#again. not in its original form because it still needs to be a part of Jinx. but give it to herrrrr

[tackykachowch]

This is what they should've added to Jinx's design in season 2. Btw

UPD: I also want to add this screenshot of my tags on my first ever post about Jinx because I still agree with what I said

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Floyd Leech

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating? Or rather, dated.

CHARACTERS: Floyd Leech x Reader 🦈🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda, actually an ex-relationship); Kiss

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Floyd’s dream (Eng Server) and a reader with attitude.

WORD COUNT: 3.150 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

This Yuu/Reader has a strong personality because I believe is what fits and makes sense in this dream.

I hope you enjoy 🦈

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / (Floyd) / Jade / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You, Grim, Silver, Sebek, and Jamil were all holding on to Ortho, so you needed a place to land. But there was no land in sight, just a vast ocean. Jamil froze the seawater into a boat with seats for everyone and Silver formed the oars. You all get on the boat and sit down.

“The sea brings to mind a couple of people.” Jamil says. “And what they have in common is-”

Something slammed into the boat. And again. And again.

“Mraaah! The boat's rockin' and rollin'!” Grim worries. “I'm gonna fall overboard!”

“I'm getting an enormous aether signal reading from under the boat!” Ortho warns. “It's closing in again at high speed!”

“Is it trying to tip the boat over?!” Jamil realizes.

The thing keeps hitting the ice boat violently until it finally capsizes and you all fall into the water. Fortunately, Idia was prepared for that and used technomantic nanomachines to create a kind of giant bubble around each of your bodies.

“Thank goodness!” Silver says. “Now we can fight whatever attacked our boat.”

“Ah! Aether signature reading 10 meters ahead. Estimated length, four meters!” Ortho informs you. “Judging by its size, it must be the creature that knocked over our boat.”

“Four meters? That's pretty big. We'll need to take it down with magic! (Y/N), you get back.” Jamil asks you.

Everyone gets into position, ready to defend themselves from a possible next attack and to attack the creature with magic.... But...

“Nothing's comin'.” Grim says, kind of disappointedly.

“I'm still getting that reading 10 meters ahead...” Ortho reiterates. “But it's not budging at all.”

“If it won't attack, we should attack instead.” Silver says. “Let's close in carefully and...”

Silver is interrupted by an oddly long sigh.

“Boooriiiiin'...” Floyd appears, more apathetic than you've ever seen him or even thought possible. “I was hopin' for some decent excitement... But nah, it's just land peeps...” You see the dreamer's silver bird around his head.

“Floyd?!”

“Mm... You guys know me? People from land kinda blur together for me... Mm... Wait.” He looks at you, without changing his bored expression. “Koebi-chan? Were you takin’ a boat trip or somethin'? Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You recognize (Y/N).” Jamil says, although he found it strange that Floyd apologized to someone without being ironic. “Does that mean you recognize us as well?”

“Mm... Oh, yeah... but whatever. I ain't interested in school or anythin' up on land anymore.”

Silver asks Floyd where Azul and Jade are. The three of them were always together, right? Floyd tells him that the three of them are not a package deal and that the two are probably still on land since Azul's business was going so well.

Jamil asks him if he came back to the sea by himself and Floyd says he was bored as an explanation, that things go great no matter what he does.

“See, I figured there were entertaining people up on land, kinds you wouldn't find under the sea.” Floyd explains. “But they're all so weak. Just a buncha small fry not even worth botherin' with. And they all get suckered by Azul, hook, line, and sinker... He's got so many anemones at this point, he doesn't even need more. We had a second and third Mostro Lounge branch open in no time flat...” he ends with another long sigh.

Besides people getting ‘suckered by Azul’ being concerning, Sebek says that all that sounds like perfect smooth sailing, and asks what exactly is the problem.

Floyd says that all of that was just boring and he got totally checked out. So he left to take a solo trip around the world. He went to the Shaftlands, where he was found by a man who offered him a spot as a model in a fashion show which he accepted because it sounded cool. Then the man offered him an exclusive contract with their brand, which he refused because it would be boring to always wear clothes from the same brand.

After spending all his money in the Shaftlands, he went to the Sunshine Lands to find some part-time gigs. He was immediately hired by a famous restaurant. On the third day of work, he threw together something for a staff meal that the chef totally loved and asked him if they could serve that to customers. Floyd accepted and it was such a huge hit that it had people lining up out the door.

Grim wanted to try it, but Floyd had forgotten the recipe because it was something he simply made depending on what he felt like at the time.

It was turning into a hassle so he quit and went to another country, this time the Scalding Sands. Where he rode a camel through the desert and found the legendary genie's lamp. But he used all three wishes to ask for fresh drinks and food because it was hot and he was hungry.

After that he went to the Sunset Savanna, the Queendom of Roses, and Briar Valley. But once again, everyone was so weak that it was just boring. Sebek protests that it's impossible for someone from the Briar Valley royal family to be weak, but Floyd basically says that he's not stupid enough to just walk into the castle and ask to fight with the royal family.

“So yeah. I got bored of bein' up on land and came back to the sea. Not that it's any less boring here... I saw a disturbance in the water up on the surface so I came to see if somethin' interesting was finally happening... But when I flipped the boat, all I found was my ex and a buncha guys I already know.”

“Y-your EX?!” Everyone asks, including you.

“Huh?” Floyd looks directly at you. “I thought you realized I broke up with you when I dumped you at my parents' house.”

“Wait, you are talking about (Y/N)?” Jamil asks. “You're saying that you dated and then you broke up with them at your parents' house?”

“Yeah. We started datin’ on land and one day they said they would like to visit the Coral Sea and meet my parents. I gave them the potion for them to take on a mer-form and even that got borin’ after a while.”

“What do you mean?” Jamil keeps asking, after all if it were you it would be strange. “What were they like in mer-form?”

“Beautiful.” Floyd says without any emotion in his voice. “Everyone was like ‘Aww, you shrimp tail is sooo adorable!’ And they always have a buncha merfolk fallin’ for them. But Koebi-chan never even looked at them.”

“And isn't that good? For them to be faithful?”

“Well, yeah... but our relationship was so booorin'. We never argued, they were always so nice and kind to me even when I tried to mess with them. That was so annoyin'. They never got mad at me and always did whatever I asked. I realized how borin' they really were after my parents met them, so I told them to take Koebi-chan back home after I left on my solo world trip. I don't even remember why I fell in love with them. Ouch!”

Suddenly Floyd was hit in the chest by a small rock. Everyone turned to you, who was the one who threw it, and you were looking at Floyd furiously.

“You son of a... whatever the stupid fish equivalent is!” You shout at him.

“Fish equivalent?” Floyd looks at you a little surprised. “Was that supposed to be a racial insult, koebi-chan?”

“No, I was just trying to say it in a way that you would understand.” You say smugly.

“Heh? Are you sayin’ I'd be too dumb to understand if you used your own words?” Floyd gave you that mocking smile, and then he looked at you with that scary serious face. “Say what you want if you have the guts.”

“(Y/N), I know this is a complicated situation but-” Jamil tried to calm you down but was interrupted by Grim.

Grim was looking at you like a child seeing one of those rare moments where they see their mother angry and doesn't want to get involved. He convinces everyone to let you handle it.

“If I have the guts?!” You continue. “You were the one who wasn't merman enough to take me back to land and broke up with me properly!”

“Oooohh... now you’re usin’ puns?” He smiles smugly. “After all, you really are more interestin’ single. Heh heh heh!” He laughs for the first time.

“Indeed. Maybe the problem has been you all along.” You smirk.

Floyd gets that frighteningly serious look back when he looks at you.

“Yeah, you heard me.” At this point, you were either serious or you had some sort of plan, or both. “Maybe the problem is you. Maybe no one wants to entertain you. After all... who wants to be around someone so boring that they can't even entertain themselves?”

The others ask you, almost stuttering, if you are sure that irritating him is a good idea, especially seeing the way he was looking at you.

“You have a lotta nerve for such a tiny shrimp.” Floyd says menacingly. “And especially for someone who would drown if I burst their little bubble.” He smirks.

“Do it if you have the guts.” You provoke him.

The others try to warn you to stop, that you could really be in danger, but you don't cower, nor does Floyd. He attacks you, bursting your bubble and taking you away from the others.

“(Y/N)!” Everyone shouts, but none of them can reach you underwater, Floyd is too fast.

When he stops, your cheeks are puffed out to hold your breath, and he's hugging you, not squeezing you.

“What about now? Heh heh heh. You can't talk under water.” He smiles amusedly.

You blow air bubbles in his face, the equivalent of spitting out the water you would have in your mouth if you were on land.

“Aha ha ha, That tickles. You idiot, you're runnin’ out of air.”

But you don't seem worried, even with him holding you down there under the sea. But he was right, you were running out of air. He notices when your expression starts to become less intense.

“Silly little shrimpy.” He says in a surprisingly affectionate tone before swimming quickly toward the surface with you.

When you reach the surface you take a deep breath and Floyd keeps holding you. You call him stupid or idiot one last time and he starts laughing heartily.

“THAT WAS FUN!” He says with that joy that you were already missing. “I'm pretty sure this was our first argument, but for some reason... Me in mer-form facin’ you in your human form underwater is givin’ me a déjà vu.”

“Probably from that time you and Jade tried to stop me and the others from getting to the Atlantica Memorial Museum.” You say.

“Atlantica Memorial Museum? Oh, yeah. ‘Cause of that contract with Azul. You needed to get that school photo. Well, too bad you never got it.”

“Yes, we did! While Leona destroyed Azul's contracts.”

“What? You worked together with Todo-senpai (sea lion)? No way. There's no way we'd lose to a little shrimp like you... Hrgh?!” He remembers the moment in front of the museum when he and Jade had to leave because something was happening with Azul in Octavinelle.

The world begins to distort as he remembers. Because of the headaches, Floyd ends up letting go of you. The others finally catch up to you, Idia takes the opportunity to restore your bubble and you two go back underwater

They saw the world distorting and asked what happened. You tell them that Floyd began to remember when he was defeated by you and the others. They come to the conclusion that in that dream world Floyd was always living a perpetual winning streak. So maybe the formula for waking him up was reminding him of all the times he didn't win.

Silver reminds him of Orientation day, where he saw Floyd on fire flying through the air after hearing an explosion nearby. And the person who did that to him was Riddle. Jamil says that Jade was laughing so loudly it echoed through the whole Mirror Chamber, and Azul was acting like he'd never seen Floyd before in his life. Silver found out what happened from Riddle himself at the Equestrian Club. Floyd suddenly grabbed Riddle's hair and remarked, 'It's red, but it ain't hot.'.

Floyd thought this story was better than his dream and this made the world distort again. So the others continued.

Idia remembered one time Floyd got easily shut down during a joint defensive magic lesson with the juniors. More specifically by Cater, Leona and Malleus after underestimating them. Jamil says that in their practice basketball games, Floyd hardly ever break past him when Jamil is blocking him. And tells about that one time that Floyd snuck into the gym at night because he wanted to practice slam dunks and broke two hoops. The headmage punished him with a week of gym-cleaning duty.

“Dude, what the heck? I sound like an idiot in these stories!” Floyd says. “But hey... That sounds better than bein' able to breeze through anything...”

And finally, you remind him of the conversation you were having earlier and whether he remembered what had happened during midterms.

“Midterms...? Guh... Aaagh!” The world distorts again as he remembers. “Oh yeah... We screwed up big time, and Azul... I shouldn't know any of this, but I do... Where are these memories comin' from?!”

The goopy darkness begins to form around you until it transforms into two figures: Jade and Azul in their mer-forms. These figures created by darkness tried to convince Floyd not to believe you, praising him about being a strong predator and saying that the three of them could have fun together as friends. They were so out of character that they couldn't fool Floyd at all. This angered Floyd so much that he woke up and attacked the fake Jade and Azul himself.

“Floyd, how could you...?” Were the last words of fake Jade.

“I thought... we were... best friends...” Were the last words of fake Azul.

“Tch, you're STILL puttin' words in their mouths.” Floyd says, still beside himself with rage. “I'd better not see your fake faces again, you little minnows.” He started slamming his tail into the sunken ship and smashing it apart.

Someone needed to stop him so you all could talk to him. And Jamil said the best person to do it would be the person he apparently liked enough to dream about dating them. You go over and call out to him, telling him you're glad he's awake.

“Huh? Why're you guys still hoverin' around?” Floyd looks at you furiously. “I'm not in the mood, koebi-chan. I'm REALLY ticked off right now, y'know. Unless you wanna get squeezed and turn into squid ink too.”

“I'm not one of them, Floyd. I'm the real (Y/N).”

“Oh yeah? And how can you prove that?”

You need a moment to think, but then you say something like: “You are a poor unfortunate soul who doesn't even have the courage to break up with an imaginary partner properly.”

Everyone is scared for you.

“Those NPCs are supposed to praise you, and I can only imagine my NPC would say something about true love, but I just insulted you. I'm going against their nature. And if you don't realize that then you're really dumb." You smirk.

The others comment on you having some desire to be killed by Floyd, as he slowly approaches you with an extremely threatening face and posture. He covers you with his shadow and opens his mouth as if he were going to eat you.

“Heh... Heh heh... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!” Floyd smiles and hugs you tightly. “Yay! That’s my Koebi-chan~!”

He's not hurting you, but you tell him the hug is still too strong. He loosened his hug a little and suddenly he kissed you passionately on the lips. Everyone else is startled, but you return the kiss. Jamil's reflex was to cover Grim's eyes.

It started out as just a kiss, but you returning the kiss made him get in the mood for making out. If you don't stop the kiss, it will be the group clearing their throats behind you doing it.

If you continue to the point where others are clearing their throats as a request for you to stop: You both break the kiss and Floyd looks at them with an extremely smug smile.

“What? I'm not forcin' you to watch... pervs.” Floyd mocks them.

If you are the one who breaks the kiss: Floyd won't move his face too far away from yours and will look at you with a pout.

“Own, why did you stop now?” He asks in an overly seductive, pleading voice. “Is it ‘cause you don't like audience? I can take care of them for you... Koebi-chan~”

You two may have interrupted your kiss, but Floyd didn't want to let go of you for anything. Your only two options were to stay like that, or turn around and have him hug you from behind. Floyd asks what's going on, the others explain that it was a dream and Ortho shows him the explanatory video.

When the video ended, to your surprise, Floyd let go of you. You look at him, confused, and his expression is that... neutral, but serious one.

“What's wrong?” You ask.

“We never dated, did we? When I kissed you, I thought you were the same (Y/N) from my dream.” Yes, he called you by your name. He's silent for a moment to see if you understand what he means, but it seems like he has to continue explaining. “I thought I had your prior consent as your ex, but since we never dated...”

“You are concerned about consent?” Jamil says, doubtfully. “I don't mean to insult you, but I wasn't expecting that from a guy who tries to squeeze everyone who bothers him.”

“Beatin’ up annoyin’ guys is one thing.” Floyd explains, still strangely serious. “And I always do that after a warning. This is different.” His expression becomes threatening. “And none of your business.”

You turn Floyd's attention back to you and tell him that you also like him. You understand and if that is an apology you accept it. And you even reveal how much you actually enjoyed it.

“Hm~ Really~?” Floyd looks at you with a seductive smile and gets closer to you, holding you by the waist once again. “Are you askin’ for more, koebi-chan~?”

“Oh please, not again!” Idia begs. “I can't handle such high levels of PDA!”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

P.S.: Don't question how the air bubble bursts once but doesn't burst again when he hugs and kisses Yuu. This is a fanfic for fanservice purposes only 😝

[dcdreamblog]

In honor of whatever Jewish holiday is close when you get to answering this (currently Passover), what's the deal with that Monolith guy?

This is only going to work once and it's still getting your position reset to the bottom of the answer list because it is CHEATING. I don't know the Jewish holidays but I DO know that Passover is one of, if not the most important one and considering how...well let's just say how things have been going for my Jewish friends out there on the wide interwebs I feel its important to let people know where I stand. Like the blog says, we support Jews here. Also if I do this no one is allowed to judge me for how many Yiddish words I drop into every piece I write. ANYWAY.

(A painting of the Monolith, showing it standing literal watch over Brooklyn. Not to scale) "The Monolith" is a Golem. Which...umm... Look, I'm not a Jewish mythological scholar. Jewish mysticism is a whole kettle of fish and the worst part about trying to make heads or tails of it is that a big chunk of the information offered online is from people who AREN'T Jewish trying to sell you a 12 week course on the Kabbalah to make your dick bigger or something. Assume I am taking this information directly from as trustworthy sources as I POSSIBLY can and if I say something horribly untoward then I ask that the righteous bricks through my window be limited to one. If you want to learn some Jewish history, look up Sam Aronow on Youtube and thank me later. To avoid another false start. The Monolith is a Golem, a creature formed usually out of clay and animated by Jewish mysticism to serve as guardian and protector for a local Jewish community. The most famous one is in Prague, the Golem known as the monolith was animated at some point in the mid 30s. Theories abound as to whom or why but during the weeks leading directly up to the Monolith's appearance the Brooklyn Jewish community had come under a rash of attacks from local bootleggers and mafiosos leaving many dead and multiple businesses up in flames when the community was in the depth of the Great Depression.

The Monolith was only originally active for a very short time before its prerogative to track down and halt those who would put Brooklyn's Jews and risks lead to it unleashing violent attacks on what were purported to be small time or nonviolent offenders. It vanishes from the historical record close to a year before the Crimson Avenger and the Sandman make the scene. Stories abound that just like the golems of other cities it is sealed away awaiting a time in which it is needed to defend the Jews of Brooklyn once again. It only reappears in the modern day where it is reported to have fought a demon underneath an old church near its old neighborhood, as well as teaming up with Batman to halt a series of arsonist attacks on Brooklyn's Muslims from an Islamophobic bigot calling himself The Incinerator. It also battles a creature of animated iron that people also call a Golem but I have no citation on that and helps break up a trafficking ring. It shows up for a very short time during the so called 'Battle for Bludhaven' after the dropping of Chemo decimated many of the city's lower income neighborhoods including its Jewish quarter. There it clashed with the government goon squad Freedom's Ring and assisted the modern Freedom Fighters in making sure the disaster didn't continue to spread helping to salvage the city as it still exists to this day. (Whether this is a good act depends on one's opinion on Bludhaven/s) Since then? Its most often cited around the NYCAT (New York Citizen's Assistance Team) Center in Brooklyn, a mutual assistance network for Brooklyn's lower class or homeless citizens. As is shocking to truly no one the last year or so of sightings have been it standing guard against or breaking up hamasnik mobs around synagogues, Jewish cultural centers and Hebrew schools because people DEEPLY suck. It's a hero that means a lot of things to a lot of people. Finding sources on it it was hard to not stumble into antisemetic corners who basically called it the second coming of Mongul just for existing because it will stand there for 30 minutes getting belted with bottles and only start shoving when the bottles start getting aimed at somebody else. This has been the pattern placed upon openly Jewish superheroes for the past year or more, where their every action is vilified because protecting Jewish communities is what they've always done. To that I respond the same I would respond to anyone who was complaining about an 'ethnic' superhero of any other kind: What the hell are you doing that a superhero whose purpose is to defeat threats to Jewish communities has suddenly become a problem for you? Why have you joined the same cohort as a literal demon and a terrorist lighting mosques on fire?

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 7 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It was strange. After reuniting with the system through Jinwoo, it continued to address you as "Trial Player," but something had changed. No more quests appeared, and it never responded when you tried to access your status screen. It was as if the system's more tangible functions had vanished. However, it still spoke to you— chiming in with its usual comments and banter, , but there was an undeniable distance between the system’s functionality and its conversations with you now.

You’d debated for a while whether to show Jinwoo more of your powers, especially the ones you kept hidden. This time, the system seemed to encourage it, nudging you here and there, still within the boundaries it had set, but you were the one who hesitated. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe, it was gratitude.

Whatever the reason, you felt the need to open up.

But only if Jinwoo asked first.

---

You didn't expect to be here, in the depths of yet another C-rank dungeon, fighting alongside Sung Jinwoo and his shadow soldiers. It felt as though the system had decided to twist the narrative again. The access to C-rank dungeons, something Jinwoo originally sought by partnering with Jinho, keys of its instant dungeon version were suddenly dropped into his lap the moment you joined his party.

It was unnerving. You screamed internally whenever you thought about how the system was changing things simply because you were here. It felt like a cosmic joke, one that you couldn’t quite laugh at.

Still, you kept your composure, thankful for leveling up your <Act> skill. Otherwise, your unease might have been more obvious to Jinwoo, who was already watching you with quiet intensity. He hadn’t asked much, but his sharp eyes were always on you. Every little move, every spell you cast, every flutter of your butterflies—he didn’t miss a thing.

Today was no different, except for the massive Hydra that stood in your path.

"Of course, a Hydra," you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone. You had encountered one before, in another world, in the hanging gardens. At least you knew what to do.

The Hydra roared, its heads writhing as Jinwoo leapt into action, shadows swarming around him. His movements were fast, precise, cutting through the creature with ease, but each wound healed almost instantly. Frustration began to build in his expression as the heads regenerated, one after another, no matter how many times he severed them.

You let him take the lead, silently sending out your butterflies to survey the battlefield. They fluttered around the Hydra, hovering near its wounds. You knew this creature well enough to know how it worked. Regeneration was its strongest weapon, but also its greatest weakness—if you knew how to handle it.

As the battle dragged on, Jinwoo began to notice something. The Hydra’s regeneration was slowing down. Each time a head was severed, it took just a bit longer to grow back. His eyes darted between the butterflies and you, a question forming in his mind, though now wasn’t the right time to speak it out loud.

One of the Hydra's heads lunged at Jinwoo, faster than the others. He dodged, but not quickly enough, and found himself momentarily caught in midair. Multiple heads reared up, preparing to strike from all sides.

That was your cue to step in.

Before they could reach him, the Hydra convulsed, its heads jerking back as if struck by an invisible force. Its body shuddered, and thick, black poison oozed from its open mouths. Seconds later, the massive beast collapsed in a heap.

Jinwoo landed gracefully, turning to you, his expression unreadable. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the explanation. "My butterflies play a part," you began, gesturing toward the glowing creatures still flitting around the Hydra’s corpse. "They help me resonate with the target. In this case, the Hydra's regeneration was a biological process, and I used my power to disrupt it."

"How?" Jinwoo’s gaze was steady, his interest piqued.

"By speeding up its cell cycle," you explained. "Every cell has a lifespan. The faster they divide, the faster they die. I forced the Hydra’s cells to reach the end of their life faster than they could regenerate, step by step. Eventually, it couldn't recover fast enough."

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. "And how did you kill it?"

You met his gaze, knowing this part would need a bit more explanation. "I accelerated the production of its poison. The sack that holds the venom was overproducing without increasing in size, which caused it to rupture. The poison had nowhere to go, so it began flooding its body.”

So, it drowned in its own venom.

He raised an eyebrow at that, clearly intrigued. "So, you can manipulate any biological process?"

"Not any," you admitted. "I need to know the structure of the enemy’s body first. It’s not something I can do blindly."

Jinwoo seemed to consider your words for a moment before asking, "Have you fought a Hydra before?"

You hesitated, careful not to reveal too much. The system chimed in at the back of your mind, warning you not to stray too far from what was allowed. "Yes," you said carefully. "Once. In another dungeon."

There was a brief silence as Jinwoo processed that information. His expression remained neutral, but you could see the gears turning in his mind. He wanted to know more, that much was clear, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he simply nodded. "I see."

You were grateful for the system’s guidance, keeping you from saying too much. Still, Jinwoo’s silence unnerved you. He was always calm, always composed, but you couldn’t help but wonder what he was truly thinking.

He didn’t say anything else as the two of you made your way out of the dungeon. His face gave nothing away, but you knew this was far from over. The more you revealed, the more questions he would have.

And yet, as unnerving as it was, you found a strange comfort in his curiosity. Maybe, just maybe, it was nice to finally have someone who wanted to understand you.

---

Jinwoo had always been observant, and it didn’t take long for him to start piecing things together about you and your butterflies. He didn’t pry too much at first, but you could tell he was forming his own conclusions.

The butterflies were more than they seemed. It was obvious to him that they were some sort of summons, which meant you weren’t just a healer—you had to be a mage as well. A hybrid. Something rare, if not completely unheard of. But then again, he himself was an anomaly in the world of hunters, so perhaps it wasn’t too surprising that you were too.

Still, there were aspects of your abilities he couldn’t quite figure out, and after a few raids together, he finally asked.

It was during a break between fights, his shadow soldiers standing idle while your butterflies fluttered around them. Jinwoo watched, his gaze following their movements carefully before he finally spoke up.

“What exactly do they do?” he asked, his voice steady. “Your butterflies.”

You weren’t surprised by the question. You knew it was coming sooner or later. As always, you waited for him to ask before you explained anything. You turned toward him, meeting his eyes before giving your answer.

“They work on the basis of ‘life,’” you said slowly, trying to explain it in terms he could understand. “Not just mana. Life is a distinct force, and my butterflies draw from that. When they surround an enemy, they drain that life force, weakening them. That energy is then transferred to our allies—in this case, your shadow soldiers—in the form of boosts and heals.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So they drain life even from the dead?”

You nodded. “To an extent. Freshly killed enemies still emit some life force, but it’s limited. The real power comes from living targets.”

He took in that information, but you could tell it wasn’t the whole of his curiosity. After a moment, he asked again, “And the confusion they cause?”

“They emit a type of energy that wraps around the enemies’ minds,” you explained. “It creates illusions, distorts their senses, making them easier to take down. The draining of their life force makes this easier, weakens their resistance. But the stronger the enemy, the harder it is to affect them.”

Jinwoo processed that with a calm nod, but his gaze flickered toward his shadow soldiers, who were still surrounded by your butterflies. His expression shifted slightly, a protective tension in his stance as he asked his next question.

“They’ve been near my soldiers a lot,” he said, his voice tighter now. “What are they doing when there are no enemies around?”

You understood his concern immediately. You were protective of your butterflies, just as he was protective of his shadows. The two forces had been interacting closely during battles, and it made sense for him to be more cautious now that he knew what your children were capable off.

“They’re not draining anything from your soldiers,” you assured him. “They’re sentient enough to know the difference between allies and enemies. They won’t harm your shadows. In fact…” you hesitated for a moment, glancing at the red child that hovered near Igris. “I think they’re drawn to them.”

“Drawn to them?” Jinwoo’s brows furrowed slightly.

“I’m still trying to figure it out myself,” you admitted. “But I think it’s the nature of your shadows. They’re not exactly alive, but there’s a strange energy there. My butterflies seem… curious. They like being near them, but they won’t harm them. I promise.”

Jinwoo’s expression didn’t change much, but you noticed a slight shift in his posture. He seemed less tense, less guarded, though he was still processing everything you’d told him.

“They obey you?” he asked, his tone softer now.

“Completely,” you said firmly. “They’re my creations. They won’t act against my will.”

He seemed to accept that, though you could tell he was still intrigued, still trying to wrap his head around the mechanics of your power. He gave a small nod, his eyes returning to the butterflies as they fluttered peacefully around his shadows.

As ever, Jinwoo’s face didn’t reveal much, but you could sense the subtle easing of tension between the two of you. He was still fascinated by you—perhaps even more so now—but for the moment, at least, he seemed reassured.

The partnership continued, and while his questions weren’t over, you couldn’t help but feel that, little by little, you were gaining Jinwoo’s trust.

---

The battle with the giant had been exhausting, dragging on far longer than either of you expected. Despite Jinwoo’s overwhelming strength and the power of his shadows, the sheer size and resilience of the giant made every blow feel like a drop in an ocean. The creature’s endurance was staggering, each wound seemingly insignificant compared to its massive frame.

Jinwoo pressed on, keeping the pressure on the giant. His shadows flanked it, landing blow after blow, but it wasn’t enough to break through. You observed for a while, assessing the situation, and then you stepped in.

You raised your hands, eyes narrowing as you focused on the giant's movements, its wounds, and the slowing rhythm of its defenses. You channeled your energy into casting the spell, watching as the giant’s already open wounds began to fester, the flesh darkening as your magic took effect.

After the giant collapsed, Jinwoo turned to you, his eyes sharp, the question already forming on his lips. You knew it was coming, just as you always did.

“Why didn’t you do that from the start?” he asked, his tone steady but laced with curiosity.

You took a moment before answering, gathering your thoughts. “I did, technically. It’s just... it’s more complicated than the hydra.” You gestured to the fallen giant, still smoldering from the effects of your spell. “Generally, decay in organic matter of the livings involves a lot more processes than just cellular breakdown. Different creatures have different weaknesses.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed in understanding, but you could tell he wanted more details. You obliged.

“With the hydra, I was blocking its regeneration—a single process. That was straightforward. But this?” You gestured to the giant again. “Giants have no particularly enhanced regeneration, but there are no weak points like a poison sac I can exploit. The problem is their endurance.”

You paused, trying to put the mechanics of your magic into terms Jinwoo would understand. “In this case, I have to target several things at once. Disrupting healing signals, accelerating metabolic waste production to cause toxin buildup—it’s all about overwhelming the giant’s natural endurance. And that takes a lot of energy, and more importantly, time.”

Jinwoo’s gaze flicked between you and the fallen giant, his expression unreadable, but his attention was unwavering.

“I also have to know how the creature’s body works,” you continued, “which is why it’s easier with creatures that are similar to humans. A giant’s body isn’t too different from ours—just bigger and tougher. But that also means I need more mana to make the spell effective.”

You had a passing thought, realizing you would need to study more on the anatomy of different creatures to fine-tune your magic in the future. There were a few books you'd picked up from the system’s shop during your trial phase, those were looking more useful by the second. And if perchance they didn’t, you were sure there would be some references in the Garden’s library.

As you were lost in thought, you spoke absentmindedly, “Having you here made it easier, though.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

You blinked, realizing you’d voiced your thoughts aloud. “I need time and a lot of focus to cast <Decay>. Your attacks created the openings I needed and you also kept the giant from attacking me. Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to make the spell work as quickly.”

For a moment, Jinwoo’s face remained impassive, as it usually did, but then, unexpectedly, he let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t mocking, but it caught you off guard nonetheless.

“What’s funny?” you asked, unable to hide your curiosity.

His laughter faded, and his expression returned to its neutral state, but there was a slight shift in his demeanor, something lighter, more relaxed. He shook his head, as if dismissing the thought.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice calm but with a trace of amusement. “Just… interesting.”

That word lingered in the air, and it reminded you of the first time you had officially met him—how he had regarded you then, intrigued but cautious. Now, even with his suspicions, there was a familiarity between you, a shared understanding that went beyond just combat.

You didn’t know if his reaction was a good omen or not, but at this point, you figured you’d find out soon enough.

---

The battle with the rock golemn was dragging on longer than expected. Jinwoo had fought golemns before, and you both knew he could take this one down in an instant. But instead, he seemed to be toying with it, almost as if he were waiting for something.

You watched his movements carefully and sighed inwardly. He should’ve just asked.

Extending your hand, you focused on the golemn’s surface. "<Erosion>," you muttered, watching the cracks running along its stone form deepened, spreading as the rock began to crumble. It didn’t explode dramatically, didn’t shatter in an instant, but it got the job done.

It weathered, as if time itself had fast-forwarded. The rock golemn’s sturdy form slowly disintegrate before your eyes. Dust, pebbles, and debris collapsed onto the ground, leaving nothing but remnants of what had once been a towering figure.

Jinwoo approached, his expression as unreadable as ever, but you knew what was coming. By now, it had become a routine—he fought, you intervened, and then came the questions.

This time, however, you didn’t wait for him to ask first. "You were waiting for me." you stated flatly, meeting his gaze.

Jinwoo didn’t deny it. He nodded once, silently asking you to explain further.

You sighed and began, "Erosion is different from the other spells I’ve used. It’s all about weakening the bonds between molecules. I accelerate corrosion, cracks, and disintegration. But with inorganic material like stone, it’s not as straightforward as organic decay."

Jinwoo listened intently, his gaze never leaving you.

"I rely heavily on ‘time’ for this spell," you continued. "It’s more mana-intensive than my healing spells. Organic matter, like living beings, have biological systems that heal themselves naturally. So when I cast decay, I’m just accelerating those processes—making sure the wounds break down faster than they can heal. But inorganic matter? Rocks? They don’t regenerate. So I’m essentially reversing that process, speeding up their destruction."

Jinwoo tilted his head slightly. "And that’s why it takes longer."

"Exactly," you confirmed. "Decay works from the inside out, disrupting life processes. But erosion works from the outside in. Normally, erosion is caused by elements like water, air, or heat, so it takes a lot more time—and mana—to break down something solid like a golemn."

You glanced at the spot where the golemn once stood. “It’s a good thing these golemns are still tied to life force, make it easier to weaken them.”

You sighed again. "To be honest, <Erosion> is a pain in the ass to use. I could’ve just blasted the thing apart with elemental magic."

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow at that. "Then why didn’t you?"

You hesitated. "It’s... not fair of me."

Jinwoo’s expression remained neutral, but his curiosity was palpable. "What do you mean?"

You mumbled, more to yourself than to him, "It wouldn’t be fair... to you."

Jinwoo blinked, taken aback. "What?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Your heart felt heavy, unsure if you should continue, but the words slipped out anyway. Perhaps it was guilt, lingering from the fact that you knew Jinwoo, his story, his world—everything—while he barely knew you. His suspicions were understandable. Or perhaps, it was gratitude. Gratitude for his presence, for making this familiar yet unfamiliar world feel a little less isolating. Despite the fact that you were unsure why he kept you around—be it suspicion or something else—he was trying to understand you.

"Look," you started, trying to gather your thoughts, "this spell… it's tricky. It’s not my most effective move, not by a long shot. But you wanted to see what I was capable of, didn’t you?"

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn’t following, not yet.

You pressed on, speaking more clearly. "I'm showing you the limits of my powers. My weaknesses. I already struggle with living beings made from inorganic materials. Things like... the undead, they’re not easy for me to handle."

The words hung in the air between you. It was a risk, revealing something so vulnerable to someone like Jinwoo, who was always several steps ahead. He was the type to observe, analyze, and act with precision. And now you’d given him something that could be used against you.

Jinwoo’s silence was telling, his mind clearly processing your words. Then, in that moment, something seemed to click for him. He might not understand the full scope of your situation—how could he, when your existence was tied to something far beyond this world? But he recognized what you were doing.

You were offering him trust.

A sign of vulnerability, one that Jinwoo quietly acknowledged. His gaze softened, but his expression didn’t shift enough for you to fully read him.

Your thoughts spiraled, berating yourself. Why did you show him that? Years of surviving alone had isolated you. ‘Don’t trust others so easily’ was a bit different between you and him. Jinwoo was still, in many ways, a stranger. Yet, here you were, offering him something fragile—a piece of yourself that he could very well use however he pleased.

But it was too late now.

You stood there, still silently chastising yourself, while Jinwoo turned to the dust of the fallen golemn. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he had understood. Even if you both remained distant, even if you weren’t sure if you could call each other friends, there was now something in that previously empty space between you.

You just had to live with it.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [018/10/2024] - Trust

I'm sorry if the developments seems a bit fast-paced or sudden, considering this is also still a draft. I just want to let all these drafts out before I went MIA again for a few months. College life is hella hectic. T-T

[birdsandbeetlesandmoths]

The Sonic Movie Franchise and The Found Family Trope

A personal request by my dear moot and friend @writer--in--theory, which I am entirely happy to deliver on.

Feel free to point out inconsistencies or anything you think I can improve on in my analysis.

Alright, so, the Found Family trope. Extremely popular and very well done, along with one of the tropes I find the most fulfilling to write in to fanfiction.

As I, and I believe most people in fandom, consider the Sonic movies to be an AU, I’m not going to be comparing specific relationships or characterization to any other games or media, other than that the familial aspect is more apparent in these films than in most games, and I haven’t read enough of the comics, either Archie or IDW to develop opinions as to those.

The Sonic movies do a fascinating job at truly displaying and fleshing out that found family trope that is more of a notion or behavioral quirk between characters in most games. They aren’t given as much concrete development in games as the movies have allowed, since the Sonic games focused more on the gameplay aspect rather than a more slice-of-life/slower storyline (a story that takes its time to create relationships between characters) that found families are most often found in.

I'm going to go by specific character relationships, and connect them as needed.

Sonic's Characterization

The first Sonic movie begins with Sonic losing his only parental figure, an extremely traumatic event that leaves a hole in him for the rest of the series and leaves him to fend for himself during his most formative years. He grows up alone, but retains the sassy, care-free demeanor.

I believe the reason he's still so outwardly unaffected by that trauma is that he coped for much of the unseen years between Longclaw's death and formally meeting the Wachowskis through exploring the world. He finds a home in Green Hill because he sees a home in the Wachowskis. We know that he had already been "spying" on them for a while and hanging around their house without them knowing. And he feels that longing for a home, a family, for what he had with Longclaw, and he wants that back.

But he is still aware of what he is, of how they might see him, as only an alien. And that is what keeps him away, that fear of the possibility and being rejected again, being alone again. So he's content with just viewing their life, imagining himself with Tom and Maddie.

I think that's one of my favorite parts of Movie!Sonic. Despite many of his characterizations by the fandom is as an emotionally unavailable character, Movie!Sonic is emotionally intelligent, whether already or as a result of having to grow up too soon. To take care of himself early on, and as much as he may boast or pride that he is totally fine having fun and running around the world, he is, in the end, running to escape the possibility of standing still and realizing that he is still incredibly lonely. While he may not explicitly say it, much of that initial montage in his cave and at Tom and Maddie's movie night, from the outside always looking in, he is aware of what he feels. However, that fear keeps him away.

It pushes him to the baseball diamond, and him running to escape the emotions, the memories, and his imagination, creates that very first outburst of incredible energy and power that alerts the real danger (GUN).

It's only the possibility of being found out by an unknown danger, being attacked and forced out of his cave, out of his home yet again, that forces him to finally act. Not quite meet the Wachowskis yet, as that isn't his intention.

But he does knowingly go to the only other place he feels safe at. The Wachowski's home.

He realizes that he needs to run to escape this danger, doing what Longclaw's last words bade him do before she sacrificed herself for him, but is found by Tom (and promptly shot with a tranquilizer, but, y'know, it starts rocky sometimes!!).

As for the Wachowski's, as original characters we have nothing to expect of them. But they are immediately charming and unique and, while understandably wary of Sonic at first, immediately realize the danger he's in and want to help him.

Sonic and Tom Wachowski

An obvious father-son relationship within the overarching found family (which will eventually include Tails and Knuckles, but I'll get to them later). However, Tom's interactions with Sonic are written in a way that feels incredibly sincere and I think their believability together made my skepticism for humans being related to Sonic (as a character and as a story) disappear.

Tom is obviously skeptical as well at first, especially after finding out that Sonic had just been spying on them for years. But when he learns of Sonic’s past and how he’s been alone for all of the years after that, he understands. He wants to protect Sonic from whoever is hunting him, from experiencing that loneliness again, and after getting to know that little blue blur, is willing to do anything to make sure that Sonic is safe, that he has a home.

And Sonic is bracing for the inevitable rejection again, after he chooses to stay in Green Hill and not escape to a new world, near the end of the movie.

But they surprise him by showing him that they want him to stay, setting up a whole room for him, and allowing him to be a kid!! He doesn’t have to be alone anymore, because he has a family who wants to take care of him, who cares about him and would literally throw the rest of their life to the side to care for this little hedgehog who crashed into their life one day.

There isn’t enough content between Maddie and Sonic only for me to give her a section as well, but she definitely feels the same. The protectiveness she feels is just as strong.

Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles

Sonic and Tails

Now, for the even better found family relationship. Sorry, as much as I love Tom and Sonic, these two will forever be my heart.

Tails, in the movie, is also coming from another planet, bullied and ostracized from his village most of his life for the mutation causing his double tails. He hears news of a blue speedster and, beginning to practically idolize him, uses his capability with technology to track Sonic down. While it’s barely explained why Tails is looking for Sonic in the first place, he is clearly expecting for something to happen to Sonic, saying that he hopes he “isn’t too late.” What exactly, he’s worried about, isn’t explained either, and he and Sonic are pulled into the race to find the Master Emerald against Robotnik and Knuckles.

Tails is, thankfully, not characterized as naive or too young to be responsible, which I am glad for, as I was initially worried that they’d infantilize him as a result of him just being a younger kid. He wants to prove himself, rather, and shows his skills through his gadgetry and eagerness to help Sonic, and his initial adoration and interest in Sonic changes into something more brotherly. Tails was inspired by Sonic and saw someone who was clearly different, other. Just like him. And he thought that if Sonic could be great, then maybe he could too, and his otherness didn’t have to stop him.

My favorite scene for this is when they’re in the inn in Siberia, and both of them are finally able to see a more relaxed, actual child-like version of the other.

Sonic is told that he’s Tails’ first real friend, the first person to truly care about him, and to not judge him for his appearance or his interest in tech. And Tails is surprised by this fact, not sure at first if Sonic is being genuine, but once realizing that he is, hugs Sonic and reveals the parts of himself, the feelings and his past, that he hid and felt shame for for so long.

Sonic and Knuckles

Sonic and Knuckles have a classic rivals to friends relationship and it was probably one of my favorite parts of the movie besides Sonic and Tails being absolutely adorable.

Knuckles is another character who is alone, the last of his kind, a race of fierce warriors and protectors, who value loyalty, strength, and honor above all. He’s seemingly destined for a solitary life, much like Sonic assumed himself to be, from the beginning of the movie, and his lack of knowledge of the world he is adjusting to allows him to be taken advantage of by Robotnik so easily.

(Christ, loneliness and loss is a really reoccurring theme, and I haven’t even gotten to Shadow yet)

Knuckles is only able to truly interact with and talk with Sonic after he is betrayed by Robotnik, breaking one of his key values and shattering his worldview and who he believed was the right side. However, he fully expects Sonic to leave him behind as well after the temple battle, the flood overtaking him. But Sonic, seeing only someone who was taken advantage of and who also lost everything he loved, chooses to save him, nearly sacrificing himself in the process. Knuckles also saves Sonic as well, after realizing that Sonic didn’t swim to the surface with him.

Sonic chooses to deliberately ignore that Knuckles was apart of the tribe that killed Longclaw, letting it bring them together in grief instead of driving them apart, and doesn’t care that Knuckles has been attacking him since they met, as Sonic understands why and forgives him for that. Knuckles doesn’t understand, at first, why Sonic saved him in the first place, but when Sonic explains his hero concept and that he needs to take responsibility for others and couldn’t just let Knuckles die, Knuckles sees who Sonic is.

And a mutual respect is gained.

Knuckles, while he is incredibly blunt, deliberate, and honest, understands this. He sees a pure will that he admires in Sonic.

Altogether . .

The third movie only strengthens their bond, as both Tails and Knuckles have been accepted into the family, as the Wachowski’s are happy to adopt another couple of super powered alien kids.

Tails and Knuckles, while still sidelined due to Shadow’s storyline, are key factors in how their team functions and they work the best together. This is a result of the familial relationship formed in the time between movies 2 and 3, as they, during that time, are able to live together and learn from each other.

While they do have a 3rd act separation that I was worried about, it’s established that it’s only allowed through the trust formed between Sonic and Knuckles. Which they handled perfectly, as it wasn’t out of character and wasn’t even malicious, it was a result of the trust between all three of them. They all suffered when Tom was critically injured, they all watched the ambulance drive off with the same, devastated look. They had become so close over these few months together.

Their relationship becomes the most adorable and genuine of sibling relationships, as they are all able to bond over discovering the world, learning and playing and being allowed to be kids. I know I emphasized this before but I will do it again: What makes this found family so incredibly strong is that all of them are able to learn from each other, to build and grow alongside each other and they have all greatly affected each other’s lives in ways that changed them for the better.

Their shared experiences of otherness, of loss, of grief, brought them together into warmer emotions of family, of friendship, of trust.

That is the basis of a found family. People brought together through mutual respect, understanding, and love.

Outside of Sonic-related relationships . . .

Shadow and Maria

Shadow crashed into Earth from a meteorite and supposedly spent the first moments of his life on Earth in a lab, in a tube, isolated but for scientists who would stare and write and run tests and treat him as, honestly, less than a being with a conscience.

The time before Maria was probably extremely lonely, despite him being surrounded by people, setting a precedent that Shadow would assume that humans wouldn’t want anything to do with him, didn’t care about him aside for his powers.

But when he meets Maria, she immediately interacts with him, smiles and mocks him playfully, not for the purpose of analyzing him, but just because he was another kid in the lab, and she wanted to be friends out of pure interest for who Shadow was, not his alien blood.

The montages of their time together in the lab, spent having fun running around the halls, Maria introducing Shadow to dancing and music and sweets and movies and everything he would never have gotten to experience if not for her, only reinforce their close bond, the family he found with her. She was the only one who could understand him in the lab, probably in his whole life, as we have no clue what happened before he crashed to Earth.

The rooftop scene is my personal favorite, as Shadow feels comfortable, safe enough, to confide in Maria about his self-consciousness, his fear that his power will make him only terrifying, only a monster.

Maria comforts him, telling him that he can choose who he wants to be for himself, that he’ll know who he wants to be in his heart. She teaches him that his purpose and life doesn’t have to be dictated by what he possesses or what he appears to be, as his actions and decisions are what truly matter.

That even when a star has long since faded, their light still shines.

This barely concealed metaphor for the effect your life can have on the people you know is beautifully poetic, and reminds Shadow, near the end, of what his true goal should’ve been.

That Maria would have never wanted him to hurt others, to destroy the world, in order to avenge her. Because she loved the world. And Shadow would never want to destroy what she loved.

They make me hurt in the best way. Maria’s line about a star’s light still shining even after it’s long since faded breaks me every time.

Agent Stone and Ivo Robotnik

I know that this isn’t necessarily found family in the familial sense, but if you don’t ship them or believe them to be romantic, don’t worry, this further analysis is purely from a non-shipping perspective.

While the power dynamic is clearly tilted towards Ivo, and I think this acknowledgement of the relationship is very one-sided in the way that Stone is very aware of how he feels towards Ivo, with his devotion and willingness to do whatever it takes for Ivo, while Ivo does not outwardly admit how attached he’d become to his agent, his presence and intelligence, and that he appreciates and needs Stone’s company. Ivo has never spoken his feelings aloud while Stone has practically worn them on his sleeve.

My point is that the third movie, in terms of Ivo’s plot, outlines the choice between blood relations and your chosen family.

Ivo has a chosen family, which consists of only Stone. He’s never had a true family before, no blood relatives, no parents to speak of, and when he discovers Gerald, who may be the first blood family he’s ever had, he begins to value blood over chosen, leaving Stone to pursue a life with his grandpappy over him.

However, when it’s revealed that Gerald never cared about Ivo in the first place, only needing him to be able to achieve his goal of destroying the world in order to avenge Maria, even going far enough to say that Ivo could never be Maria. Could never be what Maria was to Gerald. Ivo realizes the mistake he’s made.

Ivo has his hero moment, to attempt to redirect the Eclipse Cannon’s impending explosion, that “if he can’t rule the world, he might as well save it.” He is still, as much as he may say he hates it, affected by his humanity.

And when giving his final livestream, he finally speaks aloud the feelings, the effect Stone has had on him, in his own words that he knew Stone would know the true, sincere meaning of. That he truly did value him and care about him (“I love the way you make them”), which wasn’t even just about the work Stone did for him, but also what Stone brought to his life, that consolation and trust.

Ivo said that Stone was the only person in his life he could trust. That he was the only person who truly cared about him. As tragic as that sentiment is, he’s right. Stone loved Ivo unconditionally, and Ivo didn’t realize this, didn’t realize that he also cared for Stone, until it was too late for him, but not too late for him to make sure that Stone lived.

——————————————————————————

All in all, the Found Family dynamic, in all of its forms, from parental to siblings to a weird boss-employee relationship, is practically perfect.

These relationships are well-built, developed by shared experiences that characters bond and heal over, mutual respect for each other, a strong trust, and an unconditional love between them.

Oh, the unconditional love is the most important part. Because that is what brings so many people into the found family trope.

Those who are experienced with not getting that constant trust and unbreakable bond from blood, seek that love from others. Build their own family. And the families crafted in these films are beautiful.

[cy-lindric]

bonjour cy-lindric, j'ai une petite question. when I was a young person, I read The Three Musketeers and then eagerly started to read Twenty Years After and was so upset at what had happened to my beloved young heroes that I put the book down and never picked it up. what do you think, should I try again?

Bonjour !

After reading The Three Musketeers, I also wasn't sure I wanted to read Twenty Years After, and I took a break inbetween both to read something entirely different (The Locked Tomb, iirc). I think my reason for that was kind of the opposite of yours ; I enjoyed T3M a lot and loved the characters, flaws and all, but by the end they had somewhat crossed over the line into being Too Awful and the lack of retribution left me a bit frustrated. I didn't see it as a failing of the story - on the contrary, their strong character flaws and downfall in the conflict with Milady is one of the most emotionally intense and compelling parts imo - but I wasn't sure I felt like hanging out with these guys for a few hundred more pages at that point.

If your vision of the characters as a young reader was a very positive and perhaps idealized one, I can imagine why you might not have enjoyed entering into Twenty Years after. The illusion of glory has worn off ; the characters have separated, they live unremarkable lives, and their personalities have evolved drastically with the passing of time. It's almost a brutal return to reality.

For me though, it added layers of characterization to the point where now it's clear to me that this version of the Inseparables is by far the one I prefer.

I hope it's ok if I take the opportunity to talk at length about what I like about TYA below the cut. TL;DR : I love that Twenty Years After is a more realistic look at the big four's personalities and how they evolved while still keeping them thematically coherent, and that TYA makes them confront the reckless and cruel shit they did in their youth.

Spoilers ahead obviously.

We've often talked about how T3M is at its core a story about the end of knighthood. It's a tongue-in-cheek approach at chivalrous initiation, set at edge of the modern world, inbetween the time of ballads about knights in armor and that of adventures about journeying gunmen and soldiers. I think TYA embodies that particularly ; the story of people who have carried the last of these intense, dangerous chivalric ideals in their youths, and who have now grown into middle aged adults who need to find their place in the world.

For a good chunk of the book, the big four are separated into two teams ; that in of itself might discourage some, but imo it's genius. Instead of the natural two-by-pairings, Dumas goes for a d'Artagnan+ Porthos and Athos + Aramis split on opposite sides, which makes for good drama and develops lesser explored dynamics. D'Artagnan and Porthos form a scrappy team of opportunists with money on their minds, and Athos and Aramis a more idealistic duo fighting for a noble lost cause. I think it's a bold choice but also premium sequel writing.

I also love the way the young and wild characters we knew evolve into middle aged men ; at their core, they're still the same, but they've all changed and struggled against the sunset of the golden age in their own ways.

D'Artagnan, after knowing such adventures and subsequent rapid social ascension in his teenage years, has been met in his adult life with the harsh reality that he is, in fact, not a noble knight but a soldier on payroll. His modest origins give him little hope for any further career advancement, and he takes on a new mission in his early 40s for a man he has no devotion for and a cause he doesn't care about, simply because he is bored and broke. D'Artagnan still has his quick wits, his strategic talent, his fencing skills, but he has grown out of the excesses of pride of his teenage years. I loved meeting him again in TYA, and it made so much sense to me that his bouts of anger and aggressivity would be a youthful trait that he'd ended up taming. He also realizes now a lot of what seemed like funny adventures and necessary violence was actually kind of fucked up ; that was a shock to me, as their shenanigans are treated so lightly in T3M, and tbh it healed me a little. Grown up d'Artagnan is cunning, calculating, down to earth and realistic. My foxy little man. I love him.

Porthos, likewise, has been struck by the weight of reality. He has made the sensible choice and got married to the rich widow who sugar mommied him in the first book. Now she's passed, he is rich, but he still fails to earn the respect of the high society he evolves in because he's not high born enough. Like d'Artagnan, he's stagnating and bored and now that he goes back adventuring it has nothing to do with the queen or the kingdom or honour ; it's about getting his damn nobility title.

Athos, on the other hand, is the eternal knight : the only truly high born of the four, and still hopelessly holding on to a time gone by. It's no surprise imo that his storyline brings him into the english civil war, doomed to fail at saving a king who'll end up executed right in front of him. TYA acknowledges more clearly than ever that at 28 yo, Athos was a depressed alcoholic, and an embodiment of what an excess of aristocratic righteousness can do. In TYA, he is sober and moisturized and a DILF, and now he's running around frantically looking for absolution for his numerous crimes. It's delicious.

Aramis is maybe the hardest pill to swallow. TYA confirms the T3M hints that he isn't really the prim and proper romantic boy he acts like he is, and that he's possibly the most hypocritical and ruthless of the four. It might be a harsh one for Aramis fans who like him better as a cute bean, but I love the early onset of remorseless conniving bloodthirsty ambitious Aramis. Another harsh bit might be the evolution of Aramis and d'Artagnan not really liking each other ; they were always the least close combination, and imo it makes sense that their personalities would clash. I think it's clever and compelling conflict.

Now, obviously, if you've cared enough to read all this and if you know me a little, you know that a huge highlight of the book for me was its late-appearing antagonist, Mordaunt. Mordaunt is the son Milady had with her english husband. Because of the Musketeers' intervention, he's grown up in poverty and has been denied his father's inheritance. He's now a Roundhead working for Cromwell, and set on avenging his mother at all costs. Mordaunt, unlike his mother who was this beautiful and dangerous force of nature, is very uncool and pathetic. She was the primordial snake, he's the gutter rat. Obviously, I love that in and of itself, but it's also kind of striking image of the wretchedness of what they've done to her, a fucked up little goblin ghost come back to haunt them as they're trying to make their life worth living again. This time, their enemy is not a cunning political rival with a flamboyance of body and mind akin to their own ; it's a shitty little guy with bad skin who wants to kill the king and punish the murderers. Watch out babes, it's the modern world coming for you.

Of course, they're the Four Musketeers, and they did what they had to do, so they get together again and swear friendship and keep going their way. But they're also old guys with difficult personalities in a world that's never going to be the same. I think it's a cool book.

[flamingpudding]

Part 3 of Ghost Kid in Gotham

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Feral brother of mine

When Damien first saw the video from Todd's helmet he only thought of his older brother as an imbecile that apparently couldn't handle children that was until Drake paused the video on the child's face before the video cut off.

Then Richard pointed out the similarities to Damien and of course his first thought was that his mother had made another clone again that they would need to dispose of. That was until he took a closer look at the image when Drake zoomed in. It was still blurry but Damien would recognise that face anywhere and in any state.

Despite his memory being faded it was the face of someone he never wanted to forget and would let freely hunt his dreams. Even if it was to recall the good times or even the bad times through nightmares. Freckles that mirrored constellations and scar by the ear from a training session when the others' dodging ability had not yet been up to par when they were five. Hair longer than his own and less tameable.

Danyal Al Ghul.

His twin that he killed at the age of eight when their grandfather forced them into a fight to death. This was not a simple clone of Damien himself and the teen was pretty sure that his mother must have lost it. Because what else then a clone of his own brother could this be, she probably must have preserved some of Danyal's DNA if not his entire body for this. He must also applaud her cruelty, for the clone was at the exact age his brother had died at.

He does not know why nor how his mother had managed to cause glowing Lazarus green eyes. None of his clones had ever shown these before but a part of him didn't want to know. It already made him sick enough to know that his mother would go so far as to clone Danyal.

All he wanted was to get rid of this cruel clone that wore his long dead brother's face. The knowledge of his brother was something Damien held dear. It was something that belonged to him only and the burden of his death was not something he ever wanted to share either. Besides what use would it be to his family to mourn a member they never would have gotten to meet.

Even as he glared at Todd, who had let loose the feral clone. He could not bring himself to tell them that this was most likely not just a simple clone of himself.

"Come on guys, there is a child running around the Bat Cave. You can fight later about how to safely keep the boy in check."

Clicking his tongue he turned away from his older siblings and drew out his katana. "<tt> I will get rid of that thing myself."

A thing, that was what it was. Damien didn't need his personal feelings or his memories of a twin that could smile brighter than the desert sun despite their pain, get in the way of his rationality. He could not allow this mockery of his twin brother to live on.

He went for the darker areas of the Cave knowing the league trained mind and he was in luck as he was the first to find the feral child hidden away in the area that lead to the medbay. By now the thing was even armed. Damien recognised the dagger as one of his training once, he probably had accidentally left it out of its casing after training right before patrol.

The ex-league prodigy did not give the clone time to react as he attacked without warning. Chasing it through the Bat Cave as it avoided his attacks yet made no move to attack him the way it had Todd. At times the way it dodged made Damien stutter slightly something that never happened before. He slashed at it, ignoring his siblings that shouted for him to stop from the side lines. Ignoring the flashes in his mind of a fight years ago that was similar yet so different.

"I will not let this mockery run free." He muttered pointing his blade as it hissed at him in return. What a feral thing it was, he waited for it to make the first move this time. Clones were not perfect, their forms were lacking, They might retain skills of their original but they rarely were the same let alone cable of thinking outside of what their creator, his mother wanted. He pointedly ignored anything he new about certain clones. They weren't created by his mother, therefore did not count in regards to his conclusion. Yet it was painful seeing this mockery of his dead brother appearing like a perfect copy.

The stance it held with the dagger, despite the feral hissing and movements, it was the exact same his brother had. Sword stances, like martial arts stances had a basic form, every wielder learned and then developed further into their own unique one with time. Danyal had one where he tended to hold the dagger or even swords backwards in his left hand while his right arm covered his empty side with a slight tilt to the back, always ready to reach for any weapon he would carry in hidden pockets on his back.

It was painful to see this clone, this thing mimicking his brother's stand this perfectly. Damien could only narrow his eyes in determination, or was it desperation by now? This was just one more reason to get rid of it. It just hurt even more when with a quick gaze towards the hand that held the dagger Damien also noticed a bad habit his brother had always retained and the league had also never been able to train out of him. It was a small habit, unnoticeable if you wouldn't look for it, yet dangerous to the sword / dagger wielder if they were inexperienced.

Danyal tended to let his thumb rest against the guard if the blade had one or against the blade itself even if it didn't have one. He knows that his twin used to have scaring on his thumb from this habit, especially from their early training years.

This thing was even imitating his brother's habit.

He wanted it gone. Rip it apart and present it to his mother with all the anger and grief it brought to him.

"Guys stop Damien now! That is not a clone!" He heard Drake yell from where the Batcomputer was but he didn't care. This was a clone, so he lunged at the it again. Ignoring how the clone had studied him like he had it. Ignoring how its stance had changed the longer they had watched each other and how that thing let its guard down all of a sudden.

"Damien! Stop!"

It dropped all defenses and Damien could only see that as his chance to deal the final blow to get rid of it. But what he didn't expect despite the dropped defenses was for the clone to also just drop the dagger, close its eyes and smile. The same smile that still hunted his nightmares. His mind flashed back to eight years ago.

"Demon brat! Calm the fuck down!"

The blade stopped inches from the same fatal placement that had killed his brother before. Drake and Richard were right behind him while Todd was by the clone's side gripping at the blade with his bare hands, most likely bleeding already.

"Why?" Damien uttered quietly, his eyes trained on the thing. Richard must have thought that his question had been directed towards them stopping him but that wasn't the case.

"Look Dami, how about listening to what Tim found out first before we decide what to do with that child?"

"Not you." He couldn't help but snap back at them as he withdrew his katana, hearing Todd mutter something about sharp blades and bandaids as well as several curses under his breath. His eyes stayed on the thing. "Why would you let me kill you? Why drop your defence ces? Why not dodge?"

The thing titled its head its glowing green eyes were trained on Damien and he noticed how they flickered into a blue that was so familiar yet so different with the way they glowed. It made chirping noises before it whispered something.

"ahbak, Dami"

Damien froze for a moment there at the quiet words the thing had whispered. How was he supposed to react now? Was this even a clone, no he knew this was a clone. There was no way Danyal was alive let alone still eight years old. He had killed his own brother, he had held him in his own arms as Danyal took his final breath, smiling at him and uttering the same words he had just heard again after so many years.

Even if Danyal had survived somehow then he should be the same age as him. Not the age he had died at. Besides, their grandfather would have never allowed them to use the pits to revive his twin.

"FUCK!"

Intentionally or not Todd's outcry had ripped him out of his thoughts by a rather pathetic yowl of pain. It was like a switch had been flipped in the clone's mind as his brother had reached out to probably detain it again. The moment Todd had touched him, the thing had bitten into his hand before letting go, hissing and running away from them once more.

But instead of running after that thing Damien stood frozen in place, his mind still racing. He could feel Richard's hands on his shoulders, grounding the teenager with the warmth they provided. "You okay there Baby Bird? You seem rather out of it suddenly."

"<tt> I am fine." His only offered answer, ignoring the worried looks he was getting as he moved to wipe Todd's blood off his blade. He needed a distraction before his mind became any more chaotic and unreasonable. "What did Drake find out?"

"Right… you sure you want to hear that right now?" Giving Richard an unimpressed stare, the oldest sighed looking over towards Drake.

"Well I got good news and probably bad news." Side eyeing his brother Damien kept silent waiting for him to continue.

"I can safely say that the child is not a clone. His DNA does not 100% match yours. It differs too much but - and this is where it's probably bad news - it matches with you to 45%, with a matching to Bruce to about 50%, same with Talia. If I run a paternity test I am sure it would be a hit for Bruce and Talia."

Damien swallowed taking in that information, knowing what it meant. Was he horrified? Yes. Did it also awaken a strange sort of hope? Also, Yes.

"But there was a third compartment of the child's DNA structure which was impossible to test. It could even corrupt DNA samples if not taken apart from the rest. It probably has something to do with the green specs I found in his blood too. So I ran a substance analysis and - you probably won't like this - but it got a hit from a substance we have recorded in our database."

"What substance?" Damien knew, he just knew he wouldn't like the next words Drake would say. He could feel Richard squeezing his shoulder as if to help him keep stable.

"Lazarus Water. It matched with what we have recorded from the Lazarus Pits."

"Drake, are you telling me that after eight years, my mother who apparently had preserved my dead twin brother's body, dropped said body into the Lazarus Pits to revive him and then drop him off with Todd of all people?"

"Yes, wait… dead twin brother's body?"

[thiriann]

"The Darkest Place" - Oneshot

You can also find me on AO3

A smutty oneshot

Rating: Explicit

Words: 7k

Pairing: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+, Vampire Spawn Astarion  × Tiefling Tav ,Traumatized Astarion (Baldur's Gate) ,Getting to Know Each Other ,Falling In Love, Injury, Caring Astarion, Vampire Bites, Blood Drinking, Vaginal Fingering,PIV sex ,one shot

Summary:

After a grievous wound Astarion does his best to take care of Thiriann while trying to figure out just when his simple plan fell apart completely.

It took one hit to take her down. A single strike from those shadowed claws sent her to her knees, writhing in agony. Astarion screamed at her to get up, even though he knew there was no way she could.  As he tried to run to her a wraith pulled him by the arm, its cold touch chilling him. Another sprung up next to it with a sickening sound effectively surrounding him. Somehow, he managed to recall Thiriann had given him a flask of holy water. He'd thought it a joke at first, something to throw at Cazador, as if it would help.  It decimated the horrors as it shattered.

By the time he reached her, shadow tendrils were already trying to bleed into her skin, her glowing blue eyes blackened entirely by the curse. Shadowheart was at her side before him, her eyes wide with alarm.

"I can't do anything about this out here. We must get her to camp—fast!"

He knelt to cradle her in his arms, holding her close to his chest. She felt cold to the touch, even to him, even through his gloves and fear clutched at his gut like a vice.

He hadn't even noticed how much she was bleeding until he stood up and her blood gushed down and onto his legs.

The return to camp was mostly a blur as they sprinted through the gnarly terrain.  

Upon their arrival, the group sprang into action, laying her on a bedroll beside the fire and Astarion was practically shoved away by the healers, his protest dying on his lips as he caught sight of her pallid face. She looked dead. Or somehow even worse than dead—her cheeks hollow, eyes sunken, her color drained from blue to an ashen white, with blackened blood smelling like rot trickling from her lips. The scent of decay was overpowering.

Gale began chanting in a loud thundering voice, magic crackling through the air like static. Abruptly, the air cleared, as if a cloud had been lifted. The curse was largely purged from her body, yet her appearance remained unchanged. Halsin, meanwhile, was a blur of motion, concocting a myriad of remedies at her head.

"I need to apply this on the wounds. Remove her garments." He instructed.

Astarion finally looked away from her face. Three long gashes ran over her stomach all the way down to her hips. With swift resolve, he spurred into action taking his dagger and splitting her top and bottoms in one swift motion. The fastest and worst way he'd ever undressed someone.

Halsin began applying the salve he'd made around the edges of the cuts and with a relief Astarion noticed the bleeding turn from a flowing stream to a trickle, though the stench of rot remained, lingering in the air.

"We need to apply this again in two hours and maybe attempt to give her a healing potion then as well. " Halsin stated as he prepared more of the medicine.

The group's panic finally started to ease. Astarion surveyed her form once more, finding it as gaunt and drained as her face. It made him feel ill. His eyes landed on the only part of her that still had some color. Two pink dots on her breast right above her nipple. It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at. It was his bite mark. With her drinking healing potions every day it didn't really scar, smoother new skin had grown on the bite but because it was still relatively fresh, the color was pink not yet fully healed. She had matching ones on her neck as well as on her thigh.

The marks were practically glowing on her. He quickly glanced to the others to see if they've noticed, only to be met with Gale's stern glare.

"We should... ahem... cover her, to preserve her modesty," Astarion suggested looking away.

Dashing to her travel chest, he rummaged for any piece of clothing he could find. The party already suspected him of leading her into all manner of vile debaucherous acts —admittedly, they were not wrong—but such intimacies were meant to be private and now everyone had seen the evidence of their activities.

Regardless, none of that mattered now. And it wasn't as if their opinion of him could sink any lower.

He grabbed a loose robe, one he'd never seen her wear, and returned to her side. He draped it over her like a blanket, unsure if he should move her more than that.

“When do you think she’ll wake up?” he asked Halsin.

" We have no way of knowing for certain," Halsin responded, his voice betraying a hint of concern. "It could be hours, perhaps days. The curse has burrowed deep; she’s not out of the woods yet."

“Can we really leave her like this in the open, in the middle of camp?” Shadowheart voiced looking around.

“Bring her into my tent, at least she’ll have some privacy.” Astarion spoke. He hadn’t even thought about it as he said it but a strange surge of protectiveness rising within him pushed the words out of his mouth. 

“Not a chance.” Shadowheart balked at him.

“No offense but your tent is hardly a sanitary choice for an ill person, Astarion.” Gale spoke up as well.

“I’ll have you know my tent is the least cluttered out of all of yours, thank you very much. She's already quite accustomed to spending her nights there anyway," he countered, his innuendo intending to shock the others into agreement.

“That will probably be for the best,” Halsin agreed "In a confined space, I can prepare a steam inhalation to aid her breathing."

Gale narrowed his eyes but miraculously stayed silent.

And with that, the argument was concluded and she was carried to Astarion’s tent along with a solid stack of herbs, potions, and a steaming bowl of medicinal brew by her head.

Despite the sanctuary of his tent, Astarion was restless. He sat by her, attempting to read, but worry knotted his insides, rendering him unable to focus. Halsin was right; her breathing sounded terrible. She was wheezing on every inhale, the sound horribly resembling a death rattle. 

He was being foolish, surely. They had survived worse. By the morrow, it’d be as if nothing happened. Yet, the memory of that Harper wouldn’t leave his mind. The way he had succumbed to the shadows within moments, undeath claiming him irreversibly.

That couldn't be her fate. It simply couldn't.

“Did I say you could die?” he asked in his typical playful tone. It sounded deafeningly loud in the dark.

“Come on, wake up.” He continued whispering “We need you alive.”

No answer came but her quiet breaths.

Cautiously he leaned down and pressed his ear to her chest. Her heartbeat was quiet but steady, persisting.

A wave of calm washed over him and for the first time since entering the Shadowcursed Lands, he relaxed.

Exhaustion from the day's events and his lingering fears weighed heavily on him.

He laid gently beside her and let the rhythmic pulse of her heart coax him into slumber.

Astarion chased off the druid when he’d come with the salve a few hours later, insisting that he’d apply it himself. Backing up his claim with the fact he had intimate familiarity with her form already. Her wounds had stopped bleeding but as the morning came, she still hadn't woken up.

" What should we do? We can’t stay at camp all day," Shadowheart pressed, infinitely curious to learn more about her mistress’ domain.

“Normally, I’d agree but we can’t exactly leave when Thiriann is in such a grievous condition,” Gale interjected.

"A single affliction won't subdue her for long; she's bound to rally soon," Lae’zel asserted confidently. “It will be beneficial for us to look for supplies in the meantime.”

“Lae’zel’s right, our rations won’t last long,” Shadowheart added, her siding with the Githyanki betraying her eagerness to explore this “endless darkness”.

"If it’s all the same to you I’d rather stay .I’m not exactly dying to go back out there.” Astarion said, refusing to admit he wouldn’t leave Thiriann’s side unless they dragged him away.

"I, too, will stay," Halsin offered, “But should you find anything regarding the curse, please do let me know.”

The days melded into one another, with the party venturing forth and returning at dusk, leaving Astarion and Halsin to keep vigil. Karlach spoke of a sanctuary amidst the curse and a meeting with a Baldurian legend—an idol from her youth— but Astarion couldn’t find it in him to care at the time.

He was starting to get annoyed at Thiriann’s insistence on not waking up. But deep inside he knew the irritation was covering up the dread, the thought of what it would mean if she really didn’t wake, or woke up as something much worse.

He cared about her, more than he was ready to admit. He hadn’t cared about anyone but himself for so long, maybe ever. Staring at her pale sunken face in bewilderment he wasn't sure how it'd happened.

 But there stretched out on his poor imitation of a bed she looked so small and fragile and he felt an overwhelming pull to do everything in his power to make her better. It itched under his skin along with thoughts of her that buzzed in his head day and night- when her wounds needed redressing, when to make her a new steam inhalation, when to push healing potion past her lips but slowly so she wouldn't choke, he even gave her a sponge bath to wash off the dried up blood.

He hadn’t eaten anything since they left the mountain pass, and his hunger was gnawing at him relentlessly. He realized he must have gotten spoiled in the last month if a mere few hungry days were getting him this worked up.

He supposed he could go hunt back at the mountain pass but that would require leaving her side and she needed him.

The thought occurred to him that he could ask one of his companions for some blood but their disdainful glances whenever Thiriann permitted him to feed dissuaded him. He also may have lashed out at them here and there in the last couple of days. Possibly hissed at Gale. But it's not like they would have agreed anyway, most of them had strictly told him not to look at their necks weeks ago when everything had come to light.The only person he could see accepting to give him some would scorch him alive. Perhaps if she bled into a cup, and he waited a day or two, it might cool to a tolerable temperature. A miserable sigh escaped him; desperation was setting in.

One evening, driven by necessity, he approached Shadowheart.

"What?" She asked flatly and he flinched at the chill in her stare, the words he needed to say caught in his throat.

"I was just wondering if you might have an extra healing potion for our dearest leader," he chickened out, coming up with an excuse on the spot.

Her eyes softened immediately, of course for Thiriann they would " Yes, of course."  she replied, delving into her bag. "You know, you don't have to bear the burden of her care alone. We're here to help."

"She's not a burden," he snapped, snatching the potion and striding away.

"That's not what I meant," she called after him, her words lost in the distance.

He contemplated asking Halsin for blood,he certainly had some to spare. But he wasn’t sure he liked the way Halsin looked at her. Or at him for that matter. He'd been around long enough to know what desire looked like and he did not want to deal with that right now.

No, he could wait. She'd wake soon and then he could hunt, once assured of her recovery.

As night enveloped the camp once again, he grabbed a book and settled beside her. He’d taken to reading to her out loud as of late. It made the tense quiet more bearable, and he liked the sound of his own voice so that was a plus. She seemed to enjoy his voice too before.

 “As the paladin of Sune stepped into the forbidden temple, his gaze met that of a striking dragonborn cleric.”

"I've encountered my share of daggers, sir. Best not to brandish yours so carelessly," Astarion mimicked in a feigned feminine tone.

"Rest assured, you've yet to lay your eyes on such a mighty weapon. Brace yourself to take my blessed greatsword," he continued, deepening his voice for the male character.

A snort interrupted his dramatic performance, and his gaze shifted to Thiriann's face. Her eyes were open, filled with mirth as she stared at him.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. Please, do tell more about your mighty sword.” She bit her lip trying to contain her smile, her voice was rough as gravel, but she was talking, she was awake, she was herself and she was talking.

“Darling, you…” His voice broke, emotion swelling. “You finally stop being melodramatic and the first thing you do is ask about my greatsword? Not surprised at all, my dear.”

She openly laughed then, and he felt as if the shadow curse itself had lifted. He wanted to hug her, he wanted to kiss her, just any type of touch that solidified that she was alive, instead he stood there, frozen, held back by his insecurities as she struggled to sit up.

“How long was I out?” she asked, wincing as she sat up.

“Four days,” he replied, closing the book and rising to meet her gaze.

“What a right mess,” she groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “We should have been in Moonrise by now.”

“I think the others will forgive you dear. They thought the Shadowcurse might have claimed you for good.”

She went quiet at that, staring at her hands.

“Perhaps it did, for a while.”

He stared at her shocked while she continued.

“I journeyed to a place... elsewhere. Somewhere dark, devoid of wind, absent of sound. It reminded me of…” she hesitated “…somewhere I’d been before, years ago. The darkest place.” She smiled but it was a twisted thing, like it hurt to do so.

Shaking off the shadows of her recollection, she turned to him with concern. " And what about you? Did anyone else get hurt?”

“We got away unscathed. Some of us have better survival instincts, darling.” he quipped with playful arrogance.

She laughed again then, bringing more brightness into his tent.

"Forgive me for lacking your uncanny dodging abilities."

"One cannot expect to match such excellence," he gestured to himself, then with a quieter voice he added, “Just don’t do it again.”

She swallowed before looking away. “I’ll try.”

“Why am I in your tent?” she asked as her gaze wandered the canvas confines.

“Well, we couldn’t exactly leave you in the middle of camp like a drying fish now, could we?” he remarked with feigned exasperation.

“Oh…” she looked away guiltily, “Sorry for imposing on you like that.”

“Nonsense, darling, you know my tent is ever open for you, any time.” He tried to sound flirtatious but came out shockingly sincere at the end.

She smiled a little before standing up, a slight wobble betraying her weakness, but she steadied herself with determination.

“I am grateful for your hospitality, truly. But nature calls and I’m starving so I’ll head out.”

He was at her side in an instant, supporting her as her knee gave out on the first step.

“I’ve got you. Why don’t you let me help? The last thing we need now is to have you collapsing just as you've returned to us."

Thiriann bit her lip, considering his offer. She was pretty sure she could make it on her own but was reluctant to lose the feeling of his arms around her.

“I’d like that.”

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

Astarion stood around the edges of the shadows waiting for Thiriann to finish her business when he heard her call out. “What happened to my clothes?”

“They were torn beyond repair I’m afraid. We had to discard them.”

“Damn, that was the only good leather I could find in this wilderness.” She bemoaned “And what of my small clothes?”

"Those too," He failed to mention his involvement in the tearing of those.

She looked uncomfortable as she emerged from the bush.

“That was my last pair.”

“How unfortunate.” his tone lacking any semblance of genuineness.

She offered a wry smile and an eye roll in response.

“Shall we, my dear?” he extended his arm in mock imitation of a courtly gentleman.

"Your gallantry is most appreciated, good sir. Lead the way," she accepted, allowing herself to lean on him just a little during their walk back.

And for a moment his mind drifted, away from this curse ridden place and into the parks of the lower city. Holding hands just as they did now, walking to a blanket setup in spotted shade, a bottle of rich red wine waiting for them.

Stop it! He chastised himself.

What was the point of these childish fantasies? They could bring nothing but more misery.

She wouldn’t want these things with him and he shouldn’t be wanting them in the first place. It was all so stupid. It must have been her close proximity that was bringing these on, that and the fact he had to play her nurse for the last week and his hunger and all the romantic books he’d been reading by her bedside, lack of sleep, they were confusing him, urging him to look for something that wasn’t there, to hope for something that wouldn’t happen.

And yet when she leaned against his side a little more, he felt his breath catch in his throat as her warmth spread through his side.

"Do we have any eggs?" she asked suddenly, breaking his reverie.

"What?" he asked in confusion, as she released his arm and began sifting through a supply pack. They had reached the campfire before he noticed.

"Never mind, found some," she declared, settling down to prepare her meal.

Her knife danced through the vegetables with a speed and precision he hadn't seen from her before. She moved with such ease, like she'd done this thousands of times, tossing her ingredients swiftly into the frying pan with a few eggs and some spices that Gale had left lying about.

"You know how to cook," he stated even though there was a question in his voice.

"Because I made an omelette?" She asked incredulously.

"Because of the way you handle a blade," he clarified.

She raised an eyebrow at that, unsure if he was trying to make a sexual innuendo. Knowing him, probably he was.

“I wasn't sure you knew how to hold one, what with that debacle back at the forge.” He smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes at the memory.  The only other time he'd seen her actually attempt to use a knife was when she had failed spectacularly at cutting off the drow's head and he'd had to intervene to help.

“I'll have you know I'm actually quite decent with a dagger.” She replied arrogantly, waving her blade around in the air in a way that did not backup her claim at all.

"And yes, I can cook. Had my heart set on becoming a chef once upon a time," she confessed, her gaze lost in the flames. " I travelled all over to learn from the best.  The quests I've taken for some of my recipes..." A self-deprecating chuckle escaped her as she reminisced. "It all seems so trivial now."

She retrieved her meal from the fire and took a mouthful, not waiting for it to cool. She always preferred it hot anyway.

"You've never cooked for this lot. Not up to your master chef standards, are they? " He teased.

" It's not that but I'd rather it stay this way. If they knew, I'd be roped into cooking duty, and I much prefer being served. Besides, Gale's ego might not survive any more competition."

"Understandable," he conceded, appreciating the appeal of having your meal delivered to your bed every night.

"So only you know my little secret. I’m trusting you to keep it." She said, trying to sound mischievous.

This is so typical of her, he thought with some exasperation. Her 'secrets' were nothing more than hidden talents and achievements. Nothing dark lingered around her, no deep pools of morally questionable choices. Sometimes it was infuriating how innocent she was.

" We should introduce you to a bit of corruption if these are the worst of your secrets, darling," he jested, turning back to the fire, oblivious to the shadow that crossed her face.

" We all have things that haunt us, Astarion," she replied after a pause, her voice heavy and unexpectedly sad.

He looked at her then. For the longest time, he'd felt like he'd had the most world experiences than anyone in their group because he'd been alive the longest. Thiriann's naivete especially made her seem so childish to him sometimes. Like she barely even knew the types of people that lived out there, all the possible worst the world could offer.

But looking at her now he finally saw her experiences etched upon her face. She looked worn down, aged, her shoulders slumped in defeat and her eyes filled with misery and acceptance.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that they didn't know each other at all.

That was understandable, they’d barely known one another for a month, and most of the time they were running around in some crisis or another.

What didn’t make sense though was his desire for that to change. He wanted to know what made her look like that, and to never speak of it again just to avoid seeing this misery in her.

But once again he remained motionless, caught in the uncertainty of how to reach out and offer the comfort she so clearly needed. So, he just nodded.

“You can talk to me, you know. We are technically in this together. “ He said in the end, his voice soft but uncharacteristically serious.

“Before I was taken by the Nautiloid, long before, there was a man I knew.” She began, uncertainty evident in her voice probably wondering if he was even interested in hearing her out. He turned his body fully towards her, trying his hardest to convey he was listening.

 “He was my senior, my commander. I served under him for years. And he was a right asshole, never had a kind word to say. You could do everything right and he’d still have a ready plethora of insults to throw at you. Our troops hated him almost as much as the enemy.”

She smiled faintly as if this was the fondest part of her memory.

"But he was also fiercely loyal, utterly devoted to the woman he loved. I admired him for that. He would do anything for her, even the most heinous acts. I thought there was something noble in that blind devotion."

Astarion scoffed. "Your ideas of romance are rather twisted, aren't they, darling?"

She shrugged, not particularly offended."Too many lonely years and trashy books, I suppose."

He grimaced, her answer hitting too close to home.

It’s not that he was in any position to lecture her on the matter given his own ideas of what was considered romantic came from much the same way.

“So, what happened to this rude smitten fool? I presume he met his grim end running after his lady’s coattails?” he asked unable to shake off the bitterness.

“Yeah, you could say that.”she replied and Astarion’s smirk fell as he saw the grim look on her face.

“When the tides of war turned and it became clear we’d lose and be accused of treason, we were instructed to infiltrate the rebellion ranks, a last-ditch effort to gather intelligence. But no further orders never came. Instead, we were sent to eliminate a hostile entity.

When we got there he already knew. Hells He had orchestrated it all. He wanted to die by our hands, by my hands..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes filled with a profound sadness.

 "I had to be a part of it, couldn't stop it, couldn't run away, couldn't…" She shook her head trying to push away the memory.

Astarion understood this feeling all too well. The helplessness, the forced complicity in acts he never wanted.

 A sudden overwhelming feeling of sadness and pity settled in his chest at the thought that she knew what those things felt like.

"You were a pawn in their game, nothing more. A toy to be manipulated," he said, his voice gentle. "It's pointless to blame yourself when you couldn't have changed anything. The best thing to do is forget and move on."

She nodded, a sad smile playing on her lips. "That’s easier said than done." she whispered.

“I know.” He said, voice filled with a quiet understanding as he handed her a bottle.

She accepted the wine, taking a deep swig without tasting it at all.

A moment passed before she spoke, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“He died an asshole, lived an asshole and no one mourned him.”

“Except you.” 

“Except me ," she confirmed, her gaze drifting back to the dancing flames. Lost in the countless memories, she seemed to relive a bygone era.

“He gave the most insane orders sometimes," she murmured, breaking the silence. "Once, he commanded us to hurl bird droppings at the enemy, a tactic he called 'psychological warfare'."

Astarion's brow furrowed in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

A wry smile crept across her lips. "Oh, I am. And it worked. The look of utter confusion on their faces was priceless."

“Tell me everything.” Astarion said, his curiosity sufficiently piqued.

As the night progressed, he could see her eyelids were getting heavy, her words slurred slightly as she slumped more and more. Soon they'd both retreat to their respective beds and settle for the night. His tent looked strangely dark and lonesome despite being close to the fire.

A gust of wind flew past them followed by an unsettling howl from the shadows and she shivered.

She looked at him with uncertainty and what he was sure was longing, resembling a stray puppy waiting at someone's doorstep.

“Thank you again for… before and for tonight, for staying with me. I-I’m not sure when was the last time someone did this for me. “

She looked at him with so much gratitude in her eyes and heat bloomed in his chest, making his heart clench.

Her words were plain, just a simple thank you yet they unexpectedly lodged in his chest. When was the last time someone had thanked him for anything? Or he done something worthy of gratitude?

“Don’t mention it,dear. I should leave you to rest.” He said preparing to walk out trying his damnest not to betray how his composure had crumbled.

“Astarion,” she called out after him “when was the last time you fed?”

“Well, you know,” he started gesturing with a flair “I pop out to hunt every now and then.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re starving.” She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and he had to ask himself how could she possibly know.

“Come, you can feed from me if you’d like.”

He balked at her, outraged.  “Have you lost your mind, darling? You just woke up.”

“I’m fine,I’m just tired.” She waved him off “The curse has left my body completely.”

He eyed her uncertainly. The thought of drinking from her now made him uneasy but even at her mere suggestion, he could feel his hunger resurfacing. His eyes trailed to her neck involuntarily and he felt his stomach clench violently at the sight. He hated this part of himself, more beast than man in his uncontrollable desire. But holding back was never his strong suit and when she’d offered so willingly, it was harder than ever to resist.

“Why don’t you come back to my tent then?” He asked suddenly “It will save you from the draft and we could have ourselves a little privacy.”

Laying her down on the pillows that he’d arranged his eyes drifted once more to her neck. He swallowed painfully, his throat dry as a desert.

 “Are you really sure?” He heard himself murmur.

“Yes,I’ll be alright. Now come here.” She moved to make space for him.

That warm bubble of affection in his chest which he'd largely been ignoring was pushing insistently at his ribs as he stared at her bright blue eyes.

Sliding his body over hers, Astarion lowered himself on top of her. He bit quickly, trying to minimize her pain.

Finally, it was as if a damn burst and all of the feelings he had felt the last few days- the fear of losing her, the stress of her illness, the relief of her finally awakening and the incredible joy of her blood - were threatening to overwhelm him. She was so warm and so alive and he felt that very life essence flow into him filling him with happiness and comfort.

He groaned into her neck, needy and desperate and it set her skin on fire. Lost in the sensations he let his body guide him closer and closer to her. Their bodies slotted together, her breasts pressing up into his chest, one of his legs sliding between hers.

Moving back from her neck he kissed her, momentarily forgetting his lips were still coated with her blood. He tried to pull away once the realization hit but she chased him with her lips unwilling to let them part.

As he dipped his tongue into her hot, wet mouth he found that it is not enough. She wanted him and he wanted more, more heat, more connection.

He could feel his body responding to her already. Her fresh blood going straight to fuelling his arousal.

She squirmed under him, dragging her thigh against his length sending a jolt of pleasure through him and he instinctively ground against it, trying to prolong the sensation. At the same time, he pressed his leg against her core forcing her to gasp into his mouth.

He was such a fool. But no one before had made him feel this way, no one had compared to her. 

Out of all the feelings he had learned to suppress, he had no experience dealing with this one in particular. He had tried to nip it in the bud but now he wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop or that he could even stop it.

Maybe some part of him had wanted to fall for her. Wanted to allow himself to feel once again. Up until recently he hadn’t even considered love a possibility. What a terribly cliche way to realize one's feelings.

He glided his hand down her robe undoing the ties holding it together. She was still fully nude under and he wasted no time grasping a breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers.

She reached for his shirt trying to untuck it from his pants but the gesture brought a wave of unease so he swiftly grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it over his head. He nudged her knee with his own, fully settling between her legs and she wasted no time pulled him in for another hungry kiss. With their naked chests pressed together, he could feel her heartbeat against his ribs as if it were his own.

They ground against each other, the feeling of his leather pants against her naked cunt only fuelling her desire. She gasped at the contact and arched her back into him, her nails digging into his shoulders. He could feel her scorching heat against his member even through his pants and felt himself throb in response. Thiriann reached down to unlace them but he stopped her hands.

“Not until you’re ready for me, darling.”

She whined in protest but moved her hands back. Having her obediently listen to him always managed to bring a small thrill of excitement.

He reached between their bodies dragging his fingers over her centre. She was wet but not wet enough, it would most likely hurt if he entered her now. He started lowering himself down her body, but felt her tensing under him, her hands on his shoulders squeezing firmly, keeping him in place.

“No, don’t go.” She pleaded.

“Don't worry, I'm here, love.”

 “I want you inside me, can we…like this?”

"You'll have to come first, darling. Do that for me, just relax, I’ve got you.”

Astarion glanced at her face, intent on watching her expression as he eased his finger into her. She groaned at the intrusion but tried to breathe through the temporary discomfort. Moving carefully, he began pumping his finger in and out of her, focused on opening her up. Slowly she melted under his gentle ministrations and when he dragged his finger over that place inside of her, she couldn’t stop herself from moaning his name. Her quiet breathy mews filled his tent as he continued to assault the delicate spot causing her eyes to roll back and her back to arch into him.

It felt unexpectedly embarrassing to be able to feel his muscles moving between them as he pleasured her. His soft gasps of effort by her ear combined with the scent of his sweat and perfume filling her nostrils proved more erotic than she was prepared for. Sooner than she would have liked she was nearing her climax.

“Come for me love, I can tell you’re almost there.” he whispered in her ear.

A furious blush took over her cheeks despite the blood loss but she did just that.  Moaning his name she came, her walls spasmed around him squeezing his finger so tight he feared it might break. She relaxed back into the pillows and he gave her a moment to recover, marvelling at the slick that now dripped down her thighs.

As he reached to unlace his pants, a part of him hesitated, the unease he felt every time before bedding someone would stubbornly not leave him alone. He still pushed it down.  Having no patience to fight himself he opened his breeches and swiftly took out his cock. 

Rocking his hips slowly against her opening, he inched his way inside before pushing forward and bottoming out in one swift movement. A soft sigh left his lips at how warm she was, how welcoming her body felt.

“Does this feel good, darling?” he asked, giving a few slow, experimental thrusts; she was still so very tight around his cock he could barely move.

“Gods,yes-...You know it does,” she pouted and he smirked, kissing her once again.

He set a gentle pace, pulling nearly all the way out of her before languidly rolling his hips forward, inch by inch, drawing moans from both of their throats. “You’re going to have to be quiet, you know,” he whispered against her ear.

He finished one particularly delicious thrust, groaning and burying his face in her neck, trying to muffle the sound. “Gods, you feel good,” he mumbled, luxuriating in the feel of her pressing around his cock, hot and wet and soft as silk.

Wordless little noises of pleasure escaped her as she started to rock back against him, joining into the rhythm he had set. Their motions felt like the waves of the ocean crashing against the sea. But his movements soon became practiced as instinct started to take over and he felt himself submerge into the fog despite his efforts to stay in the moment. He wanted to be here, with her, feeling this connection but his mind slipped away, beaches and vast waters behind his eyelids.

Suddenly he felt her grip his shoulders and push against him. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was the tent canvas before the rest of the surroundings began to come to him. The blanket that was under him, the stacks of books by side and various bottles of potions and blood strewn about. And finally, the woman on top of him who was straddling him now. The gentle feeling of her as she ground her hips against him and her glowing eyes attracting him like a moth to a flame.

“Oh? Are you looking for a ride, darling?” he teased, surprising himself at how even his voice sounded.

Thiriann answered him by leaning down, hair falling around him like wavy black curtains so she could kiss him again. He gripped her supple thighs as she rode him, savouring the sensation of her wrapping tightly around his length as they licked into each other's mouths, tongues sliding against one another.

She lifted herself up over him, letting her hands wander up and down his front, watching his muscles tighten and relax under the gentle pressure. Her fingers brushed over one of his nipples and she relished in the shudder the gesture drew out of him. He groaned, eyelids fluttering as she began to move earnestly on top of him.

Instinctively he gripped her hips pulling her down hard on his length causing them both to moan.

“That’s…cheating-” she gasped out as he kept thrusting from under her, refusing to surrender the upper hand.

“You were expecting me to play fair?” he smirked at her amused and Thiriann rolled her eyes. Taking the momentary distraction, he rolled them again and pined her under him once more.

“Fuck!” she hissed into his mouth but he didn't let her recover as he began bucking into her with desperate urgency. Driving deeper and deeper with every thrust he could feel the wetness gushing out of her, soaking him and the robe under her. She spread her legs further allowing him to pump freely as she held onto his shoulders, dragging her nails over his skin but keeping them far above his scars. He growled into her neck as her heat squeezed him impossibly tighter trying to draw him in even closer.

She saw stars as he ground his hips against hers, putting just enough pressure on her clit to push her over the edge.

“Astarion -” That was all she managed to get out before she came, hard, spasming and clenching violently around his cock. Ripples of pleasure spread through her body as her sweet moans slipped into his ear like sobs in tandem with the rhythmic contractions.

He bit into her neck again and followed her over, groaning into the mess he’d made of her throat. She held him as he shook with it, pleasure obliterating his every thought and for a moment there was nothing but the blissful sensations of her warmth. Half-gasps, half-moans spilled out of his throat as he rode the aftershocks, fangs buried deep in her neck.

After his body stopped shuddering and the fog of pleasure lifted, Astarion finally collapsed on top of her bringing a soft sigh from her lips.

He felt he should get up, move away, and dress himself but he didn't want to leave, to go out of her vicinity where the cold would surely sweep in and chill him to the bone. He wanted to stay here in her arms, to soak in the warmth of her body, of her presence. Every inch between them felt too much, too long.

He relaxed onto her further, head still buried in the crook of her neck and she could tell he had fallen asleep. Unusual as it was, he drew breath even in slumber, the gentle cold exhales caressing her collarbone. The way he curled up further reminded her of a cat, maybe an overgrown undead cat. He hissed like one too when irritated.  A wave of protectiveness surged within her and she wrapped her arms tighter around him. He would probably hate it but this felt nice, holding him like this, enjoying the security of his embrace and keeping him safe in hers, next to her heart.

[beforetimes]

feel like this gets overshadowed by the fact that ekko saved jinx at her very lowest, but i think that their relationship 100% works both ways when it comes to helping the other. and the way jinx helps ekko would be in helping him to loosen up / free him of this massive sense of guilt and responsibility he carries himself with.

we see this thematically in s2ep7 and s2ep9 mostly. when ekko goes to the alternate timeline we get the line that it was his tip that lead to vi's death. which i've mentioned in a previous post as something that i think the og ekko would carry as a source of guilt that guided him to throwing himself into helping the people of zaun, a way to work through his remorse.

and in that deleted scene where ekko goes after powder only for her to say she doesn't want to be saved and that she's jinx now, i feel ekko would have blamed himself for that and internalized it both by using it to fuel his guilt complex but also by painting her as someone past saving. in essence he thinks he killed powder and created jinx. someone who only hurts the undercity by working as silco.

but after his dive into the alternate timeline where he sees and connects with powder and realizes all the potential she has when she grows up, i think he realizes that there is still someone to save back in his original world. that jinx couldn't possibly erase everything that made alternate timeline powder who she is because powder reminds him of their childhood and things left unsaid and how things could be different if they both chose forgiveness (sort of elaborated on here).

anyway, i think jinx's role in accepting ekko's proposal to help out with the war on piltover/zaun would be to show ekko a) that he didn't kill powder completely and that jinx was never truly 100% metamorphosized by this job that he sent them on that indirectly 'killed' her and b) shows that she (in his minds eye) chooses to forgive him, relieving a large part of his guilt, and build something better. which is what ekko has been all about. not necessarily forgiving, but building something better. its what he does with the firelights and their commune.

now, how is freeing him communicated in the show?

i think that they show the way jinx's character allows him to be more free in expressing himself through the change in wardrobe. it is more visually vibrant in comparison to his large jackets in the first season when we see him, but there's also less smoke-screening and secrecy. no more masks, no more gloves, no more large jackets that hide the form. everything is on display now! abdomen and face, skin exposed. and jinx's impact on this change from the first season is visually marked by the x on his shirt. she is directly involved in his evolution into this freer, unburdened self.

i felt in this, the artists were showing how jinx's refusal to stay within the lines would affect ekko in making him freer as well. not just physically revealing himself but also maybe through the way her acceptance of his offer to save her again (after the failed deleted scene mentioned) frees him of the guilt of failing the first time + guilt over what led to him thinking he killed powder.

so while timebomb does feel skewed in showcasing ekko primarly as her saviour and jinx as someone who needed saving, i think that there is a reciprocal nature to the type of healing they can offer each other. ekko through his belief that jinx can be good without needing her to be the way she was before and jinx through her relieving ekko of guilt that has ruled his life since he was a child.

[bambi-kinos]

Dakota Days Review

I got an ask requesting I post the Dakota Days review. The rest of the ask will be mega long so I don't want to just add on the review to the end and make it an even bigger read. So I'm posting this as its own free-floating thing.

So my deal is that in 2023 and 2024 I had enough time on my hands that I read a shitton of Beatle books (including most of the books in my big recommendation post, which I am still thinking about updating so keep in mind it hasn't achieved its final form.) I regularly talk these over with a friend and this review is mostly what I told her when she asked if she should read it or not. Either this will sell you on the book or it will not lol. I did some light editing for readability but otherwise it is mostly intact from the original post date February 13, 2023....good God, 2 fucking years ago!

Okay so Dakota Days. It's an account of John Green, also known as Charlie Swan who was a tarot reader that was close to the Lennons following John's return from his Lost Weekend.

Charlie states from the start that he is only trying to impart a snapshot of what it was like to live with John and Yoko during this time. He straight up admits that he has edited out certain parts of it to respect their privacy (and to cover his own ass as he did his fair share of scamming Yoko during this period.) He also straight up admits that he smushed together many years, events, and conversations in the book. He explains this very sensibly: while he claims a prodigious memory (which will prove not to be the case) he also says that he just spent too many years in John and Yoko's employment to recount all of them without boring the reader.

This is a very effective tactic. Charlie is deliberately telling us something that he is doing (editing the accounts of what happened) because it will make us trust him more. Being honest about misdoings you've done or will do tends to get people to like you more. This is what con artists do when they are trying to get people to fall for their schemes: they will tell you what they are doing and then they will do it. It is effective because it works. Charlie tells us that he is either misremembering or covering his own ass and because he does this we like him, which primes us to accept everything he says.

Charlie gets called up by Yoko only a few hours after John drags home. She renames him Charlie Swan because she knows John will be jealous of him having the same name. Charlie goes along with it because he knows Yoko is an easy mark; he claims in the text that he found John at Disney World of all places and that this is how Yoko ended the long weekend. Considering this is not how it happened we can guess that what Charlie actually did was pull the wool over Yoko's eyes and then claim credit for it. Again, a very effective tactic.

What happens next is really interesting: John feigns being poisoned. He's told Yoko that May poisoned him in his tea. Charlie reads the cards and they tell him "no way was John poisoned" and John leverages this to get Yoko out of the room. John picks Charlie's brain about the occult for a while and then lets him go home after a few hours.

Won't recount everything that happens next but I will say this: Dakota Days is the second half of the story about John's Dakota years and it compliments Fred's book perfectly. Fred depicted a manic John and a cold, distant Yoko. Charlie depicts a depressive John and an anxious Yoko in desperate need of hand holding at every single stage in her life. The amount of time and money that John and Yoko spend on con artists like Charlie as well as their other astrologers, mystics, and Korean herb healers is astounding. They were completely and utterly paralyzed with terror if they had to make decisions on their own. Indecisive, fretful, worried, anxious, Yoko straight up has a panic attack at one point because Charlie orders her to make a decision on her own and she almost dissolves into tears because she can't do it.

The funny part is I find none of these depictions at odd with one another. Yoko's imperious mask always hid the frightened baby underneath and John's aggressive ego always hid the broken hearted lover who wanted to be anywhere but where he was. Yoko didn't give Fred an "in" because he was a servant but she feared and respected Charlie so she could afford to be a broken little girl in front of him. John respected Charlie as a magician and hung on his every word. He didn't see a point in pretending to be something he wasn't like he did with Fred.

Charlie's big thing in the book is that he depicts himself as Spitting Straight Facts at John and Yoko. He condenses these into different conversations. For example, at one point Yoko takes John to Japan for a few months because she wants to convince him to live there full time. All of their clothes are packed according to what Charlie's tarot cards tell them are lucky to take. Yoko asks him to cast spells to keep John in a good mood. They plan out their journey to follow certain directions based on Japanese numerology that calculates the luck of cardinal directions. (Charlie cheerfully admits that this is outside of his education so he can't give an opinion on it. This is part of his set up, he doesn't have a problem admitting his weaknesses which makes him come off as more honest than he really is.)

It all goes wrong within two weeks: John hates Japan. Absolutely hates it. He hates having to entertain Yoko's family. He hates the hotels they are in. Yoko calls Charlie on the verge of tears and tells him that John is humiliating her in front of her family -- apparently Yoko's mother and sister called Yoko out on her bullshit and they accused her of accomplishing nothing with her art. (Holy shit, based?!) Yoko is desperate for John's wealth and status to impress her mother and tells Charlie, "I know what they say about me, they say that all I did was marry John and spend his money!" Which is of course absolutely true.

Yoko is desperate to win her mother's favor because she wants Sean to get a sizable piece of the inheritance but she was so disgusted with Yoko that she wouldn't even acknowledge Sean. (Brutal.) Yoko takes this personally because her sister Setsuko married a Westerner, a diplomat, and Yoko dissolves into hysterics over the phone demanding that Charlie tarot read for new, luckier clothes and have them air mailed to them. As far as I know, Charlie did it because it was an order and Yoko was paying his bills.

It gets worse though because John starts shuffling around like a zombie, moaning, whacking his head against the walls, etc. He tells Charlie that he's pretending to be dead. (I actually think I know what John was doing -- he probably absorbed some of Japan's pop culture about ghosts and he started imitating it.) This freaks out Yoko's family and her mother asked what the hell she was doing bringing this fucked up white guy to Japan. Charlie depicts himself as being the only person John can vent to which is something that I actually believe even though it probably didn't go down in precisely this way.

When Yoko tells John that they're going home soon, John perks up. He starts wooing Yoko's mother and makes nice with her. The funny part is that after all that, John actually succeeded in making Yoko's mother like him! Of course Yoko calls Charlie, again almost in tears, and tells him "John is doing it all wrong, he's being friendly with her, he's not holding her at a distance, he's buying her things and taking her out to fancy eateries!" Yoko is depicted as flat out hysterical in this conversation, enraged and upset that John charmed his way into her mother's good graces instead of making her submit by being ice cold and imperious (aka acting like Mimi) which dissolves her into anguish. And then, at the end of it all, Charlie says that Yoko is being ridiculous and it's a good thing that John is finally getting along with her mother. (Hittin' hard with that street wisdom!) Yoko is very bitter in response. After that chapter I thought, "man Charlie is putting up with a lot huh."

The entire book goes this way. It depicts a John that will make grand gestures towards Yoko (he has Charlie perform a "druidic" marriage ceremony to reaffirm his marriage to Yoko and Charlie has a GREAT time making shit up and forcing John to gather all this bullshit stuff that has nothing to do with Celtic traditions, Charlie's account is so so gleeful about making John dance like a monkey) but actively loathes her the rest of the time. Charlie outright states that their relationship is unhappy.

For example, when Sean was born, John was crazy with worry and made up the Dakota to be more comfortable for Yoko and the baby. But when Yoko finally came home she immediately handed Sean to the nanny (which John HATED, he tried to make her pick Sean back up because he was so upset) and went to her room after a huge fight with John. John then sat down with Charlie and bitterly vented about the fact that he knew Yoko didn't appreciate him and that he was furious that she smoked through her pregnancy and that she wasn't interested in Sean. He accuses her of making Sean sick which is probably true considering Yoko was probably on heroin through out the pregnancy! John is actually kind of stunning here because he is utterly pissed off at Yoko for putting Sean's health at risk and then snubbing John when she finally gets home. His breakdown when Yoko comes home is incredible. They have a baby that she hyped up to Charlie as a Messiah and then she didn't want him. And it still didn't make her love John. The despair in his words.

A lot of the conversations that Charlie depicts follows this pattern. At one point John gets so angry about Yoko's coldness that he picks a fight with her, gets in her face, and just starts screaming at her. She runs out of the room crying because she's frightened of him and then calls Charlie to do a tarot card reading on why John was so mad at her. Charlie speculates it's because she doesn't communicate well with John and he was trying to shake something loose. She goes on a long rant about why this can't possibly be the case because she's only doing what's best for him so please Charlie read the cards…. of course when Charlie spoke to John, John replied that he was angry that Yoko speaks Japanese because he doesn't understand what she's saying to the servants and he thinks that they're talking about him. He's paranoid and angry that she's doing something that he can't get involved with. So he started screaming at her and throwing cigarette packets at her.

At times like this, when Yoko and John are fighting, Charlie takes on an interesting role. He will tell them hard truths about their relationship that they don't like. When Yoko whines that John is being too independent in 1979, Charlie tells her that this is a good thing and that she should be happy that John doesn't need to be managed. He also tells her that she and John will be happier if they are independent of each other. This bounces off Yoko completely and she whines (Yoko is VERY childish in this book) that this isn't possible or safe because John is too stupid (!!) and naive (!!) to make decisions on his own.

Charlie very deliberately depicts himself almost as a marriage counselor to them. You can see his prodigious perfect memory fails him at these junctures because when he relays conversations, John and Yoko don't sound like themselves most of the time. But the funny part is, I totally believe it. I actually do think that Charlie Swan had moments where he gave his unvarnished opinion about JohnandYoko to John and Yoko. He could do this safely for a few reasons:

1) He knew they considered him superior to them. He successfully dug a foothold in their minds and had them both totally convinced that he was legit. They couldn't throw him out because he was their closest tarot reader and it looks like he also had a legitimate head for business because he was able to give them some good financial advice. All of this meant that they were in awe of him and neither of them wanted to go against what he said. They were completely at his mercy. In a way I think it's lucky that Charlie wasn't more malicious because he could have manipulated John and Yoko into doing some depraved shit if he felt like it. They both worshipped him completely. Independent sources verified that John called Charlie "the Oracle" and it wasn't all a jest.

2) Conmen are incredibly good at reading people. They see our weaknesses and they understand them. He had John and Yoko sized up the moment he met them. He realized John and Yoko were both inherently childish, very credulous, willing to believe anything, and that they would only take the easy way out. They wanted self improvement to come only at the cost of their check books. They loved spending money (I think they both had shopping addictions -- I know because I have a shopping addiction) and they didn't want to be disciplined in the slightest. In fact Charlie depicts several moments where outside parties force John and Yoko to be disciplined and they both react like children being forced to sit in the time out chair.

3) John and Yoko, being very petulant, lazy, and weak at this stage of their lives, were totally impervious to criticism. John at least admitted that he knew Charlie was right about certain things but Yoko always had excuses for why she couldn't give John a longer leash/respect him as her life partner, be nice to her mother (Charlie at one point straight up asks why she's being such a bitch to her mother and Yoko is full of pathetic excuses), spend time with her baby, etc. (She couldn't buy farmland on her own because she didn't know how to ascertain if any of the property was good, so she had Charlie do readings so she didn't have to take responsibility for it.) John and Yoko did not want to shoulder any kind of responsibility for anything at all. They are both depicted as sleepwalking through life, becoming outraged when anything temporarily waylaid them.

You could give them as many hard truths as you wanted and it would never take because they will never ever accept it or act on it or own their mistakes. John and Yoko are often at odds in the book, screaming and arguing with each other, John fucking things up on purpose for Yoko's family, but when it comes to Growing The Hell Up, they were a united couple saying "no the hell we will not!"

This is reading between the lines now but I think Charlie is straight up laughing at them at some points and he's letting us in on the joke. He knows that so long as they remain petulant and undisciplined, he will always have a job. So he can tell them honestly to their faces that they are bad parents, that they are a terrible couple, that John is a sullen asshole and Yoko is a whiny bitch, and they will never ever fire him. They will argue with him but Yoko will have him back in her bedroom in 15 minutes to get him to read tarot cards for her again.

A few things I found interesting:

Sean is not portrayed at all in the book. John once describes Sean as overly quiet and meek especially around John and John says it's because he knows Sean is frightened of him. Interesting that this is at odds with Fred's portrayal of Sean. However I actually feel a little soft towards Charlie Swan on this because I think he did it to protect Sean, the way he said he would protect the Lennons' privacy at the beginning of the book. I legit think he was shielding Sean because Sean under 18 when Charlie published this. I think he didn't want Sean to have to wrestle with being depicted in a memoir at that age. The Dakota situation is so fucked up that I legit believe that this expert scam artist might have been in the only moral person on John and Yoko's payroll. I say this because Charlie is absolutely fearless towards John and Yoko in this book so he clearly didn't give a shit about being sued for libel. So IMO he did it to protect Sean because Sean was only a child.

John goes in a 15 month depression in 1978 because Sean once asked him (after seeing one of their poor cats fall out of a window) what happened to the cat that died. John tells him that the cat went to the Land of the Dead because it fell, explaining that nothing can survive a fall out of a window that high. Sean apparently thought about it and said "then Daddy, why haven't you walked out the window?" Jesus Christ.

Charlie scolds John for being a shitty parent and tells him that Sean is just a kid and that he doesn't understand what he's saying. He's just repeating things that he's heard around the house, and if you read between the lines you can feel Charlie judging John and Yoko because Charlie understands that this exposure to the occult is fucking Sean up. John becomes very surly and asks him "how the hell do you know" to which Charlie replies "I studied art therapy and child psychology in college for my teaching degree." (Independent verification has proven that this is true!) John sinks even deeper into a funk that yet another person is proving to be more knowledgeable about John's children than John himself, and rolls over in bed, beginning a 15 month period where he won't see anyone. He just lays there watching tv with the sound off.

Yoko is constantly on edge. She's obsessed with what people think of her. Charlie describes 1979/80 as being very trying because Yoko constantly repeating the same questions for Charlie to read for, trying to divine what stories journalists will write about her next.

John is similarly obsessed with having a positive PR image. He's deeply upset that no one liked his Rock n Roll or Shaved Fish albums (because they don't have new material.) John spends an entire chapter moaning that he hates his audience because they don't love him enough. Then he admits that he thinks he owes them new material but that he won't commit to anything without having a decent stock of songs to burn through. Then he swivels back to piling more blame onto his audience and continues bitching that they don't love him enough to make up for the anguish that he feels all the time. He piled a lot of blame and resentment onto The Public for not being able to "fix" his sadness.

At one point Yoko wants to buy blessings/curses from an actual witch so they go to Brazil. They find a bruja and Charlie intimates to the audience that brujas are expert con artists in a class of their own. He relates that a bruja once sabotaged a building project at which time the builders invited her onto the property to do an """exorcism""" from which she made a tidy profit and they were able to resume building. (Charlie does not depict it in precisely this way but he relates the story in such broad ""magical"" terms that you can see him grinning, pointing, winking, and nodding at you from across the room. Charlie made it as obvious as he possibly could that he was totally fucking with these people and that he knew when other magicians were fucking with people as well.)

Yoko has to sit through a week of a Brazilian woman putting her through fake and expensive rituals, all while putting on a fake Jamaican accent??? Yoko is so dumb and desperate that she doesn't see through it. Charlie is incredibly contemptuous through out the section. He does have an interesting "magic" battle with the bruja (here called Nora, her actual name was Lena) where they size each other up and the bruja agrees to take Yoko on as a client. Eventually Yoko gets cold feet and begs Charlie for a way to get her out of the rituals because she's scared that Nora mentioned a "blood sacrifice" and Yoko doesn't want to kill someone.

To which Charlie replies: "Yoko, why don't you just tell Nora how you feel? You're the client, if you don't want to make a blood sacrifice then just ask Nora to do something different. I don't think she's going to kill a person but if you're that worried then you can tell Nora about your concerns and she'll either change it or explain what will happen. You're paying her, remember?"

Yoko dissolves into more hysterics. She's scared the bruja will put a curse on her or Sean or John. She's too anxious to ask for clarification or help. Charlie rolls his eyes through the entire section.

Then the actual ritual happens, Nora kills a dove (poor thing) and then tells Yoko to sign her name to sell her soul to…something? I actually didn't understand what, though Charlie told Yoko "it's impossible for you to sell your soul so just go along with it dumbass."

But Yoko melts down. She can't do it. She begs Charlie to sign on her behalf and it sounds like she was actually crying because she was so scared. Charlie and Nora both sigh but Charlie signs the document and Nora goes "okay, done!"

Yoko then asks Charlie "Hey did you sign Charlie Swan or John Green?" To which Charlie replies, "what makes you think I signed either of those names?" Yoko freaks out and follows him around going "What name did you sign?? Whose soul did you sell??? Charlie?!!!! Charlie!!!!" But he never tells her lmao. He is so fucking contemptuous of her, it's amazing. This sequence is Charlie Swan rubbing his superiority in Yoko's face with utter glee, and he completely gets away with it. She's too scared to argue with him.

Obviously Charlie doesn't talk about everything here. For example, he and Sam Green both pulled a fast one on Yoko by counterfeiting a painting and selling it to her -- her own boyfriend! It was a complete success, she paid them both handsomely for it. He doesn't talk about that here. But it's clear from the outset IMO that he lies his ass off about tarot reading through out the entire book and is able to do as well as he does because he does actually have some good business sense.

I have to be honest: I respect the fuck out of Charlie Swan. This man is a king. He scammed John and Yoko out of millions. He did so well that he could tell them how awful they were to their faces and they had no choice but to swallow it whole. They didn't have the sac to stand up to him. And he was kind enough to write this book and show us how he did it: by taking advantage of their fear, petulance, and refusal to grow up. Dakota Days is an amazing book.

I have decided that the rocknroll industry is one big trailer park and John and Yoko had the biggest trailer. John is straight up wandering around in a robe and curlers reading the astrology and Dear Abby sections of the newspaper, Yoko is knocking back forties wondering when she can upgrade to the younger model. Sean is their poor kid with a learning disorder that is doing the pyromaniac thing. Going to Swiss boarding school (so that Yoko didn't have to be reminded of John) is probably what straightened him out and saved him.

Not trying to diss trailer parks, I met a lot of nice people who lived in them when I worked insurance, so pulling more from sitcom trash here. But John and Yoko fought, a lot, like these types of couples always do (that anecdote of Pete Shotton's second phone call where Yoko is screaming her head off in the background. I live next to a trashy family like this.) Who knows what Sean heard and what he repeated because he was so young.

This is the book that convinced me that John retreated into the Dakota out of shame. He knew that being with Paul was the best thing that ever happened to him, the only good thing, and he fucked it up with drugs and untreated mental illness. Which sadly has to be hung around his own neck. He blew his life up for no reason and he hid because he knew that.

John thought there were only two options: go back to Yoko or eat crow and go back to Paul. He couldn't stand either but at least with Yoko he didn't have to dance for the press. It never occurred to him that he had options and could do anything.

[thewinterdrafts]

07 - Disobedience | Frostbite Series | The Winter Soldier

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Original Female Character (1st Person)

Word count: 5,192

Summary: A tense confrontation forces Yulia and the Soldier into a battle of instinct versus reality. As control unravels, buried truths surface, leaving them both facing something neither is prepared to understand—but can no longer deny.

Disclaimer: This series is extremely dark, touching on graphic violence, psychological torment, and human suffering in all its forms. If you choose to read, proceed with caution.

Warnings: strictly 18+, Graphic medical procedures & surgical descriptions

A/N: i worked 12 hours and fried my brain bringing this to you guys. i hope you'll like it, happy reading!! (hopefully)

❄️ Frostbite Chapters: Part 01 - Severance Part 02 - Incision Part 03 - Containment Part 04 - Recognition Part 05 - Trigger Part 06 - Submission Part 07 - Disobedience - you are currently here Note: The Frostbite series has officially migrated to bigger platforms! Check out the rest on AO3 and Wattpad ♡

📍Masterlist

Note: This chapter is written in third person, and all dialogue takes place in Russian, but it has been presented in English for readability.

Yulia’s breath catches in her lungs as she stares at her hands in shock. It's full of blood. Elena’s blood. She looks down at the her like she can't believe her own eyes. She in unconscious. She is dying. They are trapped in here.

She presses down harder on the wound, her own hands shaking so badly she can barely keep them steady. "Come on," she whispers. "Come on, please—"

A sound drags her attention upward—not even a sound. A breath, that could belong to any wild animal.

The Soldier.

His eyes are locked onto Elena’s limp form. His chest rises and falls so fast, he might pass out any minute. Yulia quickly wipes her tears to take a better look at him, but she wishes she didn't, because he's visibly panicking. She's never seen him panic before. The thought should terrify her, but it doesn’t—not in the way it should. Because this isn’t a weapon malfunctioning.

This is a man falling apart.

"I—" His voice is rough, like he's never talked before. The metal cuffs keep him locked down, his pinned arms are yanking against them as he tries to move, tries to reach.

But he can’t, and it's driving him mad.

"No."

Upon hearing the strong Russian word, Yulia flinches so hard she nearly drops the fabric she’s pressing against Elena’s side. "I did everything." Her voice is hoarse. "I don’t—I don’t know what else to do, she needs to—She has to tell me."

His breathing is louder and louder. Everything about him is wrong. The tension in his jaw, the way his body strains against the restraints, the desperation in his eyes. Weapons shouldn't break down. So what's happening with him?

"She’s—" He stops, the frustration flickers over his face. His fingers twitch like he wants to tear through the chains, like he doesn’t understand why he can’t. "She is—"

His voice fails. He doesn’t have the words, because they never gave him the words for this.

Yulia swallows hard. "She’s dying."

The Soldier’s entire body seizes. His throat bobs as he tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Yulia, kneeling on the cold floor, watches with terror as his breath hitches. There's a heavy silence between them, before—

"No."

It wasn't a refusal. It was an order.

His arms pull against the restraints once again with a force so strong, Yulia feels the floor move. He is trying to get to her, but the chains weren't designed to break easily, and his metal arm is still useless. He looks up, pools of desperation in his eyes, as he realizes that he won't be able to break free. 

Yulia grips Elena tighter, pressing down against the wound, trying everything to stop the bleeding. "I—I don’t—She'll die on me."

His jaw clenches. His fingers curl into fists. He's struggling, searching. His head tilts slightly as his gaze rakes over Elena’s still form. He's assessing, like he would on a mission. Like she is just another part that needs to be put back together.

"Repair—" He stops. The word doesn’t feel right.

He tries again. "Put—" Another sharp inhale. His eyes flicker, frustration bleeding through the cracks. "Make it—no, her. Make her—"

He exhales sharply through his nose with his teeth clenching, muscles in his jaw twitching. Nothing sounds right.

"Fix," he finally says. "Fix her."

Yulia’s freezes. He just gave an order to her. She doesn’t dare speak or move. She’s too stunned, too horrified by what’s happening—because this is wrong. The Soldier doesn’t give orders. The Soldier doesn’t act on his own.

But then his voice comes again, this time, with urgency.

"Pressure. Stop—" He exhales sharply, his head jerking slightly like he is trying to shake something loose. The words. They won’t come out right. "Bleeding must stop."

"I know that!" Yulia's voice cracks as she snaps. "It won’t stop! It’s too deep!"

The Soldier’s fingers dig into his palms. His eyes flicker across Elena’s body, taking in the damage, the irregularity of her breathing. It's too slow and too weak.

"Cut."

Yulia’s breath stutters. "I—I don’t—"

"Now." His voice drops lower, ragged, barely holding together. "You must."

"She’s lost too much—she’s not responding—"

The metal clangs violently as the Soldier jerks against his restraints. "No. No failure. No stopping."

"I don’t—I can’t lose her," Yulia whispers.

"You will do it."

Yulia swallows down a whimper. She wants to run. Every survival instinct inside her is screaming at her to get away, to shut the Soldier out, but Elena is still bleeding, still getting colder, and she cannot lose her. Not like this.

She swallows back the lump in her throat. "Okay. Okay, I’m doing it. Just—just tell me how."

His hands flex, straining against the cuffs as his frustration is mounting. He cannot reach her, he cannot fix it himself, and the thought of it alone makes him crazy.

"Cut. Close. Repair—no, stabilize." His voice is cracking now, each word more unsteady than the last. He is grasping for control, and failing.

Yulia presses a hand to her mouth, trying to swallow the fear rising in her chest. Then, she looks down at Elena, who's becoming more and more pale with every passing second. She forces herself to breathe. 

She is not a doctor. She is barely a nurse. But she is all Elena has right now.

"H-her rib—" Yulia swallows. "I—I think one is still out of place—"

"Yes." His voice is cold, but not cruel. It's measured and precise. "Cut."

Yulia freezes. "No. No, I can’t—I can’t do that."

The Soldier jerks against his restraints. "You will."

Yulia shakes her head violently. "She’s barely stable—I can’t just—!"

"Now." His voice is like ice, but the desperation is visibly peaking through the rigid mask.

Yulia swallows thickly as her pulse hammers against her throat. She can’t do this. She isn’t strong enough. She isn’t trained enough. Elena would know what to do.

But Elena is unconscious.

"No, no, no—if I do this wrong—"

The Soldier’s restraints creak violently. "Now."

Yulia jumps in fear, gasping, her heart pounding in her ears. 

She grips the scalpel. Her hands are trembling so hard she can barely hold it straight. She's about to cut into a person. Into Elena. She bites her lip as her vision blurs to the thought. This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong. But if she doesn’t do it, Elena will die.

She presses the blade to Elena’s skin. Her hands shake harder. She can’t do it. She can’t do it. Yet, she moves.

Yulia gasps as she presses down, slicing into Elena’s flesh. She doesn’t breathe. Neither does he. The room is suffocating, like a tomb with no oxygen.

Elena doesn’t react—she is too far gone to react. Yulia is crying now, tears spilling down her face, onto Elena's exposed skin. She isn’t strong enough for this. But the Soldier watches her every movement with his breath sharp, and his shoulders locked so tightly they tremble.

The skin splits. Yulia gags. She wants to vomit. She wants to stop.

"Deeper."

Tears slip down Yulia’s cheeks, but she listens. The incision deepens and the muscle gives way. Blood wells up, hot and dark.

Yulia’s hands shake violently, her vision swimming. "I—"

"Locate the break."

Yulia’s breath shudders violently. "I—I can’t—"

"You will."

She squeezes her eyes shut as she presses her trembling fingers inside. The moment she feels the jagged shift of bone, she nearly collapses. The Soldier inhales sharply.

"Move—move the bone—align it."

Yulia gags, nausea clawing at her throat. "I don’t—I can’t—"

"You must."

Yulia sobs. She doesn’t know if it’s from the horror of what she’s doing or from the terror of knowing that if she fails, Elena will die. With a shaking breath, she adjusts her grip, and moves the rib. A sickening pop reverberates under her fingers.

She gasps violently as her entire body jerks away from the wound. She did it. Yulia slaps a hand over her own mouth, rocking back on her heels as the nausea is crashing through her. She did it, but at what cost?

The Soldier releases a slow, measured breath. He has been holding it.

"More."

Yulia blinks with her vision swimming in hot tears. "What?"

The Soldier breathes harder as his fingers curl into fists. "Not enough. Check... check lung."

Yulia’s stomach lurches. "I—I don’t know how."

"You do." His voice is barely above a whisper, but it is absolute. "She must breathe."

Yulia hesitates, her breath coming in gasps. She doesn’t want to touch Elena anymore. She doesn’t want to make it worse.

"Now."

The order is softer now, but no less urgent.

Yulia swallows her nausea and moves, pressing a trembling hand to Elena’s ribs.

There. Another break beneath her fingers. A sharp displacement where there shouldn’t be one.

"It—it’s bad. If I move it, I could—"

"Fix."

"I don’t—"

"Fix."

Her hands shake harder. "I—I’m not a doctor!"

The Soldier’s breath is ragged. "Now."

She wants to scream. She wants to run. But instead, she presses her palms against Elena’s ribs and shifts the break back into place. The sound it makes—a horrible pop—makes her whole body lurch.

"She—she’s not waking up," Yulia stammers.

The Soldier is breathing hard now, his whole body shaking against the restraints. "Breathe."

"She’s not—"

"Breathe."

Yulia’s hands move on their own, pressing against Elena’s chest desperately.

A beat. Another beat. Then—a gasp. Elena’s body jerks as her breath catches sharply.

Yulia sobs in relief. In terror. In exhaustion.

The Soldier breathes with her.

"Close it."

Yulia hesitates as her pulse is still thrumming in her ears. Her fingers feel foreign and useless, but she forces them to move. She doesn't have time to break.

She grabs the sutures, but her hands are slick— there's too much blood.

"Clean."

She does. She wipes them on the ragged edge of her sleeve, the blood is smearing across the fabric. Her breaths are shallow and unsteady, but she focuses. The stress is so consuming now, that she barely feels like herself anymore.

The first stitch is slow and clumsy. Her fingers tremble, but she forces the needle through flesh, tying off the first suture with a shaky knot. The Soldier watches. Each stitch is a battle against the panic crawling up her throat, against the nausea rolling in her stomach.

Elena still doesn’t move.

The last suture pulls tight. She ties it off. It’s done.

Silence.

Yulia collapses back onto her heels. She barely has any time to ground herself, before the Soldier speaks again.

"Not enough." His voice comes in sharp. "She will freeze."

Yulia blinks, still gasping for breath. "What? No—she’s stable—"

"Cold." The Soldier pulls against the restraints. His movements are jerky and panicked. "She cannot be cold."

Yulia swallows as her heart hammers in her chest. She knows immediately. He is afraid of her freezing.

"She’s—she’s not that cold—" Yulia tries to reason, but the Soldier won't have it.

"Move her."

Yulia frowns. "What?"

"On me." The Soldier’s voice cracks. "Put—put her here." His chest rises sharply. "Now."

Yulia stares at him. He cannot be serious. But oh, he is.

"You—you want me to—"

"Yes."

Yulia flinches. The desperation in his voice—it isn’t like before. This isn’t a command made from force. This is something else entirely, but her mind is too cloudy to figure it out just yet.

She glances at Elena’s still form, then back at the Soldier. He is watching her with his breathing shallow and erratic. His body is shaking. He lost control.

"Too far," he forces out, but his voice is barely a whisper. "Move her."

Yulia’s throat tightens.

"I— I can’t lift her alone," she stammers. "She’s too heavy."

The Soldier jerks so violently against the cuffs that the metal is biting into his skin. "Move her."

Yulia jumps as her trembling hands clench. He is coming apart at the seams. His breath is too uneven, like he’s barely keeping himself from screaming.

"She will freeze. She will freeze." His fingers flex, tugging hard against the chains, but they do not budge. His eyes are locked onto Elena. "Fix it."

Yulia swallows back her own panic and she steps closer. She has never been this close to him—not like this. She can clearly see everything in his eyes, how much he wants to do, but is unable to. She swallows thickly as she watches the Soldier unravel. She needs to do this. Otherwise, he will break.

Her hands shake as she grips Elena’s shoulders. Her muscles are screaming in protest as she tries to lift her. Elena is dead weight. Too heavy.

"I can’t— I can’t just throw her on top of you," Yulia gasps with her arms buckling under Elena’s weight. "I need help!"

The Soldier’s body jerks again. "I cannot." His voice is so raw and broken. "I cannot. I cannot. You must."

Yulia grits her teeth. She has to move. She has to do it. She shifts her grip, her breath hitching as Elena’s body slides limply. She drags her higher as she feels her muscles burning from the effort. The Soldier watches with wide eyes while he is trembling with urgency.

Yulia snarls through gritted teeth, sweat dripping down her face. Elena is slipping.

"No, no, no—" The Soldier thrashes again, and Yulia has never heard that kind of desperation before.

Her breath stutters. "I’m trying, I’m trying—" Her voice cracks as she struggles to lift Elena higher, with her arms shaking uncontrollably.

"Slow. Do not twist."

Yulia nods frantically, adjusting her grip. With the last of her strength, she pulls Elena up and over, pressing her against the Soldier’s chest. The second Elena’s body settles against his, the Soldier shudders violently.

Yulia stumbles back, panting, her lungs burning as she tries to get in as much air as possible. Her whole body shakes in exhaustion. The Soldier's muscles, once locked in unbearable tension, finally relax. His flesh hand moves as much as the restraints allow, finding Elena’s wrist immediately. He grips it gently, pressing two fingers against her pulse.

Once. Again. And again.

Checking. Rechecking. Grounding himself.

Yulia watches, pressing a hand to her chest, still gasping for breath. "You—you okay now?"

The Soldier does not answer. He is not listening to her.

His fingers remain pressed against Elena’s wrist with a light but unrelenting grip. Counting. Checking. Again and again.

His breath still comes sharp, but the urgency has changed. It's no longer the erratic panic from before—now, it is something deeper. His eyes drag over her form, over the way her chest barely rises, how her skin is still too cool against his. Not warm enough.

"Check again," he murmurs. It is not a request.

Yulia hesitates. "I already—"

"Again."

She exhales sharply but obeys. Her fingers press against Elena’s neck, her jaw tightening as she counts under her breath. "Still stable. Pulse is steady. She’s holding on."

The Soldier’s eyes do not leave Elena. His hand tightens slightly over her wrist, as if he's testing the pulse for himself, ensuring Yulia is not lying to him.

She is warm. But not warm enough.

His jaw clenches. Something is wrong. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe it is him.

His free hand, the metal one, remains still at his side, restrained and useless. He cannot assess her properly. Cannot fix it himself.

"Breathe." His voice is low, but commanding.

Yulia’s brows knit together. "She is breathing."

"Louder."

Yulia hesitates, then leans in slightly, listening closer. The sound is faint—too faint—but present.

"It’s there," she says softly. "She’s breathing."

Yulia sits down onto the cold tile floor. Elena is breathing. Alive. She can't take it anymore. This was too much. She needs a moment to stomach the things she's done.

The Soldier exhales, but it is not relief. It is calculation.

He moves slightly—or tries to. The weight of Elena against his chest keeps him grounded with her bare skin pressed against his, the heat of her body barely seeping into his own.

His breath stutters. It's suddenly too much contact. Too much bare skin. He doesn’t understand.

His mind races as he's trying to categorize, to define what is happening. This should be function. Warmth. Stabilization. But it feels like something else, something unknown. He flexes his fingers against her pulse again. Still there. Still steady.

"This is correct," he murmurs to himself. "Positioned correctly. Heat exchange. Circulation."

His voice is almost robotic. Almost.

"Stable. Not cold."

So why isn’t it enough?

His breathing doesn’t slow. His chest feels tight. His muscles coil like something is wrong. There is no threat. No failure. But he cannot let go. He stares at her face and watches the slow, shallow breaths move through her.

"She must not freeze."

The words feel heavier now. He flexes his fingers again. The heat of her wrist against his palm feels fragile. 

His breathing is wrong. He can feel it—the irregularity, the imbalance. His body reacts to something it shouldn’t. Why? He presses his head back against the cold metal of the chair while his fingers are twitching against Elena’s pulse point. Too much heat. Too much sensation. Too much.

But she is still cold. Still too cold.

He shifts slightly beneath her, his restrained arms straining as if to adjust her—to hold her properly. He cannot wrap his arms around her, and the thought unsettles him more than it should. His fingers slide down to her forearm, feeling the soft skin, the fine texture of it. This is different. This is not combat.

"Not necessary," he whispers under his breath. But he does not pull away.

His brow furrows. He has felt human skin before, in training, in kill missions. But never like this. Never… never like something fragile. He forces his breath to steady, listening for hers, counting each shallow rise of her chest. The rhythm is wrong. But it is there.

He does not understand why he keeps counting.

"Alive," he says, his voice hoarse. "Warm."

Then why does it still feel like something is wrong?

His jaw tightens, his fingers twitc as he grips her wrist. He is supposed to let go now. She is stabilized. The task is complete.

But he doesn’t.

His breath shudders as he listens to her heartbeat through his fingertips, the steady rhythm against his palm. It is steady. It is real.

"Alive" he murmurs again.

Meanwhile, Yulia shifts on her feet, exhaling shakily as she wipes her bloodstained hands on her torn uniform. Her heartbeat finally died down from her ears as she grounded herself to reality. Elena is stable now. They did it.

"Alright," Yulia mutters, forcing her exhausted body to move. "We need to get her off of you. She’ll rest better somewhere else."

She reaches forward to lift Elena—and stops.

The Soldier doesn’t let go.

Yulia frowns. "Hey—"

His grip on Elena’s wrist tightens.

She blinks. "She’s fine now. She doesn’t need to be here anymore."

No response.

Yulia places her hands under Elena’s shoulders and tries to shift her weight—barely a fraction of movement—the Soldier jerks. A sharp inhale, a twitch of his metal arm against the restraints—his entire body tenses as if she had just ripped something away from him.

Yulia pulls back, startled. What the hell?

She tries again, slower this time. "She’ll be more comfortable—"

"No."

The single word is hoarse.

Yulia’s stomach twists. She stares at him. "No?"

The Soldier doesn’t even look at her, his focus is entirely on Elena. His flesh fingers remain curled around her wrist, while his metal arm is straining against the cuffs like he’s trying to reach—trying to hold her tighter but can’t.

Yulia swallows as a sudden uneasy feeling flods right through her. What is this?

"She needs to rest," Yulia tries again. "She’ll be safer—"

"Stays."

The sharpness in his tone makes her flinch. She stares at him. "She stays?"

His grip flexes, just slightly.

"You’re… holding onto her," Yulia says, almost to herself. A chill runs down her spine. "She’s not going anywhere. She’s stable now. You don’t have to—"

"Stays."

The exact same word. The exact same tone. Yulia’s heartbeat stutters. This isn’t normal, this isn’t anything she has ever seen from him before. She watches his stiff, unreadable face, as she tries to figure the reason out. This is no longer function. He should let go. Why doesn't he?

She tries to move Elena again, just slightly. The Soldier tenses. Every muscle locks, his breathing turns harsh. Yulia lets go immediately, raising her hands in surrender. 

"Okay. Okay, relax. I’m not—"

He doesn’t relax.

His fingers tighten around Elena’s wrist, as much as his restraint allows, and Yulia swears she sees his jaw tremble.

"Why won’t you let her go?" she whispers.

The Soldier says nothing, but his grip says everything. He's breathing hard now, visibly shaking, with his chest rising and falling too fast. He looks like he is being torn apart.

"Stays," he grits out, and this time, his voice is almost broken.

Then, he does something that makes Yulia startle. 

His fingers, still locked around Elena’s wrist, shift just slightly—just enough for his thumb to move, and he strokes the inside of her wrist. It's soft and subtle, an unconscious movement. She stares at his hand, watching as his thumb moves again in slow, instinctual motions.

She almost thinks she is hallucinating, but then he does it again. A trembling motion—not once, but twice, three times—his fingers brushing over Elena’s pulse in a pattern, like he’s memorizing it. Yulia's breath catches. She looks up at his face, expecting calculation and focus, but instead, she finds him watching Elena. Not as an asset or a mission.

Her mind stumbles over itself as soon as she's hit with the realization.

Oh.

Oh.

"You feel for her."

The words barely leave Yulia’s lips before the Soldier reacts.

His entire body jolts as his muscles lock so tight that it looks downright painful. He panics as hand tightens around Elena’s wrist too hard, almost bruising it.

"No."

The response is immediate. Automatic.

Yulia blinks, startled. "What—"

"No," he repeats, his voice cold. "Not allowed."

She understands it instantly—the panic laced into his sharp breaths, the tension in his shoulders. He’s not just denying it. He’s terrified.

Yulia studies him. "Not allowed?"

The Soldier nods. "It is not permitted."

She exhales. This is his programming speaking. She recognizes it now, the instinct to reject anything that suggests he could be more than a weapon. 

"I understand. You’re not supposed to feel," she says softly.

His fingers twitch. "Weapon does not feel. Weapon does not defy. Weapon does not—"

Yulia claps back immediately. "Okay, then let me move Elena—"

"No!"

The word tears out of him loudly and desperately. His fingers clamp down hard, pulling Elena toward him, protecting her, shielding her. His metal arm strains violently against the cuffs, the metal groaning under the pressure.

Yulia looks at him knowingly. That was pure instinct, just like she predicted. The Soldier stares at her in disbelief, like it is her fault that he reacted in any way. Then, just as fast, panic spreads across his face as he turns his head towards Elena.

"Compromised," he whispers, voice cracking slightly. "I am compromised."

Yulia’s heart clenches. God.

"No," she says firmly. "That’s not what this is."

His chest rises in sharp, quick inhales. "Compromised. Malfunctioning. Error."

"No." Yulia’s voice is steady for once. "That’s not being compromised. That’s being human."

His eyes snap up to her then, wide, dark, terrified. "No."

It comes out as a plea. As if the word was a curse in itself.

"They told you this was weakness, didn’t they?" Yulia presses, taking a careful step closer.

His fingers twitch. He doesn’t blink.

"That if you ever felt anything, you were compromised. That it made you defective and useless."

His throat bobs as he swallows hard as his entire body vibrates with tension. This is the first time he’s ever been forced to confront it, and it's confusing him.

"You’re not defective," she says gently. Then, she looks down to Elena. "Just like she said."

She was right all along.

The weight of the realization settles over Yulia like a heavy, inescapable avalanche. He feels.

She stands there, frozen, as the truth coils itself around her thoughts, forcing her to accept something she never thought possible. The Winter Soldier—HYDRA’s perfect machine—is not a machine at all. And worse, he feels for Elena.

Her chest tightens, and for a brief, ugly moment, something sharp twists inside of her. 

It should have been her.

Yulia clenches her jaw, shoving the thought down before it can take root. No. No, that’s not fair.

She watches him, the way he still clings to Elena’s wrist, the way his forehead remains pressed lightly against the side of her head, as if that single point of contact is keeping him steady and grounded.

Elena always knew. She always believed. And she doubted her.

Yulia swallows hard as her shame is creeping in alongside the jealousy. Of course, it’s Elena. Of course, it’s the woman who never stops fighting, who never stops believing, who stares down monsters and sees the broken pieces inside them. And now, here he is—a man who doesn’t even know what he is feeling, but still holding on like he’ll shatter if he lets go.

Yulia exhales slowly. "She cares about you, you know."

The Soldier doesn’t move but he listens. Yulia can see it in the subtle tilt of his head, in the stillness of his shoulders. He is absorbing her words.

"She’s been fighting for you this whole time," Yulia continues, her voice less guarded now. "Even when it didn’t make sense. Even when everyone—when I—thought she was insane for it."

The Soldier’s fingers twitch against Elena’s wrist, as if he recognizes something in Yulia’s words but doesn’t know what.

She laughs, short and bitter. "I didn’t believe her. I thought she was delusional. And now—"

She doesn't finish. The Soldier’s breathing is slow and measured. Too measured. Like he’s forcing himself to stay still, to take in what she’s saying without breaking apart. Yulia hesitates before taking another step forward. She shouldn’t say this. But she does anyway.

"She wasn’t wrong."

The Soldier finally lifts his gaze from Elena, meeting Yulia’s eyes for the first time. There is something lost in them. Searching.

Yulia watches him carefully now, the sharp edges of her emotions dulling into something softer, almost painful. "You don’t know why you feel, do you?"

The Soldier blinks slowly with his breath unsteady. Like a child hearing a new word for the first time.

"I don’t think you ever had the chance to understand it."

His jaw shifts, his grip still tight on Elena’s wrist, as if he’s holding onto the only thing that makes sense. Yulia looks back up at him, at the way his fingers still ghost over Elena’s pulse; like he’s terrified it will disappear, like she is his only tether to anything real.

And Yulia finally understands. Not just him and Elena. She understands why she was jealous. Not because she wanted what Elena had. But because she wanted to be what Elena was. 

Someone worth holding onto.

She exhales shakily and takes a step back, her voice softer now. "She deserves to know."

The Soldier jerks as if he was struck; his body instantly locking tight as his breathing turns sharp erratic. His fingers clamp down on Elena’s wrist too hard and sudden, while his metal arm strains against the restraints, the sound of groaning metal filling the silence.

"No." The word rips from his throat.

Yulia blinks, startled by the sheer force of his reaction. "She has a right to know—"

"No." Harsher this time. His grip tightens, his body coiling like a live wire ready to snap. "Not allowed. Not permitted."

He speaks like a man reciting something beaten into him. 

Yulia studies him, watching the way his chest heaves, the way his metal arm trembles despite its strength.

Fear.

"She won’t be angry at you," Yulia tries. "She would never—"

"No." His voice fractures, splintering at the edges. "No—no—" He shakes his head sharply, as if he's trying to rid himself of something crawling under his skin. "She—she—Punishment. No."

Realization slams into Yulia like ice.

He doesn’t care about himself. He’s afraid for Elena. 

"The operative will know," she presses gently. "That’s what you’re afraid of."

There's a flicker in his gaze—panic, understanding. His hands shake where they hold Elena, and that's the only movement he makes. He doesn’t confirm it. He doesn’t have to.

"You’re protecting her," Yulia murmurs.

The Soldier doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink. But everything is written in the way he holds her, the way he shields her even now, like he is waiting for someone to rip her away from him.

Slowly, carefully, Yulia reaches out.

Her fingers touch his cold, rigid metal wrist. Just barely, a light press. A reassurance. She doesn’t pull, doesn’t push. Just lets him feel that she is here, that she understands.

"Okay," Yulia says quietly. "I won’t tell."

His breath shudders in relief.

Yulia gives him a moment, then carefully, gently, tries again. "Let me take her now."

His fingers don’t move. He stays locked and frozen, watching Elena.

She waits, not forcing or rushing him. She's letting him decide, just like Elena would. There's a long beat of silence before—finally—his fingers relax. Not much, just enough so Yulia can take her. She doesn’t waste time. She lifts Elena as carefully as possible, pulling her weight off of him. 

The Soldier stays completely still. His hands remain open and empty, like something important has been taken from him. But he doesn’t stop her. His breathing remains ragged as he stares at his own hands, as if they weren't even his.

Meanwhile, Yulia moves, supporting Elena’s weight as best she can, carrying her to the small cot in the corner of the operating room. She lays her down gently, adjusting her so she’s as comfortable as possible in such a place. Safe. Or as safe as she can be.

The moment Elena is settled, Yulia straightens. Her movements are slower now. Heavy. The weight of what just happened still pressing into her ribs.

She turns back to the Soldier.

He hasn’t moved. He sits there, shackled and silent, his hands open, empty, and lost. His gaze remains fixed on Elena, watching, searching—ready to jump.

Yulia hesitates, then steps closer.

"She won’t know. When she wakes up, she’ll never know. I promise."

But the Soldier knows. And as he stares at Elena, he wonders if feeling something is worse than feeling nothing at all.

[beidak-art]

if you are still doing the oc ask thing, could we have Koschei for question number 1 please?

I finally have time to focus and reply to a few of these, so the first one to go is obviously Kosch. Forgive me if what I'm writing doesn't make much sense, I have little skill in telling about my characters in written form OTL What was the original thought that led to the creation of this character? The reason for creating him was the need for a main, stereotypical, fairy-tale antagonist—but with a twist—for a story I abandoned a long time ago. The story didn’t survive, but Kosch remained. Why did I choose to draw inspiration from this particular figure from folklore? To be completely honest, I don’t remember; it’s likeee in my head it's shrouded in a black fog when it comes to this.

What is an aspect of their appearance that you like the most? He has undergone several modifications over the years, and his appearance had to get ripe. Now, I actually like him as a whole—the way his entire silhouette harmonizes with the details. I wanted him to look bizarre and silly, yet majestic. In other words, like a big bird. Of course, my favorite part to draw is his eyebrows—it's very satisfying.

How big is their role in the story? Do they make a frequent appearance or are they a character with little "screentime" but big influence? Or are they just a favourite background guy? In the previous story, as I mentioned, he was the main antagonist. Now, he plays the very main role in his own story—or rather, in a tangle of different stories that intertwine into a whole. You could say that, in a way, his existence has lost its meaning because, after all, an antagonist exists solely as a tool for the protagonist and to be defeated. And this very problem—being an antagonist without a protagonist—is a big deal of the current story.

What is their main character arc in the story? Where do they start and how do they develop? Do they get a happy ending or is their story a tragic one? One of his main arcs is his confrontation with death after being immortal for several hundred years. Another crucial aspect for him is the slow realization that something—or someone—actually matters to him. For many, many years, he convinced himself that he was the ultimate Living Life enjoyer, while in reality, he was a loser who kept running away from life—real life—for a veeeery long time.

Does the character have other characters connected to them? Do you have a family tree and "offscreen" connections made up for them or do they exist in a vacuum purely for the purpose of the story? He had a family, he had and has lovers, he has a duck, a horse, a huge herd of mice and a few rats. However, his character is largely built on a profound, self-imposed loneliness—on being above relationships. He tries so hard to be beyond connections that he literally doesn’t live among other beings in the world; instead, he flies around in his stupid flying palace, in the sky, and only occasionally does he graciously land to show off his eloquence. The relationships I’m currently focusing on the most are the ones from when he was still mortal—when it all began. His bond with his older brother is especially important to me, as well as his relationships with a few of his sisters and parents, since the whole family dynamic is quite difficult and complicated (what a surprise). I also think a lot about his connections with the people in the settlement where he grew up, his role in that society back then, and how he dealt with it all. And finally, I think a lot—an enormous amount—about his relationship with Piszczyk. From the early days when they were just acquaintances, to later when they were forced into marriage, and finally, when they meet again after many years, but in completely different circumstances. Outside of the canon story, he also has various more or less serious relationships in the AUs co-created with my Gf. As you could see, we draw him quite often in a relationship with Marlenka, and yes, I know, it's confusing but what can I do 😩If you want to know more, my Gf wrote down in a big short, what's going on: https://toyhou.se/19699360.marlenka/21732559.ghostlenka-ii

[wolfy1298]

Don’t you ever wonder what kind of secrets and plot points Venti keeps hidden? He claims to be the weakest amongst the Seven-and that could be true given his whole 500 year slumber and poison and all- but he’s still a god. AND one of the original Seven. You gotta be good at SOMETHING to survive for this long…

He’s also the only archon so far that doesn’t have a second story quest so what is he hiding?! We have accounts of him literally shaping the land with ease from both the Golden Apple Archipelago events and his character stories. We know that he has close relationships with the Hexenzirkel and somehow managed to avoid conflict with them??? And there’s also the fact from the skyward sword series that he was originally a catalyst user before picking up the bow in honor of Amos. He’s pulling a Childe when it comes to weapons he currently uses and the ones he’s proficient in.

And don’t even get me started on his connection with Istharoth and Celestia! Mondstadt already has the Thousands Winds Temple AND the nameless island where both Venti and Istharoth were once worshipped. And from Before Sun and Moon, we know that the Thousand Winds (which Venti IS A PART OF) were once called the Thousand Winds of TIME, all of whom were created and controlled by Istharoth. AND THEN you have Venti suspiciously appearing in the right place at the right time again and again and again. He even self proclaimed knowing every song: past, present, and future. Hell he’s probably one of the only few beings in Teyvat who can naturally bypass Irminsul because of his songs: Nahida already shown it’s possible to save deleted info if rearranged into fiction so the same should work for songs and poetry. And there’s also what the hydro fungus in Nahida’s second story quest said about changing forms. That you need time for growth to occur. And Nahida - an ARCHON- had trouble maintaining her fungus form for even the short period of time. She was even told that to do so for longer, one would need to bypass time itself which is near impossible. AND YET VENTI CHANGED INTO THE FORM OF HIS FRIEND IMMEDIATELY AFTER RECEIVING HIS GNOSIS AND HAS YET TO CHANGE BACK OR TIRE FROM FATIGUE (as we know it). HOW STRONG IS HE. Sure, the yokai in Inazuma and Adepti in Liyue can all change into a human form, but we know in game that it takes a long time and steady energy to take on a human shape, and the Adepti all seem to have that ability naturally: there’s no bending the laws of nature if it’s already natural to them. So what’s Venti’s excuse?!

As for Celestia: there’s already written in the statue of Barbatos “the gateway to Celestia” and what not. And Khanreia! In the chasm AND in the Caribert quest, Barbatos and Mondstadt keep getting named dropped. According to Dainself, the city in the chasm is supposedly OLDER than Khanreia and possibly the Seven, yet BARBATOS of all beings is mentioned in the records you find??? And in Caribert, it’s a Mondstadtian woman who that one bloke had a child with. Never mind that Mondstadt is where Kaeya and Albedo - the two characters with confirmed Khanreian origins- end up! There’s also the fact that Khanreia seems to base its gods and names and whatever around Norse mythology….which has strong ties to GERMANIC HISTORY. WHICH MONDSTADT IS BASED OFF OF. And Enkanomiya, which was once ruled by Istaroth, is Greek origin. Suspicious considering all the connections to HERMES Venti keeps portraying. (And then there’s also a connection to all three places with the hexenzerkel with their Chinese names? Like I think I read somewhere that Alice is Aries(?)/Eris(?) and Nicole is actually Nike in the Chinese version? Which are very much based in Roman/Greek origins)

Oh and something I forgot to mention earlier with the whole Istharoth connection. Mondstadt’s saying “seeds of stories, brought by the wind, and cultivated through time”. SUSPICIOUS

Anyways, this has been my nonsensical Venti theory rant

And you’re stuck with me @worldsokayestmagicalgirl

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 14 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

This chapter felt shorter than the other ones in this second volume so far.

But that doesn't matter.

CUZ GUYS WE FINALLY SEE DATHURA AGAIN ‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️‼️❤️

When the chapter covers were only available, I originally thought that she ended up being the guardian of the Tree of Life but it looks like she just settled somewhere vacant in the Sadida Kingdom.

I don't mind cuz as long as she's there, I'm happy hehe 💗💗 She's such a beauty omg

Dathura saying that she's been called once again by Amalia makes me assume that Dathura asked for her help once before but we know it couldn't have been in Season 4 because she was only seen protecting the Tree of Life as it's last defense.

So the first time Amalia has asked for help must've been in Season 5 when Harebourg will be seen as the antagonist. I'm only making assumptions here but it could be true. In a way, it makes sense because Dathura technically does have a connection to Harebourg since she used to be a past member of the Brotherhood of the Frogotten just like him. So maybe she could have helped Amalia by trying to talk to Harebourg or maybe explain to Amalia what may be going when he'll become a problem for her kingdom. Because let's not forget the fact that he wanted Amalia's kingdom to have endless wood to warm up Frigost.

But anyways, Amalia asks Dathura to help her find a remedy for Yugo.

Cuz apparently the belladonna only slowed the process. It didn't actually fade away on its own because it thought it did its job.

Dathura disconnects herself from her meditation spot and guides Amalia to some hidden territory in the Sadida Kingdom.

I found it a bit odd when Amalia asked her where they were here, since she was supposed to have lived in the kingdom her entire life AND WAS ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE OF KID TO HAVE ROAMED AROUND THE PLACE AND MEMORIZE ALL OF IT BY HEART.

But then again, this entire area is ALIVE so it can do whatever the fuck it wants lol

Dathura just flies away as if she didn't say the most hippie spiritual shit ever.

BUT LOOK AT AMALIA'S ADORABLE FACE WHEN SHE ADMIRES THE PLACE 💗💕💗💗💗💗💗

my little queen is such a softie for nature 💖💖💖

Also let me just say how much I love the fact that Dathura is referring to Yugo as "our" king. She was so chill with Yugo in season 3 and we can tell that she's still cool with him because she accepts him as the king of the Sadida Kingdom.

And that speaks A LOT on so many levels when you know that some sadida citizens do not accept Yugo's people but then you got a part of the Sadida God literally being cool with the king they hate. Like come on now, if you're a sadida AND an eliatrope hater, what are you doing??? You keep blabbing about how the eliatropes are being a menace and "staining" your sadida culture when one of your demigoddesses (who LITERALLY keeps a portion of your god's power, mind you) is straight up just vibing with the man you hate.

Like seriously Amalia you gotta shut them up someday or another.

Another thing that I enjoyed was that I now know, thanks to Dathura, that there is a shortened way to say Grougalorasalar's name. It's Asalar and I don't know why but I find it so cute to say 💕💕 Like it's cool and yet adorable at the same time I don't know how else to explain it.

Amalia then explains what Grougalorasalar wanted and that he'll start attacking again if Yugo doesn't accept giving away the artifacts.

But I am SO GLAD that out of all the things Yugo refuses to give, it's the eliatrope dofus for very obvious reasons.

Like I explained back in the last chapter, Grougalorasalar wanted the Eliasphere since it doesn't belong to them and because Yugo's people have a habit of naming things after their people if they find any powerful artifacts that can support them. But in no way, shape or form does Yugo ever need to give his eliatrope dofus to him. These eliatrope dofus literally belong to the eliatropes because, again, those are the primordial eliatropes' recall points. Not to mention that they've been created by THE ELIATROPE GODDESS.

Like come on what is bro doing asking for something that belongs to them!? I agreed with him about how Yugo and his people were actual troublemakers without even trying, but taking away the dofus that respawns them?? Hell nah man, I stay away from that shit.

So Dathura picks out a plant and properly reduces it to the actual remedy before she tells Amalia to discuss this whole Grougalorasalar situation with Joris.

After everything he's done for the world, it looks like bro still can't get away from the short height allegations from mortals and immortals alike 😭😭

Talking to Joris makes the most sense since he used to be Asalar's vessel but yay, we get to see Joris back! I can just tell that all the joris fans were happy to see him in that 15th chapter cover and now get to see him being mentioned in this chapter lol

DATHURA CALLED AMALIA A FRIEND DISLDKDLWPWPROFODOEEO 💖💗💖💗💗💖💗💖💗💖💗💖💗💖💖💗💗💖💖💗💗💖

Anyways, after suggesting Amalia to speak with Joris about all this, she warns her not to upset Grougalorasalar no matter what hers and Yugo's decision will be.

Don't worry shawty, these two morons got this in the bag 🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢

[kcrossvine-art]

Heya folks! Its been a bit, food insecurity is a bitch, but today on the quest of cooking our way through Lord of the Rings we're gonna be making a dish exclusively mentioned in the 2007 MMO-

We will be making a Rohan Pasty! 

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes into a Rohans Pasty?” YOU MIGHT ASKBasics. Meat n potatoes of your meat-in-dough food. .

All-purpose flour

Salt

Baking powder

Vegetable oil

Olive oil

Ground beef

Garlic salt

Ground cumin

Chili powder

Dried oregano

Waxy potato

Garlic

White onion

Egg

"A delicious local pastry filled with beef and potatoes."- LOTRO Rohan is a kingdom of humans in middle-earth, and the description point towards a cornish pasty (yes, pasty not pastry). Oddly enough the image is more of an empanada but you win some you lose some. This heritage informs much of the shape and ingredients of this dish, however we're opting to cook most of the ingredients before adding them in, contrary to going in raw as a cornish pasty calls for. I chose to deviate here because cooking beforehand allows more seasoning to be crammed in. The english hate seasoning.

AND, “what does a Rohans Pasty taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Tastes like the best pot pie youve had, less soggy

Excellent for an after-rugby/martial arts/soccer dinner

The potatoes are foundational

Despite needing the least work

Pasta salad (cucumber, olives, pepperocini) would pair well as a side

And would also pair well with beer

This meal bears the gold star sticker of not having any major issues! Hooray! Maybe its increased comfortability in the kitchen, or maybe its because of how very simple this one is. Chopped roasted bell pepper might be good in the filling in the future.

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

Get the dough ready ahead of time- its mentioned in the recipe below but i also wanted to say a foreword here that it needs to sit in the fridge for a few hours. Just so ya dont get everything out and realise itd take too long for dinner tonight. Speaking of dough, i feel like it could have more flavor added to it. Its bland and although its not part of the tradition of the meal its based off of, cornish meat pasty, it might be nice to add some spices like cumin or black pepper to the flour. 

The meal reheats perfect- wrap in papertowl and put it in the microwave for 30 seconds per pasty.

When picking your potatoes make sure theyre "new" potatoes (baby ones) or whichever potato with the least amount of starch you can get. Its important for it to cook inside the pasty that it not have too much lest it get Mushy Bad.

Another thing about its real-life inspo; Cornish pastys were workers food, stuff you could carry into the mines, stuff thatd reheat well. You could hold the crust with your dirty hands and throw it away once you ate the rest. I always feel partial to these foods. Although I'd still eat the dirty crust.

This recipe earns a solid 8/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) 

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Dough Ingredients:

370g all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

74g vegetable oil

240g warm water

Filling Ingredients:

2 tablespoons(ish) olive oil

1 pound ground beef

2 tablespoons tomato paste

Garlic salt to taste

Ground cumin to taste

Chili powder to taste

Dried oregano to taste

5 cloves garlic, minced

1 white onion, diced

Method:

Combine flour, salt and baking powder.

Add oil and water into mixer with dough hook running at medium speed. Mix for 1 minute, stopping several times to scrape the sides of the bowl.

When mixture comes together and begins to form a ball, decrease mixing speed to low. Continue to mix just until dough is smooth.

Take the dough ball, safely wrap it, and transfer to fridge. Let sit for at minimum 2 hours.

For the meat, get a large skillet, and add some olive oil over medium heat. Add the ground beef and garlic salt, cook until the beef is cooked completely.

Drain the beef and set aside.

In the same pan, add the garlic, onions, cumin, chili powder, oregano, and salt.

Cook until the onions are softened but not brown, 10 to 15 minutes. Re-add the beef and cook over low heat for about 5 more minutes.

Back to the dough, transfer dough from fridge to well-floured work surface. Roll into log and divide into 10 equal portions. 

Preheat oven to 350f.

Form each piece into a ball and flatten each with a rolling pin.

Add a layer of diced potatos down the middle of the pastys. Add the meat filling to each. Fold the sides of the dough up to seal on top in the middle.

Gently turn the pasty on its side and crimp the edge, alternating a braid pattern. Use knife to cut an "X" shaped slit in the top. Repeat for each pasty.

Place the pastys on a greased baking sheet. Lightly coat each pasty with an eggwash using a basting brush.

Cook for about 50 minutes, or until golden brown, and let cool!

[aheathen-conceivably]

Long before the last note Antoine had grown aware of Zelda’s presence; but as he finished, he looked up at her with a newfound vulnerability in his eyes. As she stared at him unmoving, he absentmindedly moved his hand along the strings to fill the quiet left by the watching stars, “Was it alright, you think? Writing lyrics, it’s new. Harder than assembling notes, if you ask me.”

She looked at him in amazed silence. His original piano pieces had been brilliant, and sometimes he had written ditties for her to sing, but never before had she heard him sing his own lyrics. She had always known how much he loved it - this place that he had left but that walked alongside him everywhere he went; but it was so much clearer this way, so full of both love and hate, loyalty and disdain, longing and relief, that it was difficult for anything other than music to encompass it. 

She brought her hands together in something that may have been a clap if she wasn’t so afraid to disrupt the stillness of the desert air. On silent footsteps, she left her reverie behind and moved to sit where he had made room for her on the worn wooden bench.

She looked at him earnestly, trying to ease his fear with even just the movement of her eyes, “It’s brilliant, Antoine, truly.” And she meant it, not just because she was under his spell and not her own now; the judgmental eyes of God and her sisters were shut out when she was in his orbit. Now there was only him and his memories for her to get lost in. 

He left his hands on the strings, still playing the familiar notes as though they helped make the admittance easier to utter, “You were right, you know? When I play it’s like I can see it all laid out in front of me. Or better yet, under me. Like I’m above it, observing it all like a story. Makes me realize I loved it more than I thought I did. That house. That place. Her. I wrote it because I know it’s gone now, probably nothing but rubble under a cheap government build. I just don’t want to forget. Or maybe I don’t want the world to forget.”

The stars looked down on them as his smile widened with every inch she drew closer to him. They reflected brightly in her eyes as she leveled them to his, “Would you sing it again? So I can hear it better?”

He let out a small laugh, just as much in relief as in humor. “Surely you would prefer to sing it? With a voice like yours I would hate to imagine what mine must sound like.”

She brought her knee up on the bench with them, curling as close as she could without dislodging the guitar from his arms. “Hush and sing. You don’t need me now.”

“I always will, Mrs. Duplanchier. No matter what. But as you wish….” 🎶

Part 3/3

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(As Antoine is meant to have written House of the Rising Son in this universe, I’m going to leave a little disclaimer about this song and its origins under the cut, in case you are interested!)

The origins of the song House of the Rising Sun are much older and more complicated than I have presented here. Folklorist Alan Lomax has written more on it if you are interested, but it is commonly thought to have originated as an English folk song, morphing into the version we know today amongst various groups of American immigrants.

Perhaps best known for its 1964 version by The Animals, it has long formed a staple of American folk, blues, rock, and country recordings, with recorded versions by everyone from Lead Belly, Woody Guthrie, Doc Watson, Nina Simone, Dolly Parton, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, and Alt-J (amongst so many others). However, I have taken inspiration from the earliest known recorded version, which was done in Appalachia in 1933.

Of course, in having Antoine write this song I have compressed much of this history into a single figure, as well as slightly twisted the meaning of the song to fit the story line. The latter is mostly based on personal interpretation of the lyrics and is purposefully meant to draw a line from this family’s musical heritage through the 1960s and beyond. It also gives a face to the very real figures behind many of the staples of American music that have come to us from the early part of the 20th century, many of which were written or played by black men and women whose songs have continued onward while many of their names and stories may have been forgotten.