#If you think otherwise you’re standing on the wrong side of history and humanity

[cinebration]

Thieving Touch (Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader) [Part 1]

Premise: Steven meets you at the museum and thinks you’re normal, but Marc thinks you’re a thief. They’re both right. Sort of.

Will do my best to minimize spoilers from the show as possible. There may be some discussions of mental health problems in the future, but from the reader’s side, not necessarily Steven and Marc’s.

Tagged: @simpforbuckyb​, @gracehorses, @raging-trash-of-mind, @galactic-galabee, @wordacadabra, @lucy-sky

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Epilogue

Warnings: none

Gif Source: oscar-isaac

Steven watched the patrons mill about the museum, wandering up to display cases and reading the placards there. How he wished to be alongside them, telling them the things the placards didn’t say, giving them the knowledge they were missing by only superficially engaging with Egyptian history and its associated pantheon. No one really ever came up to him even to buy the sweets on his counter, and the one or two that did eventually wander to a stop before him weren’t much interested in discussing the finer points of Egyptian mythology.

He still clung to a fragment of hope, however, no matter how often his supervisor, Donna, rejected his attempts to become tour guide. Maybe the next time the board members came into the museum, he could stage something to show them he knew what he was doing. Maybe he could even demonstrate that by going to the marketing department and telling them what they had gotten wrong on the banners.

As he listened to his watch click down to closing time, he gazed out at the diminishing stream of patrons. As he glanced past one of the displays by the Ammit pillar, he paused and turned his attention back.

You stood in front of a display case, hands hanging by your sides, fingers twitching like misfiring nerves shooting to your fingernails. Steven realized that you had been standing there for five minutes, unmoving but for the spasmodic digits.

Glancing over his shoulder for Donna and satisfying himself that she wasn’t around, he slipped out from behind the counter and slowly approached you. As he drew nearer, shifting to his right to see your face first in three-quarter profile, then in full profile, he felt himself losing his nerve. He hadn’t expected you to be so pretty, not from what he had seen of the back of your head. What was he doing?

“Hullo,” he greeted, hands held close together in front of him.

You jerked your attention to him.

“Sorry,” he apologized, already mentally kicking himself. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Can I help you with anything?”

Your lips twitched as though you were fighting a laugh. Steven smiled awkwardly, feeling what little confidence he had flag.

“So, you know a lot about this stuff, do you?” You gestured to the Egyptology wing in general.

“Probably too much,” Steven conceded quickly, though the stupid grin on his face said otherwise. “It’s my passion.”

“Obsession.”

He frowned. “Well, no, that’s got something of a negative context—”

“Is there an Egyptian god of thieves?”

He blinked. “Oh, uh…I’m not sure I’ve ever come across one, no. See, the Egyptian gods were used to represent abstract concepts, as well as natural and social phenomena. They aren’t patron saints.”

You chuckled, the sound dry and labored. “Not all are saints.”

“Sorry, what?”

“The Greeks had one, you know. A god of thieves. Hermes, not that many people care much about him. They hear his name and they think, Oh, that fun Paul Shaffer kinda guy from Hercules? Wings on his ankles? But he was more involved in human lives than the others and to much less detriment.” You cocked your head, and for the first time, Steven wondered if you weren’t looking at the object behind the glass but your own reflection in the crystal. “The Greeks did a hell of a job showing what happens when the divine touches the human.”

Steven scrutinized your profile as you continued staring into the display case. Wrinkles slowly bunched around your mouth and eyes, the muscle in your jaw flexing, the muscle over your temple tightening with it.

“Are you okay, miss?”

You blinked and fixed your attention on him, your eyes strangely clouded before suddenly sharpening on him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

You flashed him a brilliant smile. His heart skipped, tension running down his spine as years fell off your face, your eyes alight with a fire he hadn’t seen before, as though the embers in your pupils had suddenly burst into whooshing flame.

“I know the feeling,” he managed to stutter. “The tiredness, I mean.”

Your gaze slid over his face, warming his cheeks. “You do, don’t you?”

“I have, um, a sleeping disorder.”

“Really?”

“Uh, yeah. I have to sleep with a—” He stopped himself. He couldn’t just tell you about the cuff around his ankle. Definition of a red flag that was, wasn’t it? “I have to take measures, you know?”

You nodded sagely. “I can’t sleep unless I…do something, you know?” You waved vaguely. Your attention snapped back to the display case. Sucking a breath between your teeth, you shoved your hands into your jacket pockets.

“What…” Steven swallowed thickly, his mouth both dry and gummy. Come on, bruv, you’ve got this. “I’m Steven. Steven Grant.”

You smiled again, shaking him. “You’ve got it backwards.”

“I’ve got…what backwards?”

“It’s Grant. Steven Grant. Like Bond. James Bond.”

A burst of laughter chuffed past his lips. “Oh, right. Clever!”

“I’m more of a le Carré fan myself, but Fleming did alright.”

“Oh, I, uh, don’t read much fiction. I should read more, though,” he covered quickly. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the museum will be closing in ten minutes.”

Steven felt the wind slip his sails. Trying not to let his disappoint show too much, he turned to you, smiling weakly.

“You work here often?” you asked.

Hope rekindled anew in his chest. “Y-yes. Most days, standard nine-to-five and all that.”

Cocking your head, you stared at him for a moment, long enough for him to start flushing beneath your gaze. “What kind of stories do you like?”

“Oh, um…I dunno. Adventure?”

“Adventure and Egyptian mythology,” you noted. “Sounds like you should’ve been an explorer or archeologist a hundred years ago.”

“Dunno about that. I mean, the adventure, yeah, and the discovery, that would be smashing.”

“There would be a lot of smashing,” you quipped, laughing. The sound made his soul quiver. “I’ll come back, then, with some recommendations.”

“Oh, really?” Excitement surged through him. “That would be smashing.”

Smashing again? He could hit himself.

You laughed instead. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Steven. Steven Grant.”

With that, you cast one last glance at the display case and strode across the marble floor to the front doors. Steven watched you go, not so much to enjoy the way you walked but because he was frozen to the spot, stuck there by his own hope overwhelming him. It didn’t feel real.

He reached into his pocket to whip out his phone and call his mother.

“Stevie!” Donna’s voice snapped across the room.

Steven squeezed his eyes shut, slowly turned to face her. “Sorry!”

“What were you doing? You’re not a tour guide. Stop chatting people up unless you’re trying to sell them sweeties.”

Sighing, Steven clung desperately to the buoyant hope in his chest. You were going to see him again. Sure, he may not have gotten your name just yet—

He hadn’t gotten your name. Frowning, he inwardly kicked himself. When he saw you again—he would not entertain “if”—he would be sure to learn it. He was sure it fit you like a crown on a queen.

“Not to burst your bubble, Steven, but she won’t be coming back for you.”

Steven shot an irritated glance at his not-reflection in the display cases he passed. Marc stared back at him, lips pressed into a thin “just how it is” line.

“Don’t do that,” Steven groused. “Don’t ruin my night.”

“I’m just saying, she’ll be coming back, but not for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she was here casing the place.”

“Sorry?”

“She’s planning on robbing it.”

Steven snorted. “Now you’re having a laugh. Just because you would do something like—”

“Who says I would—”

“I wouldn’t put it past you!”

Both men huffed at each other as Steven retreated behind his register and began gathering up the sweets displays.

“I can’t believe you would sabotage me like this,” Steven snapped. “Getting into my head—”

“I’m always in your head, Steven.”

“I have a right to be happy! And you’re not going to ruin it with your crazy American paranoia.”

“Crazy American paranoia? I’ve never heard that before.”

“Well, you’ve heard it now. First time for everything and all that.”

Marc threw his hands up and shook his head. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Steven rolled his eyes at the reflection and slid a box over it to hide Marc. He wouldn’t let him take this away from him. It was the first hopeful thing he had had within his grasp—hell, within his realm—in a long time.

He couldn’t wait to call his mother to tell her.

[starshipsofstarlord]

There was a Girl...

Pairing | Jace Wayland x reader

Summary | When Clary becomes a shadowhunter, she notices how cold and ruthless Jace is. Every one seems to relate to his pain, not resonating at quite the same level. They’re all mourning nevertheless.

Warnings | Mentions of death, brief smut (handjob), angst, heartbreak, unrequited feelings (for Clary)

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Opening your eyes, you awoke to Jace's chest, his blonde hair falling over his face. You preferred how it looked when it was a little bit scruffy instead of slicked back, and you reached for one of the hanging strands. They were like seams of gold, reflecting from the light that hid within him.

Most people had the wrong perspective on the young man, they only saw a well skilled shadow hunter. But they ignored the smart and witty, yet simultaneously charming person that he was underneath all of his runes. His parabatai Alec was familiar with the set of abilities that his brother figure had, and all that he would accomplish. People thought, because of Jace’s distorted, and confusing past, that he was just another warrior to serve whatever institute that he was sent to.

But in fact, he was not. His duty would always be, to put his family and friends first. He liked to put you on the top of the list, but you always felt the need to scrap that idea, claiming that you could not be his priority from start to finish. It was as though you knew what you future held for you, and how indeed, he could not manage to protect every person that he cared about. The prospect was a great responsibility, far too much for one shadow hunter, even if they be among the best of their kind.

To put such a weight on your own shoulders was defiantly cruel, it would always end in failure, no matter what was done to prevent said downfall. There was never a possibility of saving everyone, that was insanity. The monsters had to kill, in order for you all to remain outside of Idris, and continue on with your heaven sent duty.

“Jace?” You could tell he was awake from how he smiled at the sound of your voice. “Come on.” It was an attempt to encourage him, but you were quick to realise that it wasn’t working. He didn’t like mornings all that much, for good reason too, after all you were shadowhunters.

“Jace.” Your voice became louder and clearer, up to the point where it no longer sounded like your own. He looked away from the screen, to see the new girl watching him. She had an expectant glaze to her green eyes, which were much different from the shield that was covering his own. His pools were surrounded by a shadow of grief, pulling down the entirety of his face to the point where it looked as though he no longer wanted to live.

And that wasn’t entirely incorrect, he struggled at life, often never finding a moment of happiness, and if he did, then he would paint a smile upon his face and wear it to satisfy everyone else around. He had tried to cope with the loss that burdened his heart so gravely, yet nothing made it feel okay. You’d want him to move on, whether it be to lose his vengeful esteem concerning your passing, or find someone else to confide in late at night, to stay up with talking as his head rested upon the pillow, that he needed to wash, so it didn’t smell like you.

Or even, if not to share a bed with this new person, your overall plan as you sat with the angels above would be to find some kind of peace. But that appeared to be the last thing that he wanted as he digitally scoured the city of New York for monsters to uncover, and kill. If he couldn’t protect you, the love of his life, then he would settle for doing so with humans, after all, that had been the way that you had gone. The job had been your passion, yet simultaneously your downfall, and he’d be fine if one of these days he failed to tackle a beast, and it got to him first.

“Clary.” He greeted her, wanting to remove a dangerous monster from the streets by decapitating it. In memory, he would use your favourite blade, spilling blood upon its glowing stake to keep your legacy continuing, although, it did not do much but serve to release Jace’s frustrations. It was a day in which he wanted to speak to nobody, have nobody following him, nor asking him mundane questions about what it meant to be a shadowhunter. Hell, he didn’t even know! To him, the lifestyle was nothing more than accommodated anguish, though, he had been told not to promote it using those words, otherwise, there wouldn’t exactly be many people lining up to join the adverse fight.

And one of the people that he had in mind concerning excitement over a dire and ‘exciting’ lifestyle was Clary. She was naive, and whilst she didn’t know everything, today wasn’t particularly the day in which he wished to explain it to her. It, being predominantly anything. Whilst he had managed to be nice to her during the first few days, it was out of courtesy, considering Alec had an instant distaste towards the wide eyed redhead; he wasn’t sure why, but he supposed that Clary could see a detail of himself that was hidden from the others.

However, even through Jace’s welcoming exterior, was in pain. The feeling tormented him, denying him a break from the patronising pressure, leaving him to hold blame to nobody but himself. The hurt was cemented into his eyes, reflecting as he watched all other tragedies with a stone cold expressions, them hardly affecting him, because he had and was experiencing the worst routine of torture that was possible to him. He had watched you die, and nothing could take those horrific memories from him, no matter how much he wanted them gone.

That was the last time that he saw you. When you passed in his arms, a large wound in your abdomen pouring out with blood, drowning his desperate hands as he tried his utmost to put pressure on the life threatening injury. He wanted to save you but he didn’t know how, his training had always claimed that killing the monsters was more important than saving the life of a shadowhunter from an unknown bloodline. There had been nothing to prepare him for that day in the field, he was a fighter, and taught to be so, not a healer; he wasn’t a medic, he was just a warrior. “What do you want?” Blatantly fell from his round lips as he cast an eye towards the newbie, unimpressed by her timing, or her presence at all.

Clearly, she hadn’t received the memo to leave him be, especially today out of all the rest. Alec, having the personalised intel as to why Jace was emitting a solitary rut understood why he wished to be alone, and respected the space, granting him as much time to himself as he wanted. And whilst Alec was your friend also, he could feel the deep longing that was stabbing his parabatai in the chest, and it killed him too. Your death had been so unexpected, and now without you, there was a void within the institute. And the archer felt as though Clary was trying to fill it, and he saw that as nothing more than disrespect, though she was probably ignorant to the history that wandered the halls.

Her face revelled back at his tone, but nevertheless she continued on with her prying. “I was wondering if I could join you on the hunt, I’m getting better, Izzy even said so.” Jace refrained from rolling his eyes, and contained the feeling that was trying to burst out of his chest. It was anger, directed at everyone that was still alive, including himself. There was no fairness in it, to say that he was sad was an understatement, he was eternally devastated, the death of you had broken him, crumbled him into a figure that he no longer recognised.

“No, you can’t Clary.” He dismissed her, walking away, and going to grab his seraph so that he could hunt this sucker down, and bring upon the same kind of pain to its family as its kind had down to him. God, did you look badass as you swung it, and the thought alone had tears resonating in his unmatched eyes, thinking of how it was the last relic that remained of you.

Walking casually into the armoury, Jace had his hands prized in the depths of his pockets, as his expert and quick fleeting eyes focalised on you, and the weapon within your hold. Your body leant in harmony with the blade, the sound of it woosh-img in the air satisfying to all that could hear; that being only you and the Wayland boy.

“Can i not train in peace?” You groaned, lowering the blade whence you realised that you were being watched. The eyes trailed up your side where your shirt had ridden up, raking over the rune that you had drew upon your skin only this morning. A light laugh fell from Jace’s lips as he stalked forward, taking your seraph out of your hand, and going to lob it upon the ground, but the stern look in your eyes stopped him. Instead, against his nature, he placed it down as though it were made of glass, and rose to stand before you once more.

“Not when you look that good.” The blonde retorted with a sly smirk, sliding his hands up the sides of your hips, finding absolute solace in the feel of your skin. He could be against you forever, and he would not complain, so long as it did last for such a time. “Makes me want to do things to you y/n y/l/n. Terrible things. What would the heads think?” He asked, in reference to those that were in charge of the institute.

Stifling down remarked laughter at his sensually intended words, you raised your forefinger to the space above his brows, and poked him with enough pressure, so that he would pay attention to the notion. “That you’re not thinking with your own.” You went to cross your arms, but instead, Jace grabbed them, moving down to cast his hand over your own.

“Oh, I’m not.” The shadowhunter confirmed, placing your hand upon the crotch of his sweats, applying enough force behind his grip so that you could feel him twitching. “I am indeed having thoughts from elsewhere, would you like to see my sweet?” Licking your lips, you nodded, watching as he peeled the layer away, wrapping your hand around his base, and giving him a few jerks, feeling his pulse race through his cock.

“Tell me more about what you’re thinking my love.” You bit your bottom lip, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, only to reverberate a groan from the blonde male. He panted as your pace quickened, and he was almost certain that he was going to spray his jizz all over the floor if you did not uphold your sexual administrations. His head leant back, as pleasured sounds broke through the clenching of his teeth.

And then, it all stopped as a voice, dressed in absolute disgust, written over with unmotivated shock, interrupted your little exchange. “Really guys, this is a gym, not your damned bedroom. The two of you really are disgusting!” It was Alec, and he cringed at the fact that he had seen his best friend’s cock being stroked in your grasp. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be training today, or at least, not in the asserted place for it.

“Clary.” Izzy called her name, wearing a short lived smile. Whence she studied the expression of the redhead, she was quick to pay attention to the disappointment upon her face. There was confusion laddered in her skin, masking it with creased that made her look worried all at the same time. “What happened?” The Lightwood woman asked concerned, bracing a hand upon said girl’s shoulder.

“Jace snapped at me.” The newcomer informed her, frowning at the prospect, and then after all that, he had stormed off, as though she didn’t even matter. She felt well and truly rejected, like a newspaper that had been tossed in the street, and ending up in a horrible puddle. “I thought he might have liked me, but his attitude says otherwise.”

Izzy twitched her nose; she knew what day it was. There was no way to break it to Clary easy that Jace had no amorous emotions towards her, and so instead of being blunt with the new resident at the institute, she decided to tell the woman a story. “There was a girl...” she began, knowing that after all was explained, that Clary would understand.

[thatsassyhufflepuff]

Hello!

It is currently past midnight. I decided to make a post where I’d put all my favorite Dramione quotes so I can look back on them and squeal. That’s all.

✨✨✨

1. “You love fighting with me just as I love fighting with you, that’s why we do it so well.” He smirked down at her and pressed a kiss to her lips. “This house is just as much yours as it is mine, I’m sorry I made you feel anything less than that.” His thumb traced the edges of her lips before she reached up and took his hand in hers.”

2. “Hey, hey, none of that.” He gently admonished, “Granger, I can’t tell you whether or not we moved in too soon. I can say that this feels right, waking up with you, going to bed with you, even cleaning up all the hair you shed in the shower- how are you not bald? I am convinced your hair has magical properties all on its own-'' He grunted when she smacked him in the side. “What I mean is Granger, I want you for a long time, longer than I’ve ever wanted anyone else if I’m being honest. I’d have been kidding myself if I thought falling in love with a swotty pain in the arse Gryffindor would’ve been easy.”

Transformation

happy_valley

—

1. “Expecting a challenge--some tired but emphatic refusal to take Muggle medicine--I braced myself for the inevitable argument. He turned his head to my hand resting on his shoulder, kissed a knuckle, and went back to sleep.

I didn't stop shaking until I reached the Boots.”

2. “and given how I feel about you, you'd think I'd do everything in my power to ruin your marriage. Having him believe it was you acting on his behalf, seizing an opportunity that was tailor-made for him will not get me what I want. Sadly, the opposite is also true. I know you don't believe me, but I actually thought making him happy would make you happy.”

3. “I am not most women," I pointed out. "Hence the slapping."

"No, I admit they broke the mold when they made you. That's why I'm absolutely madly in love with you. Head over heels. Dizzy with desire. Crazy--”

4. “He shrugged and his mouth flattened into a line. "It's been a grim few months. I'm only human. Have I told you that I love it when you're stern with me? Your mouth gets all prissy and adorable. Like you've eaten a sweet lemon. A silly metaphor but somehow apt." He pursed his lips”

5. “Someday I hope you'll look at me, and I won't see that half-second of disgust with which your gaze always greets me. Anyway, it's not true. I want you because I love you.”

6. “He kissed me on the forehead and then despite his previous admission, he wrapped me in an embrace, his breath hot against my ear. "I love you. I know you don't believe me, but I do. And aside from the fact you are beautiful and smart and articulate and sexy, most importantly, you're the only person I know who has the guts and determination to stop me from becoming my father."

The Politician's Wife

pir8fancier

—

1. “After what felt like a lifetime and at the same time a split second, they parted, gazing into one another’s eyes with the passion they both felt. Hermione’s eyes implored him to say what she wanted him to say – that this wasn’t the end, that they would have another chance, that he wouldn’t give up – but he couldn’t lie to her. He would never lie to her.”

2. “Hermione just stared at the floor, biting her lip and feeling as though every dream she had ever had had been crushed. Maybe it had. “I wanted to save you,” she whispered, finally meeting his gaze. “I wanted to save you.”

Draco stepped forward, taking one moment more to touch her face with the back of his hand and memorize the deep brown of her eyes. “You did,” he said simply.

And there was no more to be said”

3. “Draco didn’t let her finish. His hands cradled her head as he kissed her, softly as first just like the night before, and then harder, with more passion and intensity. She returned the kiss with everything in her might, trying to say what she wanted to say – “I love you” – without words”

4. “She wasn’t going to give up though. Hope was in front of her now, and she had almost been afraid that such a thing was lost to her forever. Draco may have given up on saving himself, but Hermione wasn’t about to do the same. She loved him – that she knew for sure – and she was going to make sure Draco got his second chance.

She’d die before she let anything tell her otherwise.”

5. “I’m not leaving without you,” she said firmly. He didn’t reply, just set his mouth in a firm line. She wished she could make him feel what she felt – a certainty that this wasn’t the end for him, that she was going to fight until her last breath to give him the freedom he had suffered for. She wanted to reach out and hold him, to cradle his face in her hands and tell him that they would make it to the end together.

“This is your time, Hermione,” he said, reaching out and taking one of her hands in both of his. “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“It’s your time, too,” she said, and she hoped she sounded as confident as she felt. “This is your second chance.”

6. “Draco gave her an imploring look, gripping her upper arms and forcing her to look right into his eyes. “Hermione, you know how I feel. I’ve never told you, but you must know. So when I tell you that dying for you and your cause and my cause is the closest I’ll ever get to being whole again, believe me.” He paused, reaching his hand up to push the straggling bangs out of Hermione’s eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Hermione Granger, and I can never thank you enough. So just let me help you in the only way I know how.”

7. “Hermione could feel tears forming in her eyes, and she quickly reached up to pull Draco into her arms. He held onto her tightly, trying to memorize every detail of her for the last time. When they pulled away, Draco swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked into her warm brown eyes. There’s never enough time for us.”

8. “You may not have forgiven yourself,” Hermione whispered to him, laying her face against his shoulder as he shook with sobs. “But we already have. One day, you’ll learn to see yourself the way we do.”

Bittersweet and Strange

UndiscoveredQueen19

—

“Hermione, I love you." She didn't smile, she didn't say anything back either. She just kept looking up at him. He wondered she even heard him. He knew it was wrong to say it in this moment, but he didn't know if either of them would survive. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now. But I love you. So much." He kissed her forehead.”

A Future Uncertain

LightsWrites

—

“Suddenly, Draco laughed, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Well, I guess it’s the least I owe you.”

He leaned closer to her, looking straight into her eyes, and she suddenly felt the urge to draw back and run away. She made herself sit still.

“I love you, Hermione. I think I have for a long time,”

Seven Years and a Day

Dark Rose

—

“She was half expecting him to just walk through the door but Draco surprised her when he suddenly turned around and returned to her side. She lifted an eyebrow but before she could say anything, Draco drew her into a hug.

“Goodnight.” His whisper tickled her ear.

She could barely return his hug when Draco pulled away with an impish grin. She knew he knew she was going to think of him for the rest of the night. ‘Darn it. Bloody Draco Malfoy.”

A cornucopia of noncoincidences

muffin_reverie

—

“Draco..." She felt a little uneasy.

"I love you." He had said it before, but the words had never sounded so fierce. "I won't let him hurt you.”

Alternate History

Furare

—

“You’re beautiful and compassionate and funny and… I know you probably hear it all the time but you’re brilliant and I plan on telling you that every bloody day. You make me want to buy a shop and sell potions and make my own way in this world doing something I love and something I excel at, but it’s more than that it’s… it’s…”

She waited him out.

“It’s bells on a hill with you, Granger.”

Bells on a Hill

HeyJude19

—

1. “Draco opened the door the rest of the way and pulled her into his arms; he held her tightly as if he would never let her go, as if he could push all the hurt away. She could feel his heart beating and its constant rhythm soothed her, as did the steady rise and fall of his chest. Gradually her sobs slowed, then stopped. She pulled away from him, wiping her eyes.

"Do you want us to stay?" he asked quietly. She shook her head, and he tilted her chin so their gaze met. "Hermione, will you be okay today? Tell me the truth. I hate that we're leaving you alone today."

She looked into his eyes and saw deep concern and worry. "Yes," she said weakly. "Thank you."

Draco wrapped her in his arms again, then released her and leaned down and kissed her forehead. "See you soon." He turned and left her standing there before he lost the ability and the resolve to leave.”

2. “Harry scrunched his nose in distaste. "How can you watch that rubbish?"

"It's actually really good, Potter."

"Whatever." Harry studied Hermione. She looked so peaceful that it hurt him to think of what was ahead for her, for all of them, really. "She's beautiful."

Draco looked at her as well, and without thinking about what he was doing, said, "Yeah, she is.”

3. “Hermione scowled and continued to hit him, but stopped yelling. Draco carried her into the house, up the stairs, and into her room. He set her down on the bed. She tried to get up; he grabbed her wrists and held her down.

She struggled, but when she looked into Draco's eyes, she saw they were wet. She lay still, holding his gaze.

"Don't make me Immobilize you."

She nodded. He released her wrists and took one of her hands in his. "I promise to come back, if you promise to stay," he said softly.”

4. “He kissed her with everything he had, all the fear, longing, pain, and joy he felt. He kissed her because he was scared to die, and he too wanted to see where this would go. He kissed her because of the secrets he kept from her, willing her to trust him, to believe him, to know that he would tell her. He told her he loved her, he would do anything for her, would die for her, would even try to live for her.”

We Learned the Sea

floorcoaster

—

1. “You are mine, Hermione, I don’t want anyone mistaking you for single again or even thinking of trying to coax you away from me.” He laid his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Granger…Hermione…I love you.”

2. “The look of shock on her face matched his own. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even realized that he had those feelings for her, that he would recognize them as such. He was in unfamiliar waters and suddenly scared to death. He meant them, he loved her, and it terrified him because he had never loved anyone before.”

Something In the Way She Moves

Snapes_Godess

—

“Draco leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and nuzzled her nose.

“Take it. Take my heart, and take the remainder of my soul as well. You can even filet my heart and crush my soul if you wish. It doesn’t matter, since in actuality, they’ve probably been already yours to break for a very long time.”

5 am, waking up

mysterious_intentions

—

“The deflated bits of his countenance inflated with her admission, until he felt as though he would float through the air. Moving his hands along the curves of her sides, he pulled her flush against his chest. "I love you, Hermione."

The admission left him in a single breath, causing Hermione to arch her back so that she could look him in the eye. She searched his depths, seemingly inspecting for any sign of deception. Finding none, a smile spread across her face. "I love you, too.”

I Carry Your Heart

TheMourningMadam

—

[softluci]

atla hcs

i’ve been thinking about this for a minute, and i wanna do a set of headcanons for how i think the brothers (and eventually the undateables) would feel about certain avatar: the last airbender characters, or something along those lines. i actually just wanted to talk about lucifer and azula, so everything else here is a bonus. this doesn’t matter, but for what it’s worth: wherever the mc pops up, they will be gn, enjoy!

also: this kinda goes without saying, but there are most definitely spoilers in here. for which seasons? i don’t remember, i watched this show when i was nine, but proceed with caution if you have yet to watch it.

lucifer

if it’s one thing you are not gonna play with him about, it is princess azula. this man is an azula supremacist, and while he might not say those words exactly, anyone would be able to tell that’s the case if they talked to him about the show for longer than two minutes. he actually wasn’t even interested in the show until azula showed up, and he will readily admit this to anyone who inquires about it. what makes it funny is the fact that her first appearance is literally, like, ten seconds, so that means he saw her and immediately knew she was the best, which, like—real recognize real. is he projecting? am i projecting? yes, no. in that order. shut up.

he actually almost couldn’t hide how proud he was when azula almost killed aang, this man is deranged. the same way he takes her wins personally, he takes every loss of hers personally as well, so when she lost that agni kai? 🚶‍♂️ 

the average azula enjoyer believes azula should get a redemption arc, lucifer believes azula should simply get whatever she wants, and the difference between those two things is striking.

average azula enjoyer: i believe azula deserves to heal and redeem herself. it isn’t fair that she was left with her tyrannical, abusive father during formative years of her childhood, with no one to help her or show her what it means to be good. she cannot be blamed for the way she turned out. it especially isn’t fair that she gets no redemption for evil things she did at age fourteen, for a year, while the entire show is iroh’s redemption arc, and he was doing evil for decades—he is literally called “the dragon of the west” because of it. additionally—

lucifer morningstar, resident azula supremacist: everything azula did, she was right to do, because i would’ve done the same. there was never a point at which she was wrong, it’s just unfortunate that nobody could keep up with her, her father included. the only reason why she ended up losing, ultimately, is because this is a children’s show, and good is supposed to win out. it was plot armor. if this were realistic, she would’ve beaten everyone—at the very least, she would’ve beaten zuko in the final agni kai, it’s just that he broke the rules and brought backup. at the time of the agni kai, she was literally the strongest firebender in the show. that’s actually the only part of this lucifer is right about, but you can’t tell him that.

if you ask him what his favorite quote in the show is, he’ll immediately say, “i can see your whole history in your eyes. you were born with nothing, so you’ve had to struggle, and connive, and claw your way to power. but true power? the divine right to rule? is something you’re born with.” and he will do it so well that it’ll give you the chills. 

in actuality, his favorite quote is, “i’d really rather our family physician look after little zuzu, if you don’t mind.” it’s just that it doesn’t have the same chilling effect as the first one. 

does he like any other characters? does he even care about any other characters? he has a deep fondness for sokka because he reminds him of mammon.  yes, and they are katara and suki, with honorable mention to avatar kyoshi. 

does he hate any characters? no, but if you mention avatar kuruk or uncle iroh to him, he might get annoyed. is mildly frustrated by aang, but has the sense to cut him some slack for being twelve and the last of his kind. never speak of ozai.

mammon 

toph supremacist. frequent user of the phrase, “toph is just fucking class.” knows for a fact that toph is the best and strongest bender in the entire show, and no one has ever managed to convince him otherwise. mainly because nobody really disagrees. like, have you ever even seen toph slander?

just like lucifer with azula, he wasn’t invested in the show until toph showed up, which, once again, is funny, because technically her very first appearance is only a few seconds long, so that means he saw her for a literal second and just knew. you can’t even be mad at that, real recognize real. 

no one will ever see him more proud than when he’s talking about one toph beifong. he can’t get over her raw, unbridled talent, and he really never should. if you let him (so, if you’re levi), he will spend so much time analyzing her character and every single one of her strengths, from the fact that she’s the only one who knows when azula is lying, all the way down to the fact that even though she projects a tough persona, she can still be vulnerable, AND—

not only is she strong, but her personality is simply untouchable. this girl grows on literally everyone; like, even lucifer likes her, even though he’ll die before saying it out loud. 

he gets so smug whenever someone asks him who his favorite is and it’s because he knows his taste is top tier, and what makes it worse is that no one can even disagree because toph is just that good. 

will never admit it, but he was shaking and crying during the scene where it looked like toph and sokka were literally gonna die. was also gonna cry when toph almost drowned. basically: he is eternally grateful to suki. 

his favorite line in the entire show is, “i am the greatest earthbender in the world! don’t you two dunderheads ever forget it.” it’s just fucking class.

does he like any other characters? he sees himself in sokka, he’ll tell you that much. he also knows that satan and lucifer like sokka because of him, and he found out because he heard them talking about it. to their joint dismay, they turned to see him standing behind them, grinning like an idiot, and they couldn’t even scare him into leaving them alone when he hugged both of them at the same time because, one, they didn’t really want to, and two, they couldn’t turn off their fondness for him fast enough ^_^. did they reciprocate his hug? did they stay like that for a little bit? did lucifer kiss the tops of their heads? maybe so🤨

does he hate any characters? not really, but he doesn’t particularly like azula because she scares him and makes him sad, like lucifer and doesn’t see her appeal. once tried to make a case for why she shouldn’t have a redemption arc and felt painfully human from the way he almost died. do not mention toph’s parents to him. the name ozai should also never be on your tongue.

levi 

resident sokka enjoyer and suki appreciator. do not ever call sokka dumb in front of this man unless you want a proper lecture. unlike a few of his brothers, he doesn’t like sokka just because of his similarities to mammon. he also likes sokka because he relates to him on a personal level. 

levi absolutely knows what it’s like to feel inadequate and outshined by people younger than you. he absolutely knows what it’s like to feel like your competence is overlooked. while he might be unfamiliar with how it feels to strategize for a war and lose a battle, but it is one of his biggest fears and it absolutely crushed him to see sokka go through that. 

on a lighter note, levi has a deep appreciation for sokka’s comedic value, despite the fact that it can overshadow his intelligence. levi would actually venture to say that he likes sokka’s funnier side because it overshadows his intelligence to the point that it throws the opposition for a loop. this is the aspect of sokka that reminds him of mammon. 

it also seriously warmed his heart to see how everyone missed sokka while he was away for sword training; he especially liked that episode because it was just an affirmation of the fact that sokka is an integral part of team avatar, which he really needed to see. 

you know who else is an integral part of team avatar who needs to be recognized as such more often? suki. do you know how much pain levi is in every time he thinks about the lack of suki screentime . it’s a lot . suki is just too good for the amount of screentime she has, he’s sorry, but it’s true. this is evidenced by the scene of her literally running across prisoners’ heads to apprehend the warden of boiling rock. that scene speaks for itself—she and the other kyoshi warriors end up as zuko’s body guards for a reason. 

he will never let anyone forget that if it weren’t for suki, sokka would still be a misogynist. she was an essential element to sokka’s growth as a character and everyone had better remember it or so help him. also , he is a firm believer in the fact that suki was the best love interest for sokka, with zuko as a close second. don’t ask questions. rip yue but argue with the wall.

his favorite line in the series? 

“zuko’s gone crazy! i made a sand sculpture of suki, and he destroyed it! oh, and he’s attacking aang.” 

it’s not profound or cool or anything like that, but it makes him smile and giggle every time he thinks of it ^_^. 

does he like any other characters? he has a lot of love for toph and azula for the sole fact that the series improved exponentially after both of their introductions; he thinks both of them are in leagues of their own and seeing them in action just puts a smile on his face. he’s also inexplicably fond of king bumi. 

does he hate any characters? not particularly, actually! he pretty much respects and appreciates everyone, except the guy who mutilated his thirteen year old son for speaking out of turn.

satan 

just pick a girl. any girl. and from the way he talks about them, you’ll think they’re his favorite. he can and will go on about the girls of atla for the rest of eternity.

but since we’re being specific:

katara appreciator. azula enjoyer. basically, between him and lucifer, no tongue raised against azula shall prosper. he has a deep respect for each of their wraths. he also really must have a thing for angst because both of these characters just break his heart. 

if you let him (in other words, if you’re levi), he will go on about how it’s not fair that people call katara annoying when, in reality, she just hasn’t healed from the trauma of seeing her mother’s corpse at age eight, followed by having to take care of her village, meaning she got literally no time to grieve properly, and—

call katara annoying in front of him and you might actually have to meet god for your shallow views of such a deep, complex character. 

he will also go on and on about how katara would be the best bender in the show, if it weren’t for toph, who is untouchable. instead, he’ll talk about how katara almost killed pakku for being misogynistic and how she single handedly beat azula during sozin’s comet. you will frequently hear this man say, “katara aang’s master for a reason,” and he’s right. 

similar to if you call katara annoying, if you call azula scary in front of satan, he’s bullying you. he’s sorry, but it has to happen. no way you’re scared of a traumatized fourteen year old, what are you, eight? or do you have no understanding of azula’s depth? both are unacceptable. 

satan is the average azula enjoyer, times about seven. you simply won’t get away with speaking poorly of azula in front of this man, so if you’re like mammon and don’t like her, you better tread very carefully. 

one time mammon tried to be like, “azula is too far gone to deserve redemption anyways,” and satan literally reverted to his demon form as he said: “if i were abandoned with my terrible father as a child, with literally no one to help me, and then my friends betrayed me, and then, as i was about to be crowned ruler of my country, my dumb fucking idiot brother showed up with his dumb peasant friend for backup, which isn’t even allowed, i might be mad forever too, actually—” and then he threw the nearest chair at mammon for his criminally bad take.

another reason why satan loves azula so much is because he’s convinced she’s a lesbian and satan is the most “let’s go lesbians!!!” person you will ever meet. you actually can’t convince him that she isn’t a lesbian. forget chan. nobody gives a fuck about chan.

what’s his favorite line in the entire series? 

“trust me, zuko—it’s not going to be much of a match.” 

like, come on. katara is just too good. 

does he like any other characters (other than the girls of atla)? he’ll never admit it, but he has a lot of respect for sokka and a soft spot for him because he reminds him of mammon. he also has a lot of respect for aang because he reminds him of beel of how well he handled literally everything despite being twelve. 

does he hate any—yes. never speak of avatar roku. or iroh. or ozai. for good measure, don’t mention general zhao either. 

asmo 

what lucifer is to azula, asmo is to ty lee. like do i even have to say anything else. but for what it’s worth, he also love, love, loves azula because she reminds him of lucifer, from her strength and class, all the way down to her descent into madness. and even though she breaks his heart just as much as she does satan’s. he may or may not have cried over azula in satan’s room while they were talking about her. unlike lucifer and satan, he can respect it if you don’t like her, but it’ll make him so sad. 

but enough about azula. ty lee is where it’s at for him. her subtle strength and unwavering love is something to die for, and he will defend it against anyone, up to and including lucifer, and he’ll win too. asmo is not to be trifled with and neither is ty lee; he can make a strong argument as to why ty lee is the strongest character in the show, and you will have a very hard time trying to refute his points. (the main point being: it’ll be really hard to win a fight against someone who can paralyze you in a few seconds, bender or not.)

the fact that ty lee ran away from home because she was tired of the fact that nobody ever saw her as her own person is just something that tugs at asmo’s heartstrings. he thinks ty lee’s bravery is just something that can be so personal. 

also—he has a massive appreciation for the fact that, even though there’s a war going on and ty lee is in near-constant danger, she still has the sense to maintain her appearance and worry about the skincare of not just herself, but also people she’s close to. that is a detail he will never let anyone forget. 

never mentions it in front of lucifer but one of his favorite scenes is when she paralyzes azula to save mai. once again: ty lee’s bravery is just something that can be so personal. 

he doesn’t have a favorite line in the series, but his favorite exchange of dialogue is between ty lee and azula, wherein ty lee is trying to teach azula how to flirt. he thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

does he like any other characters? of course! he likes everyone ^_^ . you’d actually be hard pressed to find someone he hates. ozai. it’s ozai. he has a real soft spot for mai because she reminds him of belphie. something about their shared aversion to affection is just so cute to him!

beel

aang supremacist, will hold steadfast to the fact that aang is the best character in the show and you will struggle to figure out how to convince him otherwise. 

if you ask him why aang is his favorite, the first thing he will do is gesture to a picture of him and say, “look at the material,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, before diving into a ten minute in depth character analysis for this boy. 

come on. he shouldn’t even have to explain himself. not only is aang one of the strongest, most competent avatars to exist, ever, he also mastered all four elements in a year, when he was twelve—he’s literally a different breed. and he managed to beat ozai in his own way, without killing him, as a means of staying true to a culture that could have literally died with him at any point in the show. aang is just fucking class.

he also admires aang for his near unwavering kindness and lighthearted nature. and for never going berserk and killing everyone he sees, especially after finding out his people were killed while he was in ice.

you have no idea how much pain beel was in when he found out that the air nomads were just gone. seeing a child find out that not only their family is gone, but also the entirety of their people and culture, just absolutely broke his heart. and that guilt aang was feeling? hit way too close to home for him. 

he also thinks it’s really nice that aang was so quick to forgive zuko after everything, and the two of them ended up being really good friends. it just puts a smile on his face. 

after some reflection with levi, he would’ve liked to see the full scope of an airbender’s power in the series; as in, he would’ve liked to see someone suffocated, but it’s okay, because aang wasn’t like that.  and he heard it happens in the next series over.

anyway, beel’s favorite quote in the show...well, it isn’t really a quote, as much as it’s a dialogue between two characters. it’s the scene where toph asks, “do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?” and aang says, “i don’t see why not.” it could bring a tears to his eyes just thinking about it; and in the next series over when it’s proven to be true, he absolutely cried. 

does he like any other characters? he’s actually really fond of zuko and mai because they both remind him of belphie. he also likes sokka for the same reason lucifer and satan like sokka. he has a deep appreciation for katara because aang would literally be dead without if it weren’t for her.

does he hate any characters? well, he doesn’t really like azula. he feels bad for her, but he doesn’t like her. but as for who he hates? take a wild guess. 

belphie 

zuko makes him sob is his number one. yes zuko is his favorite because of his redemption arc, yes he sees himself in zuko, no he will not explain any further than that, what’s your point🤨

in actuality, he will never be able to properly articulate how important it is for him to see that redemption is, indeed, attainable, if you put the work in. in a similar vein, he will also never be able to give words to how important it is for him to see that forgiveness is also attainable.  it means the world to him. that is why it makes him cry. the feeling is overwhelming. i’m gonna cry if i think about it for too long.

he will cling to the fact that zuko is the best character in the show, and he will cling to it even when zuko embarrasses him by saying stupid shit like, “no lightning today?” and even when zuko is so awkward it causes him physical pain. that’s his number one and he’s not changing on it!

firm zukka supporter. will not argue. that’s all.

what’s his favorite line in the entire series? it’s one of the two you’re thinking of. make that decision for yourself.

does he like any other characters? he positively adores aang and will readily admit that it’s because he reminds him of beel. bonus points for aang because he also loves the dynamic between him and zuko. toph is a distant third, mainly because he just really likes her attitude. he looks at her and thinks, now this is someone who would not hesitate to kick lucifer’s ass. 

does he hate any characters? you better believe it. he hates iroh because he reminds him of dia. he can’t really bring himself to like azula because she makes him a different kind of sad. and if you know what’s good for you, you will never mention ozai. 

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Rakshasa Girlfriend: Zarita 2

Part 1

Support me on Ko-fi!~    -   Patreon

Female monster x female reader (OC)

The Lioness of Maetrine Part 2

“My little Queen,” Zarita’s voice was deadly soothing, brushing your hair out of your face with a free paw. “Oh, how much I have missed you.”

“Zarita.” Your voice was steadily cool, ignoring how your heart jumped a step ahead of you when you felt the blade press into your throat. “Would I need to question how you escaped?”

“Your guards are slow and old, I’m afraid. Whilst they were distracted by the onslaught of my group, they were too busy up top, not below in the cells, watching,” she gave a low chuckle, melodically raspy. “It was easy to slip past.”

“Yet despite these odds, you have not killed me yet,” you murmured. “Or have I mistaken this all?”

“My friends have raised their defences, the siege on your little capital has already begun.” She pulled you taut to her chest. “They have only asked of one thing.”

You snorted, “For my head?”

“No, though they may find that suitable to end this skirmish,” she chuckled. “They ask for you and only you, my little Queen, alive and unharmed.” There was a feeling of pulling you close to her chest, your back pressed up, keeping you from lashing if the threats got worse. “I will not let them get to you.”

You squirmed in her grip, wary of how the sword pressed into your throat further, “I beg to differ.”

“You think I am not an honest one? I am hurt, Your Grace,” Zarita purred low against your ear. “My countrymen aren’t so loyal, you see. They can change their minds like the flip of a coin. So vile and dishonest. They will tell you they keep your safety whilst backstabbing you in a bed you think will protect you.”

The blade at my throat tells me otherwise. “You’re telling me you are attempting to drive me away from your people just so you can save me? In a highly fortified castle, my guards are out defending for these walls to remain high, but you think you can whisk me away without a soul noticing?”

“I am more than quick, little Queen. I can always knock you out, easy to travel,” you whimpered at the suggestion before she added. “With the right remedy, of course.”

“What will you do with me?” You questioned. “Since you wish to keep me away from both our people?”

There was a pause, the heavy toll of the bells that rung mournfully for your capital, the sound of cannons and swords clashing, the fear that your countrymen were dying trying to protect you, not knowing you were easy to reach. “I can be of some help, perhaps if you will allow me,” Zarita compromised. “Perhaps even a personal knight.”

The laugh that came from your parted lips was unexpected and startled both of you, promptly continuing with what you had thought, regardless of what your situation was. “That is like having the jewel thief be head of protecting the crown jewels. Do you think your proposition will be allowed for your attempt of assassinating me? Or so… how will your proposal go for the people of my council?”

“Rats,” Zarita hissed smoothly. “Men are rats and born to fester, to plague your lands. Like your old father, he was blind to be guided by fools and he will lead his own daughter to be driven to chaos by foolish men too.”

Your father had registered the best of men from around Ereon to help lead you to the best of wisdom. All ranging with many skills, the only issue you found was that they had been around your father’s age or even older, putting ahead what were old beliefs and acts that would please the people and lands regardless if you thought otherwise. New things needed to cut the old out, you always thought… but something like this seemed preposterous.

You smiled automatically, choosing the right words as the grip of the blade loosened further, “What are you trying to say, Zarita?”

The Rakshasa purred right into your ear, sending the shudders of what you couldn’t help but feel were of delight when she replied, “Who wants to listen to an old fool of a man when you can listen to another woman?”

She wasn’t wrong with this, but why did you so badly want to agree? A clawed hand came to wipe back a fallen strand of your hair, gentle and soothing. “You have a good way with words, Zarita,” you began. “But what else can you provide?”

“Someone who knows these lands best, from those who speak wrong of you and allying spies for your power,” she whispered lowly. “Or I can be a shoulder for you to cry on, a friend… someone to keep your bed warm when you’re lonely and cold.”

Your cheeks flushed, but she continued. “I can be a great help for many things, My Queen, so long as you have me.”

“If I say yes, what would you do with me as soon as you release me?”

“Perhaps we can celebrate,” her laughter rumbled through your chest. “Wine and cheese, or even chat whilst the men continue their fighting.”

“We can dine when this siege is over,” you corrected. “For now, I know of a place you can lead me to, one far from the eyes of both our men.”

Zarita purred excitedly, kneading her head against the back of your neck, “I’m listening.”

-

The twists and turns of the endless dark hallways were how you remembered them to be: when you had been ten and wandered through below whilst trying not to be caught by guards on their nightly duties. It was an easy escape when you had one built into the foundations of your room some couple of centuries ago.

The matted fur of Zarita caught little of her shadow or movements as she moved in front of you, leading the way with the small torch provided, indeed, it was certain she moved along the shadows with her dark attire and pelt blending seamlessly.

“You say this will lead us to the sanctum?” Her voice echoed through the narrow walls, the soft timbre to lure you out of your running thoughts. “The sanctum has been the safest part of the Keep, holding the fortifications and secret tunnels to lead to the shores.” You announced coolly, wracking your nerves against your tense fists. “I’ve seen it myself.”

The Rakshasa chuffed, “You know of war?”

“I’ve known of sieges, but not ones that lasted so long into the night,” you replied. “With sieges like these, it took days before I could finally rest, not from hearing the bells ringing for our doom. But my aunt’s army has been quick to come, thanks to the forces surrounding the Stormholme Keep.”

“Ah, the Moors,” Zarita hummed. “They are just as preoccupied in banishing my kind away. A couple of thousand years ago, when the first iron giants fell after helping to build the keep, the distant relative, an iron lord, decided in his best interest to control the population of Rakshasas.”

You felt a build of uncomfortableness build in your stomach, unsettling your nerves further, “Lady Ryllae never taught me of this history.”

“No-one really does, it’s kept secret,” Zarita hissed through her pointed teeth. “They like to keep the history of some out from humans so it looks like your race are the only ones suffering.”

The end of the hallway grew lighter and lighter with little light being cast through the crack of the wall. You moved in front of her, pushing past the bookshelf as silence fell between the two of you. “Zarita… I never knew-”

“That is fine, little Queen,” she responded dejectedly, but the whiteness of her teeth shone through. “You were not even needed to be told. Your old father made sure to keep it out of your history lessons, and to make sure no child born would know.”

It boiled your blood all the same from hearing of these tails of the past. The tenderness of your hand came to rest on her shoulder, feeling through the iron of her doublet made you question how she retrieved it. “I apologise on behalf of my ancestors who came before me. No more, when this is over, people will know of what happened, of the blood that was spilt and how no soul has been at peace since.”

“You needn’t be so kind, little Queen.” Zarita made the move to come in closer to you, the rumbling in her throat brought further shivers through you. So up close you could see that her eyes were not only a lovely chestnut hue but were flecked with gold.

The secret door was opened with a loud groan as the two of you stepped through into the large room. Glass candles surrounded the room with its high frames and columns that reached the sky, fake windows that always seemed to be open constantly were framed with hues of blues and greens, giving the ceiling a beautiful contrast to what would’ve been happening outside.

In the middle of the large room, sat the statue of the Matron Mother statue, a hooded figure knelt praying silently, almost in a state of oblivion when they turned to face the two of you. Quick as a fox, the figure had stood, slashing open the bronze of their sword as a threat to not you, the person behind, but you caught a glance of the silver in their hair.

You stepped forth cautiously, “Aunt Ryllae?”

“You’re not harmed?” The Lady of the Moors was quick to run to you, enveloping you in her arms and kissing your brow. “Gods be merciful, Hell surrounds us, sweet Caecia.”

“Will we ever see the end of this turmoil? I will not allow the Maetrine Keep to fall.” You admitted with dignity still strong in your heart. “Yes, my little cub. It will, however,” Lady Ryllae turned her gaze to the Rakshasa standing close to your side. “We must discuss… these matters. Your assassin is free.” 

“She is,” you sighed. “But, although questioning how she escaped can be a matter of discussion with my guards, my concern lies with how we will flee in this predicament.” The Rakshasa had a deadly gaze sent on your aunt, glaring with her ears bent back and flat against her head, eyes narrowed into slits. “I have been told of my utmost safety from her.”

“Oh, I can see for certain,” Lady Ryllae didn’t budge. “You would make her a knight then? Personal to you?” You exhaled deeply, turning to glance at her from your side. From her, Zarita was calm and steady as a river, growing low and soft in the back of her throat, her side brushing against yours. You felt protected already somehow. “Indeed. That was the deal we signed. My safety for her loyalty to be sworn as my knight.”

“Very well,” your aunt seemed wary as she pointed her gaze to Zarita. “Though know this, turncoat, if you dare lay a hand on your Queen and I hear word, I will hunt you to the ends of Ereon.

“Of course, Lady of the Moors.” Zarita coolly responded.

The Protector of the Stormholme Keep turned her gaze back to you, the tired smile replacing her features, worn from battle and skirmishes. My Queen, perhaps our place, for now, is here. You should rest, you must be worn.”

“As for you, Aunt Ryllae. Try and rest up as much as you can… All of us.”

The silver-haired lady nodded and bowed, not looking back on Zarita and she took her place back in front of the statue, continuing to pray as if she had been disturbed. “She prays a lot, doesn’t she?” Zarita noted not so softly in your ear.

“She prays because she worries about our fate.” You replied, going over to sit by the bookshelves, sitting down with Zarita not far to copy you. “Do you not pray?”

“I stopped a long time ago,” she was absent in space, drawling. “I suppose I lost many things that I forgot how to pray.”

“That is fair,” you slowly began gracelessly, turning to try and get comfortable, Zarita taking notice. “You are not comfortable, are you, Little Queen?” It took a small laugh to bubble over from your dried lips, glancing back to her. “You took notice?”

The Rakshasa put down her weapon to the side of her, opening her arms with a smoothness to her words, “Come here, I can warm you.” You didn’t object even when remembering too late that she had been rotting in an iron cell for who knew how long, crawling into her arms, resting your head into the crook of her shoulder and neck, surprised by how warm she had been with little on. Her fur was matted and short, but was fuzzy and soft against the flesh of your cheek, making your squirm momentarily. Zarita chuckled, not daring to move as she cradled you like a babe, a soft purr coming from her chest that reverberated through her into you. “Better?”

“Much, thank you.” You mumbled against her, trying to keep your eyes shut, ignoring how your heart stammered in your chest, hoping you couldn’t hear. Hers was steady and strong, pulling you to listen to it and only it, whilst the sounds of war continued outside.

When she believed you were sleeping from the lack of movement, Zarita glanced back to see whether any eyes were on her, before kneading her head into yours, nuzzling the side of your head and happy to feel you nuzzle back.

“Sleep well, my little Queen.”

[random-thought-depository]

It occurs to me that one relatively sympathetic aspect of these people might be that, their founding population having been abducted as small children and raised by an inhuman monster, they might lack a lot of the stupid prejudices that regular humans in a low-tech setting are likely to have if real history is any guide.

Think about what’s going to happen with that first generation. It sounds to me like the dragon abducts them when they’re very young, the better to brainwash them. The dragon is probably both ignorant of and uninterested in a lot of human culture, it just wants to raise up some dragon-worshipping brainwashed thralls. Which is probably going to be bad in a lot of ways, but it also means the transmission chains of a lot of stupid prejudices get broken. There’s no-one around to tell those kids that darker-skinned people are inferior. There’s no-one around to stigmatize left-handedness and force the left-handed ones to hide being left-handed. There’s no-one around to socialize them into complicated and rigid gender roles and tell them men should be in charge. There’s no-one around to tell them they shouldn’t share a washing bowl with a Cagot. There’s no-one around to tell them some people are Untouchables and karmically deserving of low status and suffering and you should take a ritual bath if one of them touches you. The dragon probably doesn’t even know about half that stuff and doesn’t care about most of the other half. The dragon might actually actively discourage a lot of prejudices like this if they do show up, because they’d interfere with its human stock being efficient thralls (“You’re telling me you want to reduce the military effectiveness and productivity of my dragon cult because you don’t want to share tools with people who have a particular surname? Yeah, no, we’re not doing that; any tool that is not personal property belongs to me and will be used by any of my thralls who is doing work that requires it”).

What happens when these kids reach puberty? The dragon probably wants its dragon cult making babies, so it’s probably going to tell them how baby-making works and make it clear it expects them to make some new thralls for it sooner or later, but as long as the thralls are making approximately the right number of babies and aren’t killing each other it probably won’t care much about the details. So... These people are going to start experiencing attraction to each other and sometimes falling in love with each other, and... Some of them are going to fall in love with people of the same sex, and there’s no-one around to tell them homosexuality is wrong. Some of them are going to fall in love with more than one person, and there’s no-one around to tell them they aren’t allowed to have multiple partners, and there’s no-one around to tell them that people who already have a partner are “taken” and off-limits, and there’s no-one around to tell them that if you’re a man another man having sex with your female partner is a huge deadly insult to your honor. The original write-up talks about dragons selectively breeding their human thralls, so there might be significant reproductive control and coercion happening, but it’s probably pretty orthogonal to the sort that happens in patriarchal societies.

This is simplifying in ways that might paint an over-optimistic picture. Even small children may have picked up some prejudices from the societies they spent their first years in. And some of that stuff might get reinvented. Children often detect and react with hostility to difference even without much or any prompting from adults, and I suspect some prejudices of this sort are ultimately rooted in that sort of reflexive xenophobia. And I think at least a rough “men do more of the fighting and heavy labor, women do more of the child-care and less strength-intensive work” division of labor is probably going to emerge, because it’s a natural and logical reaction to physical sex differences in a low-tech context. Though on that note, I can think of a few factors that might work to keep dragon cults more gender-equal than regular human societies:

Dragons likely won’t want their cults getting too numerous. A numerous cult would be harder to control and more likely to develop power centers independent of the dragon. Dragon cults would also be more secure against external threats than other human groups of their size, because they’ve got a giant fire-breathing monster on their side, so they wouldn’t have as much pressure to make sure they’ve got lots of fighters to defend their land (though the dragon would likely be a “tall poppy,” it’s likely that lots of people will want to kill it to stop its depredations and plunder its hoard and have the glory of defeating it, so that’ll partly cancel that out). Put this together, dragon cults might be at least a little less pro-natalist than their regular human neighbors. I mean, they’ll probably still have big families by modern standards because of how many people die young in low-tech societies, they’ll probably still need to have 3-5 children per couple just for replacement rate, but this might make at least a little difference. And high birth rates, large families, and pro-natalism are an important load-bearing pillar of strong gender roles; it’s not an accident that we started treating women a lot better after we invented or popularized vaccination, antibiotics, indoor plumbing, and birth control pills (the first three things made high birth rates unnecessary and even undesirable, the last thing made low birth rates easier to maintain). Compared to other human women, dragon cult women might have more time and energy to devote to things that aren’t making and raising babies.

I think dragon cults are also likely to be socially hierarchical but economically communalistic, with little private property and relatively high social mobility. From the original write-up it sounds like dragons want totalitarian control over their cults, so they won’t want their cults to have power centers independent of the dragon. Dynastic families and sizeable accumulations of private property are power centers independent of the dragon, so the dragon will discourage their formation. In low-tech male privilege societies powerful families and stable inherited property are major bulwarks of patriarchy; they make it important who your father is, and they make it important to avoid family instability that may result in division of the property or otherwise endanger the family’s claim to the property. If patrilineal descent chains don’t matter much, women are likely to have more sexual freedom and by knock-on effects of that more freedom in general and are under less pressure to marry early and produce lots of potential heirs for their husbands.

Finally, the write-up mentioned dragons selectively breeding their human thralls for size and strength, and maybe implied also selectively breeding them for precocious physical maturity. If they’re doing that, dragons might also selectively breed their thralls for reduced sexual dimorphism. From the dragon’s point of view, why wouldn’t you want to double your pool of potential strong fighters? So after two or twenty centuries of selective breeding dragon cult women might have size and upper body strength a lot closer to males. Dragon cults would probably still have some kind of “men do more of the fighting and women do more of the work compatible with having a baby or child in close proximity” gendered division of labor, but reducing sexual dimorphism would tend to weaken gendered divisions of labor and hence gender roles in general.

I mean, we’re talking about a creepy high-control cult here. And “nobody was there to tell them...” would definitely have potential dark sides, like “nobody was there to tell them rape and incest are wrong” and “nobody was there to tell them that an adult shouldn’t casually slap around or beat up a child when they’re angry at them.” They’d probably develop some taboos on that sort of stuff just to keep their society somewhat functional, and the dragon would probably give them rules against the aspects of that sort of behavior that might lower their efficiency as thralls or endanger the viability of the dragon cult, but “basically functional levels of rape, incest, and casual physical abuse of children” might look pretty horrifying (though given what a lot of actual historical societies looked like I’m not sure they’d really be worse on the rape and casually beating up their children fronts than their non-dragon cult neighbors). So this isn’t going to be any kind of utopia. If dragon cultists showed up in a story they’d probably be bad guys. But, like:

“And because they serve dragons, they sometimes get the good stuff. Picture a 15- year-old kid with the physique of Conan, wearing the golden armor of ancient kings and armed with magic spears. The kid is also illiterate, covered in fleas, and thinks that humans were created by dragons.”

I suggest that this kid might be a girl, who has a girlfriend and a boyfriend, in a world where a female person being a warrior and interacting on a footing of easy familiarity and equality with rough violent men and having multiple partners is very much not a regular thing in most human societies. And while from one point of view this person is a brainwashed slave of a giant fire-breathing mammal-like reptile, she can look forward to having a lot more personal freedom than most non-dragon cult women (e.g. the 15 year old farmer’s daughter whose father and older brother she just eviscerated). Would fit into: “And its not hard fascism either.  Their barbarian tribes don't chafe at the collar.  They've believe in their dragon.  And when you stand in front of a dragon, you can see why.” If that girl has some idea of how much less freedom and power she’d probably have if she’d been born into one of the surrounding more normal human societies, that knowledge surely cements her loyalty to her dragon. It’d make the whole thing more insidious in a way.

-----

Aside: the one thing that kind of bugged me about the Goblin Punch post is where it says dragon cultists “never build cities or roofs.” So what do they do when it rains, or is freezing cold, or burning hot? I’m interpreting this as they live in tent-like structures and don’t build permanent houses with thick walls, cause otherwise that bit is just grimderp.

[hotchley]

like blood underneath your fingernails

Honestly, I’m quite proud of this one. It’s been in the works for a while, and I finally have a title (from Looking Too Closely- Fink) and I both did those flashcards and emptied the dishwasher, so it’s here now. It’s been proofread!! Once. In the car.

The writers (according to the internet) did not deal with the aftermath of Scratch’s initial... thing. So I took it upon myself to write the case after. It got dark, but I had fun writing it. And it has low-key Mortch vibes... a lot of other amazing writers have also written fics linked to this, so you need to read those too because they’re just the best

OH!! This is not a Rossi-friendly fic. I have tried to explain why he responds the way he does, but it does come off as Rossi bashing, so if you reallllly love him and think he was a great friend to Hotch... skip on this one.

Trigger Warnings: dissociation, aftermath of torture, a slight reference to suicide and child death, canon-typical violence, cases involving kidnappings and murder, blood, dark themes, other canon-typical darkness, hallucinations

read on ao3!

He cannot close his eyes.

Because when he closes his eyes, he sees one of them, falling to the ground as the light leaves their eyes and the life leaves their body because his worst fear has never been his own death. It has always been the death of the family he is meant to protect- whether that was Sean, or Haley or the team. 

He hears the fear in JJ's voice as Spencer, her little brother, the boy that has always been too young, the man that he has never succeeded in saving, falls to the ground, eyes never opening again. 

He tastes the horrifying and coppery tang of blood as Derek is shot right in front of his eyes, the blood splattering onto his cheek and every sentence Reid has ever spoken about the bacteria and pathogens in blood springing to the forefront of his mind.

He smells the bitter and disgusting sage that Peter Lewis uses to torment people and turn them into brutal murderers that cannot stand the sight of their own hands or wrap their heads around their actions because they had always been normal and good, and it hurts because he's already a killer, never once normal or good.

He touches the knife that was slid towards him, the metal cool against his warm hand and the weight a comforting thing that make him feel like he could regain control of the situation he was in, despite the thoughts of George Foyet that fill his mind, and he wonders whether Scratch is impotent.

He closes his eyes and he no longer knows what is real.

It is why he is returning to work only ten days after the case. He had wanted to take the usual five, terrified even of that small number because he couldn't trust himself. The doctors that assessed him in the hospital wanted him to take thirty. Ten, and a passed psychological evaluation, had been the compromise.

He wonders if the team knows how he lied. They must do. They aren't stupid. He wonders if anyone will call him out on it, or if they'll once again be so terrified of the humanity he wants nothing more than to cling to that they will simply watch and wait until he shatters again.

The steady ticking of the clock is the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. When he flicks the light on, he sees there are still five hours until he needs to wake up. For a single moment, he closes his eyes, contemplating whether or not attempting to sleep is a pointless exercise. He swears he can still taste sage and opens his eyes again.

A silent house is not necessarily a bad thing. It means Jack is sleeping through the night, no nightmares about the gunshots haunting him. And it means the extra locks on the door, the obsessive way he checks every window is locked as soon as the sun goes down, are doing their job at keeping the monsters out of the only home Jack has real memories of.

Aaron creeps out of bed, grabbing the jumper that was folded at the foot of his bed. Once he's put it on, he sighs to himself and counts to five. For each number, he tells himself a fact that cannot be disputed. That grounds him.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old. 

He is standing inside his bedroom, in his apartment, which is located in Virginia.

The windows of that apartment are locked from the inside.

Just down the hallway, his son is sleeping peacefully, untouched by the monsters that strangle his father every single day.

He creeps down that hallway, taking comfort when the same floorboard that always creaks does just that. Normally he would avoid it. But lately he's been finding every opportunity to do something that Peter Lewis would have no knowledge of, if only so he can convince himself he's fine.

Jack's door is slightly open, allowing some light to enter. Aaron nudges it gently, making sure he doesn't wake Jack. The door doesn't make a sound, and his son carries on sleeping. He never looks so similar to his mother as he does when he sleeps. Haley slept on her left side, a slight smile on her face, and Jack does the same, unless he has a bad dream.

But even then, he is so much like his mother that his tears can be turned into something beautiful. Aaron was the exception of their little family, having always expressed his emotions so honestly, the few times he let himself do that, that there was no way it could be anything but ugly and human.

He's too big for the chair in front of Jack's desk, but he sits in it anyways, turning it so he can face Jack's bed. On the table is his latest art project- a collage of things that remind him of the people he loves- and Aaron finds it difficult to look at. Because his son has painted his mother as a perfect angel, and his father a superhero.

One day, Jack will realise his father is the furthest thing from the superhero and he will hate him for destroying his childhood and taking his mother from him before he was old enough to understand that people were mortal. Aaron is mentally preparing for that day- there are already so many letters that will never excuse or justify what he did hidden in his office drawer- but until then. he will allow himself this one good thing.

He will allow himself to sit, and take comfort in the steady rise and fall of Jack's chest. He ends up staying there until sunlight starts to stream through the window, and then he takes his leave. 

Seeing Jack, sleeping so calmly and normally, reminds him of why he's going back to work. Because if he hurts the wrong person there, the team won't hesitate and they'll do it. If he hurts Jack- and he knows he's weaker than the man that refused to harm his son, knows that it will be Jack- there will be nobody there to end his pain and suffering. He'll be forced to live with it.

A minute before his alarm is set to go, he turns it off, and then he goes about morning like it is any other day. 

He doesn't feel like himself till he puts the watch Dave got him when became lead profiler on, tightening the strap till it mirrors the feeling of holding the knife. And he wonders whether the team are discussing his return to duty the same way they had six years ago. 

They are. Aaron's absence meant more paperwork for the rest of them, as there is no way the team are going to let him handle it when he comes back, so every single one of them are in an hour earlier. It also means his return will be as smooth as it can be.

Even if they don't all approve.

"It's only been ten days," Derek says. "He needs more time."

"Does he? He came back thirty-four days after George Foyet stabbed him in his apartment and his wife and son were sent into Witness Protection, and he was fine. This is like child's play compared to that," Dave says, fiddling with a paperclip.

"Ex-wife," Reid corrects quietly. 

The three of them are sitting in the bullpen, looking towards the elevator every few minutes. Kate pretends she's not listening, and Derek pretends he believes her.

"Was he fine? He looked us in the eye and asked why a man that had lost his wife and child was still alive. He walked into a hostage situation unarmed. We all pretended he was fine because we needed Foyet to strike, but I'm not making that mistake again. Not after what happened when he did end up striking," Derek snaps.

Spencer swallows. Dave just raises an eyebrow. It's almost funny. Spencer views Aaron as a father, Dave as a son. Either way, they both believe he is perfect. Able to come back from anything and everything with nothing more than a broken ego. But Derek remembers what Foyet's body looked like, and he remembers how Aaron had shattered in his arms for those few seconds.

"If you want to ruin his first day back, then be my guest. But you need to trust him the same way he trusts us. After all, you care more about him than you do your job," Dave says, annoyance bleeding into his tone.

And Derek gets it. He really does. He had wanted to believe Gideon was invincible when he came back after Boston. Everyone had. So they hadn't done anything, and he had just gotten more and more reckless with his actions until innocent people ended up dead and Hotch got suspended. And then he ran. 

He isn't going to let that happen again.

"This isn't about not trusting him. This is about keeping him safe. And you're right. I do care about him more, because the last time I didn't, he almost retired. So we either do the opposite of what we did last time, or we let history repeat itself."

"Derek, you can't force him into anything. He passed his psych eval, so Cruz can't do anything either," Spencer says. 

Derek softens as he turns to him. "I know pretty boy. It's not about forcing him into anything. It's about making sure he knows that we're here if he needs more time, or if he needs a break. And don't get me started on that psych eval. I saw his answers. They're too perfect. He's lying."

"So what are you going to do?" Dave challenges, and not for the first time, Derek wonders how Aaron kept his sanity working with him, Jason Gideon and Max Ryan at the same time without any of the other members to meet his eyes with the same exasperated look every time one of them reverted to the old fashioned way of doing things.

"Be the friend he trusts me to be," Derek says. It's his own challenge. Dave prides himself on being the only one to call him Aaron. To people outside the team, Rossi seems to be the only one that Aaron trusts enough to be vulnerable with. 

But Derek knows better. Aaron will never be completely open with anyone, but he still feels like he has a duty to be the hopeful and undamaged boy that thought he could save the world that Dave recruited. He still has a duty to be the father that Spencer never had and thought he'd found in Gideon. It is only with Derek that he allows himself to do his own type of falling apart: one that is contained and messy and ugly. Somehow both terrifying and anticlimactic

It was Derek that stopped him from running into a burning building all those years ago. It was Derek that was voluntarily told about Haley leaving. It was Derek that stepped up as Unit Chief and pulled him off Foyet's dead body. Not Dave and certainly not Spencer. So he won't let them influence his actions. Not this time.

Hotch does blink. But only when he thinks nobody will see him do it.

Dave keeps eye contact for a few more moments, but this time, Derek does not break it. Eventually the older man turns around and heads to his office. Derek sighs, knowing fully well that Aaron is going to end up doing the paperwork anyways.

"Is he going to be okay?" Spencer asks, sounding so painfully young that Derek has to look at him to remember he wasn't the new recruit anymore.

"Dave? Yeah, he'll be annoyed, we'll get a case and then everything will be fine," Derek says, smiling so Reid doesn't worry.

"No I meant Hotch. Will he be okay?"

Derek can't tell him the truth. "Of course he will. He's Hotch."

"Why are you lying to me?"

He knows there's no point in trying to deny it. "I'm not trying to patronise you or keep you in the dark. It's not that. It's just- I don't know. It's stupid, but I want to shield you from his mortality and flaws and imperfections for as long as is humanly possible. You are always going to have a different relationship with Hotch because of how much younger you are, and I just don't want to be the one that ruins it."

"So you want to protect me?"

Derek nods. "I guess."

"Thank you. Nobody ever did that when I was younger," Spencer says.

Kate breaks the ensuing silence by asking for Spencer's opinion on her consult, and Derek starts watching the elevator doors again. They don't open until precisely nine, when Hotch steps off, dressed in the same suit and tie he wears every second Monday of the month, carrying his briefcase and acting like nothing happened.

He gives them a slight smile as he passes them in the bullpen, and even those few seconds are enough for Derek to see that he hasn't been sleeping.

When Aaron sets his briefcase down, Spencer looks to him, nervous. Derek gives him a small smile, even though they all saw him as he entered. It's only been ten days since they last saw him, but his suits seem to hang from him more than before. Dave looks out at them, and Derek starts to count.

He counts to three hundred, and is immediately struck by just how fast time can go. Three hundred seconds is five minutes, and yet it feels like no time has passed. But when Hotch looks out at them, as he always does, everyday, without fail, ten days feels like a lifetime.

He is terrified as he stands, but he fights through the fear and goes up to his friend's office. The door is open, so he walks in without knocking. When Hotch looks at him, he closes both the door and the blinds. Hotch swallows as the sound of them closing fills the air.

"I don't want them profiling this conversation," he explains.

Aaron just nods. "Thank you."

"You don't need to pretend with me," Derek says.

Aaron looks away, and Foyet's presence, usually contained to the self-deprecating voice in his head telling him he's no better than his father, seems to fill the room. They both know why he doesn't pretend anymore.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't need to say anything. I don't expect you to tell me the truth, because I wouldn't, if I was you. I'd be too terrified. But I remember what it was like seeing Spencer and Emily. So if you do want to talk, then I'm here. Always. And I won't flinch."

Aaron knows this to be true. When they finally got back to Quantico after Jason's death, Derek found him sobbing in the men's bathroom, the barriers he had spent so long piecing together completely breaking when he opened his drawer and found a photo from the early days, where Jason looked happy and hopeful. He hadn't said anything. Just sat beside him, and offered a tissue. 

"I know you won't."

Derek sighs, not sure what he's meant to do. "Aaron-" he starts, not sure what he's going to see next.

"I can't trust myself. I- I don't know what's real, and I keep trying to do the grounding things that the bureau therapist said I need to, but I don't know if they're working. I have post-it notes all over the apartment and I have my five facts, and I have things I can touch, but Scratch knew so much, I can't- I feel like he's everywhere and he knows everything."

It is so honestly vulnerable that Derek wants nothing more than to flee, if only so he can cling to the Aaron that existed when he first joined the unit for just one more moment. But he made a promise. And he has no idea how he's meant to keep it, but he's going to.

He holds his hand out. When Aaron doesn't take it, he leans over the desk, gently linking their fingers. "I'm here. With you. Scratch can't get our body temperatures perfect. He can't know that I'm always slightly warmer and you're always colder. He can't know that twelve years ago, I called you darling because I didn't realise it was you."

Aaron chuckles slightly. "Derek."

"You don't need to say anything. I messed up after Foyet. I won't do that again."

He shakes his head, finally meeting his eyes, and the fire in them is almost enough to convince Derek that everything is going to be fine. Almost.

"You did everything you could after Foyet. If you had tried to do more, I would have stopped you. We both know that. You did everything right, everything perfectly right and you cannot feel like you failed because you didn't. Do you understand me?"

Derek swallows. “Yes. But you need to understand that if you need anything- and I mean anything, whether it’s for me to take the reins for a bit, an unofficial firearms certification, or even just to do the grounding techniques with you, I will.”

Aaron nods. “I know Derek. I know. Thank you.”

Derek gives him the most convincing smile he can, leaving the door open because Aaron hated having it closed. As he exits. Dave steps in, and he sees as Aaron morphs back into Hotch to be the man that Dave needs him to be. It hurts to see, but he understands why it happens.

He doesn’t believe in God. He hasn’t for a while. But he needs to do something other than stare at dead bodies, so he prays that the team remain grounded for a few days. Not for too long because then Aaron will get suspicious and realise that Derek had been forging Rossi’s signature in order to transfer their out of state cases to other teams, but long enough for him to get settled once more.

Or as settled as he would ever be.

It’s probably why, only minutes after Dave leaves Hotch’s office, smiling, whilst the other man just looks exhausted, JJ comes rushing into the bullpen. There are five files in her arms, and she looks frantic. 

“No,” Derek says.

“I’m sorry, but we need to go on this one. It came directly to me. It’s- just look.”

He doesn’t want to, but as JJ goes to give the files to Dave and Aaron, he does, if only so he can gauge how much support he will need. And as he opens it, he understands exactly why they’re going on this case. Why, even if JJ had tried to hide it from Hotch, he would’ve said they had a duty.

They have four victims. All blonde women. All mothers. All divorced. Killed by a single gunshot to the head. No evidence of sexual assault, but they were held captive and tortured for three days before being dumped in their home. All found by their ex-husbands, who were only there to drop the child off.

Hotch does not show an ounce of humanity during the journey there. It terrifies Derek. Hotch only refuses to show how human he is when he’s close to falling apart. Too close for anyone to feel comfortable. Instead, he keeps his tone detached and professional. Derek pretends to not notice the way Aaron pushes down on his stomach, over the biggest scar Foyet left. Aaron pretends he doesn’t see Derek watching him.

When they get to the station, Derek knows it’s going to be a long case. Him and Reid are sent to the coroner’s office, whilst JJ and Kate are tasked with searching through their victims history. Which means Hotch and Rossi are left to interview the husbands. JJ and Derek- the most attuned to Hotch and the thought behind his actions- make a silent agreement that they will do whatever it takes to make sure Rossi doesn’t go too far. Whatever that means.

They fail because they don’t get the chance to speak to him before they leave the precinct.

And when they return, Dave is nowhere to be seen, and Aaron is sat in the conference room, clenching his jaw and hyper focused on the details in the case files.

“Did you get anything from the husbands?” JJ asks, tone gentle.

Hotch shakes his head. “They’re grieving, and terrified for their children. But they’re not guilty. They all loved their wives.”

Nobody bothers to point out all four couples were divorced.

"Where's Rossi?" Reid asks.

The tension in Aaron's shoulders increases.

"Hotch," Kate says, the only one that can.

"He accused one of the father's of committing the crime," Hotch says.

JJ and Morgan give each other identical looks. Kate looks horrified, and Spencer is stunned speechless.

"What happened after?" she prompts.

Hotch doesn't speak. Kate sighs, then leads JJ away. As she passes Spencer, she asks him to follow her because Hotch and Morgan need to speak alone. He nods and leaves without another word.

"Aaron," Derek says.

"I ended the interrogation and dragged him out of the room. And then I punched him in the face because those women remind me of Haley and those fathers remind me of myself and every accusation he made reminded me of the months after her death and I couldn't do it."

Derek wants to punch Dave himself. He must have known what he was doing, and in some strange and obscure way thought his actions would help the situation. Clearly he couldn't have been more wrong.

"You didn't cause Haley's death," he says, for lack of any other words.

"I did. Maybe I didn't put the gun to her head and pull the trigger, but I did cause it. That's not what I'm scared about though."

"What are you scared of then?" Derek asks, well aware that they're in the middle of a police station where anyone could hear them, but needing to take advantage of Aaron's vulnerability before he let his mask slip back into place.

"Scratch. I punched Dave and it felt like Scratch was laughing at me, egging me on to hurt him more. The worst part is that I almost did. Punching him felt good, and then I panicked and now I don't know- I don't know whether the only thing I did was punch him or if I did something more."

Derek curses under his breath. "How long have you been feeling like that?"

Hotch shrugs. "I couldn't- I forgot what time it was when I stumbled back here. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says, the words almost reflexive because of every apology Aaron has ever given him. "We just need to ground you."

He takes Aaron's hands, noting that the muscles are moving the way they should be. It's a small thing, but it's a good thing, because it means he's wearing the wrist support when he needs them and doing the physical therapy.

“Look at me,” he commands softly.

Aaron does so willingly. “Derek, we’re in a conference room.”

“That’s good. Can you give me four other facts that prove you’re here, in this moment with me?”

"My name is Aaron Hotchner. I am forty-four years old. We are in a police station. You are Derek Morgan. There is a door behind you and a window behind me- the window is locked, but the door is wide open. We can both see if someone walks in."

"Show off," Derek teases.

Aaron manages to smile slightly. “Thank you,” he whispers after a moment.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Derek says. He means it.

This time, Aaron’s laugh is self-deprecating. “I’m a horrible person to look after.”

“Not to me you’re not. How do you feel now?”

He shrugs. “Better, I guess.”

“Drink some water. Slowly. I’ll go check on Dave.”

“Do you think he’s going to hate me?” Aaron asks.

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend. Of course not,” Derek says. He keeps his tone light, but deep down he’s afraid that Dave will. Not forever, he could never do that, but for long enough that something else goes wrong.

He finds Dave in the bathroom. 

“Hotch told me what happened,” he says.

“And what? You’re here to tell me that I shouldn’t have pushed because he’s fragile and hurting? Did you tell him that he shouldn’t have fucking punched me in the face because of something I said to a suspect?”

“Those men were not suspects and you know that,” Derek snaps. He sighs. “I wasn’t coming here to tell you that you shouldn’t have pushed. I came to see whether or not you were okay.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. Derek sighs, again.

“He saw Scratch when he punched you. Now he’s worried. And he’s falling back into old patterns. I told him he didn’t kill Haley and not only did he not believe me, he flat out disagreed and said he did.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dave asks. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Derek wants to shout at him. He may be tired after this one event, but he’s not been the one picking up the pieces and gluing their fragile leader back together for the past few years. Dave doesn’t get to be tired. Not whilst Derek is still the only one able to do anything.

“I don’t know Dave. You’ve known him the longest. It was you that found him in the immediate aftermath. You took the gun from him- rather poetic given the last time an unsub targeted him, you told him to take yours- and got him to speak.”

Dave blinks a few times. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought being hard on him would bring him back, but I was wrong.”

“It’s okay. You just need to correct yourself now,” Derek says, for lack of any other words.

“I just want him to be the boy he was when he first joined the unit,” Dave whispers.

Derek did not know the boy his friend was then, but he does know the Aaron that existed before Boston. The Aaron that held a baby Jack in their arms like that one small child was enough to remove every piece of darkness to exist. The Aaron that had grabbed Haley’s hand and taken her dancing so they could spend a bit of time together.

"We all do. But he's gone now. The only thing we can do is try to save whatever pieces of him live in the Aaron that is sat in the conference room, beating himself up over something that was not his fault because of your misplaced comment," Derek says. They have a killer to catch. There's no time to entertain this.

"I know. Thank you. For doing what the rest of us are too afraid to," Dave replies. Derek shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. 

Something about the dynamic between the two men has changed, and everybody has noticed.

"Somebody has to," is all he can say, before he leaves Rossi to wash his hands and search for the man that had promised Aaron everything he could ever want, all those years ago when he first recruited him for the BAU.

There's an empty glass of water beside Hotch when Derek returns, and he's silently thankful that for once in his life, Aaron listened. He's deep in conversation with one of the police officers, so he refrains from making any comments, but when Aaron turns back towards the table, he goes over without a second thought.

He tells himself it's because he wants to know what happened just then. Because he wants to know whether or not they have any more information that can be used to their advantage. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact that learning about the case means he doesn't have to focus on the minute tremble of Hotch's hands. Doesn't have to see the hollow look in his eyes- a look of a man so defeated that he has no reason to try anymore.

The problem with being a profiler is that you rarely fall for anyone's bullshit- including your own.

“Did the officer have some additional information?” Derek asks.

Hotch hears him, obviously, but does not respond.

“Hotch,” he repeats.

“No. He didn’t. He wanted to know why you were holding my hands.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “And what did you say?”

“That ten days a man that managed to turn people that would never dare hurt another person into horrific killers drugged me, causing me to hallucinate the deaths of the same people that are solving his case for him, and as a result, I cannot always tell when things are real,” Aaron deadpans.

For a moment, Derek honestly can’t tell whether or not he’s joking. Then Aaron gives him the smallest smile, and he relaxes slightly. The last thing they need happening is officers spreading even more rumours about the types of cases the BAU work on.

He starts to reply with a joke of his own, then sees Aaron’s smile fade away like it was never there. He wonders how instinctive the action is- how many times was that little boy told he was too much, and how many times did he fade into the background like he didn’t even exist?

Without turning, he knows it’s Dave.

“I’m going to see if Spencer needs any help,” Derek says.

For a moment, it seems like Aaron is going to beg him to stay. But like most of his displays of humanity, it passes in a second, and then he simply nods, not even trying to fight.

“Aaron,” Dave says, walking over with purpose.

“Rossi don’t. Please,” Aaron pleads.

“What you did was stupid. But my actions were also uncalled for,” he says. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to a proper apology. Aaron accepts it because there’s not much else he can do. Dave pretends it’s going to fix everything because it’s the only thing that will get him through the case.

“Do you seriously think the fathers are to blame?” Hotch asks.

Rossi shakes his head. “Not anymore. I just needed to be sure.” He also needed to be sure that Aaron was fine, and given his response to Rossi’s accusation, he can’t say he’s convinced.

"Good," Aaron says, and the smile he gives Dave is so small and subtle, but so full of love, that for a single moment, the older profiler is able to convince himself that the fragile collection of skin and bones in front of him is still the hopeful boy that joined the unit. But then the moment passes and he's left feeling worse than before.

When the team come back, picking up on the cues that both Hotch and Rossi laid down, they go back to acting like nothing is wrong. Like the women in the photos are victims that deserve justice, and not the mirror of the same light they failed to save five years ago.

There are no breaks in the case, and they return to the hotel defeated and miserable. Budget problems mean they're doubling up. Part of Derek wants to switch rooms with Dave so he can keep an eye on Aaron, but the bigger part of him knows it would be a terrible idea, so he texts him saying that if he needs anything, no matter what time it is, he'll be available.

Aaron mouths the words thank you once he's read the message. Derek counts it as a win, and he tries to remain calm when Dave texts him saying that when he entered the shower- after Hotch- although the water dial was set to be normal, the water ran hot. Too hot.

He refrains from commenting the next morning, when Aaron clasps his glass of freezing water like a lifeline. In some ways, it is. And he knows what it's a sign of. He isn't sure whether it's caused by something in particular, or if he's just overwhelmed, but the hotel dining area- where Kate and Spencer would both hear- isn't the place to ask.

They get to the precinct, and it becomes clear that nobody there has slept. Another woman was found dead a few minutes before they got there. The father and son are sitting in the same conference room the BAU were working out of. For a moment, Aaron looks like he's going to kill the person that sent them there. The lead on the case quickly intercepts, saying they moved the boards and evidence files, and he relaxes slightly.

But before anyone can sleep, he removes his blazer and tie, before unbuttoning his top button and rolling his sleeves up. And then he walks into the conference room. Derek blinks, then it clicks. Aaron looks like a father. Someone both people sat in the room can trust. JJ hands him the information on the file, and his breathing stops for a moment.

The father and son could have been Aaron and Jack. If Aaron's eyes were darker and Jack's hair lighter, they would be the boys smiling in the photo provided with the file. He wants to take over the conversation Hotch must be having, but he finds himself rooted to the spot. How many cases are going to hit too close to home before Aaron gives up? Before it feels like every victim wears Haley's face? 

How many more times can Aaron Hotchner look into the darkest parts of humanity before his hands stop going cold at crime scenes and Derek Morgan needs to take his place in some weird parallel of the events that occurred after Boston? 

When the father and son leave the room, he jumps out of his chair and runs over.

"We will catch this man. And if you need anything, please don't hesitate to contact me," he hears Aaron say.

He sighs to himself.

The father shakes his hand and leaves, guiding his son with nothing more than a gentle hand to the back of his head. He sees Aaron swallow. 

"You know you can't promise things like that," he chastises, not truly meaning it.

"It wasn't a promise. It was a guarantee," Hotch snaps.

Morgan simply raises an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"I told him about Haley, and how I found her. And about how Jack was just down the hallway in my office- the one place in our home that my work touched, even if he never found it- so now he can't be alone on New Years or Independence Day. I only said it because he told me I didn't understand what it was like. To have to do that."

No amount of surgery is ever going to fix the hole in Aaron's heart that Haley's death created. They could plant seeds of love and watch them blossom into flowers of acceptance and fearlessness in every other part of his body, but that one area could never be touched.

Derek knows this. He's seen it before.So he doesn't offer any words, because there are none. Instead, he takes Aaron's arm and he squeezes the elbow. It is Aaron's non-verbal method of saying thank you. So in that moment, it can also be his.

Aaron isn't entirely sure why Derek is thanking him, but he learnt long ago that when someone said something, you didn't push. You accepted their words- whether they were kind declarations of love or as sharp as knives- and you moved on.

When Derek lets go of him, he walks back over to the team, feeling slightly lighter and infinitely more grounded.

Kate tells him another woman had been taken, and the weight he thought he'd been able to let go off settles on his chest like a death threat. There is a single moment where she worries that this will be the thing that causes him to fall off the edge of the cliff he's been standing on for far too long, but then he stands up properly and it's like nothing ever happened.

He doesn't sleep, instead pouring over the case file whilst Rossi gently snores beside him. If Jason had been with the team. he would've somehow realised that Hotch was still awake, and told him to go to sleep. And Hotch would've obeyed. But Jason wasn't with the team. He was dead. And sometimes that knowledge knocked Aaron off guard, so he stopped focusing on that and started concentrating on the woman.

Their break comes the next morning.

Garcia hasn't slept either, and between the two of them, they have a name and a location. Everyone piles into the cars, vests on and weapons ready, because even though nobody had said it, there was no way this is ending without at least one shot being fired.

The door to the building is unlocked, and they have their unsub surrounded within seconds. Hotch suddenly feels like a bucket of ice has been poured over him, causing him to freeze, and the blood to start pounding in his ears. Nothing feels real to him. He tightens the grip on his gun.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old.

He is holding a gun because he is on a case.

The unsub is holding a knife to a woman's throat.

The woman looks just like Haley- no. He cannot think that. Not now. 

"Let her go," JJ commands softly.

"No," their unsub says.

What is his name? And why can Aaron not remember his name?

"If you put that knife down, and let her go, we can tell the courts that you cooperated with us. That'll be nice, won't it?" Kate adds. Her tone is completely level. Calming in a way that it shouldn't be.

The unsub grins, then presses the knife even closer to his victim's throat. She lets out a terrified whimper and closes her eyes. He yanks her hair, forcing her to open then, and he seems pleased with himself.

"I don't care about the courts. I care about the man I'm doing all of this for. He's going to be great, and he's going to make me great too. Just you wait and see."

This wasn't part of the profile. There was never meant to be a more dominant partner. The control Aaron has been clinging to in order to get through this case is slowly slipping away with each piece of information he either cannot remember or is introduced to him. 

"He? Who is he?" Spencer asks.

The man cocks his head. "Is it not obvious?"

Spencer shakes his head. "We're not like you. We need you to explain."

He nicks the skin slightly. Blood pools at the tip of the blade. Another digression from the previous pattern. No knives were ever used to cut the skin. The kills had been quick and clean. Why was everything changing?"

"I won't."

"The only way you get out of this alive is if you explain everything to us. Because this man, he won't make you great. Whoever he is, he only cares about himself. Not you. Certainly not your life. But we care about you. Just set the knife down," Derek says.

Aaron knows he needs to contribute, but he just can't do it. His tongue is like a useless knot in his mouth that he can't undo because his brain is twisted too.

"No," the man says, bringing it dangerously close to the woman's pulse.

"Aaron!" Derek shouts. "You're the only one with a clear shot. You need to take it. Or do something. Do you hear me? You are the only one that can do this. If he moves that knife, take the shot."

Aaron turns in the sound of the voice. Derek is telling him that he needs to take the shot, and he can see why. With the way they're stood, he is the only one that can possibly avoid hitting either the woman or another team member. 

He raises his hands, ignoring how they tremble. Front sight. Trigger press. Follow through. Three steps that he has been following since his days at the Academy. Three steps that mean he has never missed. Never failed.

The man smirks.

Aaron turns to make sure nobody else will get hurt, or can take the shot. But when he looks at Derek, it's not Derek.

It's Peter Lewis.

"No," he whispers, but in the silence of the room, he may as well have shouted at the top of his voice.

He turns to look at the man, and he sees that he is about to shoot Derek Morgan. The one person that has never been afraid of him. The one man that is still good and undamaged by his hands. The one man that can and has led the team without any sort of assistance with him.

"Aaron!" Derek's voice exclaims, but he still wears Mr Scratch's face.

Aaron does not know what is real anymore, but he knows he needs to minimise the damage. The gun falls from his hands, with the safety off. It lands on the floor with a clatter that is too loud to his ears.

Their unsub laughs, once, and slits the woman's throat. She falls to the ground, dead by the time she hits the ground. Derek- real Derek, whose hands have always been warmer than his- fires his gun once. The unsub also falls to the ground with a shout.

Aaron closes his eyes.

He hears his name.

He tastes copper.

He touches his own hand, startled by the coldness.

He sees Derek's terrified face.

He smells sage.

He smells sage.

He smells sage. And then the world goes black.

When he comes round, he does not know where he is. He does not know where the team is. He cannot ground himself in the moment or come up with five facts that prove his surroundings are real. 

He opens his eyes. The team is gone.

And he is covered in blood.

[starlightshore]

hi sorry if this seems a little rude, if chara isn't really bad, then why do they kill them on the soulless route?

(I always wanted to know about it)

(not rude at all! feel free to ask questions like this its no skin off my back) which “them” are you referring to? that could mean different things like: the underground, the player, Frisk ect. its a little vague)

but I’ll try to answer this with the above being vague anyway

---

hoo boy this ended up long LMAO. coming back from the bottom to say Sorry this ended up this lengthy. here’s some

content warnings: discussions of canon and implied dark topics such as: abuse, murder, death, suicide, and self harm

---

TLDR: Chara is a complex character with a rich backstory and motivations. by looking at the full game, you understand they’re a mentally ill child who is just following the player’s directions. YOU do the killing, Chara is your partner in crime because you force them to be.

Chara is the narrator in ALL routes. they are the UI, stats and narration.

it is Chara’s memories that convinces Asriel to remember how they met and how much they loved each other when alive. Chara is key to Asriel freeing the underground, they are a god dang hero

let’s look at canon Chara pre-game to fully understand what’s going on though.

-Chara lived in a village close to mt.Ebott. they decided to climb mt.Ebott for “a not happy reason” and hated humanity

-once underground, they become the sibling to Asriel and become a full fledged Dreemurr. They love their family. “it’s a dusty photo. everyone is happy.” (which, if you believe is the photo of Chara holding the flowers next to Asriel, implies Chara is smiling under them and their bangs) + the Mr.Dad Guy sweater + baking a pie for their dad

-in the underground, there’s the Deltarune prophecy. it reads as follows: “There is a prophecy. The Angel... The One Who Has Seen The Surface... They will return. And the underground will go empty.“

-Toriel and Asgore are both strong believers of the Deltarune as seen by the symbol on their clothes and homes.

-Chara has been to the surface and therefore, most believe Chara is the angel that will free them.

-Chara is a small child, who hates humanity, loves their family, and by fate is destined to free monster-kind. they are determined.

-Chara and Asriel decide to prank Asgore by making a pie with buttercups instead of a cup of butter. They learn the flower is poisonous and Asgore gets sick, but ends up fine. Chara laughs it off, but if one is paying attention to the game, you will see that their is a very common theme of smiling/laughing when distressed.

Toriel smiling, laughing when being killed in no mercy

Migospel’s whole game-play is about how one acts around others vs. alone “ Laughter hides the pain. [Alone]”

sans can be seen as a broad example

a VERY good example is the snowdrake’s mother fight:

“You laugh, and keep laughing. It's SO funny, you can't stop. Tears run down your face. | ... what? You didn't do that? [Laugh]

But it's not funny. [Laugh again]”

-Chara hates humanity (epilogue Asriel says that) and by extension, would hate themself. you can read into the tools being worn down to being blunt + no knives in the kitchen as being precautions Toriel put in place to prevent Chara from self-harming. Chara attempts suicide twice in the game’s story.. Also! It’s implied Chara was abused before coming underground. “ If you're cuter, monsters won't hit you as hard.-faded ribbon flavor text” and the fact Chara thought to kill the villagers in the first place, they didn’t get the “kill or be killed” mindset out of nowhere. + abuse can manifest in depression, anxiety, and Chara displays behaviors of coping with abuse. (harder to explain that detail, but Chara’s control-issues and distrust just SCREAMS abuse to me)

Chara is a kid with severe mental illness, implied to be abused, and all while younger than 13. that’s a lot to take in. which is also why a lot of people are upset at “Chara is evil” theories because it ignores that context and demonizes them. which is. bad. for lots of reasons. but mainly for how it handles the topic of survivors of abuse and mental illness and they’re just a freaking kid.

-anyway, long tangent aside... so this next point is more so how I interpret the order of events: Chara climbs the mountain to die, but trips and meets the Dreemurs. They become beloved by the kingdom and believed to be their savior. Chara can’t escape humanity’s history of trapping monsters or their own history of their horrible village, and when Asgore is poisoned they realize they’re bad too. It’s a common mindset of suicidal people to want to die before their image is tarnished. die while things are still “good,” when they’re still remembered fondly.

to cross the barrier, you need to have a human soul AND a monster soul. if Chara wanted to, they could of killed any of the Dreemurrs and absorbed their soul. But instead, the buttercup plan is a really freaking horrible way to die. Buttercup poisoning is awful. seriously, look up the symptoms. it’s bad. which is also why i believe Chara hated themself so much to put up with that form of death. -then they die, and become part of the Asriel and Chara fusion. (it should be stated they did not know Chara would be conscious.) the plan they agree on is to kill enough humans to break the barrier and free monster-kind, but Chara wants revenge, which is why they want to kill the humans and not negotiate like Toriel suggests Asgore could of done.

-Humans of course freak out at seeing them + their corpse and attack. Asriel realizes Chara was wrong and doesn’t want to murder, lets himself be killed. As they’re dying Chara screams “its kill or be killed” and both die. -years, possibly a century later depending on what side of the time-skip debate you’re on, Chara awakens in Frisk’s body and interacts with You, the player.

-they likely see you as the True Angel, and follow your orders just as Frisk just kinda vibes and does so as well.

-if you keep murdering, frisk distances themself from the world. (implied by what sans says about LV): * LOVE, too, is an  acronym. * It stands for "Level of  Violence." * A way of measuring someone's  capacity to hurt. * The more you kill, the  easier it becomes to  distance yourself. * The more you distance  yourself, the less you  will hurt. * The more easily you  can bring yourself to  hurt others. 

-Frisk, NOPEing out of the whole thing, just leaves Chara, who feels like they are the literal stats of the universe. THAT is why Chara is only really fully present in no mercy, and only narration otherwise. Frisk’s autonomy and how much control they have are directly tied to your LV. Frisk is only named in the pacifist ending because they’re rewarded with the acknowledgement that they’re a person.

-The biggest detail is that it’s not Chara who kills, but YOU. Chara is your partner in crime, and only attacks the player when you refuse to ERASE the world and they kill you themself. it is your power and your determination that brought them to this world, and it is through your actions they believe power is the only they must fight for.

-also, both Chara and frisk are influenced by the player and react differently depending on your actions. (the dog food bag is described as “half full/half empty” depending on your LV, a reference to how one looks at glasses of water to be more optimistic/pessimistic and Frisk will feel good/bad depending on LV when punching the mad dummy in waterfall.) Chara is always just following your lead. they’re not controlling Frisk, you are. however, they are in control of the choices (as confirmed in no mercy you don’t get to choose answers for papyrus’ question and he calls you out on it. personally i like to think each choice answer is from each kid)

anyway yeah that's my overly long analysis of how Chara’s backstory is used to define who they are and then how being revived from the dead, they follow your steps to apply the “kill or be killed” logic to it’s extreme end.

also, its not like Chara is happy about following your orders either.

they think a plant is judging you. they talk about your sins in the sans fight. they call Undyne a hero despite fighting her. Chara doesn’t want to kill Asriel, but once it happens they go ballistic, stabbing repetitively, clearly upset. that then instantly gets them powerful enough to destroy the world, as with how LV is described as distancing yourself and such. Asriel meant the MOST out of everyone, he was their best friend, forever.

[lorei-writes]

Match-Up #31

Hi I’m Ana and I’m new at this, if it’s wrong don’t do it. Sorry for my poor english and and I forgot the pet peeves

Ah, hello, Ana @a6r6o6k! I hope you’ll have plenty fun in the fandom :D And don’t worry, it’ll be all good. The match-making shall begin! >:3

*5 positive qualities: 📍I think I’m intelligent (but I don’t really know) 📍 I’m curious: so I like to know the why of the things 📍Loyal: even if I like to see and have other options I always want to keep with the same people 📍I like to help, I’m studying psychology to understand people and help them: if I can help being a psychologist GREAT, if I need to do something else it’s also GREAT. 📍I’m adventurous if I have the security

To begin with, let’s consider intelligence and curiosity together. As per usual in such situations, I’d dare look more so towards the rather intellectual suitors who could match such characteristics - perhaps leaning a bit more towards the encouraging ones, the ones who simply challenge the people around them to think more.

Nobunaga (+2) Mitsuhide (+2) Mitsunari (+1) Masamune (+1) Shingen (+2) Sasuke (+2)

Now, loyalty! Hmm... The way you describe it... I suppose it could be understood either as a sign of investing in relationships, even despite some differences... Although I do think some could take it as choosing to stay in relationship at the expense of your ideals. Let’s see how those two approaches balance out.

Nobunaga (+1) Mitsuhide (-1) Hideyoshi (+1) Mitsunari (+1) Ieyasu (-1) Masamune (-1) Kenshin (+1) Shingen (+1)

Ah, helping others! Oh love, with psychology... I mean, hm, how do I put it? Please, do not become a therapist for all of our Ikemen, because gash, that’s a real threat with how sad most of them is ;-; But, that aside, I think most suitors would understand the drive to help others very well... Although some perhaps a tiny bit more than others.

Hideyoshi (+1) Ieyasu (+1) Kenshin (+1) Shingen (+1)

Adventurous, if provided with enough support? Ha, that brings some suitors to mind! (I picked those who are less likely to suddenly prank their partner with something potentially dangerous, even if just for laughs).

Mitsuhide (+1) Masamune (+1) Kenshin (+1)

*5 negative qualities: 📍Picky eater (I can’t eat thing with certain textures like snails, or things very bitter or acid) 📍I’m very pessimistic, sometimes realistic but more pessimistic: I don’t have depression, but there is history of depression in my family. 📍Easily distracted: I have ADD (Attentive Deficit Disorder), so I have the concentration time spam of a fish, even e with the things I like, if I have to use all my attention I can, but if not usually I doing 5 things at the same time. 📍I very disorganised: I think it comes with the ADD but I don’t know 📍I don’t have the knowledge of the social clues, so I’m very talkative sometimes and very silent other times.

Picky eater? Oh, there should be some suitors who could either understand that, or who could try to remedy that... Although the latter option may come with a bit of a rocky start, haha.

Mitsuhide (+1) Hideyoshi (+1) Mitsunari (+1) Masamune (+1)

Hmm... So you say you tend to lean more so towards pessimism? I suppose suitors who would amplify that could be a bad choice... But perhaps those that have more of a soothing, grounding aura?

Mitsuhide (+1) Hideyoshi (-1) Mitsunari (+1) Ieyasu (-1) Masamune (+1) Kenshin (-1)

To be honest, I can think of only one character that would be annoyed by deficits of attention. Same with lack of understanding of social situations and such (also, I can high-five you on that).

Ieyasu (-2)

As for being disorganized... I think it could prove troublesome when in relationship with some suitors who also share this characteristic.

Hideyoshi (+1) Mitsunari (-1)

1st Summary

Mitsuhide (+4) Shingen (+4) Nobunaga (+3) Hideyoshi (+3) Mitsunari (+3) Masamune (+3) Kenshin (+2) Sasuke (+2) Ieyasu (-3)

*5 likes: 📍Read: everything (fantasy, culture, history...). Knowledge is power. 📍I would like to travel to learn language to understand people 📍Sweet things: I love sweet things 📍Animals: I wanted to be a veterinarian but I couldn’t enter in the University 📍Listening and observe people

Points distributed for likes:

Nobunaga (+3) - he would agree with such views on knowledge, sweet things, travel Mitsuhide (+3) - views on knowledge, travel, observing people Mitsunari (+1) - reading Ieyasu (+2) - views on knowledge, animals (veterinary in particular) Masamune (+1) - travel Shingen (+3) - views on knowledge, sweets, observing people Sasuke (+3) - observing people, reading, travel

* 5 dislikes: 📍I have a big scar in the side of the chest, combined with a hunched back and two breast of different size it makes me uncomfortable, so my body. 📍Get my freedom limited 📍Have to stay still 📍Just do things because the people talk 📍I have fear to be alone, like not psychically, but emotionally

A break from match-up. Oh love, we all have our imperfections, and what you mentioned in the first point are perfectly human traits. Breasts generally are of a different size, and it can vary a lot - and which is bigger can even change depending on the point in time of your menstrual cycle. Scars tell stories of what we went through and what makes us ourselves. We all have some, smaller, bigger ones, but they are there... And, lastly, as a person who used to have very bad posture (somewhat hunched back and some more): you may want to look into whether it could potentially cause some complications later on. Of course, it may not be a concern, but you know. Caring about your body is very important.

So, with that, some extra points, specifically for suitors who know how to cheer on their lover and who cherish them openly.

Mitsuhide (+1) Masamune (+1) Shingen (+1)

Points distributed for dislikes:

Nobunaga (-2) - limited freedom, emotionally aloof at times Ieyasu (-1) - may give the aura that you have to do something, because he says so, or because somebody says so, some norm says so Masamune (-1) - emotionally aloof at times Kenshin (-2) - emotionally aloof at times, limited freedom Shingen (-1) - emotionally aloof at times

2nd Summary

Mitsuhide (+8) Shingen (+7) Nobunaga (+4) Mitsunari (+4) Masamune (+4) Hideyoshi (+3) Sasuke (+5) Ieyasu (-2)

Only characters with positive value by their names will be considered in the final stages of the match-up.

* Relationship dealbreakers: 📍I don’t think I have any relationship dealbreakers except the mentioned in the pet peeves(it would be my first relationship), but I would not like be cheated without a reason (you don’t trust me so you don’t tell me the plan, okay; you don’t tell me all the information to tease me, okay; you just lie to me to hurt me, not okay) 📍Okey, may be I have 1 or 2 dealbreakers: I don’t stand people that treats others like garbage just because (if the other did something okay, but just because no) 📍Being ignored 📍People that is very possessive physically and emotionally: I need to talk and touch my friends. 📍People that believe that just because I can’t do things: like “you’re a woman you can’t fight” or “you can’t show so much skin”... 📍People that assume things: I like to be asked. 📍People that touch me without permission: if is a bet or a game I can, but without permission I can’t.

Oh, so I should consider pet peeves as dealbreakers?

* Up to 3 pet peeves: dealbreakers v.2 📍Poor hygiene 📍Be cheated 📍Constant criticism

Nobunaga (+4) & Masamune (+4) - too touchy, may not ask for permission first, they do struggle with the idea of consent at first Hideyoshi (+3) - may initially assume some things

* 3 Wild Cards: 📍I’m very naive and believe what people say so... if someone says “I don’t like/love you” in the real life I would believe them. 📍I think that I’m like a cat: I want a home base to return but I want to have the freedom to explore my environment. I want to have someone to return but with freedom to leave 📍My type of love is Words of affirmation

Mitsuhide & Shingen (-1) - they may use this sort of naivety and say such things, although they’d most likely have a good reason for it (hence not cross out for meeting a dealbreaker)

*Most disliked characters: 📍Kennyo: I don’t like that he is trying to kill me. 📍Ranmaru: I see him like a little brother 📍Mitsunari: the same as Ranmaru 📍Motonari: sorry Motonari, you’re very hot but the chains and necklaces are out of fashion

Mitsunari (+4)

Final Results

Mitsuhide (+7) Shingen (+6) Sasuke (+5)

Mitsuhide

Confessed first: You, although he didn’t realise you truly did mean it and weren’t just playing a role.

Makes tea in the morning: Mitsuhide. Having learnt of your problems with focus, he decided to make sure you’d at least eat something in the morning too - it made him realise how he worried others, so to say.

Hogs blankets at night: There’s no hogging blankets involved. He always has a spare blanket on hand. Sometimes you wonder whether there’s an infinity of blankets hidden around... Although, quite honestly, he is just more likely to go in for a hug if you did steal one from him.

Is the little spoon: On most days, you.

Possible points for conflict: Given his line of work, it happens sometimes that he has to pretend, to say things he does not mean. At times he may forget of how literally you take his words as well.

Free time ideas: Strolling through the town, visiting the marketplace, playing with his pet fox (Chimaki), just resting in the gardens of his manor.

Favourite date spot: The quiet and cosy teashop in the town.

A secret you share: He adores how literal you can be, but sometimes... Sometimes it causes for you to overwork yourself, or get otherwise hurt. Whenever such things happen, he gently urges you to stay inside while he lies on your behalf.

His favourite thing about you: How open you are. He fell for you, which means everything that you are, but he is still amazed by the fact that you dare be so direct and trusting. In his mind, it is a sign of a strong heart.

His message to you: “What is it, little mouse?” ”You’re not convinced you deserve so much?” ”My, my... Then let me prove to you how gorgeous you are. After all, you’re the only one I dare want.”

[rockthistowninsideout]

DigiWeek 2021

Day 4 - Dark/Light

The Story

part 1 part 2 part 4

   We woke up early the next morning as the sunlight sent its rays into the cave.

   When we had reached it yesterday, dusk had fallen already and the temperatures had dropped significantly. So I had helped Kamemon gather wood which Ryudamon had set ablaze with its fiery breathe. As the fire illuminated the cave, it peeled out archaically drawn illustrations out of the dark. With them, Ryudamon explained to us the history of the Digital World and its most prominent landmarks. File Island, Spiral Mountain, Primary Village, the ocean, the jungle, the ice wastelands, and so much more.

   How darkness and light had always lived side by side because one couldn’t exist without the other, but repeatedly dark forces had tried to overthrow this balance and spread gloominess across the Digital and also the human world. When that happened, ancient powers had called humans for help – those children were called the DigiDestined. Usually they were younger than us, aged sixteen we were old hands. In terms of Digimon, though, we were nearly completely ignorant.

   Ryudamon couldn’t explain why we had been chosen. Both Digimon had simply felt the urge to go to the meadow where they’d met each other for the first time and waited for their partners to arrive. They didn’t know it would be us specifically but they felt an undeniable connection the moment we had stepped off the trolley.

   We had discussed why the other DigiDestined hadn’t been with us but we hadn’t reached a satisfying conclusion so we had decided to go to sleep and see what the new day would bring us.

   Now we had breakfast with the remainders of our lunch and with frost berries Kamemon had picked in a small piece of forest around the corner of the cave. It didn’t look like it but it knew the ice wastelands inside out.

   “I’m a passionate traveller”, it explained. “The other Kamemon like to stay in our village their whole life – and that’s fine. But I have an adventurous soul that needs to roam free. What about you, Ryudamon?”

   “I also rather stay put but this force that dragged me here like a magnet had been too strong and important to ignore. Thank the Digi Gods I have thick fur and my armour, otherwise I would be freezing.”

   “Just like me!” Taki chimed in. “But Miko is like a portable heater. I always rely on her.” She smiled brightly at me.

   I smiled back because I didn’t mind. On the contrary, I was happy when she was comfortable. Then I asked “How far is it to the place Frezamon indicated yesterday?”

   “At least half a day’s march”, Kamemon said.

   I grimaced. What was it with me and endurance sports again? “You’re not, by any chance, a flying Digimon when you evolve, Kamemon?”

   It shrugged. “I have never evolved before but I don’t think so.”

   “And I wouldn’t recommend riding on my back when I’m DexDorugamon”, Ryudamon said.

   “A pity.”

   So we had no choice but to set off on foot. Immediately as we stepped out of the cave, a beastly wind nearly swept us off our feet.

   Taki and I huddled together as we marched through the snow. Kamemon was leading us up an ever ascending slope while Ryudamon was our rearguard. There was no point in stopping, all around there was only snow and wind – and more snow and more wind.

   When I thought I couldn’t possibly take it any more, Kamemon announced “Look, up there!”

   Taki surprisingly had been holding up pretty well but now that I looked at her I discovered just how tired she was. Then we both looked up to the point Kamemon indicated, and gasped. A round hut, not unlike a yurt, squatted in a nook of the rocks. Smoke rose out of a chimney. “Let’s go up there!”, Taki called, her exhaustion having vanished all of a sudden.

   We began to move again but only had climbed a few metres higher when we all froze simultaneously. There wasn’t smoke rising from the chimney anymore, it had been replaced by the deepest, darkest black I had ever seen. It curled and writhed like a single tentacle, until it split itself into at least a dozen tentacles, they all had the same thickness for some reason even though that was physically impossible. Then again we were in the Digital World, and even though there was lots that resembled our world that didn’t mean it adhered to the same laws of physics.

   The tentacles stretched until they tore themselves out of the chimney, transforming into solid spikes as soon as they left it. Swishing, they flew through the air in all directions. They disappeared from our view except for one that came straight racing towards Kamemon. It stood there transfixed, the spike coming ever closer, until it became clear to me that it would be pierced by it. Even though we only knew each other for barely a day I had grown quite fond of the little fellow and also I had sworn to be its partner. So just when Kamemon was about to be hit by the spike, I stepped forward and yanked it away. The spike drove itself into the stone with a nasty crack.

   “Thank you! Oh thank you!”, Kamemon yelled and hugged me tightly which was easy because I was still holding it in the air.

   “Of course”, I said in a casually but I still had to smile. Though only for a second until the cold of our surroundings started to seep into my collar and let me remember why Kamemon had been in hugging distance in the first place. I looked up to the yurt. “We gotta be careful”, I said before I started to walk again.

   “You’re right. I don’t what’s wrong, if the other DigiDestined has been kidnapped by that evil force or if they’re even in there”, Ryudamon confirmed and adopted leadership. Kamemon was still shaking from the attack.

   We ascended in crouched positions, ducking behind ledges and when there was nowhere to hide we were crawling up the mountain on all fours. Finally we reached the ledge closest to the yurt. I dared to peak over, only to shirk away again when another black spike came flying from the entrance door.

   “Did you really think I wouldn’t see there, creeping up the mountain like insects!”, someone shouted. It was a pearly voice, it sounded as if it wasn’t actually made to transport the resentment dripping from the words it had said.

   We communicated with each other using our hands and decided, despite all curiosity, that it was best to stay low. Then Ryudamon indicated a sheet of ice wedged at an angle between two rocks. It reflected its surroundings somewhat distorted – but it reflected them. That way we were able to see who was standing in the entrance of the yurt. It was a blonde girl, about our age, though she looked Caucasian in the makeshift mirror, neither Japanese like me nor Afro-Japanese like Taki.

   We were anxiously watching her moves, in fact we were transfixed on the image in the ice that we didn’t notice something was drawing near until it was too late.

   With a roar, a bear-like Digimon with purple-blueish fur and red and silver claws jumped up from behind our ledge. The world seemed to move in slow motion for a second. The bear Digimon – I learned from a quick glance on my DigiVice that it was called Grizzlymon – sailed above our heads and time resumed its natural flow when it landed in the snow, merely a two metres away from us.

   “Uh-oh”, Kamemon gulped.

   I could only second that. Uh-oh.

Grizzlymon

What if the villains “see the new light”?

   “Come on! It’s only a small step!”, Iori urged. He tried to hoist Yukio Oikawa higher up his small shoulders. 

   “I can’t.” Oikawa’s voice was barely audible. He looked drained, his already pale face had now lost all its colour. He resembled a ghost more than a human being. 

   Suddenly a light appeared in front of them but behind the border between the intermediate world both were still in, and the Digital World. A round light-green Digimon with a halo of leaves on its head was born from the light. It smiled cheekily at Oikawa. “Finally we meet! I’m so glad, I’ve waited for so long”, it squeaked. 

   A spark of hope flashed across OIkawa’s face. “What do you mean, you’ve waited for me?”

   “Isn’t that obious?” the Digimon said in a tone as if it was talking to a small child. “I’m Datirimon, your Digimon partner.”

   Iori smiled desperately at Oikawa. “Isn’t that something? Come on, it’s only another step.”

   Oikawa didn’t move and Iori feared that he would lose him right here but then Oikawa put his limp arm down. His hand groped around for support until it crossed the border. Now he dug his fingers deep into the soil of the Digital World. He pulled himself forward, and Iori pushed him. 

Pull and push, pulll and push, until only his feet were still in the intermediate world. Oikawa’s face was flush with Datirimon, all remaining strength had been consumed by his way into the Digital World and his limp weight was too much for Iori to carry now. He knelt beside Oikawa, both were panting.

   “I knew you would make it!”, Datirimon happily exclaimed. It hopped forward and bumped Oikawa’s nose. 

   Tears streamed down Oikawa’s face. His eyes were transfixed on the small Digimon before him. “I... have made it”, he whispered. He had no eyes for his surroundings, only for his partner, it was all he could still muster. That’s why he missed the rebirth of the Digital World.

   Daisuke pointed his DigiVice at the spot MaloMyotismon had been standing on until its defeat. A new ray of light shot from it, representing the never-ending resolve he had proven to possess in the past hours. His friends followed him, Miyako, Hikari, Takeru, and the older DigiDestined sent rays of their own, and they were joined by all the children who were in the Digital World right now.

   From the point where the rays touched, a soft golden glow started to spread as if the surface of the Digital World was cracking up. Where the old and lifeless soil had been torn away, the first bit of greenery started to grow. Butterflies rose and set off to shed the light all around the world. 

@digiweek​ (didn’t tag it right the first time so it probably slipped through)

[atinybitofau]

S E O N G H W A ⥈ mafia au series

RECAP: southside’s little devil brings you home to his boss and you both spend the night together for the first time. the next day is filled with eventful surprises. serves purpose, it’s about time you meet your future husband.

word count: 2600+ , tags: angst fluff

characters: ateez (ensemble), reader

⤩ CHAPTER 1 ⤩

prologue . character list

It started with childish attraction and before he knew it, obsession. Seonghwa wanted to know where you were, what you were doing, who you were with— he wanted you on his mind 24/7. If not his mind, in his peripheral. And like San says, he’s a petulant man. If he was offered the oppurtunity to not move a finger, he’ll take it. And though getting you was easy, learning to have you was proving itself difficult already.

Hongjoong had his own desires and call it jealousy but Seonghwa didn’t like the fact Hongjoong had the most beautiful woman wrapped around his finger. Knowing you were already somehow bound to city side, Seonghwa wanted to take you out of it as soon as possible. To him, you were a prize that he wanted. A prize that he couldn’t lose to Hongjoong. He’s already lost enough to the city scum.

You woke up remembering the bed dipped a little late at night. San was very hospitable in your arrival and you weren’t exactly mourning your father’s death— moreso exhausted that it took so long.

The moment you arrived, you were content on taking a nice cold shower and heading to bed. After settling down a little, inhaling this new scent you were forced to familiar with, you laxed in solemn lonesome and buried yourself in a bed that wasn’t yours. At first, it were strange to you the string of events that happened in no less than 24 hours now. You came to accept it as easily as you did to your fathers gruesome history. While you slept however, the scent you lulled to strengthened and a presence you’ve never felt was suddenly there.

Seonghwa was quiet; relaxed and seeming stressed enough not to care that you were already sleeping on the other half of his bed. He fell asleep beside you that night and you only glanced at his back for a brief minute before closing your eyes again. You woke up to the same silence Seonghwa arrived in and his scent lingered away.

On Seonghwa’s mind, he can feel you staring. He can feel your curiosity and it feeds his desires more. He can’t explain how hard it is not to turn around and face you. Tell you what he’s feeling, how he feels, how he sees you. A beautiful woman rightfully his. And in no means was Seonghwa an insolent man, albeit a little sinister when he needs to be, but he respects you. He see’s you fit to share his position and he’d have it no other way with you sleeping at his bedside.

He fucking deserves it.

He wakes up and brushes his finger softly against the bone of your cheek before getting up to leave not even 4 hours later. He’s got enough sleep and no doubt it’s because of you. He has a lot of things to do before he gets to marry you the day after today.

“Good morning, hot stuff.” San flirtatiously licks at his lips, finger pushing his glass frames when he catches Seonghwa strut through the door. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“I’m an engaged man, San.” The elder pairs with an eye roll.

“Boohoo, cry me a fucking river.” Still annoyed at most, San slips him a plate of food at 4 o’clock in the morning. “And what’s our lucky future bride-to-be doing?”

The always furrowed Seonghwa smiles at the mention of you. “Sleeping. What else is there to do?”

“Mhm. Yet here you are bright and early ready to do what again? Hyung, you just got back from overseas. I’m sure Yunho and I can handle y/n’s endeavors for the day. After all, it’s just a dress fitting. How hard can it be?”

Seonghwa whips a glare at satan’s little assistant, teeth gritting at the thought of leaving you with a bunch of imbeciles.

“Being with y/n may be very tedious. Which is why I’ve called Jongho from his activities in Gangnam to join you. And I didn’t get up this early to save grace, Sannie. I got up to meet with the big city’s big man to win y/n’s hand a little more.” Seonghwa pokes his fork at San’s direction. “Don’t sulk at me. I don’t want my fiancé running for the hills before I can even marry her.”

The hitman bellows before sulking anyway. “Remind me again why you’re marrying a woman this soon? For fucksake, Hwa, you’re 22. We haven’t even tried covering Gangwon’s territory and you’re already celebrating our loss.”

Seonghwa rubs at his temples remembering what his bigger tasks at hand were. Why he was often traveling than resting as he should. He thinks a woman can fix his mental issues, his stresses. He may be wrong but for what it’s worth, trying to beat out another gang of territory can be exhausting. Remembering that you slept in his bed, under his roof, with his name? Is rest assured enough. He doesn’t need much more than that.

“Hongjoong has a lot to offer.” Seonghwa reminds San of why he may lose in the first place. “Getting Gangwon under my power is not an easy thing for me to do, San. I have to go through many lengths to get it. And Hongjoong gets too many privelages as the city’s big man.”

“And by privelages you mean the president’s fucking cock of a son. That spoiled little—“

“Yeosang may be spoiled but he’s still wrapped around Jongho’s finger; Jongho still working for me.” He recalls having the upper hand and even if San must remind him of reality, he must remind San who’s stronger. “My main concern as of right now still stands by the woman wearing my engagement ring. And if Hongjoong got to her first I might as well have lost Gangwon all together.”

San feels defeated at the statement. Both indefinitely and so. He just wants Seonghwa to be happy. Most of the time, the things he does.. he works for Seonghwa for that reason. When San was looking for a way out, southside’s own prodigy gave him the little hope he needed. Hongjoong was a pawn in this game he was willing to toss out. San didn’t like enemies. He didn’t like losing. And he sure as hell didn’t like new roles, new things.

Not that he didn’t like you. He just didn’t like the reason why you were here.

“So you marry her. Yeah sure.” The younger of the duo shakes in pure distaste. “You marry the poor girl and that makes it easier for you or easier for the situation you have?”

Seonghwa knows of San’s concerns and he hears them loud and clear. “Y/n serves an important purpose in my success. I’m as greedy and heartless as they come but sometimes I still am a human being, San. Though I prosper at evils, I deserve some type of compensation. I deserve her.”

“Talk to Yunho about that and we’ll see if you still feel the same.”

Seonghwa leaves San that morning to ease the tension between them. He knows sharing a house with a man who cares for him too much and a woman who doesn’t is going to start domestic problems. He was still adjusting to the new set up and so was San. The black haired devil may be a little conniving but San will come around to you eventually. He just needs time.

The way you do with Seonghwa.

Speaking of time, it moves and you’ve dress fit and meet the new people of your life with not much response. In fact, you assumed that the fitting would draw you closer to amends with your circumstances. Unfortunately you fell short of that. You felt a little left out and you also felt uncertain with your place as Seonghwa’s new wife.

You were dying to meet your future husband personally. And you can tell, though you fond San’s company, he may not exactly be fond of you. In terms of: living with him and marrying his best friend at least. You give him some credit though since you’re normally a patient woman. Yunho on the other hand seemed quiet and never outspoken. Jongho too. You wonder if time will give them some respects towards you and you hope they don’t make your life a living hell. It’s already pretty bad and you don’t want it to be worse.

You wait in Seonghwa’s bedroom, the hands of the clock being the only side to drown your thoughts. Your wedding dress hangs mockingly over the closet door and you blink with every second that passes. You even count to make time go faster. San’s doing something with Yunho downstairs in the basement and Jongho’s somewhere making noise in the kitchen. It was hard to hear if Seonghwa was home. But the eerie silence that grew in the house, that weird tension that was there when you woke up this morning. It’s there again.

You don’t know why your heart bounces at the sound of footsteps.

You want to meet him.

This was going to be your husband for fucksake.

“Oh.” You only see his silhouette over the bright lights in the hall when he breaks the silence. “You’re still awake.”

You don’t say a word as he shuts the door and strips out of his suit jacket. He runs a tongue over his lips and the light in the bedroom hovers his features now. He’s just as gorgeous as San describes. Actually you think you’ve seen him before. He’s got protruding cheekbones, prominent lips, dark eyebrows and dark eyes that scream heaven in hell. You know that face. That’s Park Seonghwa of course. But you know that face because you’ve seen it many times before.

Your father used to owe him too much. Obviously, he’s the man your father sold you out to.

“You aren’t tired?” He questions breaking your condescending thoughts.

“Hardly.” Your voice is hoarse when you finally speak after countless hours of not saying anything at all. “I wouldn’t consider dress hunting to be much of a tiresome activity.”

“The boys would argue otherwise. They tell me you’re a picky woman.” His chuckle vibrates even in your chest.

You start to realize you want to like him but you can’t. He’s just so nice. He talks like he’s known you for years. He smiles like this settlement doesn’t hurt you. Like being sold and arranged to marry him isn’t heart clenching. You hate him and it’s going to be hard to change that.

The adjustment period might take longer than you initially thought.

“I-I’m y/n.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He turns to you with a soft glare and smiles. He reminds you of somebody. He reminds you of someone you used to love. “I’ve known you longer than you’ve known me.”

You highly doubt that.

“I met with Hongjoong today.” He tangents with pure consideration. “He asks if you’re still mourning.”

Not really paying attention at first, you ask for him to reiterate. “What?”

“Your father.”

You’re not sure how Seonghwa sees you out of this set up. You’d think a person might be a little peeved by your immoral senses considering you put a hit out on your own father. Although, this person was someone who killed meaningless lives on a daily. Provokes the evils in people, maybe. And you indirectly ask your future husband you’ve never met before to kill a man who worked for the enemy: your dad. You don’t want to assume he’s egging you on but you somehow think he’s just being courteous.

“Why would I be mourning my father when I asked someone to kill him for me?”

Seonghwa’s smile is as dark as hell’s deepest point. “So you’re happy.”

“I’m ecstatic.” Your tongue seethes against your tightened teeth and Seonghwa’s flustered in the attraction he has for you.

He overanalyzes the way your eyes gleam and how your lips drool through someone else’s blood shed. You were a cold hearted bitch. And damn does he live for it. He loves to see it. And he wants all of it.

Yeah, he definitely wants you.

“Well I’m glad I had the pleasure of making your wishes come true.”

He stands up again while looking at the white dress hanging from his wall. He seems a little struck, pauses to look at it a little longer. Like at you, when he walked through his bedroom door a couple minutes ago.

You want to like him, you do. But it’s already proving itself difficult and you haven’t even married him yet. His answers were to simple. His questions felt half assed and far from curious. He’s a hard devil to trust and from your pasts, you don’t like dishonesty.

“You met with Hongjoong. Which means you went into the city today.” You urge a response from the frozen man who blatantly gazes at the dress you chose to marry him with. “Are you two still fighting for the territory up north? Where my father was initially going to be transferred to.”

Seonghwa’s back tenses at what you ask and you can see it even through his thick materialed shirt. “Questions get you in trouble, y/n. Keep that in mind the next time you want to get brave enough to pry.”

“As your fiancée, I think I get the right to pry. So deal with it.”

“We leave for the venue tomorrow at 10.” He unwraps the leather of his watch and turns off the red blinking light in the corner of the room. “I know he’s your old friend so Hongjoong has been cordially invited and with the rest of his fools. So I suggest you don’t make me look bad and our partnership will start on light feet.”

“Partnership?” You scoff wanting to stand. Though you shouldn’t, you definitely want to. “Is that what you’re calling this? What you forced me into?”

“An arrangement of sorts. A partnership that leads to both our success.” He turns to you and shows you his other side. A side you have to adjust to already. “This is no longer your choice and you either are gonna stay with me or stay without me. I’m gonna give you the option to leave right now if you want.”

He’s halfassing you and you don’t need binoculuars to see past his bullshit. The devil in him is just begging to be let out.

“I wasn’t blessed with the right to choose nor was I blessed with the right to care. If it’s me you want, it’s me you’ll have. I was never happy and I’m sure that’s not gonna change even if I stay or go.”

His smirk deepens at your tenacity. He likes it. He likes it a lot.

“Good.” His tongue rubs across his already wet lips. “I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement.”

“Fucking bite me.”

You don’t plan to ever say that again. Cause you sleep in the same goddamn bed with him. And let’s just say they were right when they said Seonghwa doesn’t like when people answer back.

“Well isn’t he nice.” You hoarsely mumble to yourself while rubbing at your swollen eyes.

Your fingers play with a note left on his side’s pillow and you open it to read that you were set to prepare for the wedding. You bathe and change as if the house was already yours and meet with San who was prepping breakfast in the kitchen. You remind yourself in the halls to explore a little more when the time’s given.

“Good morning.” You greet sitting by the counter, eyes chasing his rushing figure.

“Yup. Sure.” He hums while sliding you a plate, all in the while fixing his suit and tie. “—This damn shirt. I told that asshole I wasn’t going to wear this shit.”

“What?” You chuckle before reaching over to fix his collar. “A suit?”

He absentmindedly groans while glaring at you help him. “I’m a turtle neck enthusiast. Buttons are my worst enemy and we’re clearly past formal appointments with our line of work. Since I can’t, please do me the solid favor of choking your husband in his sleep.”

“Duly noted.” You pat his shirt when you’re done and fix your his disheveled hair. “Speaking of the groom, he left this morning and didn’t say a word. He left a note though saying I was to prepare for the wedding. Care to elaborate?”

San threads his fingers back through his hair, glaring his eyes at you an a casual manner. As if his eyes were meant to stare that way.

“You’re getting married in the next 3 hours. What else is there to elaborate?”

@atinybitofau

a/n: rough edit

[thewickedkings]

Between the Two of Us ~ Chapter 6

Masterlist || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Summary: Jurdan High school AU. Rivals Jude and Cardan are forced to partner up for a history project, and drama ensues. Filled with banter, pranks, an unhealthy amount of pining, and Jude being clueless as usual.

Trigger Warnings: I don’t think there’s anything so far, but please let me know if there’s anything I missed!

~~~

Jude blinked. And then blinked again. But Cardan was still standing at her door, holding a bouquet of red roses, very much real. Under her confusion, a distant part of her felt a surprising flutter of warmth.

She opened the door hesitantly and was greeted with Cardan’s scowl. He was dressed in jeans and a simple white T-shirt that somehow made his already attractive features stand out even more. His sharp black hair fell over his forehead in tantalizing waves. With the roses in hand, he looked like a heartbreak waiting to happen.

Jude opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, but he interrupted.

“Don’t worry. They’re not from me.” He shoved them in her arms like they had burned him. Clearly, the idea of giving her flowers completely repulsed him.

“I- okay. Hi to you too.” She stepped back to let him in, and his jaw ticked. “Someone clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

He stepped in and Jude shut the door behind them. When she turned back to Cardan, she found him looking at her expectantly. She ignored him and walked to the kitchen, resisting the urge to check the note attached, even though she had a feeling she knew who they were from.

“Want anything to drink?”

“No,” he replied bluntly.

Jude pursed her lips. “Okay then.” Clearly, he wasn’t in a cooperative mood. She sighed. “So, I figured we could compare our research to see what-”

“Are you going to put those in a vase?” Cardan interrupted.

She glared at him. “Are you going to be like this the whole time?” But she stood up and went to the pantry to get a vase.

She felt Cardan’s gaze on the side of her face as she filled the vase up with water and put it on the counter, but he didn’t speak. The only sound was the steady drip of the faucet into the sink. She picked up the bouquet, inhaling the fragrant scent of the roses. Before she put them into the vase, she untied the note and read it.

For Jude. Yesterday was fun. We should do it again.

She bit her lip to stop the giddy smile that threatened to break free. Nobody had ever bought her flowers before.

Cardan cleared his throat, irritation edging his voice. “Are we going to do this or not?”

“You’re the one who asked me to put these in a vase,” she mumbled. She flopped onto the bar stool next to him, annoyed.

She opened her laptop, clicking through to open her research. “Like I was saying before you interrupted me, we should compare our research and see what we’ve got.”

“Right, okay.” He ran his hand over jaw, easing the tension in it. “By the way, they’re going to display the best project on the school website, so we might have to up our game.”

Jude’s head swiveled back to Cardan. “What? Since when? Why didn’t you tell me right when you got here?”

“I was a bit preoccupied.”

Jude narrowed her eyes. “Wait, how do you know?”

He smirked, some of his earlier mood dissipating. “I have my sources.”

“I don’t trust your sources,” Jude shot back.

Cardan leaned back, arms stretching behind his head. “Fine then. Don’t believe me. When Taryn and Locke have their project on the website, don’t come crying to me.”

Jude paused momentarily. She’d forgotten Taryn and Locke were partners. Something niggled in the back of her mind, a thought that wasn’t fully formed. “You think they’d actually win?”

“Locke will try if he knows I… if he knows we want to win.”

After the date, Jude had conveniently forgotten that Locke and Cardan knew each other. She felt the strange compulsion to keep them separate in her mind. “Okay, so say this is actually true.”

Cardan scoffed. “If you really must know, I heard my father talking about it. He’s on the board, and it’s one of the publicity tactics or something to make the school look better. They need to show off for the donors.”

Jude looked up, surprised. “Oh, okay. I didn’t know your father was on the board.”

Cardan shrugged and redirected the conversation. “If we want to win, we better start working.”

“Don’t worry. We’re winning this.”

“I’m not worried.” The quick, playful grin he sent her startled her, and Jude wondered what they could do if they actually worked on the same side for once.

Jude paused.  “Wait, why do you want to win so badly?”

Before he could answer, the garage door opened, and Madoc entered. Jude stiffened in surprise, not expecting her father to be here while her and Cardan were home. She felt weird introducing them, and she didn’t want her father making any assumptions about the two of them like he did with any guy Jude mentioned.

Jude cleared her throat. “Um, Father, this is Cardan.”

Cardan stood up from the barstool, and Jude watched in awe as Cardan transformed into a gentleman, politely introducing himself and ending each sentence with sir.

“Ah, Eldred’s youngest son. You stay with Balekin now?”

Cardan’s smile wavered but remained intact. “Yes, sir.” She couldn’t help but notice the stiffness in his posture, a sort of rigid tension that Jude couldn’t quite place.

Madoc gave Jude a nod. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it.” He walked into his office and shut the door behind him.

An awkward silence descended over them, until Cardan broke it. “So… you call your dad… Father?”

She didn’t feel like explaining that he wasn’t actually her father, and that their real parents had died in a car crash, so she didn’t. “Yeah, well, dad always seemed too…” she trailed off, shrugging.

“Close?” Cardan supplied, and she nodded. “Yeah, I get that.”

She resisted the temptation to ask him why, but it felt too personal, and it wasn’t like they were friends. Instead she shoved his shoulder. “What was that? I didn’t know you could be a gentleman? All yes, sirs, and of course sir.”

For a second, he blinked and Jude could have sworn she saw a blush on his neck. But then he leaned closer to her across the barstools, almost challenging. His eyes darted to her hand, which was still on his arm, before they flitted to the vase on the counter and then back up to her eyes.

“I can be a decent human sometimes.” He smirked, adding, “But certain people bring out the worst in me.”

Jude’s retort died on her tongue as he leaned further into her space. Cardan’s gaze probed into hers, searching, and her breath caught in her throat.

Heat rushed up her neck, her senses heightening in anticipation of…

A thud sounded from her father’s office, and Jude quickly pulled away, berating herself. What the hell was that?

Cardan swallowed and averted his gaze, his hand flexing. When he spoke, his voice was low. “You never came to any of my parties. There’s one on Saturday. You should come.”

Jude was too surprised by the sudden change in topic and the earnest tone in his voice, so she said, “Okay.”

The serious expression in his face disappeared immediately. He grinned down at her, wiggling his eyebrows. “Okay?”

Jude scowled. “I’ll be there. But only because I owe you.”

Cardan laughed, and any remaining tension dissipated. “Don’t worry. I’d never think otherwise.”

“Come on, let’s just finish this stupid project,” Jude grumbled, but felt the corners of her lips lifting up into a smile.

~~~

The next week was stressful, to say the least. By Wednesday, Jude was ready to pass out and call it a week. Her physics quiz that morning had been draining, and she had barely finished before the end of class. After that, she had a presentation in her literature class that she had just barely fumbled through.

Jude walked to her locker, rubbing her temples to sooth the dull ache growing there. She was surprised to see Locke waiting for her. The few times she had seen him in school over the past week were in passing smiles in the hallways. She hadn’t been sure if she should text him to thank him for the flowers or if she should approach him,

Now, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Jude winced, but quickly covered it with a smile. Her head throbbed, and she didn’t have the energy to sort out why she didn’t like his touch right now.

“Hey, you get my flowers?”

“Yeah, thanks. I loved them.”

Locke’s eyes flitted over her shoulder and then back to her. “No problem.” He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. “Can I walk you to class?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Locke wrapped his arm over her shoulder possessively, pulling her to him.

Jude was awkwardly conscious of his arm around her shoulder and the glances people gave them in the hall. Something about his actions felt unnatural, almost forced. Or maybe she was projecting her own feelings onto him. They’d only been on one date, and she didn’t feel fully comfortable with him yet.

When Jude got to her last period study hall, she quickly slid out from under his arm, mumbling a quick “thanks,” before entering her class.

Study hall was basically an hour to work on any of your assignments before school let out, and Jude spent the class with her headphones in, head resting against her arm. She knew she probably should get some assignments done, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

When the bell rang, Jude made her way to the gym next to the soccer field to get ready for practice. Her headache had thankfully subsided, and she threaded her way through the parking lot.

“Hey,” a voice said from behind her.

Jude was surprised to find Nicasia quickly walking to catch up with her. “Hi?”

Nicasia rolled her eyes. Her black hair was up in a messy bun, the ends died an ethereal blue. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and fell into step next to Jude. “I figured we could walk to practice together, since we do have the same class last period.”

Jude blinked. “Um, okay. You weren’t exactly being friendly when you ignored me on the field and tried to shoot an impossible goal instead of just passing.”

Nicasia shrugged. “I was just pissed because I heard Locke talking about you, and I probably shouldn’t have taken it out on the field.”

“Great apology.”

Nicasia rolled her eyes again. “Shut up.”

“So wait… you and Locke dated?” Last she knew, Nicasia and Cardan were together. She really needed to keep up with the school drama.

Nicasia nodded. Something in Jude’s face made her add, “Don’t worry. I ended things with him for a reason. It was great at first, until I realized he was just using me to get at Cardan.”

Jude paused, suddenly reevaluating everything she knew about Locke, and wondering why Locke would want to get at Cardan. Jude was instantly curious if it had worked.

Nicasia sighed and played with a loose strand of hair. “Look, I know this might make me seem like a jealous ex, but Locke… he likes drama. He likes to create drama. I saw him with you in the hallway today, and despite our differences, I don’t want you to get in caught in it.”

Jude didn’t know what to make of this information, but Nicasia seemed to be genuine. Something about her date with Locke had felt… a little too perfect. Then, she hadn’t thought it was a bad thing, but now she felt as though she had been played. “Thanks for the warning, I guess.”

Nicasia opened the door to the gym. “I wish someone had given me one, but I should have known better.” They both silently entered their separate changing rooms to put on their soccer gear.

Jude’s thoughts wandered as she slipped out of her jeans and into her soccer shorts. Even though she did enjoy their date, she realized she didn’t really know Locke. What Nicasia said about Locke could be true, and if it was, Jude absolutely did not want to take things further with him.

Jude found she wasn’t as disappointed as she should be at the thought. Besides flirting with each other, they didn’t really have anything in common that connected them. If she really thought about it, she knew whatever was between them wasn’t going to last, and that it mainly for fun. Yes, the first date went pretty well and she loved the attention, but what about after? She wasn’t very good at relationships in general, and she was bound to do something wrong.

When Jude came out, she silently sat next to Nicasia on the bench next to the lockers. Jude leaned down to slide her foot into her cleats, and her foot came in contact with a warm goeey substance. She yelped, pulling her foot out of her shoe.

“What?” Nicasia asked. She snorted when she saw the green sludge on Jude’s sock. “Oh.”

Jude groaned. “Ugh, Cardan. I knew he was planning something.”

Nicasia gave her a long look, tying her hair back into a ponytail, and then getting up and getting her napkins. “You two are still doing this?”

Jude wondered just how much Nicasia knew about their prank war as she cleaned out the inside of her shoe as much as she could. Despite her best efforts, some of the sludge remained stuck to the bottom. “I mean, if one of us stops, it means the other person wins. And I can’t let him win.”

“You’re both idiots.”

Jude laughed, shrugging. “As long as I beat him, I don’t care.”

Nicasia stood up, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. “When you two finally get together, I’m going to throw a party.”

Jude sputtered. “What? We’re not- he doesn’t- what?”

“Uh huh, right.” Nicasia smirked as she walked to the door. “See you on the field.”

Jude scowled as Nicasia shut the door of the gym behind her, leaving Jude in silence. Why did Nicasia think her and Cardan would ever… get together? Jude shook her head, and opened her gym bag to find her headband. A piece of paper fluttered out, and Jude picked it up. There was no name on it, but once she read it, she knew exactly who it was from.

Have a “sensational” time at practice. See you on Saturday.

~~~

A/N: Hehehe sorry for getting your hopes up with the last chapter but this is going to be a slowwww burn. We did get to see jealous CardanTM though 😌

Sorry for the long wait! My school just started again this week and my attention span is exactly 0.02 seconds after quarantine lol. I’m so excited for the next chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments :)

Tagging: (Bolded tags didn’t work. I don’t know why, it might be your settings or just tumblr  acting up, but I’ll tag you in the comments for now! If I forgot to tag  you our messed something up, just send me an ask and I’ll fix it as soon  as I can!)

@jurdan7 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @amoosewithflannelforfur @aneuwin @mercrutiodidntdieforthis @hizqueen4life @mi-mavencalories @simonelovesff @b00kworm @nope-has-lied @andromeddea @aesthetics-11 @queen-of-glass @runnybabbit9  @afexiss @the-keen-queen @yesimtheslytherinwitch @fizziefaerie @abigneignenn @storiesandschemes  @aelin-queen-of-terrasen@words-of-the-wise @thedazzlingheights @magicalbookwyvern @kittkatandbooboo @queen-of-no1 @iminsanenotobsessed @dorkzrul @snusbandxknifewife  @aknymph @clouds-and-peonies @thefolkofthefic @snorting-up-pizza @fandomfanatic987 @fandom-will-be-the-death-of-me @cardanslittletail @curlyredqueen06 @losssssstttttt  @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln@omfglucayababies @judiecardan @woodsbeyond1 @yourroyalbooknerd @ireallyshouldsleeprn @st00pid231 @alittledribbledrabble @nomotivation-lads @herladyshipxx  @judiecardan

[vanillapie-80]

The Road to Recovery Chapter 4: Guilty Until Proven Otherwise

The trial begins

Ao3

In the Hero’s Forge, the Tribunal stood on a viewing deck in the middle that loomed over the group. “The Trollhunter on trial is standing in for James Lake Jr. who chose to go into the Darklands, allowing the release of Gunmar the Black. He has admitted responsibility for his actions. What do you say of the charges?” Usurna asked, her voice booming with authority as Steve was once again in a cage in mid-air.

“We’ll fight the charges!” Blinky declared, taking a few steps forward.

“Once convicted, the Trollhunter will be sentenced to exile in the Deep.” Usurna explained.

“What’s the Deep?” Toby asked the historian.

“A place of unknown madness. No one exactly knows what resides at the bottom of the Deep, since no troll has returned from it.” From a glance, Blinky could tell that his explanation had made Steve very uneasy.

“Well I’m not a troll so maybe I’ll be lucky.” The trollhunter suggested, hoping that such a difference would help him in the future.

“Shall we begin?” Usurna questioned.

“One moment, if you please.” Blinky before turning back to the group. “Before we continue this further, I must remind you all that we cannot fight these allegations.”

“You don’t think we know that?” Steve said. “We’re going through with this because you guys need the amulet to kill this Gunmar dude.”

“Right, then who is going to represent him?” Claire wondered.

“What about you Claire? Your mom is a councilwoman, maybe you learned some tricks from her.” Toby said, to which Claire only shook her head in response.

“I tend to avoid anything involving my mom’s work as much as I can, also I don’t think councilwomen are involved with court cases.”

“What about you Domzalski?” Steve asked.

“To be honest I’m practically on the same boat with Claire, unless you count watching true crime stuff with Darci and court drama shows with Nana as useful information,” Toby answered.

“Well, it is something. And who knows, maybe there might be similarities between human proceedings and troll proceedings.” Blinky stated as he patted Toby in the back as reassurance.

“And besides, some of that stuff of tv has to hold some truth.” Steve added, but Toby only gave them a doubtful look.

“Your time is up.” Usurna declared. “Have you made a decision on who will represent you?”

“Yeah we did. Domzalski is going to represent me” Steve said.

“Very well. The Tribunal will permit a short recess to allow Mr. Domzalski to prepare his case.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So can we all agree that this is going to be an absolute mess?” Toby asked as they were in the library.

“No doubt about it.” Claire remarked. “But remember, Steve’s life depends on this. You have to give your all.”

“I know, it’s not like I want him dead. But how are we going to prove to the Tribunal that Jim didn’t let Gunmar out?”Toby slides one of the books close to him from the table.

“Well, it’s pretty obvious that he’s guilty.” Claire leaned onto the wall and thought for a moment. “What exactly happens to those who plead guilty?”

“Usually they try to get the lowest sentence possible. But I don’t think it’ll work in this case, there’s no sign that there’s a lower sentence other than the Deep.”

“So that’s off the table.” Claire paced around the room while biting the edge of her finger. “What if.... We prove that someone else was planning to let Gunmar out.”

“I do not understand how that would help our case.” Blinky said.

“It doesn’t. But it might show the Tribunal how pointless this trial is. To show that Gunmar’s release would’ve been inevitable.” Claire explained, sprinting towards Blinky. “And for them to see the bigger picture. So they could focus on the real problem at hand.”

“It is a risky move. But it sounds like the best option.” Toby admitted.

“Very well, it seems like our course of action is very clear. Tobias will try to convince the Tribunal that this trial is pointless with me assisting him, while Claire and Aaarrrgghh will find evidence and root out Gunmar’s agent.” Blinky explained.

“Then we can’t waste any time.” Claire made her way to Aaarrrgghh and tugged one of his arms towards the library’s sentence. “Come on. Let’s go.”

The large troll followed the girl’s lead, waving his companion and wingman goodbye. “Find proof how?” He asked Claire as they walked through trollmarket.

She rubbed the back of her neck, hesitant to speak at first. “You were a general for Gunmar right? Did he have a preferred method for spying on his enemies?”

“Changelings.” Aaarrrgghh answered quickly.

“But aren’t they used to check up on the surface world?”

“Can work both ways.” Claire let the idea linger in her mind. It wouldn’t be impossible, just because changelings aren’t welcomed by trollmarket doesn’t mean that they can’t try to disguise themselves as a regular troll.

“Okay so let’s work with a hypothetical here.” She stated.

“Hyper-thet- tical?” Aaarrrgghh asked as he struggled to understand the word.

Claire gave him an understanding smile and explained. “It means exploring something that might happen even if you’re not sure if it’s true.” She clapped her hands together and began setting up the scene. “So hypothetically, a changeling was assigned to be a spy in trollmarket, a place where their kind is hated, to see if they can get to the bridge pieces to release Gunmar. What would they do?”

As they continued to walk, Aaarrrgghh saw the RotGut’s establishment from afar, and an idea sparked in his head. “Gaggletacks.” He pointed at the store to Claire, who gasped in response.

“Of course!” She exclaimed. “The only way for a changeling to be at risk of being found out in trollmarket is a gaggletack.”

“Changeling have to get rid of gaggletacks.” The large troll added.

“Exactly. This means that if someone bought a gaggletack, we might get some leads.” Claire and Aaarrrgghh began passing through the marketplaces to interrogate RotGut.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the trial was about to begin, Usurna looked displeased at the sight of Blinky being by Toby’s side. “Blinkious. As we have stated you cannot speak on the Trollhunter’s-“

“It’s okay!” Toby interrupted. “He’s going to be my co-counsel, so it’s all good.”

“And how do you plead?” Vendel asked.

“Not guilty.” The redhead said with a confident demeanor.

The Tribunal looked and muttered at each other, perplexed at the teen’s plea.

“So just to be sure.” Steve whispered to Toby. “You have a plan right?”

“Of course.” Toby remarked. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“…. Is it a good plan?”

Toby’s coincidence wavered for a moment but it wasn’t too noticeable. “Well it depends on how fast Claire and Aaarrrgghh can find evidence for our case.” “What?!” Steve exclaimed, trying his best not to raise his voice.

Toby quickly changed the subject, the last he wanted to do was cause more doubt for Steve. “Anyways. First order of business, I would like to request that Gatto is removed as a member of the Tribunal, at least for this trial.”

“And why would we do such a thing?” Bork asked.

“He and I have had a rather delicate history, which I’m afraid might bring his ability to be objective into question.” Toby explained.

"There have been too many delays for this trail as there is.” Usurna stated. “The Tribunal will proceed.”

“But my request is quite simple.” Toby persisted. “All you need to do is remove him from the courtroom. This trial is important, So I’m sure that none of you would want to mess this up, right?” The

Tribunal silently looked at each other. “And besides, the majority of the Tribunal will still be here even with Gatto gone and-“

“Enough.” Vendel interrupted. “You have made your point clear. And I, for one, do not see the issue of following the human’s request.”

“You can’t be serious.” Gatto objected.

“I agree with Vendel. I accept the request” The Quagawump Queen added. “Usurna, do you object to this request?”

Usurna stared at the chubby teen, her eyes narrowed, before saying, “I do not. Gatto, you may leave.”

Toby smiled brightly as he saw Gatto silently cursed at him before the pile of stones that shaped the troll’s face collapsed.

“State your grounds for your defense.” Usurna stated.

“Of course. We know that Jim went into the Darklands.” Steve gave Toby a bewildered expression as he listened to his classmate listing off all of Jim’s offenses. “We know we went in to save him, giving

Gunmar the opportunity to escape.” The redhead continued as he paced back and forth. “But who is to say that someone didn’t plan on doing it in the first place? That is the ground for my defendant. Woah!”

Suddenly the Tribunal began throwing rocks at Toby. “Hey, hey, hey! Easy there!” Toby ran behind Blinky as a cover.

“Uhhhh what’s with the rocks? “ Steve quickly asked Blinky as he also backed away to avoid the rocks hitting him as well.

“I’m afraid it’s a part of troll law.” The historian explained calmly.

Toby sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, as he vaguely remembered that being in one of the books Blinky gave him. “Of course it is.”

Toby hesitantly stretched his hand out away from the historian’s protection and took a sharp inhale as one of the rocks hit his arm and held back the action to yelp in pain.

“Bork’s rock wins. They will be heard first.” Usurna said as her fellow member stepped forward.

“I have a complaint. How does this make your defendant innocent if you admit he’s guilty for releasing Gunmar?”

“Well if someone was already planning to open Killahead bridge, then wouldn’t that mean Gunmar’s return was bound to happen no matter what the trollhunter did.” Toby explained, which seemed to satisfy Bork as she backed away. “So any other questions?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Claire and Aaarrrgghh made their way to the RotGot, and Claire was about to slam at the large door knocker before the large troll stopped her. “What’s wrong?”

“RotGut hard to get information out of.” Aaarrrgghh said. “Need plan.”

“Right, although I haven’t watched a lot of crime shows, there was one episode where two detectives played good cop and bad cop to a witness who wasn’t willing to talk. So maybe we should try that?”

Aaarrrgghh nodded at Claire with a gentle smile.

“Worth a try.” He said.

With excitement now bubbling inside her, Claire slammed the doorknob a few times and then cleared her throat. “Open up RotGut, or I’ll kick down this door!” Aaarrrgghh was caught off guard by how genuine her anger seemed, though he does faintly remember her mentioning once that she was into theater.

One of the speakeasies opened from the door to reveal Gut. “Ailment or curse?”

“Neither, you two-headed dirtbag! We need information.” Rot showed himself as he heard the teen’s yelling. “Gunmar’s got a mole down here, and you’re gonna tell us who it is!”

Rot and Gut looked at each other with confusion. “Why is she being so mean to us, Gut?”

Gut shrugged and looked at Claire. “We don’t share that kind of thing. Salesman-client confidentiality.” He reasoned.

“Oh, so you wanna obstruct official trollhunting business?!” Claire retorted. “Is that what you want to do- huh?!”

Aaarrrgghh suddenly grabbed Claire with both his arms and set her aside out of the trolls’ view. “Take breather.”

She groaned in frustration. “Fine.”

“Whelps.” Aaarrrgghh remarked. “Information important, help save trollhunter’s life.”

“Will it make the small human stop yelling at us?” The large troll nodded at the orange salestroll. “Well…. I don’t know from Gunmar, but there was a guy.”

“It’s Krax, you imbecile.” Gut interjected.

“Yes Krax. He brought out our entire stock of gaggletacks.”

“That’s definitely suspicious.” Claire muttered. “Do you guys have Krax’s address?”

“Uhh sure, give us a moment.” The two trolls looked at the teen, perplexed at the sudden change in mood from Claire, before going around their shop to find the address.

“Good job.” Aaarrrgghh patted the teen by the head.

“Thanks. You know we make a good team.” Claire smiled as she put her hand on her hips. “Let’s hope that Toby and Blinky are as good as we are.”

RotGut returned and gave them a small piece of paper through the speakeasy. “Here’s the address.”

“Thank you.” Claire grabbed the piece of paper and the two walked away from the shop. “We got our first lead. Now let’s if this Krax guy is a changeling, or a troll who just really likes gaggletacks for reason.”

The teen passed the address to Aaarrrgghh for him to see. “Do you think you can find Krax’s house? I don’t know how addresses work here.”

The large troll squinted at the small writing for a few seconds, before looking back at Claire and giving her a thumbs up. Claire’s smile grew brighter and followed Aaarrrgghh’s lead as they walked through Trollmarket in search of Krax’s home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Isn’t it true that you’ve been to the Darklands?” Toby asked NotEnrique as his witness, dangling a dirty sock to keep the changeling’s attention. “Isn’t it further true that you knew Gunmar was trying to get out of the Darklands on his own, and he probably would’ve gotten out eventually anyway even if we hadn’t gone in to save Jim?”

A rock then hit Toby from the back of his head by the Quagwump Queen.“Sounds like you are the one testifying.”

He looked at the Tribunal, wincing as he rubbed on the dull pain on the back of his neck. “Easy. ‘M trying to be thorough with my questions here, alright?.” Toby explained and turned back to NotEnrique. “So?”

The changeling shrugged carelessly. “Well… Jim’s a good guy. You know, for a human. While he was in the Darklands, he saved me familiar. A pretty cute kid.”

Toby leaned his arm on the slab to where NotEnrique sat. “So to you, Jim is a hero?”

The changeling casually rested his face on his hand. “Yeah, he’s a hero. I mean, if he wasn’t, you guys wouldn’t have gone into-” NotEnrique was then interrupted with Toby quickly shoving the dirty sock in his mouth.

“That’s quite enough.” Toby nervously remarked, trying to get the message across for NotEnrique to stop talking without actually saying.

“No. I think the witness should be allowed to finish.” Bork said.

“Oh no.” Steve whispered. Claire and Aaarrrgghh hadn’t come back yet, so they were practically grasping straws at the moment for any kind of evidence they had, if you could even call it that. He crouched down at Blinky’s direction and tried to get his attention. “Blinky.” The historian looked up at the sound of the blonde teen’s quiet voice. “Can’t I do anything to stop this.”

“Hmm, well you could stand as a witness. However, I’m not sure if it’s even possible as-“

“Good enough for me.” Steve said.

“I beg your pardon?” Blinky watched as Steve stood up and took a few steps toward the front of the cage. “Hey! How about we skip the dramatics and let me speak for myself? Or for Lake, I guess.”

“What are you doing?’ Toby asked as he approached Steve’s cage.

“Trying to make this less bad than it is.” He answered.

“But you can’t-“

“The accused cannot testify for himself, it’s against Troll Law.” Quagwump Queen explained.

“Yeah, what she said.” Toby remarked.

“I say let him speak.” Vendel said as he stood up and looked at Steve, his expression unreadable for the blonde teen. “Go on trollhunter.”

“Right…” Steve struggled to find the right words. Now that his plan was in motion, he realized now that he really didn’t know what to say.

“Come on. Think for once.” The blonde teen thought.

“Okay, um… look I’m probably the last person Lake would want to speak for him. But it looks like to me that all of you guys are really pissed at him for making a choice, a bad one at that. But so what, even good people can make mistakes. And while he’s not here, I’m sure he would admit that what he did was wrong. And come on, don’t tell me that none of you haven’t made a bad choice in your life.”

None of the Tribunal reacted except for the Quagawump Queen, who Steve managed to see her raise her before putting it back when she saw that the others weren’t doing the same. “But in the end, Lake is a good person and just did what he thought was right. And who knows maybe he would do it again but-”

The Tribunal all gasped in shock.

“An admission!

“He would do it again?”

“It seems like we have our proof. Let us all rule.” Usurna said.

Steve stood still for a few seconds, his mind trying to keep up with what just happened. “What?!” He saw the Tribunal beginning to leave. “Hey! I wasn’t done talking!”

“You have said quite enough.”Usurna remarked. “Now if you’ll-”

“Oh shut up!” The Tribunal quickly turned around, stunned at the trollhunter.

Frustration began to rise from Steve, he was tired and was just about done with the tribunal. “You guys talk about punishment for what happened to Gunmar because I don’t know about you, but getting your ass beaten by the person you let out and fighting for your life in the hospital sounds like punishment for me.” The blonde teen said as he gritted through his teeth.

Steve glanced down at Toby, his eyes filled with panic and disbelief, but as guilt began building up, he looked away. The trollhunter didn’t care if he was making it worse for him, deep down Steve knew that they were going to make him guilty no matter what, so who cares with what he has to say right? The blonde teen was a dead man walking at this point. “You all act high and mighty when in fact none of you seem smart enough to have your priorities straight.”

The anger the Tribunal had for Steve could be felt, but for Usurna she was more than angry, she was outraged by the trollhunter’s words.

“Are you done?” Ursuna asked with a venomous voice.

“Yeah. I said all that I needed to say.”

As the Tribunal left to make their ruling, Toby opened his mouth to speak but not a single word came out. The redhead staggered as the dread of what might happen next infested in his thoughts that it made him sick.

“Tobias?” Blinky placed his hand on the teen’s shoulder, but Toby pulled away from it.

“I… I need to find Claire and Aaarrrgghh.” He muttered under his breath. “I- I have to….” Toby couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence and ran out of the Hero’s Forge.

Steve leaned back on the cage and slid down. As the moments went by, he could still feel Blinky’s presence. “Why are you still here?

“I don’t think I quite follow.”

The trollhunter felt his throat tighten. “I mean the trial is basically over and there’s no one here, even the changeling left.”

“NotEnrique has somewhere to be, keeping watch I believe he said. But for me, I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Technically I’m supposed to be your mentor, so you are my responsibility till the day you reach your last breath”. He explained, still sounding calm with no hints of being angry at Steve at all.

The blonde teen could only stay silent, blinking as he tried to wrap his mind around the troll’s words. “You know it was quite brave of you to speak of the Tribunal like. Not even the bravest of trolls would do such a thing.”

“Or stupid. I don’t think calling out trolls who are important figures in your culture was a good idea.”

“Well, some of the members of the Tribunal were not on good terms with master Jim even before this whole mess began, so don’t feel discouraged.” While what Blinky said didn’t necessarily make Steve feel any better, but at least he knew nothing would please the Tribunal as long as a human holds the mantle of trollhunter.

“Look, I know you’re trying to make me feel better or whatever, but you’re wasting your time. Don’t see how I can be in a better mood when I’m as good as dead now. So just do something better than being here, please.” Blinky stared at the trollhunter. The lack of emotional connection he had with Steve seemed to make it harder for the historian’s words to hold value.

Blinky didn’t want to leave Steve alone in the Hero’s Forge, but it was also apparent that his presence wasn’t doing much good either. “Very well then.” He muttered solemnly, very much reluctantly shuffled away to his library. Using the excuse that he might find something in his books that might help their situation, but he knew better he wasn’t going to find any.

Steve tightly pulled his hair back and began to wonder what would happen if he died he knew he was going to. Would his parents care? He hopes that they would, because it pained him so much to know that everyone else wouldn’t mind. Maybe they’ll feel pity for a moment, but it’ll quickly fade, because Steve hadn’t been given the initiative to show his change just yet. So they’ll just remember him as a dumb bully and nothing else. The world will still be the same. Despite all that, Steve pushed back the feeling of crying. He refused to go out like a crybaby, even if it made it hurt more to think about.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Krax’s house here.” Aaarrrgghh said. It was a cave that looked like any other in trollmarket, with its entrance with a wide flight of stairs that went downwards.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” Claire looked around the cave then back at the stairs. “You guys make it fairly easy to break into homes.” She told Aaarrrgghh.

“Now find gaggletack?” Aaarrrgghh asked as he touched the tire that was in the room.

“That's the idea.” Claire glanced at the many boxes that sat in the corner of the cave.

She approached it and lifted the lid off of one of the boxes. Claire gasped as she saw that it was filled with gaggletacks. “Hey Aaarrrgghh. I found a gaggletack mother lode .” Claire kept opening the other boxes to see if the contents were the same, and they were.

The large trolls looked inside the boxes and picked up a handful of gaggletack. “Enough for proof though?”

Claire's smile faltered a bit and thought for a second. “It makes him suspicious, but being suspicious doesn’t necessarily mean he’s working for Gunmar. So maybe we need more proof?”

“Why not talk to Krax?” Aaarrrgghh suggested.

“Yeah but-“

“Claire! Aaarrrgghh!” Both were caught off guard by the sound of Toby’s voice as he walked down the stairs. “What is taking you guys so long?”

“Well we got a lead on this Krax guy and decided to check his house, which just so happens to be very far away from the Hero’s Forge.” Claire explained. “Hold on a second, why are you here Toby?

Aren’t you supposed to be stalling?”

The two saw as Toby crossed his arms and looked away. “I did the best I could. But the trial is over, the Tribunal is deciding their ruling right now.” He answered with a quiet, regretful tone.

“What?! They can’t do that!”

“Technically they can.” Toby cleared his throat at the sight of Claire’s hardened expression.

“It’s not fair.” She muttered, looking away. For the past few days, Claire had this feeling of helplessness looming over her. She was so close to fixing this, to make things right and prevent someone from being in the clutches of death.

“Claire?” The large troll asked, concerned at the teen’s silence. “We’re not giving up. We keep going.” She said.

“So we still find Krax?” Aaarrrgghh asked.

“Guys. Even if the plan could still work. We have no idea where he could be, and it’s not like we can just wait for him to come back here.” And just as Toby said that, the sounds of heavy footsteps and humming were heard amongst the three.

As Krax entered his home, he gasped at the sight of Aaarrrgghh, Toby, and Claire, who stood absolutely still in silence. “Well then. I guess we can.” Toby remarked. Claire quickly grabbed a gaggletack from the pile Aaarrrgghh was carrying and tossed it at Krax. When he grabbed it, the group shielded their eyes at the bright green flash of light. Now a human stood where the hulking troll once was. The uneasy silence continued for a brief moment before Krax tossed the gaggletack away from him and changed back into his troll form.

The changeling looked at the group, eyes frantically darting left and right, absolutely baffled at what he’s supposed to do now. With no other option to come to mind, Krax swung a punch at Aaarrrgghh and tried to leave the scene, but Claire was fast enough to block his way to the entrance.

“Wait! We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to talk.” She explained.

“And why should I believe you? Coming into my house without my knowledge and having the gall to blow my cover. Don’t you understand? All of trollmarket could be at my throat now because of you!” A pang of guilt came over Claire, her eyes diverting away from the changeling. “Then help us save the trollhunter’s life. Please I know your kind is not evil as everyone down here believes. Right now you can prove them wrong.”

“The trial…” There was no relief on Krax’s face, but rather was full of anguish and pity for the trollhunters. “Oh how much it pains me to see just how naive you children truly are.” The changeling then pulled out a dwarkstone from one of the crates. As he shook it, the dwarkstone began to flash a green glow repeatedly. “That for a changeling, failure such as this is a death sentence.”

Krax grabs Claire by the collar of her shirt and tosses her across the room where Aaarrrgghh and Toby were. The large troll managed to catch the human teen just in time. But Claire was quick to look back at Krax and a thought came to her. The thought that she had enough time to snatch the dwarkstone out of the changeling’s hands and toss it far away from everyone.

So Claire ran. Running as fast as she could towards the changeling as she heard her friends calling her to come back, Claire wasn’t going to let Krax die.

But it was too late. As the dwarkstone went off, Claire was hit by a blinding flash of light and a powerful force that pushed her back. A loud ringing noise clouded her hearing and her vision was blurry for a moment.

“Claire? Claire?! Come on, talk to me!” Toby begged as his voice was becoming less muffled to Claire.

She tried to lift herself up but suddenly felt like the skin in her right arm and the side of her face was on fire and fell back down. As Aaarrrgghh and Toby helped Claire to get up, she glanced at her friend’s face covered in thick gray dust, she looked ahead and Krax was nowhere to be seen, only just dust splattered all over the room.

“He… He’s gone.” Claire whispered, with that looming, helpless feeling now crashing down on her. “I….. I forced someone to kill themselves, and for what?”

“No.” Toby interjected. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Then whose fault was it?!” Tears were already pouring down Claire’s face.

“No one.” Aaarrrgghh responded, placing his hand on her shoulder. “This is messy side of war. Always hard to see.” The large troll took a look at Claire’s arm and saw the burns she had. “Let’s get back to Blinky.”

“Right…” Toby said slowly. That alone, and Claire staying silent with a blank expression gave Aaarrrgghh the impression that neither of them wanted to face what was next, and he couldn’t blame them. They were just children after all. He of all trolls should know that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blinky stood in front of a table in his library, two of his hands pressing themselves onto the table. The bitter emotion he felt towards the poor trollhunter’s fate. The Deep was a mysterious and terrifying force of nature, Blinky couldn’t bear to imagine what might happen once Steve made it to the deep.

“Blinkous!” The historian jolted at Vendel’s sudden presence and then saw how upset trollmarket’s elder was. “That trial was a complete disaster! The Tribunal’s votes are practically unanimous to declare him guilty of the charges.”

“Believe me Vendel, I am aware.” Blinky responded. “But surely there is something we can do to-” In a nick of time, Aaarrrgghh suddenly barged inside alongside Toby and Claire. “Aaarrrgghh, you’re back. Did you find something they might give us a chance to fix this?” Blinky asked.

“Maybe. But Claire hurt.” The large troll brought the teen forward, who still seemed to be in shock a bit. “Needs help.”

Blinky gasped at the sight of Claire’s burns. “By Deya’s grace, what happened?”

“Turns out there was a changeling here at trollmarket by the name of Krax.” Toby explained.

“You found one?” Blinky asked in surprise.

“Yeah, but he wasn’t too happy that we found out so he used a dwarkstone to….. dispose of himself.” Toby’s voice wavering and low at that last part, feeling uncomfortable putting what happened into words.

“Oh dear.” Blinky whispered.

Vendel grabbed Claire’s arm that was burned and took out some gauze from his bag. “Tragic, but not surprising. For changelings, this tactic is used quite often when they’re discovered.” As the elder tends to Claire’s arm, Toby couldn’t help but feel uneasy by how casual Vendel made it sound.

“So what do we do now? We still got nothing and it’s not like the Tribunal will take our word for it.” Claire said, wincing at the stinging sensation her arm felt in contact with the gauze.

“Then perhaps they’ll take my word.” Vendel responded, tearing the end of the gauze and gave it to Blinky. “Blinkous, finish tending to her wounds. I shall take this to Usurna and do everything in my power to have her at least consider stopping this trial.”

"Well amongst all the bad shit that has happened today, it seems like maybe things might turn around for the better.” Toby remarked as Vendel exited the library.

“I’m sure at this point we can all agree towards Tobias’ sentiment.” Blinky takes out a first aid kit that was under the table. Jim suggested in the past that Blinky should have one around just in case, and since then he was quickly proven right after a couple of missions. “Claire, I hope you don’t mind asking but how are you holding up? You seem quite shaken.”

The teen held a grip and twisted the fabric of her skirt. “I guess what I saw was… a lot to take in. It’s not right.”

Blinky sighed as he placed a pad where the side of her cheek was burned. “I understand. I suppose it is another problem added to the mix that needs fixing, but sadly that will be more difficult to accomplish. So for now, let us focus on one problem at a time.”

“Right…” Claire muttered. “Do you think that Vendel will be able to save Steve?”

“I have hope. All I know for certain is that with Vendel’s status as trollmarket’s elder, we have a better chance at turning the tides to our favor.” What the historian said to Claire managed to put her somewhat at ease, but after failing so much, the doubt never left her mind.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After reuniting the tribunal, Vendel requested that he could speak with Usurna alone inside of the Heartstone.

As they walked, Vendel explained the discovery of the changeling and what occurred after. “A changeling? Here in Trollmarket?”

“Yes.” Trollmarket’s elder confirmed.

“And you are certain of this? That this isn’t a ploy by the trollhunter’s companions to buy themselves more time?” Usurna glanced at Vendel, her expression seemingly skeptical.

“I have it on good authority. If Gunmar’s agents are within the walls, something is afoot. We must suspend the Tribunal at once and deal with the real threat.” Vendel said, looking back at Usurna. “Real threat? You think there may be more than one ally of Gunmar, here in trollmarket?” Vendel was beginning to hope that the Krubera queen was finally coming to her senses and prioritize the real issue that was at hand.

“Yes. If Gunmar has one agent within Trollmarket, who’s to say there aren’t others?” He explained. The livelihoods of trollmarket’s residents were at risk, and Vendel would not allow this to be ignored until it was too late. “It’s time we root out this enemy at the core and end this.”

Usurna halted herself in surprise at what she just heard and watched as Vendel continued to walk forward. “You’re wrong Vendel. There are only two agents of Gunmar within Trollmarket’s walls.”

Confusion riddled Vendel’s mind of hearing Usurna while picking out some of the rocks that were on a table.

“The changeling.” Usurna plucked out a thin, small dagger from the feather-like neckpiece. “And the changeling’s master.”

“What?” Realization suddenly hit the elder. No couldn’t possible that Gunmar would have someone with that great of a position of power on his side. Vendel took a small crystal in his hand before facing Usurna, who was already dangerously close to him. Just in case the worst came to be for him. “How do you know this?” He asked with a heavy voice.

“Because.” Usurna stabbed Vendel in the stomach with the dagger. “I’m the master.”

To the shock of the elder, he was already turning into stone. It seemed that her dagger wasn’t an ordinary weapon. Gasping for breath, Vendel began backing away. He dropped his staff and struggled to maintain movement as his body was slowly beginning to harden.

“I apologize Vendel.” Usurna said, genuinely sounding disappointed. “I was hoping you’d live long enough to see Gunmar’s glorious return.” She placed her dagger back to her neckpiece and grabbed Vendel’s staff.

The elder loses his balance and falls down to his knees. “Usurna… You cannot…” He muttered, his voice becoming hoarse. Even with the burning pain Vendel felt, he had enough tolerance to be able to stand up in front of Usurna. “They’ll stop you. The trollhunter…” Vendel could not finish his last words as his body was now completely engulfed in stone.

“Shall die.” Usurna said. “Both of them.” She used the end of Vendel’s staff to tip his body over, smashing into pieces by the impact of the floor. “Farewell, Vendel, Elder of Trollmarket. A shame that you had to meet your end like this.” The Krubera queen tossed the staff aside and walked away, coming out of the heartstone with a calm expression as if nothing had happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With everyone back in the Hero’s Forge to finish this trial, the group was quick to notice that Vendel was noticeably absent from the court.

“The Tribunal will come to an order.” Blinky narrowed his eyes in bewilderedness at Ursuna’s lack of acknowledgment of the elder’s absence.

“Wait a minute, Vendel isn’t here.” Steve looked down at Blinky, hoping that he had some kind of explanation for this. “Didn’t you say that he was going to tell them what you guys found?”

"Pardon me but we spoke to Vendel, and he was going to present our newly found evidence to the Tribunal.” Blinky explained.

“When I spoke to him, he said nothing of any evidence.” Blinky’s eyes widened at the notion, while the rest were shocked at what they heard. That couldn’t be right, Vendel was an honorable and quite frankly blunt troll. He wouldn’t lie about such a thing.

“However, it became apparent to me that Vendel’s judgment for this trial might not be as objective as I hoped, so I had him removed from this trial.” Usurna stated. “Hold on you- you can’t….” Toby wanted to object to this decision, but how could he when he requested the same thing with Gatto at the beginning. He could feel his friends and Steve’s gaze, waiting for him to finish saying something that could help them.

“You were saying?” Bork questioned, raising her brow.

Toby was at a loss of words, without the evidence, there was nothing more he or anyone could do. Toby’s silence was all the group needed to realize the painful truth that it was over. They had failed. “Very well.” Usurna took the teen’s lack of response as an indication to continue on. “The Tribunal finds the trollhunter… guilty. He is hereby sentenced into the Deep, to face death at the hands of his greatest fear.” The Tribunal left the viewing deck, but Usurna wanted to see this through till the end, so she made her way down to the Hero’s Forge.

When the cage started to move backwards, the others looked back and began following it. “Vendel was supposed to make things better.” Toby muttered, looking utterly defeated. “We were so close! and now-“

“You tried.” There was a bitter acceptance in Steve’s voice, with his small, tired smile making all the more painful for the others. “You… you all tried. It’s not like we had much of a winning shot anyway.” Soon he felt his throat tighten and the spots of small tears in his eyes, but Steve made sure in all his power that he would push it back down. “At least it has to be me instead of Lake.” “But it doesn’t have to be this way.” Claire objected, sprinting closer to Steve. “I can use my shadow staff. I get you out of the Deep, you don’t have to die.” Steve stayed silent. There was an option that would have him live another day, but what next? Helping him out of his sentence sounded like treason to him. Steve wondered if it was fair to put Claire in so much trouble just to save his life.

“I… I can’t let you do that. Who knows what Trollmarket would do if you do that.” The cage stopped at a bottomless pit that was at the edge of the Hero Forge. Just the anxiety and fleeting fear by looking down made Steve grab the bars of the cage with both hands.

“Master Steve, things may be hopeless. But you mustn’t give up.” Blinky implored. “As long as you keep on fighting, you can be capable of overcoming anything. Please remember that.” Then Usurna stepped in with her Krubera guards. “If there’s any consolation, these past few days have shown me something that humans should have never been a part of troll affair, the mere existence of a human trollhunter should be a violation of Troll Law.”

With that, Usurna signaled a guard to lower the cage to the Deep. The group watched as the cage dropped, Steve’s screaming getting fainter and fainter as it fell further.

He held his breath and braced for impact. The cage crashes below the many edges of the sharp, stony walls, sending Steve flying everywhere and constantly slamming into the bars.

Once the cage finally made it to the ground, Steve crawled out of it as the door seemed to be already open. His whole body ached as he slowly got up on one knee, hearing the quiet wheezing of his breath. The crystal from the cave soon flickered out, leaving the blonde teen in the darkness with nothing but the small glow of the amulet as his light.

Steve wandered cautiously, keeping his hand in contact with the walls as some kind of guidance. As he walked, Steve looked down at his free hand and began to concentrate on summoning Daylight. To his surprise, the sword appeared swiftly at his palm. Sure it took a while to summon, but Steve expected that it wasn’t going to appear at all.

Using his sword as a light source, the trollhunter moved it around to see if there was anything or anyone. Taking a turn around, he felt the wall was becoming smoother, and began hearing the most faint voices. However, they were not like the ones in his dream, it was coming from somewhere. Steve’s mind told him that following the voices was a bad idea, that finding a way to get out would be a better idea. But now there was this nagging thought in his mind.

The blonde teen remembered his fear the pixies had forced to show him. Even now he could still remember how it shook him to his very core. So the question arose in his mind, would his fear be any different now?

Steve grimaced and gripped his sword tightly, then with a frustrated groan, he sprinted towards the voices. Soon the dark cave-like pit soon transitioned to the hallways of Arcadia Oaks High. The voices turned out to be chatter from students that the trollhunter could seem to hear. He tried getting closer, but it didn’t make one of the conversations clearer. Even stranger, no one seemed to take note of him. As if they were ignoring Steve.

“Hello?” He shook a student’s shoulder, but didn’t have any kind of reaction, not even a dirty look.

Suddenly all the lights began to go back and forth between going on and off. The constant switching was getting faster and faster before one by one, each light began to explode, with sparks of electricity flying off of the circuits. Steve was baffled at no one reacting, they just kept talking and remained oblivious beyond belief. Steve steadied his hold on Daylight with both hands and looked at his surroundings with anxious dread.

The sound of metal scraping against each other almost made the trollhunter jump, he turned around from behind and waited as whatever was coming came closer. From a hallway on the right side appeared a dark figure with a black suit of armor and a large sword with a piercing red glow. Their eyes were red as well and wide, and Steve could just tell it was full of hate and anger. A chill went down his spine as they stared him down. They lifted their sword up and brought it close across their face.

The color on Steve’s face drained the moment he saw that this…. thing had his face. The doppelganger found the trollhunter’s reaction amusing and formed a large smile, his teeth sharp with fangs. In his panic state, Steve decided to take this opportunity to strike first. He swung his sword, but the doppelganger quickly avoided it by sliding to the side. They went ahead of Steve and hit his back with the handle of his sword.

Steve stumbled and bent down, having the air knocked out of him. As he tried his best to straighten himself, the doppelganger gave him no time and lunged at Steve, pinning him down to the ground. Steve thrashed around with all his strength, trying to escape the doppelganger’s hold, but nothing seemed to help. “Let me go!” Steve shouted. “Or I swear to god I’ll-"

The doppelganger pressed their finger on the trollhunter’s lips. “Shhhhhhhhhh.” Their voice was raspy and strained, nothing like Steve’s. “Hush and listen. Listen to their whispers.” The students’ conversations suddenly became clear.

“What’s psycho Steve doing now?”

“Is he alright? I’m starting to get scared.”

“Ugh, why does Steve always have to make a scene?”

“He must really like the attention.”

Everyone was talking about him, as if he wasn’t there or was too stupid to notice. Couldn’t they see that he was in trouble? “Please!” Steve cried out. “Someone help me!”

But they just kept talking and talking. “No one is going to help. Why would they?” The doppelganger said, tightening their grip on Steve’s wrist. “Someone as horrible and disgusting as you should get to clean up your mess by yourself.”

The trollhunter hissed as it felt like his wrists were going to break at any moment. Steve head-butted the doppelganger, moved to the side, and kicked them out of his way. As Steve dragged himself back up, he summoned Daylight, leaning onto it like a crutch.

He could tell that the doppelganger was furious now. The doppelganger charged at Steve, raising their sword up high, but barely missing the trollhunter as he slid to the side, with the upper part of his right arm taking the hit.

Steve held back the urge to scream and, as if on instinct, swung a punch at the doppelganger’s face. They didn’t seem affected much by it, and swung their sword again. The trollhunter brought out his shield and was forced to stumble back with each strike the doppelganger made with their sword. Steve knew he couldn’t keep a steady hold for long with how strong their blows were, but he was having a hard time figuring out how to beat something that practically seemed invincible.

“Such a useless coward!” The doppelganger exclaimed with a devilish grin. “Can’t even win a fight with himself.”

When the doppelganger struck the trollhunter’s shield again, Steve brought himself closer to them and pushed the sword out of the way, and thrusted daylight right through their abdomen. The doppelganger recoiled as they spat out blood, and for a moment Steve felt a sense of relief that it was over. “Oh my god! He killed him!” Someone screamed in horror.

Steve looked around and found a crowd forming amongst the hallway, and with it, fear and outcry could be heard all around. When Steve turned to see the doppelganger again, Jim stood there instead. His classmate looked at the blood that covered his hands then looked back at Steve. “You….. Why?”

Just the sound of his voice being so fragile and broken made the trollhunter’s stomach drop. “I…. I…” Then Steve furiously shook his head. “No! This- This isn’t real. You’re not real, none of this is real!”

Tears started to cloud his vision, but he could still see the expression of disbelief and distraught in Jim’s face. “So….. is my pain not real?” Jim slowly started to bring himself closer to Steve, letting Daylight pierce further into his wound. “All the torment you put me and so many others through just doesn't matter?”

Steve tried all that he could to stop Jim without hurting him anymore, but he kept walking forward. “Who are you to tell me that what I dealt with you is or isn’t real.” He snapped through his choked sobs. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this?!”

“You- You didn’t, you didn’t anything wrong! You didn’t deserve anything of what I did to you!” At this point, the two were face to face with each other, where Steve could only see the sword’s handle in front of him. “Please…. I’m sorry! I-I don't know how to make things right. Just tell me how!”

Jim leaned onto Steve, making his struggle to breathe any further loud and clear for the trollhunter. “You already know the answer to that.” A small smile escaped his lips. “To truly redeem yourself, you have to face the crowd and endure all the pain and suffering you deserve. You know as well as I do that you’re not even close to being a person people can tolerate.”

Steve felt like he was suffocating as he now held to Jim’s dead body. With nothing else he could think of, the trollhunter pulled the sword out and moved away from the body as far as he could, letting it collapse to the ground. As Steve walked backwards, the crowd pushed him forward.

“Murder!”

“I can’t believe you could do such a thing?!”

“Get him!”

Booming voices came from who knows how many people, calling him awful things but what he believed to be true. As the crowd was closing in on Steve, he was already at his breaking point. Hands grab Steve to restrain him, and was met with a punch in the face that came out of nowhere. Countless students came forward to throw a punch or kick at Steve. Amidst all of this, Blinky’s words then echoed in his mind. Even if it seemed like there was no way out of this, Steve knew there was still some fight left in him. As the next person got close, Steve kicked them out of the way as far as he could, only to receive a punch in the stomach.

Might as well die trying than not at all.

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 11

Wordcount: 5,150 Rating: M for strong language, ideologically sensitive and mature themes, gore “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did.” Chapter synopsis: Allen and Arthur race to find you both, but it proves to be harder without knowing your whereabouts. Meanwhile, you've successfully helped Alfred find the chip. Before leaving, you have a long-awaited conversation with your father to realize he's more insane than you thought. The reader is referred to as she/her.

Songs to listen to while you read (in order as found in playlist): Cyberninja,  Trouble finds trouble, Tower Lockdown, Me!Me!Me!, Pt. 2, Him & I (with Halsey), Atlantis. I have indented song titles throughout the chapter so you can change accordingly. Starting now:

Cyberninja

Before Arthur could even buckle himself in, Allen rammed his foot into the gas pedal. He was thrown back in a violent manner, and hit his head against the headrest. But the mechanic never complained. He looked stressed enough as is, continually scanning the road while murmuring to himself as if he’d really gone mad. “Hell, that motherfucker could be anywhere in the whole fucking city right now.” He hissed, pulling out of the driveway and into the main road.

“We can’t call him. Track him. Nothing. Same goes for (F/N). They’re off the map.” Turning to his companion numerous times in distress, he sped through the streets, though he had no particular destination in mind.

The indicator clicked. Allen cursed at the car in front of them, but never made a move to overtake. As Arthur became overwhelmed by these stimulants, he opened his mouth, defeated. “If you’re in such a hurry, why--why bother following traffic rules? You never have before, so why now?” He asked with a shake of the head, earning a loud scoff from the other.

The car windows glowed with a flurry of pinks and purples as they moved closer to the commercial district. They were near their first stop.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t give a damn if I didn’t have to.” The whites of his eyes reflected a mosaic of color as he never looked away from the road. “But that was when I was working for my boss. I had protection. I could do a hit and run if I wanted, and without the running part.” The redhead breathed. Then, he stuck his head out of the window with a huff. Immediately, he was choked by the city smog, and deafened by the blaring of car horns.

“Friggen’ prick...” He flipped off the driver in front of him. Sitting back into his seat, he flashed Arthur a grin, though the man couldn’t return the energy.

“Did you get fired? Or did you quit?” This wasn’t the best time to ask about the past, but he had been dying to know why he wound up half-dead on his doorstep. So what better a time to do it than now?

“I quit.” Allen answered point-blank. “Old man didn’t take it well. Decided to kill me. Didn’t.” Slowing the vehicle, they arrived at a parking-lot surrounded by backdoors of multiple piss-poor establishments. One of which was illuminated by a flickering red neon sign that read ‘no-tell motel’.

“He thinks I’m dead, so the rest of the city has to think that too.”

Arthur gawked at him. “That makes you no better than a fugitive! And it’s not just anybody after you--Allen, he’ll kill you when he finds out you’re still alive!”

“And that’s why he won’t find out.” Tapping the side of his neck for a flap to open, the said man slotted a small disk inside. “Disables cybernetic upgrades in a twenty foot radius. Means I can’t use mine, but it stops other people from figuring out who I am.” He dug through one of the compartments for a muffler, which he wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

What he did next was alarming, however. Sticking his hand further in, he pulled out a gun and cocked it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell are you doing--!?” Arthur exclaimed, fumbling with a face mask Allen tossed his way. He didn’t see a silencer anywhere either. “If I can call the police without any upgrades, so can everyone else!”

His statement couldn’t ring any truer, and yet, it never slowed down the other’s movements as he climbed out of the car. Unsatisfied by his silence, he wound up getting out to follow him. “Oi, say something! At least let me know you’re not gonna shoot up a restaurant!” Whispering that part out, he had to speed up a few steps to catch up with the man, now marching to the backdoor of a motel.

“Put the mask on.” Allen murmured without sparing him a single glance. But he paused briefly to process what he said. “... A motel, you mean. But I’m hoping we won’t have to resort to that.”

Arthur’s eyes went round. “You were considering--”

He could share the desperation to save Alfred’s life, but he had a hard time following how. Shooting up a motel? What was he thinking?

“Yes.” Attaching his hand to the door, it creaked open. Before Allen took another step, he faced him with a serious glower. “Now when we get inside, I want you to walk up to the receptionist. He’s programmed to greet you. Ask him for a room, and while you do, I’ll approach him from behind and deactivate him. Kapeesh?”

But then again, he was in the dark here. Arthur hadn’t the slightest clue on what Alfred’s circumstances were, as mysterious as the man was, so he had no idea how he was on the verge of dying.

So naturally, he wouldn’t know how to save him either.

But he trusted Allen to know what to do.

“... Alright. You better not make me regret this, you tyke.” 

“You can call me anything you want, just not that. I’m not a kid anymore.” Those words would become apparent as they walked inside, where their plan went by without a hitch. They heard the automated voice of superficial kindness, which stopped abruptly to the sound of an android powering off. Its body fell to the ground to reveal Allen standing behind. Without wasting a second, he leaned over and typed furiously on the keyboard of the computer.

Trouble finds trouble

“Lemme see if this has a log of everybody who came by...” A few moments later, he started nodding at what he saw. “Bingo...” On their private encrypted server, stored the history of all the guests who booked a night. “Well, what do you know... Alfred checked out two days ago. But he’s on the move.” Pulling away to stand up straight, he jogged over to the exit.

“Even if someone tried to look for him in one a’ these places, he’d have to get behind the reception and do exactly what I did.” This someone referred to Matsumoto, but death already followed Alfred wherever he went. Not that Alfred knew that. “The perks of a no-tell motel. Even if they reek of piss, so long as there’s crime, they’ll never go out of business.” He beckoned Arthur to follow him with a tilt of the head. 

“One down, twenty-seven more to go. And that’s only in the direction he’s going... And under the assumption he’s only staying at these motels. So, uh, let’s hope he didn’t try to be too unpredictable.” 

The Brit huffed. This wasn’t going to be easy. 

“I think he’d be predictable to do that if you asked me.” He murmured. “But you call the shots. I’ll just be... Moral support.” 

Allen already disappeared out the door, but his head poked into the doorframe at that. “Nah. You have the most important job outta’ the both of us.” 

That was right. He didn’t tell him yet. He really should’ve a while ago, but he got caught up in the chase. 

“Whether you remove a chip from his head or not will determine if he lives or not.” 

Arthur paled. 

“He’s the guy my boss wanted me to kill. Remember the dude I told you about? The one who tried to steal a prototype chip three years ago?” Now that he mentioned it, he recalled the conversation a few weeks ago. But wait a minute. 

The mechanic felt his face scrunch up as he was hit with a major epiphany. That was Alfred? The terrorist Allen had been updating him about? He was the man who tore up three floors of the headquarters of Matsumoto Optics, and simultaneously, the same customer he had been serving for the last few years.

Before he could even process his shock, he was presented with even more appalling information. 

“He stole it this time. That’s what he and (F/N) disappeared to do. But now that it’s in his head, it’ll overwrite his consciousness until he’s a fucking vegetable.” 

Arthur was horrified. “Then why would he even--” 

“Because he doesn’t know.” Allen cut in with a grim expression. “He thought the chip was supposed to give him immortality, so he wanted to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Like my boss. But no. It’s the opposite. It was all a ploy to kill him.” At this point, the blonde was at loss for words. As a doctor and mechanic, he was quite frankly terrified of how devilishly clever Matsumoto was. But he couldn’t expect any less from him, could he?

They made it back to the car, and he could only stare aimlessly out the windshield, paralyzed. 

“That’s why we need you.” He heard him say. Turning to the man, albeit slowly, he felt a hand slap down on his shoulder. Allen gave him a lopsided grin. “You’re the smartest guy I know, second to my boss. You were always great at fixing stuff. Cars, enhancements, people--so what’s a mixture of all three?”

Arthur dug a hand through his hair stressfully. “... You’re kidding.” And yet, he already knew he was on board. “... Are you calling him a car?” 

The other flattened his lips. “... He technically could be.” 

“Just to be clear, I fucking hate you.” 

Allen laughed. “Sure.”

“But otherwise, we’re wasting time.” He couldn’t believe the words falling from his lips. This was really happening, wasn’t it? After taking him in as an apprentice for his auto shop, the roles were finally reversed. He no longer took charge as the teacher. Or rather, he became the student caught up in the most difficult assignment yet. Having a taste of Allen’s work. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” 

***

Tower Lockdown

You had all the reasons in the world to be anxious coming home. 

On top of worrying over Alfred, who had hundreds of trained assassins coming at him all at once, during every minute of the heist, you had to face an aspect of reality you avoided until now. You were in the building, and he had already stolen the chip. It was slotted comfortably in his head, ready to leave the premises.

 How come your father never appeared? Was he really just going to let you go just like that?

But the real question was this--should you stay or leave? 

Yes, you hardly approved of anything he’d done. Done to the world like Alfred always mentioned, and to Alfred himself. But you weren’t prepared to abandon him yet. He was still your father, and the only family you had. If you had to make a decision, you needed some closure. If not, a discussion. 

And you expected him to give it to you as the least he could do. 

As Alfred stood among a pile of dead bodies bathing in red, his mantis blades trembled against a katana blade. Even with his hands full, he made the time to check on you. “(F/N)! Stay away from walls! Just hang on for a second longer!” He shouted, turning to you briefly before diverting his attention back to his opponent. “We’re nearly home free!” 

Pulling away to give him a swift jab in the chest, blood sprayed onto his face, but he wasn’t fazed.

What did, however, was the sight of you being thrown over the shoulder of one of the bodyguards. Color drained from his face and he burst into a sprint. 

“(F/N)! No!” Watching you disappear into an elevator, he slammed right into the closing metal doors. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist against them to hear a loud bang. Before he could linger too long, he hastily made his way to a door adjacent. The emergency stairs would take a hell lot longer, but as if he’d wait for the elevator to come back down. 

Even if he needed to climb up a hundred flights to get to you, he would--all the way to the penthouse where Matsumoto was. 

When those men approached you, there was no struggle on your end. You knew where they were going to take you. And you wanted them to. It could even be said you were relieved, because that meant your father was thinking of you. After a minute or so, the soft whirring fell silent, followed by a soft ‘ding’. 

They moved outside the elevator, and after a few steps, they set you down on your feet. Right in the middle of your father’s office. At the very end behind a desk sat the man himself, and he was eyeing you with an unreadable expression. Upon returning his stare, came an onslaught of emotions. But the most prominent was incapacitating anxiety.

Even as his daughter, you could never see through him. He was impossible to read. So you had no idea what to expect. 

“Dad... We need to talk.” You began, walking up to him warily. This was what you wished for at the start, cried for, even. To return home. And yet, the nervous pounding in your chest seemed to worsen with every step you took. It was jarring to confront how much had changed since then. So while you barely managed any words, you were already overwhelmed, struggling to choke back tears. 

“For once, I need to know what you’re thinking.” 

He inhaled deeply before responding. “I was under the same impression that we’d have this conversation.” Standing up from his chair, he furrowed his brows at the sight of you clenching the fabric of your pants. “Don’t look so nervous, child. You haven’t done anything to anger or disappoint me.” Reaching out to your head, he settled a hand on it. 

“... Really?” You whispered out. Hearing his assurances calmed you down a touch. But when you saw the forlorn gaze he cast down at you, your heart was crushed. “... Dad?”

Me!Me!Me!, Pt.2

Any existing contempt for him melted away just like that, but you weren’t upset at yourself for it. Your father hardly expressed any emotion besides calm indifference. And when he did, it always felt like the world was ending. 

“I’m the one who deserves your anger.” He clarified, lowering his hands to your shoulders. “I’ve left you by yourself for far too long, (F/N). I hope you don’t hold it against me that you had to come home yourself.” You hung your head, unable to meet his saddened gray eyes. If you were to hold a grudge at him for it, you’d start by avoiding his gaze. “And I understand why you would’ve wanted to help him. He has a way with words, and a naïve sense of justice. But it’s a warped perception of reality.”  

You’d hate to admit it, but no matter how cruel he seemed to be, there was a method to his madness. 

And you were perhaps the only person in the world to know it. 

That was why you were so torn. Torn between hating him and understanding him. After all, you couldn’t have both. “You can’t blame him after what you did to him.” Glancing up at that, you felt bile rise in your throat. Then, your vision blurred. “I don’t know what you’re aiming for--for this company, and this world. But you can’t expect him to accept this world you created when you stole him from his. He had a life!” 

Staring at him through hot tears, he breathed out a soft sigh before rubbing them away with a swipe of the thumb. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. And I won’t expect you to forgive me even after telling you the reasons for my actions.”  

He pulled away from you to begin walking back to his desk, but not to sit down. Instead, he stood by the window to watch the blinking lights of skyscrapers and small moving dots of cars on the streets. “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did. So of course, he would reject the idea of immortality. The destruction of the most human quality there is.” 

He paused briefly to scan the landscape.

“Mortality. One’s inevitable end gives everything they do meaning.” 

Wrinkles creased between your brows. It was confusing to hear him speak so highly of death, frustrating, even. Wasn’t he the one investing billions into correcting it like a flaw? “If that’s what you really think, then why? Why would you make something that would take that all away?” 

He held his hands behind his back. “To serve the greater good. A sacrifice, if you will.” The man turned to you, this time with a serious glower. “Alfred thinks I would commercialize it. Sell it to the public. But he’s wrong. Immortality will only be available to the leaders of the world.”

By leaders, you could only assume he meant people like him. Not politicians, but business men and women. Company owners. The most powerful forces of the present. “The inability to die is a curse. You never move on because you’re still breathing. But that may be just what the world needs. Stagnation. An absence of change.” 

It was daunting to know this man was your father. You couldn’t say you were born with half as many of these attributes he had. Intelligence was easily passed down, but there was something else written in his genes you could never dream of having. “With every passing year, decade, and century, humanity frays like a rope. Society continues to deteriorate... All until self-destruction becomes a matter of time.” Facing the window again, he scanned the impressive architecture he was proud to call his own. And it looked as pristine as it did yesterday. 

“The only way to stop this was to take control of it myself. And that’s how I came to found this company. I’ve found a way to govern the people. To invest in science as the world’s last and only hope. But it’s a job that will last eons, so I was prepared to do it until the end of time.” 

He was right in saying that society was inevitably doomed with the direction it was heading. That technology was the only solution, along with a world government. Matsumoto Optics. A cosmocracy with jurisdiction over the whole planet. There would be no wars. No conflict. And with only one state to call the shots, things could be done so much faster on a global scale. 

It was a radical concept to grasp, but you couldn’t say there was no logic to it. “Alfred was meant to do it with me. To reincarnate again and again as my closest aide on my quest to preserve the world. But he ended up being the opposite. My foil.” Matsumoto shook his head. “Alfred is a nostalgic soul. He’s too attached to the past. But the way of the old can never last with how fast it makes the world burn. Even if he realized that, he would want to exact revenge on me after what I’ve done to him.” 

“So before he destroys everything I’ve created, I have to destroy him first.” 

Him & I (with Halsey)

You tensed up all over, but before you could ask him what he meant by destroy, the doors burst open. The very subject of the conversation had appeared, and just in time for the conclusion of it. His arrival caught you completely off guard, successfully derailing your train of thought, but your father merely acknowledged his arrival. “Ah. Speak of the devil.” 

“Speak for yourself, you fucking demon.” He spat, marching over to your side to pull you into his chest. Immediately putting his hands all over your face, he was riddled with concern as he inspected you. “You okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you in time. What are you still doing here? C’mon, let’s go.” While he reached down to your hand to lead you away, you stayed put. 

As relieved as you were to see him here, you couldn’t follow him out yet. You gave his hand a squeeze, then a soft smile of reassurance. Then, you turned to your father. 

This time, you held him in a firm stare. 

“Even if everyone thinks you’re crazy, I always knew you’d have some kind of justification for everything.” You started. Little did you know, you would take back this statement in the very near future. “But I can’t forgive you for what you did to Alfred. He never ended up doing anything you wanted him to, so giving him all those adjustments was pointless for you. But not for him. If you wanted to get rid of him, it wouldn't be easy.”

Matsumoto closed his eyes as if to agree. That was what you interpreted it as, at least. But unbeknownst to you, he was doing anything but. “I wouldn’t know what’s best for this world.” 

“But what I do know is that I won’t let you hurt him.” 

You spoke those words with a conviction so strong, Alfred’s eyes widened when he heard it. It wasn’t news you cared deeply for him, but to hear you say it to your father like that, and Matsumoto, no less, it made his mechanical heart pound more than he could fathom. You were actively disobeying him, a man you previously revolved your life around, for his sake. To say he was infatuated would be an understatement. 

You felt his grip on you tighten. 

“Say what you will, and I’ll respect your conviction. But I will come for him.” The bearded man murmured in a foreboding tone. A sinister light glinted in his dark gray irises. “And in the most unexpected way he could ever imagine. You will never want to see me again when that happens.” 

“If.” Your voice was a little strained. As much as you wanted to hate him and move on, you couldn’t. Every single fiber of your being was urging you to find a reason, any reason, to not despise the man who raised you. “If, dad. Because if you did, I really will never forgive you. I’ll hate you forever.” 

A grim expression contorted at his face. In his many decades on the planet, he’d never felt more dread. But one had to wonder if that was the right word. The regret had already arrived, because he’d already done something unforgivable. It was only a matter of time before you’d find out. “I’ve already done something to earn your unconditional hatred, child.” 

That was right. He’d killed Allen, your best friend and only other semblance of family in your life. And perhaps, the person you held the closest to your heart. “Soon, you will learn what it is. So I’ll let you leave today because you will never want to come back. I’d imagine that to be more… Convenient for you.” 

It was only your ignorance that blessed him this last moment. The last moment where you’d see him as your father with eyes unclouded by hatred. But it was short-lived. 

It didn’t take long for you to put two and two together, and in your short silence, you came to remember someone that had been gone for a while. Allen. 

Atlantis

You woke up in a cold sweat. For just one measly second as you oriented yourself, you weren’t tortured by a fury. Betrayal. Disgust. But it all came rushing back to you like the memories of that Godforsaken day you met with your father.

Sitting up with a deep frown, you felt heat build up around your face. It would be etched in your mind forever. The memory of Allen laying in the dump. Tossed out like a broken toy. Then, the stench of blood and rust as he was left for dead. 

You always knew your father was mad, but he kept on surprising you with how mad he was. Turning to the figure beside you, tears only overwhelmed your waterline to see his chest rise and fall steadily. 

He was still here. Alive and well. You could only hope the same for Allen.

It had been ten days since the heist. There hadn’t been a single sign of Matsumoto or his men, meaning Alfred really did do his research on the best places to hide. Climbing onto his form, you wound up laying on his chest. Then, you peered down at his sleeping face. 

As you got comfortable, you felt a smile creep onto your lips. If the you from a few months ago saw what you were doing, she’d be flabbergasted. Since when did you like him this much? 

Your cheeks grew a little rosy as you became self-aware of the position you were in. Full-on embarrassment hit you when he began to stir, but before you could get off of him, his eyes fluttered open. Uh oh. Now this warranted an explanation. 

For a second, he was confused, but when he saw that it was just you, he grinned lazily. “Morning, babe. Care to tell me why you’re not sleeping on your side of the bed?” 

He’d totally cornered you. And did he just call you babe? “Um... I, well... I woke up on you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I was just about to get off.” Sliding yourself off of him at that, you tried your damndest to simmer down. But he never gave you the chance. Rolling over to face you, he pulled you in around your waist much to your surprise. “Hey!” 

You never got around to pointing out that pet name, either. 

He caught you in a serious stare. “Don’t be so shy. We’re close, aren’t we?” Alfred was never one to beat around the bush. You knew that better than anyone, but that didn’t mean you were used to it. Lowering your head at that, you fixated on his chest. 

“... I guess so. That doesn’t mean I can sleep on you like that, though. And plus, it must’ve been uncomfortable.” 

“Nah. You’re light as hell.” He hummed. Sitting up with you on his lap, his statement became more apparent in how effortless he made it seem. “You’re like a few grapes, really. So don’t worry about it.” 

Why he chose to focus on that part of your argument was beyond you. Did he really not see anything wrong with what you were doing? Or maybe he did, and didn’t want to mention it. He’d been hugging you a lot lately the past week, but that wasn’t as deserving of your attention as spooning you while he slept. 

Wasn’t he pushing the envelope? It would make sense he was just trying to comfort you after your run-in with your father, and your discovery that he was the one who attempted to off your best friend. But wasn’t this a bit much? 

He wrapped his arms around your neck. There was nothing between you both, and yet, he was holding you like there was. Like you were his. 

"...” It was in his smile. It was different to how he always looked at you, as if there was finally something behind those electric blue irises. Something alive. Something hot. As you played around with the idea, you lit up like a Christmas tree and pushed his mouth away. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

Almost as if he read your mind, he relented. But only reluctantly. Picking you up from under your arms, he set you onto the mattress so he could get out of bed. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he gave your cheek an affectionate pinch. “Whatever you say. I’ll be back after a piss.” 

When he left the room, you were left to your own devices. As you brought your knees to your chest, you came to realize how tight it was. He’d only left for a few seconds, and you were already waiting for him to return. It was ridiculous to think about, but it was almost as if you missed him. Already.

Did spending all this time with him give you some kind of separation anxiety? 

Or was it something more? 

You couldn’t tell. 

The fact that he mentioned ‘I’ll be back’ suggested he was aware of your attachment to him. You buried your face into your knees. 

Turns out, you weren’t the only one having a hard time processing your feelings. 

When he disappeared into the bathroom, he pressed his back against the wall. Reaching up to his chest, he scrunched up a part of his shirt as the pounding in his heart subsided--his metaphorical one. Alfred didn’t think it was weird to find you on top of him like that, let alone dislike it. In fact, he loved it. It gave him a shred of hope that maybe, you did like him the way he liked you. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be with you. 

This was the fifth motel he’d been to after the heist. There was no saying he’d be dead by the end of the day. Not when your father was after his head. So he wasn’t about to start anything. That would be too selfish, even for him--though one had to wonder if ‘selfish’ could even describe him anymore. He was anything but. At least, for you he wasn’t. 

Alfred would only be proven right when he took a step towards the toilet. His vision started to glitch. Then, he lost his balance, falling over the sink and slamming his head against the mirror. “Fuck--!” Stumbling back onto his feet, he was engulfed in black for a few seconds. What the hell was going on? 

His bout of disorientation lasted for far too long to be normal.

Before he would start accepting the prospect of going blind, his vision returned. He thought he would celebrate that moment, but he forgot what he was even fussing about. What happened? Lowering his gaze to his hands, he stared at them for a while before looking back up. What was he doing here? Where was he? 

That was right. He was in a motel. With you. Running away from uncertain death. It took a minute or so to recall all of these things, and that was what alarmed him. It seemed like his body wasn’t accepting the chip very well. 

Temporary memory loss and blindness was just apart of the transition, right? 

Little did he know, it was anything but. 

Outside that very district sat two men in a car. Bags hung under their dull eyes as they scanned the streets as vigilantly as their sleep deprivation let them. It had been two days since they slept, but they wouldn’t rest until they found him. There were only four days until the damage was done.

If they didn’t get to the man before then, he would be as good as dead. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

BY ANITA SIRCARAUG. 17, 2021 9:28 AM PT

My patient sat at the edge of his bed gasping for air while he tried to tell me his story, pausing to catch his breath after each word. The plastic tubes delivering oxygen through his nose hardly seemed adequate to stop his chest from heaving. He looked exhausted.

He had tested positive for the coronavirus 10 days ago. He was under 50, mildly hypertensive but otherwise in good health. Eight days earlier he started coughing and having severe fatigue. His doctor started him on antibiotics. It did not work.

Fearing his symptoms were worsening, he started taking some hydroxychloroquine he had found on the internet. It did not work.

He was now experiencing shortness of breath while doing routine daily activities such as walking from his bedroom to the bathroom or putting on his shoes. He was a shell of his former self. He eventually made his way to a facility where he could receive monoclonal antibodies, a lab-produced transfusion that substitutes for the body’s own antibodies. It did not work.

He finally ended up in the ER with dangerously low oxygen levels, exceedingly high inflammatory markers and patchy areas of infection all over his lungs. Nothing had helped. He was getting worse. He could not breathe. His wife and two young children were at home, all infected with COVID. He and his wife had decided not to get vaccinated.

Last year, a case like this would have flattened me. I would have wrestled with the sadness and how unfair life was. Battled with the angst of how unlucky he was. This year, I struggled to find sympathy. It was August 2021, not 2020. The vaccine had been widely available for months in the U.S., free to anyone who wanted it, even offered in drugstores and supermarkets. Cutting-edge, revolutionary, mind-blowing, lifesaving vaccines were available where people shopped for groceries, and they still didn’t want them.

Outside his hospital door, I took a deep breath — battening down my anger and frustration — and went in. I had been working the COVID units for 17 months straight, all day, every day. I had cared for hundreds of COVID patients. We all had, without being able to take breaks long enough to help us recover from this unending ordeal. Compassion fatigue was setting in. For those of us who hadn’t left after the hardest year of our professional lives, even hope was now in short supply.

Shouting through my N95 mask and the noise of the HEPA filter, I introduced myself. I calmly asked him why he decided not to get vaccinated.

“Well, I’m not an anti-vaxxer or anything. I was just waiting for the FDA to approve the vaccine first. I didn’t want to take anything experimental. I didn’t want to be the government’s guinea pig, and I don’t trust that it’s safe,” he said.

“Well,” I said, “I can pretty much guarantee we would have never met had you gotten vaccinated because you would have never been hospitalized. All of our COVID units are full and every single patient in them is unvaccinated. Numbers don’t lie. The vaccines work.”

This was a common excuse people gave for not getting vaccinated, fearing the vaccine because the Food and Drug Administration had only granted it emergency-use authorization so far, not permanent approval. Yet the treatments he had turned to, antibiotics, monoclonal antibodies and hydroxychloroquine were considered experimental, with mixed evidence to support their use.

The only proven lifesaver we’ve had in this pandemic is a vaccine that many people don’t want. A vaccine we give away to other countries because supply overwhelms demand in the U.S. A vaccine people in other countries stand in line for hours to receive, if they can get it at all.

“Well,” I said, “I am going to treat you with, remdesivir, which only recently received FDA approval.” I explained that it had been under an EUA for most of last year and had not been studied or administered as widely as COVID-19 vaccines. That more than 353 million doses of COVID-19 vaccine had been administered in the U.S. along with more than 4.7 billion doses worldwide without any overwhelming, catastrophic side effects. “Not nearly as many doses of remdesivir have been given or studied in people and its long-term side effects are still unknown,” I said. “Do you still want me to give it to you?”

“Yes” he responded, “Whatever it takes to save my life.”

It did not work.

My patient died nine days later from a fatal stroke. We, the care team, reconciled this loss by telling ourselves: He made a personal choice not to get vaccinated, not to protect himself or his family. We did everything we could with what we had to save him. This year, this tragedy, this unnecessary, entirely preventable loss, was on him.

The burden of this pandemic now rests on the shoulders of the unvaccinated. On those who are eligible to get vaccinated, but choose not to, a decision they defend by declaring, “vaccination is a deeply personal choice.” But perhaps never in history has anyone’s personal choice impacted the world as a whole as it does right now. When hundreds and thousands of people continue to die, when the most vulnerable members of society, our children, cannot be vaccinated — the luxury of choice ceases to exist.

If you believe the pandemic is almost over and you can ride it out, without getting vaccinated, you could not be more wrong. This virus will find you.

If you believe I’ll just wait until the FDA approves the vaccine first, you may not live to see the day.

If you believe if I get infected I’ll just go to the hospital and get treated, there is no guarantee we can save your life, nor even a promise we’ll have a bed for you.

If you believe I’m pregnant and I don’t want the vaccine to affect me, my baby or my future fertility, it matters little if you’re not alive to see your newborn.

If you believe I won’t get my children vaccinated because I don’t know what the long-term effects will be, it matters little if they don’t live long enough for you to find out.

If you believe I’ll just let everyone else get vaccinated around me so I don’t have to, there are 93 million eligible, unvaccinated people in the “herd” who think the same way you do and are getting in the way of ending this pandemic.

If you believe vaccinated people are getting infected anyway so what’s the point?, the vaccine was built to prevent hospitalizations and deaths from severe illness. Instead of fatal pneumonia, those with breakthrough infections have a short, bad cold, so the vaccine has already proved itself. The vaccinated are not dying from COVID-19.

SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19, has mutated countless times during this pandemic, adapting to survive. Stacked up against a human race that has resisted change every step of the way — including wearing masks, social distancing, quarantining and now refusing lifesaving vaccines — it is easy to see who will win this war if human behavior fails to change quickly.

The most effective thing you can do to protect yourself, your loved ones and the world, is to GET VACCINATED.

And it will work.

Anita Sircar is an infectious disease physician and clinical instructor of health sciences at the UCLA School of Medicine.

[writingwithcolor]

Magical person in history, on not intervening on human rights issues

I am writing a dating sim/visual novel set in the present day. A major (non-romanceable) character is an ancient sorceress who moved from France to the Pacific Northwest in the 1850s. She is white. She is shown to have powerful magic. She also works closely with the main characters and develops personal relationships with them as she teaches them magic, giving each character comfort and advice during their respective stories.

Considering the events in America around her move-in date, there’s no way she could have missed the horrible human rights abuses going on, and there’s no way she was too powerless to help, even when most of the fighting and slavery was so far away. So I’m having trouble balancing “don’t make her a white savior by having her personally fireball Robert E. Lee” against “Hogwarts University is cancelled because Dumbledorette didn’t care about slavery.” I had the idea that the magical regulating body back home in France didn’t want her to intervene due to political reasons, so she helped out in small ways that could safely fly under the radar. She later realized that she prioritized her social standing over the suffering of countless others, so she began making a point of reducing human suffering as much as she could.

I can’t imagine this will show up in more than one small scene, but doing it wrong could really sour the whole thing. Is this backstory still icky? Should I just not mention it and let readers headcanon what they please?

I’m wondering what you think was happening in the PNW at the time for the fighting and slavery to be “far away.” Washington State had the Cayuse War at exactly this time period, Oregon didn’t ratify treaties and was calling for the extermination of “the I*dian race” in roughly this time period, and California’s Gold Rush created the California Genocide starting heavily in the 1840s, picking up steam in the 1850s, which included slavery of California Natives thanks to a law enacted in 1850 that lasted for 13 years. 

This is all from the top five results of googling “pacific northwest genocide 1850”, for the record. It’s not exactly hidden history.

So suddenly your character’s lack of movement in healing the poisoned populations as disease ravaged the area, in attempting to stop or at least buy and free the enslaved Natives being auctioned on their doorstep, or in attempting to get treaties ratified and honoured looks a lot more damning.

This is not counting any of the future events that happened at the turn of the century, including the Chinese Exclusion Act, the Hawai’i monarchy being overthrown, and Federal Order 9066, which is the WWII concentration camps (that included Japanese, German, and Italian individuals). This is just to name a handful of coastal issues in the next 100 years, completely ignoring Jim Crow, residential schools, the San Francisco Earthquake (which nearly had Chinese people relocated to the worst land imaginable for gentrification purposes, had the Empress of China not stepped in), and many others.

In short: she would have had hundreds of opportunities to end suffering, and focusing on a single event as a small scene feels disproportionate to how much she could have done.

And honestly? The French were no angels. 

The Second French Colonial Empire was one of the largest empires in history, and it began in 1830, covering roughly a third of Africa. The First French Colonial Empire began in the 1600s, and had both India and North America, primarily Canada.

She was white. French. You don’t specify her birth year other than “ancient”, but considering the sheer amount of territory-grabbing France has been doing since Normandy invaded England in the eleventh century AD, I’m going to assume her birth year is somewhere more recent than that. Therefore, I’m going to assume she has been around the Catholic Missionary Attitude that France had; one could call that attitude the bedrock of its existence for at least a millennia (and is still visible in modern day).

So tell me: when did she break out of it? What made her even care about human atrocities, when she has likely grown up watching France commit them her entire life? 

Because let me just say, she has had plenty of opportunities to realize she did nothing in the face of her neighbours’ hatred of people not like them, and she has never taken them before. 

Did she (or her parents, if she was born around this time) decry Napoleon re-introducing slavery in France in 1802? Side with Haiti when it declared independence in 1804, and hate that the government forced Haiti to pay for the “theft” of slaves and land (that was only paid off in 1947)? Is she presently championing for France to pay Haiti the money it wrongfully took from the country? Did she hate the delays in stopping the French slave trade, which took 11 years to actually stop after it was banned on paper? 

Unconditional emancipation was only reached in 1848, after all. I don’t care if she was born in 1830, there was some sort of major racial event happening in France all throughout the late 1700s to mid-1800s. Where did she side then?

Abolitionism was not an unknown concept in France, so it is possible she had already been working towards it quietly, but that would mean she would have felt guilt at inaction much earlier, depending on when she began decrying slavery—if she was even delayed in decrying it, which I will admit is possible. 

And if she was an abolitionist, would she have even listened to the French government in not at least easing the genocide around her? Because she would have watched nearly 100 years of the French dragging their feet on stopping slavery in their empire, and known how BS it all was… if she saw it that way.

That’s just abolitionism, and is not even counting the French relationship with the Native population in Quebec and the Great Lakes region, which is a giant tangle of proxy wars, colonialism, missionary work, and very, very, very complex relationships that started off good and ended terribly.

So I ask again: why did she only start caring then?

Speaking of proxy wars, the Napoleon Empire wanted a Confederate victory, because the Confederacy was its source of cotton and the American Civil War created a “cotton famine” in France that basically forced the textile industry into a massive downsizing. The Confederacy also tolerated Napoleon’s plans for expanding the empire in Mexico, which actually had begun in December of 1861.

So when it comes to how a magical board would rule—even though France was officially neutral in the war, the court of public opinion (among politicians and capitalists) was more on the Confederate side than the Union side. Many politicians secretly worked with the Confederacy, until they abandoned them when the Union showed signs of winning. The only reason France officially remained neutral is because a war with the British was inevitable if they acknowledged the Confederacy, and Napoleon didn’t want that.

I shall work under the assumption that because it was rather literally on her doorstep when she moved to America, she lost insulation to it (if she hadn’t thought about it before), but I will say how iffy that makes her look in the long term if she had so many opportunities beforehand (at the very least, seeing slaves in France).

My other option is the word “ancient” is liberally applied and she was only in her 20s or 30s when 1850 hit, and therefore had not had many opportunities to see otherwise (but she still would have seen slaves in France, likely).

Onto the white guilt and white saviour aspects

Strictly from a writing perspective, you have to determine if she changed the course of history, or not. This would not necessarily be within the realm of white saviour, seeing as white people were the only ones listened to at the time. You can see people who changed the course of history in this period by looking up the pastor who insisted Lincoln hold fair trials for the Dakota, which brought the execution count from over 200 down to 38. You can also look at Alice Fletcher, who made quite a few laws designed to protect Native people, but whether or not they were successful is up for debate (and she regretted some of the laws she helped enact).

If not, then you have the current tangle you’re dealing with.

Option 1

She was unestablished in America and relied on the magical regulations board to protect her, and she figured working small and under the radar would mean she could do more good long-term by not being killed, so long as you establish that such a threat is viable.

This option only works if she’s an active advocate for the slew of other racist acts that pass once she’s settled in America, of which I gave many examples above.

Option 2

She actually did change the course of history in perhaps a mixed way, or perhaps a positive way. She could have relied completely on being a white, well-to-do voice in the community, which would have granted her some privilege without using a drop of magic. 

This can apply to any point in history, seeing as there were a lot of others to pick from. It would be particularly useful once suffrage was achieved, and if she was part of suffrage, did she call out Susan B. Anthony’s racism? Did she encourage allowing non-whites to vote?

Option 3 

She was slow to care, and did not actually understand what a big deal it was that such atrocities were happening until it was too late. This leads to her dedication to atonement the strongest, but you have to be careful about white guilt. This option can go along with option 1.

This allows her to be a passive player in future racist events, but makes her an even more privileged white character who PoC will have a hard time seeing as kindly, and you should go out of your way to show white players how unkind and privileged she was, and perhaps still is.

Option 4 

she doesn’t actually care much, because she has a president of not caring about atrocities happening in France, and her bigotry shows up in other ways in modern day and she’s just a kindly-but-bigoted character. She’s your wonderful grandma who you have beautiful memories with… she just doesn’t care about anyone not white.

This can go along with option 3, as she was so slow to realize that she is still bigoted and hasn’t done any work, but her racism is going to be more covert and you’ll have to do research on microaggressions and how to frame them.

Based off the way her lack of action is framed in-story and how little a plot role it plays, I would say that option 4 with a dash of option 3 appears to be the most likely interpretation of her character by PoC. She’s lip-service to progress, at present, but seems to have made no strides in losing her social standing to be an ally.

Now here’s why I don’t think you should let readers headcanon her however they want:

White players in particular are going to minimize her culpability in what happened, and think that she did all that she could, and she is a Totally Redeemed Character now. In fact, they’ll probably wonder why she’s even an Atoner, because she did something, right? She helped, right? And now she’s helping and that’s plenty. She’s good to the players, so she is a Good Person.

Meanwhile PoC players are going to see yet another white author ignore the fact that colonialism was happening en masse at the time, and that white people deeply benefited from it, and are going to see the “it happened in the past why do you keep bringing up racism?” defence continued.

Let her be flawed. Let her be on stolen land and acknowledge it every time she teaches them something, and let her sit and exist in the guilt that happens when she realizes she could have stopped the theft but didn’t. Let her not wallow in self hate, but acknowledge her mistake with every lesson the main characters receive, and let her work on righting that wrong by championing “land back” causes that centre Indigenous voices.

Let her dialogue options show every trace of how the past is not over because the past’s actions are still being felt and reparations have not been made. The settler state is still controlling the land she has made home and she knows exactly what they did to get it, and she passes that knowledge on.

Let players be uncomfortable with the knowledge that, if they sit by and “only do small things when they can, to not lose anything”, they are complicit. Let white people see they must well and truly denounce what has been given to them by their racist, colonial ancestors in order for PoC to “stop talking about racism.”

Make her use whatever income she makes be paid in part to Native causes, as rent for the land she occupies unfairly. Make her refuse to teach bigoted students who want “mystic secrets” that aren’t hers to give, that were appropriated centuries ago. Make part of her life’s work be hiding away Black and Indigenous spiritual leaders to minimize the loss.

Let her past be imperfect. And do not force redemption on her, but instead let her own the fact she made catastrophic mistakes that will not be redeemed until land has been returned to the Native population. Until all forms of slavery are abolished. Until colonial powers give back all the resources and finances they stole from their colonized regions. Until the privilege that white people spilled so much blood to secure is no more.

Because if you want her to truly be a good character who does not support racism? That is the level you have to step towards.

Everything else is simply whiteness trying to make itself feel better.

~Mod Lesya