticulously neat and labeled, his eyes widening when he saw the names on some of the glass jars. 

Naloxone, bacitracin, lidocaine… where did this person even get the first and last one?

As he tried to distract himself, Garfield thought it would be a good idea to look at the white board hung above one of the work stations, ignoring the various mortars filled with who-knows-what. 

He began to panic when he saw Damian’s medical records there, quickly running towards it to grab it, quickly turning page after page, panicking when he saw that this person also knew that Damian was Robin. 

Lifting his gaze from the papers, his eyes landed on the wall files, his eyes landing on the name Wayne. 

He began to rummage through, finding the rest of the Batfam’s identities, also finding other rogues' names in the other compartments. 

His heart stopped when he came across his own file, his name staring back at him in pink ink. 

Just as he was about to look at how much this person knew about him, the sound of keys jingling broke his determination. 

He quickly began to put the files back, making sure to place them in their proper slots, quickly hopping back into the sofa as he heard footsteps approach the room along with muffled talking. 

As soon as he managed to sit down and attempt to look normal, the door slid open. 

“-should have said no. Maybe I really am a pushover.” The person muttered, Garfield feeling his breath hitch. She was pretty. Very pretty.

The girl looked at him, gaping at his appearance before throwing her bag to the side and rushing out the room. 

Garfield felt hurt, wondering what she had thought when she saw him, only for it to all go away when she came back, gloves on and a first aid kit in hand. 

He thought she already looked pretty with her hair down, but she looked just as stunning with her hair tied into a loose bun. 

“How long have you been like this?” She asked, snapping Garfield from his trance.

“Half an hour?” Garfield tried to provide, watching as she cut off his sleeve, quick to start cleaning the outer rims of his wounds. 

“I’m guessing you were like this for a while before Miss Ky-Ca-” she started to fumble. 

“I know Miss Kyle is Catwoman. Don’t gotta worry about the whole ‘secret-identity’ thing with me.” Garfield said, watching the girl visibly relax, the girl going back to focusing on clearing the dry blood with a pair of tweezers and cotton swabs.

The two remained quiet, Garfield watching as she kept cleaning his wound, wincing when she started to add the stitches to his wound.

“Sorry.”

“You’re just doing your job.” Garfield had to bite his tongue to stop from hissing from the pain. “Actually, is this your job?”

“Kind of.” She replied, adding one last stitch. “I have experience on patching up small injuries and I used to study medicine under a mentor, but that was a while ago...” the girl trailed, Garfield picking up on how her mood quickly shifted. 

“Wow, these are the neatest stitches I’ve ever gotten! You have to be a pretty amazing sewer if they’re this neat. I bet you’d also be a pretty good designer!” Garfield praised, noticing a faint blush dust her face as she placed some ointment over the stitches. 

“Matter of fact, I am a designer.” The girl said, a soft smile now on her lips. “Miss Kyle commissioned me to make her a dress for the upcoming charity here in Gotham. Although, I ended up getting roped in some things I shouldn’t have.” 

“Accidentally found out her identity?” He watched the girl nod. 

“Yup. Well...that's a part of it.” She said, taking out some bandage. “And along the way I found out about her family’s, as you saw the files over there.”

“I-I didn’t see any files.“ He said, averting his eyes from her, feeling her gaze on him. “Okay. I did.” He admitted. “But why do you even have all of those medical records?”

“Curious, aren’t you?” Marinette purred, something inside of Garfield stirring. “Don’t blame you. It’s not everyday you find someone like me.”

“You mean a pretty girl like you?” Garfield teased, watching her almost drop the pair of scissors in her hand. “Which reminds me, what’s your name?”

“Wh-what? No!” Marinette squeaked out, trying her hardest to not wrap the bandage too tight. “I meant someone who helps vigilantes and heroes while being a civilian.” Garfield hummed at that, watching as she finished patching him up. “And Marinette. My name’s Marinette.” Marinette said, checking over her work. “And seems like you’re good to go.”

“That’s it?” Garfield said in a panic, not wanting to leave just yet. “Wow, didn’t think it’d be this fast.”

“Like I said,” Marinette said, pulling out Garfield’s file and jotting something down. “I have my share of experience when it comes to these types of things.” 

“Well then,” Garfield got up, one minute himself and the next as a cat on her desk, nudging her hand for some scratches. “Thank you very much.” 

He watched as red dusted her face again, giving him a few scritches under his chin, giggling when he let out a few purrs.

“Remember to come back tomorrow morning for the follow up.” Marinette reminded, watching as Garfield pounced to the window ledge, morphing back into his normal form. “Need to make sure it heals properly.”

“Will do doc!” Garfield said, stepping out into the fire escape, only to find Damian there. “Holy shi-” He was fine!

“What are you doing here?” Damian asked with a growl.

“Umm...getting my injuries checked?” Garfield defended, showing Damian his wrapped arm. “What about you?”

“Same thing.” Damian said as he motioned to his bruised face, quickly jumping into the window. Garfield quickly followed suit.

“Damian! Just look at you! What in kwami’s name were you up to?” Marinette scolded when she saw Damian, quickly going through her cabinets, grabbing different jars. “Oh! Hi Gar! Thought we agreed to see each other tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes at Garfield, causing him to gulp. Why was he acting like this?

“A follow up Dami, no need to get so overprotective, geez.” Marinette clarified, making Damian face her. “If anything, I should be the overprotective one. I am older than you.” Garfield could only watch as the two bickered.

“By two years.” Damian stated, hissing when she placed an ice pack over his bruise. 

“Meaning I don’t need little brother dearest to be following me 24/7.” Marinette said with a hint of annoyance, lifting Damian’s face to get a better look at the cut under his chin. “Small scratch. Nothing too major, unlike the one on your torso.”

“Wait, brother? You guys are related?” Garfield asked, this question going ignored as the two siblings kept arguing. 

“It’s just a scratch.” 

Marinette was related to Damian… his sister...

“A scratch!? You’re still bleeding from it!”

Meaning she is a Wayne...and she had quite the overprotective family, and a large one at that… just look at Damian!

“Nothing that I can’t heal on my own.”

Just what is he getting himself into?

“That’s it.” Marinette huffed, pulling out her phone. “I’m calling Grandpere.” Garfield let out a laugh when he saw Damian stiffen.

“Mari, don’t you dare-”

“Alf? Yes, it's me. Listen, Damian doesn’t want to get himself checked, insisting that his injury-stop that!” Marinette yelled at Damian, who tried to grab the phone away from her, only for Garfield to get a hold of it.

“Hey!” “Logan, hand it over to me.” The siblings said simultaneously, only for Garfield to ignore the two.

“Hey Alfred, it’s me, Garfield. Yes, a cut on his torso that’s not too deep. Yes, I will tell him to let Mari to look at it or else there will be consequences.” He looked over at a betrayed Damian and a grinning Marinette who mouthed a thank you. “Yes, I’m fine as well Alfred. Oh! And if Miss Kyle is there, please tell her I said thank you. Right. Bye.” With that, Garfield hanged up, handing Marinette her phone back.

“I won’t forget this betrayal Logan.” Damian said, pouting as he sat back down on the sofa, Marinette already having her tool out to clean his wound.

“You’re very welcome.” Garfield said, grinning as he watched Damian fuss over his patch up.

------

“Thank you for having my back Garfield.” Marinette said as he followed Damian out the window.

Marinette was able to tend to Damian’s injuries with such grace that it left Garfield mesmerized, wondering how he didn’t feel the two hours pass by.

“It was nothing.” Garfield said, averting his gaze from her, scratching the back of his head as heat rose to his cheeks. That’s when he felt a peck on his cheek, turning to see Marinette smile at him.

“A token of my gratitude.” She reasoned, fiddling with her fingers as she watched Garfiled hover a hand over the place she kissed him. “Sorry if I made you uncom-”

“No, no, no!” Garfield started, finally touching the spot with his fingers. “I didn’t mind it.” He melted when she beamed, only for Damian to ruin their moment.

“Hurry up! I don’t have all night!” Damian yelled, causing Garfield to groan.

“So about tomorrow-” Mari started, only for Gar to cut her off.

“Come in the morning for the check up. Got it.” Garfield recited, lifting his right hand. “Promise to be here at 8 sharp.”

“Well, I was thinking if you’d like to join me for breakfast after the check up.” Gar broke into a smile. “Would you?”

“Definitely!” Gar said, “Consider it a date then.” Without giving her a chance to reply, he went to join Damian, looking forward to his breakfast date with Marinette.

Marinette watched as Garfield jumped away, going back to the file she had for him. Picking up her pink pen, she drew a small heart next to his name.

She can’t wait for tomorrow’s date, even if it meant that her stupid brothers might try to stop it.