#and that goes for her as well to the extent that her reach has extended

[dragoncharming]

it's So funny that Zhang Zhe is framed as the "safe" option. like Sure he's not, you know,

but this man is introduced in both time periods In Prison. He doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, in a period where the Rule of Law he loves so much says that kinda shit can get your whole family killed.

His unyielding temperament is both a pro and a con, depending on circumstance, but anyone who marries him is risking their life on a tree that does not bend in the wind.

[feudalconnection]

Get Ready...!!

It’s the start of the 2nd Term 2023 Inuyasha Fandom Awards!!

We hope everyone had a great start to the year! A huge shout-out to everyone who participated last term and made it such a huge success! We look forward to all of the amazing new fanfiction and fanart to be nominated and shared with this beautiful community!

A special thank you goes out to @elevenharbor for donating her time and talent to creating fantastic banners for everyone! (If you have not received your award banner for last term, please reach out to one of the mods asap!)

We also wanted to mention that our dear @umacaking​ is stepping down from being a moderator at this time. We have loved and appreciated everything she has given to these awards over the years, and will always keep a mod-spot open for her should she choose to return. 

With Uma’s parting, we have now welcomed a new moderator onto our team. Please give a warm welcome to the wonderful @dchelyst! We cannot wait to see how FC grows with her addition! 

There have been some changes to the categories as well that may effect you as nominators: 

The Fanfiction Roulette Category for this term will be Best Antagonist Portrayal. This is defined as: Stories that have a developed antagonist with motive and ambition. This does not necessarily mean a “villain” of the story, but any one person who causes conflict for the story. A large part of the story must surround this antagonist and the “heroes” overcoming the conflict. Keep in mind that characterization must also be considered depending on who the antagonist is. [Nomination must include the specific character]

The Fanart Roulette Category for this term will be Best Line Art. This is defined as: An uncolored illustration that consists of distinct straight lines or curves that represents a 2D or 3D picture.

By request, we have also extended the time between the Nomination and the Voting Period, as well as extended the Voting Period, in order to give readers and viewers the chance to appreciate all the works nominated. We hope the added timeframe creates a more enjoyable experience! 

One other thing that we are offering this term is the chance to give us some feedback. We would love to hear what the community has to say about FeudalConnection, our drawbacks, and where we can improve. Please click here if you’d like to be taken to our feedback form. 

If it wasn’t mentioned above, chances are it hasn’t changed. Please be aware that the moderators always take suggestions regarding how the awards are run and category changes into consideration, and each new term may bring about new changes. You can read up on the most recent FAQs, Rules of Eligibility, and Categories for more information [these links are only available on desktop]. 

As nominators, please make sure that each term you take a peek at our list of creators who can’t be nominated to make sure you are staying current with who is eligible to be nominated. 

Here you can find the mobile-friendly link for all current nominations for this term.

The 2nd Term 2023 nomination period will begin on May 1st and go until the end of the day May 15th. Please send your nominations in through the submit button! If you have any other questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to send in an ask or reach out to one of the mods! We are also frequently available on the FC Discord!

Mods: @classysassy9791, @ruddcatha, @yukinon-writes, @dchelyst

Please reblog to spread the word of the start of the new term!

[Below the cut we’ve posted the mobile-friendly FAQs, Rules of Eligibility, and Categories]

FAQs

                                                                    What is The Feudal Connection?

The Feudal Connection is a place where amazing fanart and fanfiction in the Inuyasha fandom is recognized, admired, and offered the chance to be nominated for an award! In addition, it also gives lesser known authors and artists an opportunity to have their work shared to a broader extent and receive the admiration and recognition they deserve!

How do you determine which fanfictions and fanarts are nominated?

The Feudal Connection is fueled by nominations submitted by the Inuyasha community. Once someone sends in a nomination, the moderators review the nomination to verify that it complies with the rules in place. None of the pieces nominated are by “suggestions”. They are specific pieces of work nominated by members of the community.

How do I nominate?

You can send us a submission in one of our nomination formats. Your submission will not be posted and therefore remain anonymous, only to be seen by the moderators. You can send multiple nominations in one submission, as long as the nomination formats are used for each nomination. Please select your fiction nominations carefully; spelling and grammar are important parts of being an author. Anything deemed unacceptable by the moderator team will be disqualified. Once nominations are complete, we’ll post the list of accepted nominations so you can read and view them before voting.

Can I nominate my own art/fiction?

You cannot nominate yourself. Doing so will result in the nomination not being accepted and a warning from the award moderators.

How long do I have to nominate?

You will have 2 weeks from the start of the nominating term to send in nominations. These dates will be posted at the beginning of each term.

Can I nominate anonymously?

No. This is due to the fact that no one is allowed to nominate their own work. Also, if a nomination is disqualified, the moderators will be reaching out to the person who nominated to allow them another opportunity to nominate.

Can I promote my own works of fiction/art to be nominated for a term?

No. You are not allowed to self-promote your own work during the nomination period. This includes not being allowed to request others to nominate your work in specific categories. However, you are allowed to promote the nomination period of the awards by stating something similar to “go nominate your favorites” or the like, as long as you don’t promote your own work to being nominated. Violation of this rule will result in a warning. If there is a second offense, your work will be banned from being nominated in any future terms.

How many fanfics/fanarts can I nominate?

Only one fiction or artwork can be chosen for each category per person. Meaning, a story or artwork can only be nominated by one person per category. Therefore, any secondary nominations will be disregarded and the duplicate nominator will be allowed to submit another story or artwork in its place.

Is there a limit to how many works can be nominated per category?

Yes. Only 10 fictions or artwork can be nominated per category. Once that category has reached its nomination limit, no more nominations will be accepted into that category for the current term.

What fanfiction/fanart is eligible to be nominated?

Please see Rules of Eligibility.

What is the nominating format for fanfics? For fanart?

Nominating format for fanfiction:

Category: (List the name of the category you’ve chosen)

Nominated by: (List YOUR screen name)

Rating: (The fiction’s rating)

Title: (Title of the fiction)

Author: (List the name of the person who wrote the story)

Website(s): (Add the link where the story can be seen)

(For Best “In-Character” list the character’s name): (For Best “Plot Twist” list the plot twist): (For Best “Antagonist Portrayal” list the antagonist’s name):

Nominating format for fanart:

Category: (List the name of the category you’ve chosen)

Nominated by: (List YOUR screen name)

Title: (Title of the artwork)

Artist: (List the name of the person that drew the piece)

Website(s): (Add the link where the art can be seen)

Can I nominate a fanfic/fanart for more than one category?

Yes. The same story or artwork may be nominated by the same person in up to two different categories.  

Are there any restrictions in regards to romantic pairings being nominated?

Due to the harmful nature of incest, these awards do not recognize InuSess as a pairing that is allowed to be nominated. Please see the Yashahime tab for information regarding the SessRin pairing.

What are the categories?

The categories for both fanart and fanfiction can be found in the Categories link.

Can I nominate a fanart/fanfic that includes Original Characters or Crossover Characters?

Yes. For Fanfics, 80% of the story needs to be focused on Inuyasha characters and the development of the story. OC’s can be in a story, but the main focus needs to be on the Inuyasha characters. Artwork can contain Non-IY characters where specified, but NO art may contain only OC’s or Non-IY characters. (i.e. Artwork of Inuyasha and Kagome’s “OC children” are unacceptable without other genuine IY characters present in the piece)

How do I nominate a piece that has multiple authors or creators?

If multiple people are listed as the author or creators, please verify who created the piece, as some may simply be listed because it was a gift to that person; and please include this verification in your nomination (ie: simply state that you verified that these contributors all had a hand in creating the piece).

If it is a true collaborations between multiple people, they all would go in as one creator. This means that each person would be listed as the creator and the nomination would count toward each creator’s nomination limit.

For example, if a creator was nominated for a collaboration and two other separate works, only the collaboration and one of the other works would be accepted for that creator, depending on which nominations came in first.

I don’t want my fanart/fanfic nominated. Can I opt out? How?

Once a nomination has been approved by the moderators, the author/artist will be made aware of the nomination. Every author/artist retains the right to have their work be removed from the nomination list and can opt out of future nominations.

If you do allow your fanart to be nominated, you are also allowing the moderators to save your work in order to use it strictly during the voting period of the term. Once the term is completed, the artwork is then removed from the moderators’ personal use.

How many terms are there?

There will be 3 terms total per year. Each term will be broken down by dates prior to the term starting.

How long is each term?

Each term will be approximately 8 weeks.

How long is the voting period?

The voting period will last for 3 weeks.

How do I vote?

Once the voting period begins, the moderators will post a link to the voting form that will list all of the nominations and which categories they have been nominated for. You can click on the link to be taken to the voting poll, however, you must sign in as you will be allowed only one vote per category.

Can I vote for myself?

Technically there is no rule against voting for yourself. Some people want to support themselves, and we don’t want to discourage that. After all, creating is hard work and we want people to feel like they can toot their own horn! However, we’ve also had the opposite, where people feel “weird” to vote for themselves. We leave it up to you guys to do what makes you feel comfortable!

When are the winners announced?

At the end of each term.

What happens if my fanfic/fanart wins? Do I need to do anything?

Please send one of the moderators or the FeudalConnection ask box your preferred email address so that we may send you your award(s) as soon as possible. Afterward, just kick back, relax, and enjoy the feeling of being recognized for your hard work!

I want to nominate an artist/author who has won in the past. Are they still eligible to be nominated?

There is a Winner Ban in place. Once any piece of artwork or fanfiction has won a First Place award for a category, it automatically becomes ineligible and cannot be nominated again for that category. However, it can be nominated for other categories after three consecutive terms have passed (ie: one year since that piece won) as long as it fits within that definition. We currently do not have a rule against nominating an author/artist back into the category they won for in the past, as long as it is a different piece of work that is being nominated.

The Winner Ban does not apply to works that have won Second or Third place in any category.

Why are the nomination/voting lists not in alphabetical order?

This is inherently due to keeping FeudalConnection as highly functional as possible. Spending more time on this takes away time from other necessary things that make FC run.

People may choose the first option of each category just to say they voted. During the entire of FC’s existence, the collected data has never shown the support for the first listed nomination of a category to be favorited simply for being the first listed. The moderators have kept a very close eye on this during the years FC has been running. The voting poll never demands an answer for every single category, giving people the freedom to simply skip that category if they don’t want to vote.

But its easy to place them in alphabetical order on an excel sheet. We use Google Sheets, and this is possible, however, it would not do this unless we highlighted each category individually. This process would take more time, and leave less time for shifting through nominations.

Why not split up the nominations per moderator? Splitting the nominations by mods seems ideal, but is not realistic. The moderators each live a life outside of FC, as well as have their own creative endeavors. The moderators are not always 100% available for every part of FC’s current term, and other mods may need to pick up the slack.

I have a question that’s not listed.

Please feel free to send an ask or a direct message to one of our mods and we will get back to you as soon as possible! :)

Rules of Eligibility

                                                                  Fiction and Fanart published on any public or free site can be submitted for an award provided they meet all of the requirements of the nominations. These sites include but are not limited to Tumblr, Fanfiction.net, AO3, Deviantart, ect. If the validity of a site is uncertain, reach out to a moderator.

Multi-chapter fics must have been updated within the past 3 years of the nomination quarter. Fanart must have been created within the past 3 years of the nomination quarter. One-shots and drabbles must have been posted within the past 3 years of the nomination quarter.

If the work was posted onto several different locations, the earliest date and time stamp will be taken and checked against the quarter’s period of eligibility. Stamps posted within reviews can be used to date a work and/or its chapters. Also, authors and artists can be contacted to verify timeframes.

You cannot nominate yourself. Doing so will result in the nomination not being accepted and a warning from the award moderators.

You are only allowed to nominate one fic/fanart per category.

Each piece of Art or Fanfiction is allowed to be nominated into a maximum of two different categories per quarter. The nominations will be taken on a first come first serve basis, meaning that once a piece of Art or Fanfiction is nominated into two categories, it will not be allowed to be nominated into other categories, and each subsequent nomination will be rejected.

Each author/artist is allowed to be nominated twice per quarter. Meaning, an author/artist can only have a max of two of their creations be nominated per quarter. So be sure and pick your favorites carefully!

The work must be in compliance with the definition of the category into which it was nominated.

Both adult and non-adult artwork are acceptable for nominations; however, any adult artwork showing explicit sexual nature will only be allowed to be nominated into the NSFW categories.

Pieces of artwork or fanfiction that depicts an underage character romantically involved with an older adult, as well as any incestual relationships, will not be accepted as a nomination.

Categories

                                                                     *Please keep in mind that these are subject to change pending participation and suggestions.

There are 36 categories in all - 18 for Fanfiction and 18 for Fanart. Please adhere to each categories’ definition when nominating. If a nomination does not fit within the definition, it will be disqualified.

There is a “Roulette” category for Fanfiction that will change each quarter.

Fanfiction Categories

Best Action/Adventure Fiction

Action: “actual engagement in fighting an enemy; military or naval combat” Adventure: “participation in exciting undertakings or enterprises.”

Does it make you sit on the edge of your seat? Do the characters battle adversity on a daily basis? Have the characters embarked on an epic quest?

Best Alternate Universe/Reality Fiction

Anything that walks outside Takahashi’s vision. Anything that moves the characters outside of Takahashi’s setting within the original Feudal Era Japan or Modern Day Japan is AU/AR. Anything that changes the main characters beyond the basic core attributes Takahashi granted them. Anything that includes a separate world and series of events.

Best Canon Universe Fiction

“The works of an author that have been accepted as authentic.”

If the story is set in Takahashi’s universe (Modern Japan or Feudal Japan) and keeps the character origins, events, and motivations for character development that she created, then it is canon. This also includes anything that walks outside of Takahashi’s original vision, but incorporates some key defining moments from the original canon universe. Anything that starts in the World created by Takahashi and is taken to a different outcome. This also includes anything that takes place Post-Manga/Post-Anime.

Best Angst Fiction

“Any situation or series of events having/giving a feeling of dread, anxiety, or anguish. An acute but nonspecific sense of anxiety or remorse.”

Stories that delve into the lives of the characters and pit them against odds that create angst. Typically plays off of dramatic characteristics that focuses heavily on making the reader anxious, worried, or feeling a sense of dread for the coming story.

Best Dark Fiction

Anything that brings the reader into a world of pain and suffering through abuse of the characters at the hands of the antagonist or internal strife. If it includes graphic rape, murder, abuse (mental or emotional), a character that is suicidal or possessed of depressing thoughts/outlook on life that colors the majority of the story in glum tones it can be considered a dark!fic. Can also be aimed to cause an overwhelming and painful feeling due to something frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting; fear. Aimed to frighten or ‘gross out’ the reader.

Best Drama Fiction

“Any situation or series of events having vivid, emotional, conflicting, or striking interest or results.”

Stories that delve into the lives of the characters and take the readers with them on a journey through the gambit of emotive expression. Typically defined as using characters to tell a story involving conflicts and emotions with or without resolution. Usually has a lot of different conflicts and are incredibly plot-driven. Also includes emotionally-driven stories that typically portray real-life situations.

Best Humor/Parody Fiction

Did it make you laugh? Did it deliberately spoof the anime/manga?

Best NSFW Fiction

Sexual content/smut with plot. Both oneshots and specific chapters from multi-chapter fics are accepted in this category. Must include content depicting an act of the sexual nature; i.e,. sex, masturbation, heavy petting/touching, ect.

Best Oneshot Fiction

Any fiction that spans the length of one chapter and specifically deemed a “oneshot” by the author.  

Best Character Portrayal

Did the author create an in-depth characterization that, while it may diverge from Takahashi’s vision for them, managed to attract the reader?

*Nomination must include the specific character*

Best InuKag Romance Fiction

“Ardent emotional attachment or involvement between people; love”

Stories that have developed a believable romance between Inuyasha and Kagome. “Believable” is subjective, and it is up to those nominating/voting to draw their own line on that quantifier and vote their “Best.” This includes canon universe and AU/AR settings.

Best SessKag Romance Fiction

“Ardent emotional attachment or involvement between people; love”

Stories that have developed a believable romance between Sesshomaru and Kagome. “Believable” is subjective, and it is up to those nominating/voting to draw their own line on that quantifier and vote their “Best.” This includes canon universe and AU/AR settings.

Best Romance Fiction

“Ardent emotional attachment or involvement between people; love”

Stories that have developed a believable romance between two or more Inuyasha characters, excluding InuKag and SessKag. “Believable” is subjective, and it is up to those nominating/voting to draw their own line on that quantifier and vote their “Best.” This includes canon universe and AU/AR settings. If there is a Best LGBTQ+ Romance category, this category will only accept heterosexual pairings.

Best Fluff Fiction

Stories that generally have a positive plot and happy ending. These stories focus on cheerful themes and “feel good” moments. Includes a happy sequence of events between characters who have a strong, sometimes romantic, bond.

Best Serial Fiction

A collection of drabbles or oneshots or a combination of both that makes up one larger story; part of the same universe or encompasses the same theme.

Best Ficlet

For drabbles and poetry - of any genre or pairing - consisting of 1,000 words or less.

Best Antagonist Portrayal Fiction

Stories that have a developed antagonist with motive and ambition. This does not necessarily mean a “villain” of the story, but any one person who causes conflict for the story. A large part of the story must surround this antagonist and the “heroes” overcoming the conflict. Keep in mind that characterization must also be considered depending on who the antagonist is. *Nomination must include the specific character*

Best Completed Fiction

A story with multiple chapters that will no longer be updated and should be listed as ‘complete.’

                                                                  Fanart Categories

Best Action/Adventure Artwork

Any fanart depicting adventures, engagement in fighting an enemy, or battles.

Best Alternate Universe/Alternate Reality Artwork

Any fanart depicting the characters in an alternate reality or universe setting.

Best Canon Universe Artwork

Any art featuring the characters in a canon universe setting.

Best Angst Artwork

Any art depicting a scene having/giving a feeling of dread, anxiety or anguish.

Best Dark Artwork

Any art that brings the viewer pain and suffering through the abuse of the characters either at the hands of the antagonist or internal strife. This can include murder, abuse (mental or emotional), a character possessing depressing thoughts/outlook on life that colors the piece in glum tones. Nominations in this category can also be aimed to cause painful emotions due to something frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting; fear. This is art that looks to frighten or ‘gross out’ the viewer.

Best Humor/Parody Artwork

Any artwork which evokes a feeling of amusement in the viewer.

Best Kiss Artwork

Fanart depiction of the best kiss between two romantic characters, or an endearing kiss between platonic characters.

Best Character Artwork

Any artwork that is a ‘still life’ of one or two characters. It may be bust only, bust and torso, or full body. The portrait should seem more ‘professional’ than a snapshot in its form and presentation, and should successfully convey a sense of the character’s canon personality to the viewer.

Best Duo/Pairing Artwork

Any art that features two characters be it a comic, doujinshi, painting, drawing, sketch, etc. If other characters are included in the picture it is only allowed as a background. The focus MUST be on the pairing. The art can reflect either a platonic relationship or a romantic relationship between the two characters.

Best Doujinshi Artwork

Fanbased and fan made manga based on Inuyasha; art and story combined in manga form.

Best Redraw Artwork

Any art that is a redraw of a scene from the Manga or Anime.

Best NSFW Artwork

Any artwork portraying the characters of Inuyasha engaged in a sex scene or a scene hinting at a sexual relationship. Can be one character, heterosexual pairings, or LGBTQ+ pairings.

Best InuKag Romance Artwork

Any romantic depiction of Inuyasha and Kagome.

Best SessKag Romance Artwork

Any romantic depiction of Sesshomaru and Kagome.

Best Romance Artwork

Any romantic depiction of two or more of the characters of Inuyasha (excluding InuKag and SessKag)

Best Group Depiction Artwork

This artwork must feature 3 or more of the Inuyasha cast to be eligible.

Best Line Artwork

An uncolored illustration that consists of distinct straight lines or curves that represents a 2D or 3D picture.

Best Overall Artwork

The quality, time, thought, and emotion that went into this piece is what would make it worthy of this nomination. Please take note: The general idea is not the “best of what’s nominated” or “best of show.” It is a category created specifically for art appreciation. That means that even if the characters are OOC, AU, or not drawn in anime style, etc., the ART itself is worthy of praise.

[blackjackkent]

Follow-on from my tag novel on this post speculating on the feasibility of Rion being Jaheira's bio kid, and her bio kid with Rasaad specifically (it's a rarepair but it's MY rarepair dammit):

#ETA: zenjestrr just pointed out to me that as a monk Rasaad would have Timeless Body feature which simplifies things physiologically XD#yay DND#it's more complicated than just that of course and now i'm resisting writing a whole essay about jaheira's thought processes#XD

@astreamofstars as always spoils me with prompting. XD Self-indulgent meta pondering ahead:

Fundamentally Jaheira is clearly STRONGLY torn between attachment to her kids/the city of Baldur's Gate and her natural wanderlust and attachment to nature rather than civilization. She clearly cares for Rion and the other kids in the same way that she cares for anything important to her: very strongly under the surface, but undemonstratively, and her emotions are nuanced and complicated by her own inner conflict and the amount that she has lost in the past.

Taking all this into consideration, I find it sort of hard to believe that Jaheira initially set out to have kids deliberately - with Khalid, with Rasaad (in my headcanon), or with anyone. Reasons being a) it would mean tying her down, b) she is acutely aware of the way a city (her birthplace) or a person (Khalid) can be taken away extremely abruptly and too many attachments can be dangerous, c) she has plenty of enemies, and d) in the case of any lover with a less-than-half-elven lifespan, there's a non-zero chance she would be taking care of the kid alone eventually.

This is particularly the case in the scenario of Rasaad. As I mentioned in the aforementioned tag novel, he COULD physically have kids with her pretty much right up until the end due to the Timeless Body monk feature, but that doesn't mean Jaheira would consider it a good idea. The feature specifically states that it doesn't stop you from dying of old age, just means you go out still in your prime. Hard to picture her deliberately choosing to have a kid with someone who (however virile he was) likely wouldn't see the kid's tenth birthday, given the series timeline and Rion's relative youth in BG3.

HOWEVER - there are three converse possibilities in this scenario:

1. Jaheira extended Rasaad's lifespan by making use of some low-level version of the Rite of the Timeless Body that we find in Elerrathin's Home. (subject of my previous post)

It's actually only now that I'm writing this post that I'm realizing that not only are they similar concepts but the Rite and the monk feature both literally use the SAME WORDS. However, Jaheira describes the Rite as being something that goes beyond what's described in the monk feature - "If they be learned and powerful enough, the practitioner of this ritual might slow their aging, extend their life well beyond its natural reach." So the Rite is something that not only maintain's the recipient's virility into old age but actively extends their lifespan.

The fact that both the Rite and the feature have the same name, though, only adds to my impression (in this headcanon/worldstate) that it would have been something she initially tried to leverage FOR Rasaad, to supplement his own body's natural abilities and give her more time with him (she says it's an esoteric druid thing but that doesn't mean it's true). Her dialogue suggests she never figured out how to use it to the full extent of its power for altruistic purposes, but that doesn't preclude the possibility that she could have had some success with the concepts at a lower level and closer to home.

Being able to draw Rasaad's lifespan at least closer to hers, if not equivalent, makes it somewhat more likely to me that she would see raising a family as a viable deliberate choice.

2. Emotion trumped practicality.

There is a line in the book Dune wherein Jessica considers why she allowed herself to conceive Alia with Leto when she knew Leto was a dead man walking.

And she permitted herself to face fully the significance of this other child growing within her, to see her own motives in permitting the conception. She knew what it was – she had succumbed to that profound drive shared by all creatures who are faced with death – the drive to seek immortality through progeny. The fertility drive of the species had overpowered them.

Like many things in Dune this is a rather, uh, clinical description of human behavior, but the emotional concept here is relevant, I think.

Jaheira is not (overtly) a sentimental person. But she feels things very deeply, nevertheless. I could see a scenario where the desire to see Rasaad and herself live on through children (as Khalid could not) became for a time stronger than her reservations about tying herself down.

Of the three possibilities this is the one that seems least likely/interesting to me for her character when taken by itself, but still quite possible.

3. Rion was an accident.

While a less overtly positive possibility than #1, this option becomes even more likely when Rasaad's aforementioned monk feature is taken into consideration. And actually as I've started thinking about it, I find it the most interesting likelihood, because it allows for options #1 and #2 to also resonate, and gives some context to her strained relationship with her daughter.

Scenario, then: In the late years of her relationship with Rasaad (or, more generally, any non-elven lover she might have taken post-BG2), Rion is conceived by accident. Jaheira starts pulling info on the Rite of the Timeless Body in the hopes of keeping him around longer; she's somewhat successful but not to the full capability of the rite. However, she finds herself too emotionally tied to him and to their child not to go through with continuing to raise her alone after Rasaad's death. End result is a scenario where she feels trapped by Rion but also loves her deeply, leading to the simultaneous strained relationship and deep connection evinced in BG3.

At this point, having one child and being already tied down to the city, it ends up being a slippery slope to taking in others who also need help, and she finds herself never able to quite extricate herself from the cycle or fully commit to it. She rejoins the Harpers in an attempt to re-ground herself in her adventuring life, which gives her a modicum of inner peace but also leaves Rion holding the sack when she is repeatedly called away to so-called "greater duties". End result: a fractured relationship both with her daughter and with herself, neither need able to quite take the upper hand.

Small wonder she was willing to throw herself into the battle against the Absolute, where for the first time perhaps since Irenicus, the completely necessary course was unmistakable.

TLDR: At least in my worldstate headcanon, Rion is Jaheira and Rasaad's biological daughter, conceived accidentally very late in Rasaad's life; the whole situation tore Jaheira in half emotionally and she has never quite figured out the right way to handle it.

[narraboths]

[Bodyguard AU, inspired by revisiting @battenthecrosshatches‘s exquisite sketches. Fic also on Ao3.]

Lena can’t stand Sergeant Danvers.

She can’t stand any of her PPOs, frankly. It’s always the same humorless face, the same square jaw and shorn hair, the same cheap cologne, and inescapably, the same thinly veiled disgust for her name.

(At least they only get to spit out her title or the usual ma’am, instead of Luthor, like the rest of the country.)

But there’s something especially irksome about Danvers.

In many ways, she’s cut from the same cloth as the others: the towering, bulky physique, the hard-set features, the air of indifference, the only distinguishing mark being that she’s just handsome enough for Lena to have let her eyes wander for a second too long when they’ve first met.

It’s not that, though. 

(Or not just that, anyway.) 

It’s the dark, morose look in those ridiculously blue eyes, the haughty twitch of her lips every time she opens the car door for Lena. It’s the rigid, tense way Danvers carries herself, somehow both unnerving and magnetic, drawing Lena’s eye to her whenever she enters the room. It’s the way she just has to know better than any other bodyguard how to protect her and make every aspect of Lena’s life harder in the process, and then have the audacity to take all her reproachful looks with a stiff upper lip and a just doing my job, ma’am. It’s the fact that she does make Lena feel more safe, somehow, and cared for, too, in some odd, itchy way.

Lena cannot stand it.

–

In retrospect, she thinks she has the right to blame the incident at the studio on Sergeant Danvers, too. 

The bodyguard is standing by the door, monitoring the room like a sullen statue, and Lena’s decidedly trying not to look her way as she’s flipping through her papers. She’s wound up enough as it is, having to stand in for a major interview at the last minute and defend a controversial bill. She doesn’t need Sourface Danvers to aggravate it.

She’s not looking, then, as Jack is buzzing in her ear with his pep talk, a kind and gentle tone, nor when an assistant floats by with a three minutes and we can go to the studio, ma’am.

But she does look up when Eve strides into the room with a peppy exclamation of “Your coffee!”, the cup already enthusiastically extended towards Lena. She does look up, and by some freakish twist of fate, catches Sergeant Danvers looking right at her with the sort of searing intensity that makes Lena’s heart skip a beat, and her hand knocks a bit too forcefully against the cup in Eve’s hand, and–

“Fuck!”

The coffee stain spreads rapidly across her blouse, and Lena instinctively sucks her stomach in to avoid scorching herself too. Eve’s already dabbing away at it, babbling a nervous mantra of “Oh gosh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”, the fussing making Lena grasp the extent of the disaster more swiftly than the sight of the brown stain on the white silk.

“Stop it,” she grits out, springing up and away from Eve. She stares down at her blouse again, her nails digging hard into her palm. Luck of the Luthors. “Do we have anything I could change into?”

“There’s a spare in the car,” Eve says, slightly trembling. “But you’re on in like–”

“Can’t you give her your blouse?” Jack tries, and Lena shakes her head with an eyeroll.

“It’d never fit. God fucking–”

A pair of wide shoulders move into her view before she could finish, Danvers shrugging off her jacket and tossing aside her tie as she starts to unbutton her own shirt.

“Fresh on this morning, ma’am.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jack laughs, a nervous tinge in his voice, and Danvers only spares a glance for him before she extends the garment towards Lena.

“It’s altered to fit over my ballistic vest, so the chest to waist ratio should be compatible.” Practical, dispassionate, life-saving. It must only be due to the shock of the situation that Lena allows her eyes to linger on the exposed skin of the officer’s shoulders, the flexing biceps of her extended arm. Danvers shows no awareness of being ogled. “But you’re gonna have to tuck it under your blazer, ma’am.”

One heartbeat passes, then another. Then Lena reaches out and takes the shirt from Danvers, her fingers brushing over the bodyguard’s hand without meaning to.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Lena says, but the words come out breathless, somehow. Danvers only blinks, then gives a curt nod, thoroughly unmoved, and that helps Lena find her footing again. “Eve, organize Sergeant Danvers a new shirt. Jack, some privacy?”

Eve is scuttling away already and Jack follows her, too, though not without flashing an all too cheeky smile. Lena resists throwing her papers after him. She reaches for the hem of her blouse, and Danvers is already turning away, stuffing her tie into her pockets and putting her jacket over her now-exposed vest. A most infuriating knight in shining white body armor.

As she hurriedly buttons up the shirt and adjusts the sleeves, Lena tries to shut out every new sensation surrounding her with it. It proves to be an uphill battle. There’s a hint of something around the collar, citrusy, slightly sweet, though not terribly intrusive. Pleasant, even. Much worse is the lingering warmth of its previous wearer, wrapping itself around Lena and clinging stubbornly even when she’s in the interviewer’s chair like an invisible cloak, like a hug that could never be.

The interview goes well. Amazingly, frighteningly, "Press Secretary Grant sending an unprecedented well done text two minutes after airing” kinda well. But when they’re back in the car and Lena catches herself pressing her face into the collar of that shirt and inhaling deeply, the tension in her shoulder that just dissipated returns tenfold.

Sergeant Danvers is nothing but trouble.

[milenadaniels]

Still Waters, 7k - Buck/Eddie, post s4 (AO3)

As Eddie lays on the hot pavement bleeding out, his eyes locked on Buck’s bloody face, his hand reaching out towards him, what washes over him isn’t his hard-earned stillness nor is it shock.

It’s clarity, edging slowly into focus from off-stage.

And when he wakes up in the hospital bed and registers a soft, slim hand in his, he thinks, "no, that’s not it.”

----

Or, Five Ways Eddie's Body Feels Different After the Shooting

Eddie takes comfort in living with a certain stillness. 

Being an army medic means walking into gunfire without being able to shoot back. It takes a steadiness that’s hard to train and while the army did help him grow into the man he is today, they couldn’t teach him that. That stillness, that restraint and level-headedness — he showed up to basic training with it. It makes him a good medic, a good firefighter, and it’s what makes him a good son. (If he’d countered his parents’ yelling with his own, if he’d let loose the caustic retorts he has tucked away, it wouldn’t be long until they were out of his life for good.)

He lost that stillness after Shannon died and he nearly lost everything else he’d worked so hard for because of it. So he built that restraint back up brick by brick until he was safe again. It was a little harder to breathe sometimes, but it was a familiar kind of pressure. Like a jacket you’ve grown out of but still love the look of enough to wear out sometimes.

And then he gets shot, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t react at all. But it’s not his stillness kicking in.

It’s having a bullet tear through his body on a sunny afternoon in L.A., thousands of miles away from where this should have been a hazard of the job. 

It’s hearing the bullet go off before registering the pain, but seeing the blood spray across Buck’s face before any of that. 

It’s falling and Buck — open, emotional Buck — not reacting at all. 

It’s collapsing on the street and smelling iron and finally putting together all these pieces and understanding why it’s so hard to breathe.

It’s not stillness, it’s just shock. Pure and simple.

But after that moment passes, as Eddie lays on the hot pavement bleeding out, his eyes locked on Buck’s bloody face, his hand reaching out towards him, the stillness that washes over him isn’t his hard-earned restraint nor is it the shock. 

It’s clarity, edging slowly into focus from off-stage. 

Clarity like he had in Afghanistan as the bullets rained down around him and he bled out in the sand, the clarity that nothing in the world mattered to him more than Christopher and nothing would ever keep him from his kid again. Not the army, not his problems with Shannon, not his parents.

This clarity, this epiphany, is seeping slowly into his consciousness and he grasps at it, tries to pull it in closer to understand. But just as it starts to trickle into him, Buck screams for him, his voice breaking, terrified, and a strong hand lands on his arm. Anything else his mind was trying to tell him is drowned out by his own screams.

When he wakes up in the hospital bed, lights too bright and his throat sore from the extubation, he feels...strange. He feels a stillness take hold of him, but it’s not a familiar one. His body and mind are calm, but anticipating something. He feels like he’s woken up from an important dream he can’t remember. Like he’s late for something but doesn’t know where to go. Like he was mid-conversation when the other person vanished.

Then he registers a soft, slim hand in his and thinks, no, that’s not it.

Eddie’s skin feels different after the shooting. 

He knows that from the moment his mind and body reconnect and half-asleep he tries to pull his hand out of Ana’s, but he doesn’t get the extent of it until his welcome home party where he tries to lean in for a kiss but diverts himself to her cheek, lingering there longer out of guilt. Her skin is as soft as always, warm from the heat of the house, but that small thrill of learning intimacy with someone new is gone and he’s not close enough to her to feel the deeper, warmer rightness he feels when he kisses Christopher’s forehead or Abuela’s cheek. 

Carla’s comment has been rattling around in his head since before the shooting, trying to find the unfinished puzzle inside him it could match up to. Ana sidles up to him at the party, lacing their fingers together and a faint rush of no crawls up his arm. He squeezes her fingers to compensate and smiles, blaming its weakness on fatigue. He looks at her, so beautiful, kind, and patient, and suddenly he hears Buck’s voice in his head saying, “Overcorrecting” as the puzzle piece slides into place. 

Eddie’s parents were wrong about Christopher, about Eddie as a father, and he will forever be angry that they made him feel like nothing, like worse than a deadbeat dad when he was already at his lowest. But he still loves them, still understands they were trying to do the best they could for Christopher, and in that their values will always align. He knows that if the day comes that he needs their help, they’ll be on a plane in a heartbeat. 

They’re family.

So he can’t dislodge the seed of hurt buried deep in his gut when they tell him he’s failing in their eyes. And they weren’t wrong in their accusations, really. He works crazy hours, the extended family doesn’t live here, and every other week with a specialist or new consultation makes him feel like he’s playing catch-up on what his son needs to be healthy and happy. 

And then Ana was placed in his path. A schoolteacher turned vice-principal with a Ph.D, who could cook, and who was kind, beautiful, Latina, and worked almost exactly the same hours Christopher would be in school for. And so, just like he had with the skateboarding, Eddie had overcorrected and tried to make up for his deficiencies.

Eddie breaks up with her over coffee during her lunch break while Christopher is at school and Buck is at work. She’s as understanding as she has been since they started this little courtship and he’s grateful to have known her, to have tried this, even though it didn’t work. She squeezes his hand on the table as she gets up to leave and he smiles politely, stretching his fingers in and out only once she’s completely out of sight.

He passes out on the couch when he gets home, grateful to have the excuse of recovering from a major injury to do absolutely nothing but blank out for a bit, and is woken up by warmth cupping his shoulder. He opens his eyes to find blue eyes and an amused smile tugging at full lips.

“Hey, dinner’s on,” Buck says. There’s a question written across his face, a hint of worry creasing in the corners of his eyes, but Eddie smiles back tiredly and the shadows on Buck’s face clear. Mostly.

“We’re having ziti!” Christopher yells from the dining room, and Eddie is not surprised. Buck has been staying with them for three days and they’ve had foods easy to eat one-handed for those three days. 

“We are having ziti,” Buck echoes with raised eyebrows to convey the nonexistent significance of having ziti.

“Well I’m definitely getting up for ziti.”

Unexpectedly, Buck’s hand slips into his good one and his other hand goes to support Eddie’s shoulder to help him upright on the couch. He backs away once he’s sure Eddie isn’t listing sideways and shoots him a smile with a cocked head before hopping back to the dining room to supervise. Eddie takes an extra moment on the couch opening and closing his fist, letting himself revel in the electric tingle racing up and down his arms, and the feeling of sweat prickling along his skin where Buck’s slid.

Eddie's hearing things differently after the shooting.

Between being a young, single parent and his military training, Eddie has mastered the art of sleeping lightly to keep alert to any sounds in the night. He’s so good at it that when they first moved into this house, he only lasted 3 weeks before he had to get his toolset out, take Christopher’s bed apart and reassemble it with a copious applicable of WD-40 to stop the one damn metal slat squeaking just loud enough for him to hear all the way from his own bedroom every single goddamn night.

He thought he’d naturally start sleeping more soundly as Christopher got older and more independent, but then Shannon died, and the tsunami happened, and being able to spring up at the first hint of a cry overrode any other instinct his body could manifest.

And now he’s recovering from an injury, which never lends itself to a deep sleep, which works out well because Christopher is processing his father getting shot at work and Eddie needs to be ready to reassure him that he hasn’t lost both his parents when the nightmares come. 

So when he wakes to Christopher shaking his arm and whispering, “Daddy”, he immediately springs awake, his hands already reaching for his crying son….who isn’t crying. Which Eddie can see clearly by the strong light of the sun filling the room. 

“Mijo?” Trying to blink himself into alertness.

“Are you awake?” Christopher asks, a crooked smile on his face. “It’s breakfast time.”

“Yeah, yes, I’m awake,” he says, though his mind is trying to tell him otherwise. “Breakfast? What time is it?”

“Breakfast time!” Christopher repeats, shaking his arm again for good measure. “It’s gonna get cold!”

“I’m coming,” he says, but grunts as he actually tries to lever himself up.

“Hey, hey, you were only supposed to see if he was awake, not actually wake him up,” Buck admonishes as he rushes the room. He pokes Christopher in the side a few times as punishment until the boy is shrieking with laughter. Then he moves into Eddie’s space to slip a strong arm under his back and practically lifts him up into a seated position without Eddie’s help. 

Eddie blinks against a small rush of dizziness and Buck’s hands stay on his shoulders until he nods that he’s okay. The feeling of them stays on his skin like tattoos long after.

They make it to the table and Eddie finds himself still disoriented as he takes in the impressive spread on the dining room table. Buck is many things but he is not a quiet man, especially not while cooking and this is a minimum of a half hour’s work. Probably closer to an hour judging by the very uneven shapes of the hashbrowns pointing to Christopher’s appointment as sous-chef. 

He didn’t hear any of it.

But the biggest blow comes ten minutes into the meal when Christopher, who’d been all energy until he got to the table, suddenly seems to have lost his appetite and slumps into his chair as he plays with his food instead.

Eddie’s hand comes up automatically to check for a fever despite the lack of redness in his cheeks but Buck catches his eye and shakes his head, assuaging that concern. Buck, Eddie now notices, is sporting quite the bruises under his own eyes.

“Nightmares,” Buck mouths silently, tipping his head towards Christopher.

And for a moment, Eddie’s parents stand in front of him, telling him he couldn’t even be there for his son when he needed him and the guilt and shame curls between his ribs and suffocates him. 

But then Buck negotiates Christopher into eating one half of a banana in exchange for two more squirts of ketchup for his eggs and Eddie lets the guilt wash into him, through him, and then away. 

He wasn’t there for Christopher, but Buck was. And would forever be. Eddie has had nearly a year to come to terms with that fact, to grapple with what little doubts he had that Buck would pass on the responsibility — not because he didn’t want it, but because he’d forever find someone else more worthy of it — and yet he’s still caught off-guard every time he’s reminded he isn’t alone in this anymore.

Still, he feels the need to be there himself for Christopher if he’s needed, so he tries to train his mind to stay alert while he sleeps that night.

He lets himself drift, cataloguing the sounds of nighttime. The periodic hum of the fridge, the air conditioning kicking in, the crickets outside. He slips away at some point, pulled into darkness by a healing body and a tired mind, but he’s gratified to find himself waking suddenly at 1:13am at the sound of murmuring voices down the hallway.

Buck is up with Christopher again.

Eddie’s stomach muscles make a valiant effort to try to get him up but the rest of his body and mind are unconcerned. He tries to flare up some adrenaline, something to tell his body to respond to his child who’s in distress, but all he gets is the molasses-heavy pull back to sleep. He knows he should be bothered, should be scared that he can’t do this. But he’s just not. Because Buck’s got this.

A month ago, footsteps in his hallway at night would have him waking up tense and alert, ready to respond to the intruder, until he remembered that Buck stayed over, or Tía Pepa came in early and he would slowly, consciously release the tension in his muscles until he was calm again.

Tonight, the sound of heavy footsteps going back to the living room doesn’t even pass into conscious thought. Before it can even get to his higher thinking, it’s interpreted as safe.

Eddie’s seeing things differently after the shooting.

Eddie’s back to work a week after the shooting, on light duties, and while he hates not being able to jump in the truck and watch his team’s back on calls, he doesn’t hate taking it easy. Just for a little while anyway.

Today, however, they’re all taking it easy. It’s a slow day, and they have an open house for several local high schools’ career day. The firefighters of the 118 are spread out, some leading tour groups, some recounting PG versions of intense calls, some handing out snacks and pamphlets. Civilians are milling about as though this is a museum and not a functioning firehouse that could get a call any minute, but he’s not stressing about it. That’s Bobby’s job. 

He does raise an eyebrow at whichever parents feel it’s okay to let their toddler toddle off in a strange place full of dangerous equipment though. Eddie sees the tyke waddle past him and almost moves to block her path when he sees her destination. 

Later, he’ll remember this moment as time slowing down to a crawl just for him, but what really happens is his heart realizes something just moments before the rest of him does and his brain has to pump the brakes to align everything back up. 

What happens is Buck crouches down to the level of the little girl whose pudgy arms are reaching up for him, like she recognizes the safest place in this whole new, strange environment. He puts his hands around her — his fingers spanning from her hips to underneath her arms —  and lifts her up high above his head in one quick swoop that has her shrieking with delight. And the people drop away, the cacophony dies down until all Eddie can see is Buck and the little girl backlit by the sun pouring in from the open bay doors. And at the crest of the arc the little girl makes in the air, everything stills and something in Eddie’s chest just cracks right open. Something deep and consuming. Something that resonates through him until he’s shuddering with it. Something that yells,

I want that.

It’s a picture of achingly beautiful contrasts — a child the size of a doll over the head of a towering form, taut biceps straining against his uniform short sleeves to hold her fragile body with just enough force to keep her safe in his hands, the dark masculine line of his uniform against her light purple princess tulle dress — but their beaming smiles are matched perfectly. 

And Eddie wants. He wants to the point of breathlessness and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He just knows he wants to be looking at this exact image again a couple of years down the road, but when it happens next he wants the little girl in Buck's hands to be his, and that is some fucking news to him. He’s never thought of having more kids. Well, he has, but in the same abstract way he thinks he might someday get a dog. It would be nice, but not in the cards for now, not something to spend time thinking about in realistic terms. 

But maybe that’s what his brain is straining to catch him up on. That he wants more kids. Like a biological alarm clock coming to life. He could deal with that. He could.

Only Buck is putting the little girl down and she’s walking away with her parents and Eddie can’t pull his eyes away from Buck’s deep dimples and the whites of his teeth, and that warm pressure in Eddie’s chest sinks down into his abdomen and curls into something hot and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he thinks wildly that it may not be about the little girl at all. But it may be that if there is a little girl in his future, he’d want her to be theirs, like —

Like Christopher is.

His mind supplies him with the image of Buck carrying Christopher to bed last night — in those same strong arms, tenderly removing his glasses and tucking him in — and just like that this kernel of panic that had been building in his sternum bursts like an overfilled balloon whose contents are unexpectedly soft because they rain down over all the fear and anxiety until all he can feel is a bone-deep calm. 

Eddie wants that. And maybe that’s okay.

“You okay, Eddie?” Asks Bobby, coming to stand next to him.

Time is winding back up to normal speeds, and the sun framing Buck is slowly lowering back down to the brightness of a regular sunny day, but Eddie is still staring.

“Yeah,” he says in a voice he barely recognizes as his own.

“You sure?” 

Buck is saying something to a parent, then asks them to wait, running behind a truck for something and finally releasing Eddie’s gaze.

He takes a deep breath and sits with the feelings pulsing through his veins before turning to Bobby, his eyes maybe a touch wide if the captain’s concern is anything to go by. He wants to say something, wants to blurt it all out, wants to be that person who wears their whole heart on his sleeve...but he’s not that person yet. 

“We had a conversation not long ago,” Eddie begins, sounding as shell shocked as he feels, “about focussing on the wrong thing. Missing out on something.”

Bobby is quiet and when Eddie finally turns his head he finds the man looking past him, to where Buck has returned.

Bobby’s lips into a small, satisfied smile. “Yes, we did. Found something to focus on?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits. “I think so.”

Bobby claps him on the back, and leaves his hand just long enough to feel like a blessing.

Eddie’s breathing is different after the shooting.

He wishes he could blame the bullet but the same kind of luck that had gotten him out of the well had somehow seen him come out of a sniper attack with mostly muscle damage and a cleanly fractured scapula that should heal if it's kept immobile. His ribs, collarbone, and lungs have all gotten off without injury.

And blaming the bullet was always going to be a hard sell when his breath only hitches and constricts when Buck lets himself into his house at the end of his shifts. When he toes his boots off and hangs his jacket up in the closet like he means to stay. When his socked feet bump into Eddie’s under the breakfast table because they’re both too damn long in the legs to be sitting across from each other. When their shoulders brush when putting the leftovers away. When Buck is the one to let Abuela into the house and chats with her easily as Christopher gets ready to leave. When — 

Suffice it to say proximity may be more a factor than the bullet. Though Eddie can understand how Buck’s gotten it wrong.

“Don’t tell me you’re not hurting, tough guy” Buck chastises him later that night with a knowing glimmer in his eyes as his fingers reach out for his shoulder, “I’ve been listening to you flinch for three days straight.”

It has been three days since the open house. He doesn’t know if he should be grateful Buck waited until Christopher was at Abuela’s to bring this up or terrified he’s lost his child-buffer.

“Buck, it’s fine,” Eddie protests even as he holds still for Buck to palpate the area gently. “I am a medic, in case you forgot. I know what to look out for in healing wounds.” The warmth leaves his shoulder and he misses it instantly.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but apparently doctors make the worst patients,” Buck informs him, hands on his hips which pitch forward in a way Eddie desperately tries not to interpret as suggestive. This is just Buck peacocking to drop some knowledge. “There’s a reason docs aren’t allowed to diagnose or prescribe themselves anything. Meds and beds, Eds!” he decrees sunnily like the dork he is.

Buck slides one of the pain pills out of the child-and-shoulder-injury-proof bottle and Eddie takes it because breathing issues aside, he did overextend himself in physical therapy today and he’s not going to get any sleep without it. 

“Come on, let’s go.” Buck tips his chin imperiously towards the hallway, expecting Eddie to lead the way to his bedroom where he’ll take off his shirt for Buck to inspect both sides of the wound, clean it, and redress it, like they’ve done nearly a dozen times before. He’s dodged it for the past few days in deference to his sanity but he’s not getting out of it tonight.

Eddie gets up and leads the way, telling himself he’s only doing it as a pretense to turn away so the heat crawling up his neck isn’t be on full display but as he gets closer to his bedroom, his mind lifts the image of Buck’s large hands from the little girl’s waist, and the electric warmth of his touch on the couch, and drops it onto the image of Eddie’s bare, shirt-and-bandage-off skin and now his feet are just following orders from higher up the chain.

Eddie sits gingerly on the edge of his bed and forces himself to breathe normally as his eyes track Buck’s easy familiarity with the inside of his bedroom. Buck turns the bedside lamp on, then crosses to the dresser to pull a fresh shirt for bed which he chucks at Eddie’s head (only once he’s sure Eddie’s aware it’s coming), then ducks into the bathroom quickly to grab the dollar store basket with everything he’ll need.

Then Buck is helping him out of his sling and shirt and stepping closer until Eddie’s field of view narrows to a broad chest and flat stomach covered only by a thin, soft-looking dark red henley. Buck inches closer still as he concentrates on carefully pulling off the old gauze and his thighs press into the inside of Eddie’s knees.

His breath hitches.

“Sorry, sorry,” Buck mumbles.

Eddie doesn’t correct him.

This close, the heat from Buck’s body is slowly seeping into Eddie’s space, the skin on the inside of his knees already past the point of overheating, much like his face, neck and chest are. 

Buck’s hands are light as the pads of two fingers press around the skin around the stitching. “It’s...actually looking really good,” he says, puzzled but pleased. “Not red, no sign of infection. You do feel a little warm though.” 

No shit.

Buck shifts, moving one leg outside of Eddie’s knees to better look at the back of the wound and he says something but all Eddie can focus on is the 5 inches keeping Buck from essentially riding his thigh.

“Eds? Hey.” Buck calls for what sounds like the second or third time. “What’s hurting? Where are you feeli—” 

Buck is leaning back to better look at him and Eddie doesn’t know what his face is saying but no part of his body is less than overheating and thinks his eyes may be communicating this.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Eddie manages to get out.

“But…” Buck looks down, his body becoming tense with uncertainty. “You keep—”

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupts and he wants to blame the pain pill like he wanted to blame the bullet but Tylenol 3 barely makes people drowsy, it sure as hell isn’t responsible for people feeling up their best friends. And yet that’s what’s happening, apparently.

They both look down and watch as Eddie’s good hand slowly reaches out and settles on Buck’s hip, under his henley, fingers curling too naturally around his leather belt, the backs of his fingers pressing into Buck’s warm skin. Not only does Buck not reject the touch but he leans forward into it, his hands rising towards him but not landing. Eddie’s heart aches at the aborted motion and recognizes it for uncertainty. Buck’s not fully sure what’s happening but he’s willing to go along with whatever Eddie wants to do. 

Eddie doesn’t want that.

He uses the hand on Buck’s hip to move him back just far enough to leverage himself up so they’re on equal footing, though only one of them is half-naked.

“Eddie,” Buck begins, though it’s obvious he doesn’t know what words were meant to follow. He swallows convulsively and narrows his wide blue eyes to roam over his face. Eddie doesn’t miss the naked hope filtering into his expression, nor does he miss the anxious self-doubt behind it.

“Buck,” Eddie murmurs so reverently he’ll be embarrassed about it later. He lets go of Buck’s belt, and lays his hand flat on his ribs before slowly sliding it up to the crook of Buck’s neck in a move that leaves nothing to interpretation. Buck breaks out in a full-body shiver and he laughs breathlessly, embarrassed.

Eddie keeps his hand soft, careful, on Buck’s shoulder, his thumb brushing against his collarbone and Buck’s eyes are glued to its motion, his mouth parted slightly.

“Are—” Eddie clears his throat quietly. He doesn’t think he’s misreading but he has to know. “Are you into this?”

Instantly, Buck’s eyes snap up to his, vulnerable until he properly processes the question, then all traces of doubt clear in a blink and he’s treated to the laser focus of Buck’s hyperfixation dragging down his face to his mouth and Eddie’s breath hitches again. This time, Buck looks up with a cocksure grin tugging at his lips as he comes to understand what Eddie’s problem’s been these past few days.

Then the statue of Evan Buckley explodes into motion — his hands split their focus, one gliding across the bare skin of Eddie’s waist and gripping, the other carefully cupping his head a moment before his lips follow, landing just in front of his thumb on Eddie’s cheekbone and for a moment Eddie’s upset to have gotten this far and not have Buck’s lips on his. But then he realizes Buck is just as wound up as he is, and a wound up Buck is an aggressive force of passion looking for safe outlets who probably needs a moment and Eddie’s heart constricts tightly in his chest.

Finally, the wet drag of lips against his cheek veers downward and across, and Eddie’s mouth is engulfed in softness and heat. He’s pressing up into it, pushing up from the balls of his feet with his hand on Buck as leverage, pressing up and forward into Buck who takes it without moving an inch. He’s never had to reach up to kiss someone before, never felt evening stubble brushing against his and he’s keenly grateful to have this with Buck, something so different to mark this as not just another kiss, but a kiss with Buck. No ordinary thing.

One of them is making a noise but he can’t focus on that when he needs to get closer, needs to press in and through, needs to turn them and get Buck on the bed so he can—

“Ah!” Eddie gasps.

Buck’s lips are wrenched away, though his hands remain like hot brands on his skin. His eyes are wild and unfocused, his lips red and bruised and he’s panting, but his face is puckered with concern.

“Okay, that one was definitely pain,” Buck gasps, blinking back to some kind of lucidity.

Eddie winces, unable to deny the agony tearing through his shoulder.  “My fault,” he hisses. 

Buck frowns and only then realizes that the arm that should be in a sling is out of place because Eddie’s hand has gone rogue and reached out to hook into Buck’s pants pocket to pull him closer.

Buck winces in sympathy, though he’s not able to fully erase the laughter from his eyes or from the corner of his lips. He takes pity on Eddie though, and drops his hands to gently untangle Eddie’s clamped fingers and guide it back across Eddie’s body where the sling would be keeping it.

Once it’s back in its healing position, Eddie releases the breath he’d been holding and settles back into the familiar ache. Instead of releasing him, however, Buck covers the hand laying on Eddie’s ribs with his own, pressing enough to convey the command: don’t move, before leaning back in slowly to capture Eddie’s lips in a kiss achingly sweeter than before. It’s little more than their lips resting against each other but Eddie’s heart goes wild in his chest, matching whatever the hell butterflies are wreaking havoc in his stomach. 

Buck leans back for a split second, just long enough for them to open their eyes and check in before he’s swaying back in for a short kiss once, twice, and one final time before properly moving away and leaving Eddie cold.

“Meds and beds, Eds,” Buck orders with finality, softened by a rueful smile.

And Eddie, who’s never had a single positive thought about Abby Clark, thinks of her fleetingly as some kind of saint because somehow she resisted Buck — kissing him, touching him, even seeing him — for months on end and if Eddie wasn’t suddenly struck with a physically deep fatigue borne of pain and emotional epiphanies, he thinks he would be on his knees begging for Buck to come back into his arms right now. 

As it is, he studies Buck’s boyish grin and the fear in his eyes that his stopping this is a problem, and Eddie is filled with a helpless love that steals his breath again. Buck catches the hitch, understands it for what it is, and the tension leaks out of his shoulders.

He lets Buck help him put the night shirt and sling back on, his mouth curling into a smile with every gratuitous touch Buck allows himself, and catches that errant hand as it leaves his body, squeezing once before dropping into his pillows and giving in to sleep.

Eddie’s heart is definitely not working the same after the shooting.

He had a heart scare in high school that freaked him and his parents out. It benched him from the football team for nearly half a season until the doctors said it was something called premature ventricular contractions. It was supposedly benign and something most people will have at least once in their lives. It didn’t feel benign. It felt like his heart was stopping suddenly, then pressure building up in his chest before the next beat came and overcompensated by beating three times as hard as normal like a goddamn punch in the chest. It had kept him up at night, not from anxiety or anything, just because it was so disruptive, as if your head jerked on its own just as you were falling asleep. 

But he’d grown out of it after a few months and never really thought of it again until he got shot, realized he was in love with his best friend, and his heart started going out of whack again.

He was fairly sure it wasn’t PVC. Much like the breathing, there seemed to be a clear and defined trigger.

Such as Buck pressing a kiss to Christopher’s curls at the dining table as he geared up to leave for a Saturday shift. Then turning to Eddie waiting at the door, his eyes a lot darker than they’d been a moment ago, and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheekbone, in the very same spot as he had two days ago in his bedroom.

“Be good,” Buck murmurs, tugging lightly on Eddie’s sling strap before straightening out to pick up his bag.

Eddie wants nothing more than to catch his hand and pull him back in, hold him close so he can’t leave, and he’s pretty sure all that is painted clear as day on his face if the regret and longing that washes over Buck’s face is anything to go by. 

It’s a problem.

Eddie’s been trying to reign himself back in. Trying to find that stillness so he stops feeling like he’s going to buzz out of his damn skin. 

But then Buck is back from his shift and locking the door to Eddie’s bedroom, assuring him it’s “just so we have time to get some clothes back on if he needs us,” with a rakish grin and fuck if it doesn’t feel exactly like PVC - a sudden pausing of his heart as he tries to deal with all these emotions before they crash into him on the next beat. 

And he’d worry about it but Buck’s laying him out, pressing his hot mouth on every inch of skin he can uncover, setting his nerves off like electric pulses until all Eddie can hear is their panting and the rushing of blood in his ears. His heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest by the time Buck’s divested him of his sweats and boxers. But then Buck pauses and looks up for permission before continuing, and Eddie gets to look down and take in his best friend’s darkened blue eyes and ruddy cheeks and what his heart does is definitely not sex-related. Not only sex-related.

He nods helplessly and Buck grins with delight before taking Eddie’s dick into his mouth and if he thought his body felt different before, it’s nothing compared to being suddenly engulfed in the velvet heat of Buck’s mouth. Eddie’s good hand slaps down on the mattress and grips the sheets tightly. He’s about to bring up his fist to his mouth to do something, he doesn’t know what, when Buck anticipates danger and his strong fingers are gripping his other hand, forcing it to stay in place on his ribs. Eddie laughs breathlessly — the man can multitask. 

Eddie twists his fingers until they’re threading between Buck’s, who catches on and properly holds his hand as he takes Eddie apart. 

And Eddie...Eddie hasn’t had sex in a really long time, and he hasn’t been so fucking in love during sex in an even longer time so he’s not surprised when it’s only minutes later that he’s squeezing at Buck’s hand and gasping. “Buck...I’m gonna—” and he’s somehow not surprised when Buck hums his acknowledgement and presses himself closer and closer in until Eddie’s toes curl and his back bends and he’s shooting down Buck’s throat who stays in place until Eddie’s hissing from overstimulation. 

“Oh fuck,” Eddie says helplessly, his heart galloping, and another small laugh escaping him as he brings his good hand up to his forehead.

Buck climbs his way back up his body, sitting lightly right over his spent dick and he knows he shouldn’t torture himself but Eddie looks down and lets himself commit the image to memory until they can do that properly. Then he drags his eyes up and over Buck’s straining erection, his panting chest and up to that pleased goddamn smile. 

“Good?” Buck asks, cocky as he’s ever been.

“Good,” he laughs sarcastically. “I think you broke me. Dios, I think I need an ECG.”

Buck actually looks mildly concerned so Eddie reaches for him and Buck lets himself be pulled down by the nape until Eddie can lick into his mouth, going a little nuts over the taste of himself on Buck’s tongue. 

Eddie pulls his hand away from his nape to reach down for Buck’s dick, but Buck takes that as direction to sit up so Eddie pulls him back in until their lips are barely touching. He squeezes Buck’s nape, says firmly, “Stay,” and marvels when Buck’s eyes go wide, his face slackening, and a shiver running down his back. Fuck.

When Eddie pulls his hand away again, Buck stays, pressing his elbows on either side of Eddie’s head to keep himself in place until he catches onto Eddie’s plan.

“You don’t ha—”

“I still have one good arm,” Eddie retorts. “As it happens, I’ve gotten a lot of practice out of this one.”

Then his fingers curl around hot flesh and Buck jerks like he’s been struck.

“Easy,” Eddie soothes, craning up to remind Buck what he’s supposed to be doing. To his credit, it only takes the soft press of their lips to get him refocused, then Buck’s tongue is in his mouth while he pushes helplessly into Eddie’s hand. It’s dry because they didn’t plan this out beyond a heated look in the living room, but Buck’s leaking enough to provide at least some lubrication. In the end, he’s got about as much stamina as Eddie did and a few minutes of rutting into Eddie’s fist and attacking Eddie’s mouth is enough to set him off, his cum spilling over Eddie’s stomach in long pulses.

Eddie’s hand uncurls and smooths over the skin of Buck’s side, making long passes from hip to shoulder as Buck comes down from his high. On the fourth sweep, he trails his hand inward, over Buck’s waist and back up his ribs and chest in a move reminiscent of the night of their first kiss, but this time he stops in the middle, in the dip between his pecs.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who needs an ECG,” he grins.

Buck huffs with a grin that grows to overtake his face. “Less of a concern for young guys like me. You should probably get checked out though.” He leans back in to occupy Eddie’s mouth before he can think of a retort, but as the kiss devolves from heat and passion into sweet and lazy explorations, Eddie feels a distinctive disruption of rhythm in Buck’s chest and smiles.

Later, Buck gets up and gets them cleaned up with kleenex, except for the drops of cum caught on Eddie’s fingers. Those he takes into his mouth to clean thoroughly until Eddie feels himself getting hard again and has to call uncle. Buck dresses himself perfunctorily and helps Eddie back into his boxers before reaching for the sling and carefully threading it over Eddie’s arm and neck, squeezing his fingers before pausing and looking unsure.

“Should I—” He looks towards the door, beyond which is the hallway and living room where he’s been bunking down because Christopher’s in the house and they haven’t had time to talk about all this yet.

Instinctively, Eddie’s good hand reaches for his hip and grips gently but firmly. 

“Stay,” he says again, watching with clear eyes now how Buck’s eyes grow wider and his throat convulse. They’re definitely going to be exploring that in the future.

For now, Buck nods absently before smiling. He moves to the door only to unlock it and crack it open before returning to the bed and the domesticity of it twists Eddie’s heart one last time before he’s folded into Buck’s arms and succumbing to the darkness more easily than he can ever remember doing so before.

Eddie suffered a near-death experience on the job. Christopher almost lost his father. Buck almost lost his best friend. Getting shot again aggravated his PTSD. The bullet created cracks not only in his bones but in the shell casing he built around himself, the effects of which he’ll probably carry his entire life.

But he survived, he came home to his son. He’ll learn to be okay with loud, sudden noises again. He’ll learn to deal with the nightmares if they come back. He’s in physical therapy for the pain. And in the end, he can’t find it in himself to wish it had never happened. 

Not when he wakes up to Buck’s arms pressed against his bare skin, sharing his heat and feeling that electricity coursing softly just under his skin.

Not when he hears Christopher inching the door open in the morning and Buck beckoning him in while whispering, “We gotta be quiet, your dad’s still sleeping.”

Not when he loses his breath at Buck’s casual parental love as he twists to grab Christopher by the waist and heave him into the bed between them, causing the boy to giggle way too loud. 

Not when he paints an unimpressed smile on his face before rolling over dramatically, finding two too-innocent faces smiling back at him and he's struck dumb for just a second at the picture they paint, eyes wide and curls askew. 

Not when Christopher throws Buck under the bus, giggling “it was him!” and Buck takes his revenge in the form of tickles until they’re both pink-cheeked and laughing and the bed is shaking like it may not support them, and Eddie’s heart is so fucking full it may not even be able to beat anymore. 

Eventually, Eddie does feel a stillness rebuilding within him after the shooting, but it doesn’t feel like walls, it feels like love. It feels like peace.

[caffeinatedseri]

Dazai and No Longer Human’s Yozo

It’s no secret that BSD’s Dazai draws heavily from his real life counterpart, especially from his semi-autobiographical work: No Longer Human. To preface, No Longer Human is written from the perspective of the main character Yozo, with the book itself being a documentation of Yozo’s notebooks (essentially his journals) throughout his life. 

As you progress through the novel, it becomes increasingly clear that Yozo lives an extremely two-sided life; his foolish personality acts as a facade to others in attempts to hide the darker nature within him. 

Dazai shares that obvious similarity with Yozo, but Dazai is characterized in a somewhat vague and mysterious way that leaves a lot of his inner thoughts up to interpretation and inferences. Thus, I’ll be going through some of my favorite quotes from No Longer Human and analyzing Dazai’s character through his similarities to Yozo.

(For the sake of readability, excerpts from No Longer Human will be in pictures, and quotes from the light novel will be in regular block quotes).

Dazai and Yozo’s Participation in Clownery

To start off, Dazai noticeably participates in the same “clowning” as Yozo, which in particular stands out with PM Dazai.

““How did your leg get hurt?” I pointed to the bandages, thinking that it must be the result of some violent fight. “I was reading a book titled ‘How to Prevent Accidental Injuries’ while walking when I accidentally fell into a ditch.” I wasn’t expecting such an abnormal response.” — LN 2, Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era (Oda’s POV)

This is pretty standard Dazai behavior, but the interesting part is how Yozo specifically used the word “deceiving.” If we were to assume Yozo’s true thoughts are Dazai’s as well, then it would imply that Dazai feels as if he’s manipulating people with his absurd claims (such as the above). However, in actuality, his clownish behaviors sound more like a joke, or some type of self-deflection, rather than an attempt to manipulate people. (Yozo also states that he would often incriminate himself by overexaggerating certain things, but I don’t think Dazai does that).

The second statement Yozo makes implies that he doesn’t care about ethics, morality, or the supposed “right way” of living life that’s described as “righteousness.”

Yozo’s statement on “righteousness” parallels Dazai’s in Dark Era, but Dazai’s statement carries a slightly different sentiment. Rather than being indifferent to the likes of morality, Dazai says that he’s “hated” by the concept of morality. 

I’ll be speculating a bit here → It’s heavily implied that Dazai had some sort of dark past that led him to joining the mafia, since he was already suicidal prior to doing so. This suggests that something affected his life so drastically to the point where he could no longer trust in such things as “righteousness,” because righteousness has wronged him in the past.

First, Yozo expresses his fear of people discovering his true nature under the mask of clownery, which would then lead to them pestering him for further inquiry. However, his real fear is that people would mistake his true nature as another part of his typical clownery.

More so than before, this attitude reminds me more of Dazai in the agency, rather than him in the mafia. Even though Dazai danced around darker topics in his conversations with Oda, he was still able to talk about them without much conflict. However, in the agency, Dazai doesn’t talk much about himself or any of his personal issues at all. 

Although this scene has comedic overtones, it’s interesting to see that no one would help Dazai if he was actually dying. Still, it could be argued that the other agency members knew it was just Dazai’s regular antics. (or that Dazai wouldn’t die in the first place). 

This scenario repeats itself another time when Dazai gets kidnapped by the mafia, and the other agency members kind of just brush it aside. As much as they may trust Dazai to take care of himself (which I’m sure he can do), it’s worrying that the other members may not be open to Dazai’s possible attempts at reaching out for help, if he were ever to make one. 

In LN 4, 55 Minutes, Atsushi addresses this issue by asking Dazai why he wants to kill himself, but the answer is left open-ended, with Atsushi himself not remembering the answer (or if Dazai even did answer). You could interpret Dazai’s change from his time in the PM as an improvement of his mental state — which I have no doubt that has happened — but Dazai needs to face his issues head-on if he truly wanted to reconcile with his past.

“Perhaps someone should persistently tie Dazai up, open the lid over his chest and stuff the head of a vacuum cleaner in. They have to let Dazai, who should be screaming in pain and resisting, settle down. Following which, the difficult things in his heart must all be dragged out under the sun and stepped on mercilessly.“ — LN 2, Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era

Oda, the man who understood Dazai more than anyone else could at the time, even specifically stated that the pain in Dazai’s heart must be forcefully dragged out, because he knew that this would ultimately be the most beneficial for Dazai’s sanity.

Throughout No Longer Human, Yozo is often misunderstood by others, or other people simply don’t care about him.

When Dazai goes to visit Oda’s grave in Dead Apple, Atsushi finds him and assumes that he’s visiting the grave of someone important to him, as an act of respect or remembrance, something of the sort. However, Dazai makes the automatic assumption that his “clownish words of deceit” (as stated by Yozo) will always be prioritized over the truth, which is why he chooses to brush off his actions as a joke. 

Although I made the point earlier that the agency members don’t give Dazai opportunities to open up about himself, Atsushi is notably different, similarly to Oda, because he’s able to take Dazai seriously and persist even through his antics. 

Atsushi takes Dazai’s act of visiting a grave seriously, even when Dazai plays it off, because he knows Dazai is a person just like anyone else. This understanding between them leads to Dazai telling Atsushi about Oda, thereby allowing Dazai to divulge a crucial part of his past.

Dazai and Yozo’s Friendships

Similarly to Yozo, Dazai’s attempt at “disentangling” himself from these relationships only serves to wear him out in the end. However, they also slightly differ in a way: Yozo is unable to form any friendships for his whole life, but Dazai had Oda. I would argue that Oda was Dazai’s only friend, mostly because of this quote:

“Odasaku understood him far beyond what Dazai had ever thought. He had already reached close to his heart, the place near the center of his heart. Before this, Dazai had never noticed there was someone who understood him so well. For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted to know something from the depths of his heart.” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Oda was special to Dazai because Oda was able to understand him — maybe even more than Dazai could understand himself — which is why Oda is the only person that Dazai asks for advice from. 

However, Dazai does the same thing as Yozo when he “plays the clown” as a form of self-protection from such valuable friendships. (which is probably preventing him from becoming closer to the rest of the agency).

“Things that we don’t want to lose will definitely be lost. Now that it has come to this, I have no more feelings anymore. Things worth pursuing will always disappear the moment before you get them. Nothing is worth prolonging a painful life to pursue.” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Interestingly enough, Dazai says this when Ango is revealed to be a spy — before Oda dies. If Dazai was in this state of distress from Ango’s betrayal, you could only imagine how devastating Oda’s death was. 

Dazai speaks as if he’s speaking from experience, which suggests that he’s faced a similar loss in the past. Despite this implied experience, he still became friends with Oda (and Ango to an extent), fully knowing that it would only bring him pain in the end. Dazai's statement here acts more as a front that makes him sound cold and detached from the situation, only to hide how he truly feels about losing one of his only friends. 

To give some context to this passage, Yozo’s partner, Yoshiko, had been sexually assaulted by a coworker, of which Yozo attributes the cause to her overly trusting nature. Thus, this leads to Yozo’s belief that trustfulness is inherently wrong or creates weakness.

Dazai’s hesitance to form friendships most likely stems from this same inability to trust others like Yozo, but Dazai does trust a few people, namely Chuuya, Oda, and Atsushi.

With Chuuya, there’s a different type of trust between him and Dazai. Their impeccable trust is obviously a key factor in their partnership as SKK, but there’s a certain limit with this trust. They certainly trust each other in battle, but I’d argue that this trust doesn’t extend to their personal business. 

As of now, we don’t know a lot about how SKK interacted with each other during their time in the mafia (which could change with the new LN), but I doubt PM Dazai would feel comfortable with confiding in Chuuya with anything because they (kind of) hated each other. The level of trust required for a friendship would involve a mutual understanding between two people, but Chuuya and Dazai haven’t necessarily shown us that they were able to do that.

Dazai essentially broke his trust with Chuuya by leaving the mafia on a whim, but he also intentionally antagonized himself to try to make Chuuya hate him.

This scene also has comedic overtones, but it suggests something a bit sadder about Dazai. There are possibly two motivations as to why Dazai chose to do this: (or a mix of the two)

1. Dazai didn’t want Chuuya to be incriminated as his accomplice when he became an enemy of the mafia.

2. Dazai wanted to push Chuuya away because Oda — Dazai’s most trusted friend — had just died. As a form of self-protection, Dazai broke whatever semblance of friendship he shared with Chuuya in order to prevent the same pain that came with Oda’s death. 

It’s also important to consider that trust is a 2-way street; both parties have to have the same level of trust in each other. Just like Yozo, if Dazai is unable to trust anyone, then he may have cut Chuuya off to protect him (since Chuuya may have trusted Dazai more than Dazai was able to reciprocate).

In contrast, Oda and Dazai have a level of unspoken trust that basically motivates Dazai to change his entire life. 

“Odasaku’s eyes radiate with conviction. The words are clearly said with some sort of strong basis. Is it past experience? Or perhaps someone’s suggestion? — He is trying to show Dazai the path he once walked. Dazai understands this. Dazai can trust it.“ — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Returning to Yozo’s question — “Is trustfulness a sin?” — Dazai answers it by showing us the strength of trust in this moment. Trust insinuates blind faith in another person, the willingness to believe someone else without logical reasoning, which makes it all the more important when PM Dazai — the genius prodigy who operates on a solely logical basis — is able to trust Oda and change his path in life. 

Atsushi is most likely the one that Dazai trusts the most in the agency, due to the aforementioned issues with the other members. However, it seems more like a budding trust that’s growing to become like Oda and Dazai, but it still requires Dazai to take that step forward to further their trust. 

Dazai and Yozo’s View of the World

In this scene, Yozo had made a decision for immediate gratification, but that choice caused him insufferable pain afterwards — supporting his belief that the world was a “place of bottomless horror.”

This parallels two of Dazai’s statements: one from Dark Era and one from Dead Apple.

“Please, take me with you. Wake me up from this rotten world of a dream. Come on, come on, come on!” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

(Dazai wasn’t talking about himself here, but the allusion sets up a situation where he can talk about himself indirectly — I talk about it more in my other post here)

We don’t really get a reason for why Dazai is suicidal, but from this we can infer that it’s something more complex than he makes it out to be — something like an issue deeply rooted within the world, with no easy solution. 

One could guess that this was the result of an unfortunate decision (like Yozo), or the realization that the world was simply a terrible place (possibly because no one cared for him as a kid and he had Mori as a “parental” figure instead).

Yozo expresses his lack of understanding in the compassion of human nature, but Dazai (as we know) seems to understand other people perfectly, as least enough to manipulate them.

However, this forms somewhat of a paradox: Dazai understands people so well to the point that he can’t understand them.

Dazai understands every flawed aspect of a human being — the tendency to manipulate, lie, kill, etc. — most likely because of his past as a young child. “Human beings never did teach” him the hopeful aspect of human nature  — the ability to love and cherish others.

Shibusawa in Dead Apple reflects this mindset, but take note of what Dazai says: “You wouldn’t be saying that if you actually had friends” — clearly a reflection of Dazai’s personal experience, by knowing how important friends are.

Yozo’s deathly fear of society tames itself when he comes to the realization that society is really just made up of a bunch of individuals working for their individual benefit, so he has no reason to fear society as a whole.

I don’t believe Dazai has this same fear of society, but he does reflect this individualistic mindset in the way he acts. Often enough, Dazai doesn’t tell anyone about his plans and would rather manipulate people into following such plans, even when it would be easier to cooperate. He always takes care of conflicts by himself, and by his standard.

Yozo’s fear of society possibly manifested into Dazai’s ostracization from society. More speculation here, but → My guess is that Dazai was alienated not only as a genius isolated for his intelligence, but also for his ability. There seems to be some division between regular society and ability-users’ society, but I can see Dazai being rejected by both because he’s the antithesis to all abilities. 

Regular society would either shun him like other users or attempt to exploit him for their personal gain (possibly for his intelligence AND his ability), or ability-users would see him as a threat and/or menace to their safety.

When Yozo considers a double suicide with his partner, he comes to this unsure conclusion of whether or not he actually wants to go through with it.

This reflects what Oda believes about Dazai:

“I thought you and Dazai were very similar, unable to see the value of your life, hoping for death, hence jumping into a world of violence and fighting. But that’s not the case. That guy is just a child who’s too smart. Just a crying child who’s been left alone in the darkness, a world of nothingness far emptier than the world we can see.“ — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

At the end of the story, Gide and Oda are different from Dazai because they face an inevitable hopelessness. However, Dazai has a small spark of hope to live on that persists beyond the other two. 

This is represented in Dazai’s own statement to Oda, when Oda is set on walking to his death: “Go and rely on something, hope for something good to happen next, that something will definitely happen.” 

If anything, this sounds more like a plea to himself than to Oda, but it establishes an important point: hope is built upon the assumption that the future will treat your present desires well. Vice versa, hopelessness is built upon the expectation that the future will neglect your present desires.

It’s a bit wordy, so I’ll elaborate on. Right after Dazai says this line, they proceed to talk about their desires → Dazai wants to find a reason to live, so he joined the mafia; Oda wanted to become a novelist, so he didn’t kill anyone. 

Now, the difference between hope and hopelessness:

Oda feels hopeless because he expects that his present desire (to become a novelist) won’t be fulfilled in the future. By losing the one qualification that he felt he had to follow (not killing anyone), he no longer believes that he can become a novelist.

Dazai has hope because he assumes that his present desire (to find a reason to live) will be fulfilled in the future. He doesn’t know that for sure, but he persists onwards regardless of having full assurance or not. 

Dazai’s hope and trust in Oda brings him to where he is in the present, and takes him one step closer towards discovering his reason to live. 

[miryum]

It all started with a threat (Newt x Reader) 4

Newt pov

"What happened exactly?" Jeff asks me again for the fourth time.

I sigh and rub my temples, "I told you! She started breathing heavily, gagging, and then she passed out!"

"Was she behaving oddly at any other moment in time?"

"Other than running into the shucking maze?"

"Yes." Clint sighs before continuing, "Listen Newt, I know this is frustrating, but other than some cuts and bruises from the maze, we can't find anything wrong. You were the only person to be by her for an extended period of time. It's a shock that she came out of the maze this healthy! She should have several broken bones or worse!"

"Well then," I breath, "Maybe she's just a better glader than any of us."

"If she was a better glader, then she wouldn't have passed out!" Clint yells at me.

I bristle before shouting back, "She's probably just tired! She spent a full night in the maze! With no sleep! And a child!"

Clint takes a deep breath, probably to stop himself from going off on the second-in-command.

Just then, little Ana wobbles into the med-hut, followed closely by Thomas and Gally. She goes up to the cot where Y/n lays, unconscious. "Mama!" She cries, reaching her hands up.

"No." I chuckle, picking Ana up, "That's your sister. We don't know where your mama is."

"Mama?" Ana reaches towards Y/n. I set Ana down on top of Y/n carefully.

Y/n shifts in her sleep, but Ana snuggles right up to her.

"Clint," Jeff says, looking at Ana, "I think you're wrong."

"Excuse me?" Clint raises his eyebrows.

"There was someone else with Y/n for an extended period of time. Ana."

Clint opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He glances at me before kneeling down in front of Ana, who is still content on Y/n's chest.

"Hey Ana?" He whispers to her, "Can I ask what happened in the maze?"

Now, I'm going to warn everyone, there will be a lot of spelling mistakes, but only to capture Ana's inability to speak to her full extent. It's all on purpose.

"Oh!" She sat up, and before she could fall off the cot, Clint picks her up and hands her to me.

I accept her gladly.

"Mama ran into da maze." Ana starts.

"I'm sorry." Gally interrupts, "Why is she calling the girl mom? Did she actually birth her?"

"The girl's name is Y/n." I say, "And we don't know. She just does. Also, in the politest way possible, why are you here?"

Gally shrugs, so Thomas speaks up, "He just tagged along. I couldn't get him to leave Ana."

I raise my eyebrows, but Ana speaks up, "Exuse me! My turn to talk."

Thomas huffs a laugh and motions for her to continue.

"Mama ran into da maze and den a big monster came. Da monster was really scary and had a lot of spikes and claws and a scary face and-"

"And then?" Clint prods her on.

"Wight. So mama started climing on the vines and when we get to da top, she drows her knife down. I don't really remember what 'appened after dat. I was really really tired so I was almost asleep. All I remember was dat den we swung down- like a swing! And hit da wall really hard. It hurt a little, but den da monster was asleep, so we didn't 'ave to worry 'bout it anymore and so mama slid down da wall and den the doors opened and we saw you guys!"

Silence.

"Uh-huh." Thomas says.

"That was helpful." I say, trying to take it all in. Ana has apparently discovered her ability to speak. And now, none of us are going to get any sleep.

"That actually was." Clint says, "What if the problem is on the inside?"

"Like a bruised rib?" Jeff asks, both med-jacks hovering over Y/n and starting to check her body again. (Alright, I know how this might seem, but all of your clothes are still on, and I promise that they won't do anything creepy or bad!)

"Let's hope that that's all it is." Clint mutters.

"Why?" I ask, "What could it be?"

"Well," Clint says, "The rib could have broken and punctured a lung. Then it would be really bad. We might have to open her up or she might die."

My eyes grow wide and I glance at Ana in my arms. "Clint!" I say, as Ana starts to cry.

"Mama?" She asks.

"Gally, Thomas." I order, "Get Ana out of here and try to distract her."

Gally and Thomas both nod and lead Ana carefully out of the med-but.

"Sorry." Clint murmurs.

"We should be able to know within the half hour." Jeff speaks up.

"Could... could I stay here?" I ask hesitantly.

"Sure?" Clint says. "Why?" He asks after a pause.

I shrug, "She's the first girl. Someone has to watch over her for when she wakes up."

"I guess."

I sit on a stool next to Y/n's cot. Clint and Jeff scurry around, sometimes checking her pulse or something else.

I snap out of my daze as I see Clint pick up some scissors.

"What are you doing?" I ask sharply.

"Mate, we have to cut open her shirt." Clint says.

"Why?" I stand, moving closer to the cot where Y/n lays.

"How else do you expect us to see if she has a broken rib?" Jeff says from across the room, "The ribs are located on the chest." He jokes, moving towards us.

"But-But she's a girl!" I protest.

"Do you want her to die?" Clint says harshly, pointing the scissors at me, "I don't shucking care if she's a girl. This is what med-jacks do, and she is not dying on my watch."

I open my mouth, but Clint beats me to it, "Newt, I don't care that you're second-in-command, but if you're going to protest, I need you to get out."

I close my mouth and swallow. My jaw clenches, but I sit back down on my stool.

"Listen," Jeff says softly, "I'm sure she has a bra on or something."

I growl, "Just do it."

Clint nods and cuts open Y/n's shirt. He carefully peels it open, to reveal a light brown bra. (It's a sports bra, but I don't think that any of the boys in the glade would know that. Because of the memory loss thing.)

It also reveals a dark purple bruise, formed right along the bottom of her ribs. It circles around her side, and is a disgusting shade of blue and black in some places.

Clint starts gently pressing along her bruise, stopping when she shifts uncomfortably in her unconscious state.

After a couple minutes of them doing tests (that the author doesn't know because they aren't a doctor and don't know what type of equipment they have in the glade), Clint and Jeff sit back, sighing.

"What?" I ask, "What's wrong."

"Chill, man." Jeff says, before nodding to Clint.

"We think that she only has a bruised rib, which would explain the symptoms and the cause. We can't be sure it's not broken, but we can almost say for sure that it hasn't punctured anything."

I sigh in relief and place my head in my hands, "Thank the lord."

"Why are you so concerned about her anyway?"

"I-I don't know!" I say, "She's the first girl and she brought a child with her then she spent a night in the maze and came out-"

"Newt." Clint slows me down, "Do you remember anything?"

"What?" I whip around to look at him, "What do you mean?"

"From before the maze and glade."

I pause... "I- I don't know."

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: Embarrassing and Undignified

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: Caleb doesn’t smile much. It’s something he rather likes about the man, that he prefers to save his pleasure for that which is truly worth it - but there’s nothing else he can call the expression that briefly narrows those blue eyes. “Reacting like that in front of a friendly tiefling?” he says - teasing, almost, and Essek feels his stomach flip. “I am not so sure.”

Essek's time in the hot tub goes a little awry.

Wordcount: 3.3k

A/N: Fill for this anon prompt! (i’m so sorry for taking 2+ months to write this... i love Essek so much and he needs more tk content)

---

Essek is no stranger to being - unusual. He often welcomes it, really. Achieving a status such as his for the better part of a century comes with its fair share of eccentricities, his floating among them, and at this point hovering just above the rest of the Dynasty has become something of a favored routine.

And yet, it seems, the Nein have him beaten at every turn.

He had meant to take his leave directly after dinner, unsure of his place among Yasha’s solemn questions of loneliness and Beauregard’s transparent attempts to pry information from him and Jester’s threat to invoke a Zone of Truth for idle gossip -

(and the slight jealousy, he admits, if only to himself, of seeing Caleb, ambitious and focused and loved, among them - )

But. Lonely and friendless he is, as has been quite thoroughly pointed out to him through the evening, and he’s intrigued enough by the rarity of this hot tub to clamber up awkwardly onto the enclosing stone wall and dangle his feet into the water while his hosts bustle around and shuck off various pieces of clothing.

Caleb sits next to him, rolling his own pant legs crisply to the knee and lowering his feet in. “What do you think?”

He looks over - thank the Light, Caleb’s still wearing his shirt. “It’s - nice,” he says. He drags his toe through a slow stream of bubbles rising from what he assumes must be the hottest parts of the depths. “Unfamiliar, but quite impressive that you’ve constructed it on your own.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “The hot tub, or -” He traces a small circle with his index finger, encompassing himself and his companions. “- all of this?”

Decades of court experience well up unbidden on his tongue. “The compliment extends to you either way,” he offers smoothly.

Caleb squints at him, but before he can say anything more the rest of the Nein are joining them with pleased exclamations and a thoroughly distracting amount of splashing. Essek watches, bemused, as Jester flops in belly-first before even unbuckling the last clasp of her outergarments - she wrestles them off, finally, crumpling the dripping green cloak into a ball and flinging it away, and he winces on behalf of the fine Kryn fabric.

She looks around, eyes lighting on him, and her hands fly to her round cheeks with an excited gasp. “Essek! Your legs!”

Startled, he looks down - they seem quite normal, with his boots off and his neatly pressed trousers folded at the knee, if a little more purple than anyone else’s present. “I would prefer to keep my clothes dry, yes.”

She leans in, eyes wide. “Are they re-al?”

Light be with him - she’s hardly said anything, but he struggles not to flush under the scrutiny. “Ah, yes? Why should they not be?”

Just then, something brushes lightly over the sole of his foot - he startles, and -

His seat is well made, certainly, but not enough to stand up to the Nein’s shenanigans; as he recoils, his center of gravity shifts right off the narrow ledge and he’s tumbling backwards before he can do more than blink.

Light, if this is how he dies -

He flails for a solution - it’s been years, at least, since he’s done something so pedestrian as fall, and there are spells for this, certainly, but what he’s prepared for today is more showy fare, in case the Nein asked for a demonstration, why can’t he think -

A hand closes roughly around his bicep, then another around the opposite shoulder, and then he’s dangling from Caleb’s grip with his back nearly parallel to the floor - he reaches out too, panicked, and crumples the front of Caleb’s shirt in a death grip.

“Good reflexes,” he says, breathless. Blood pounds in his ears. Caleb stares down at him, blue eyes wide and jaw tight -

“Ooh, now kiss!” Jester hoots.

The rest of the Nein burst into laughter behind them. Caleb goes bright red and hurriedly turns away, looking over his shoulder. “One of you jokers come here and help me, please,” he chides, strained, “I am not the muscle of this group.”

The tension in Caleb’s face becomes infinitely more explicable - finally capable of rational thought, Essek flicks his fingers and casts a weight-lightening cantrip just as another strong hand latches onto his knee and bodily tows him upright. Yasha nods at him, chest completely bare, and wades back to her corner as Veth pops up from nowhere with her long ears twitching maniacally. “I’m SO sorry,” she screeches, insistent far beyond the point of sincerity. “I brushed against your feet COMPLETELY ON ACCIDENT.”

“VERY ACCIDENTAL,” Jester agrees loudly. Next to her, Fjord winces.

Veth’s voice softens, then, as she pats him gingerly on the leg. “I didn’t think you would do that - are you okay?”

“It’s all right,” he says weakly. Her ears droop in what seems to be genuine relief - it is pointless to care, perhaps, but he feels better for having reassured her.

He sucks in a solid breath for what feels like the first time in minutes and turns to Caleb to thank him. There’s still a guarding hand resting warmly against his back - and worse still, he realizes belatedly that his own hand is still fisted in the buttons of Caleb’s shirt.

He snatches it hastily away, ears burning. “Ah, my apologies. I shall pay closer attention to gravity, for the rest of the night.”

Caleb doesn’t smile much. It’s something he rather likes about the man, that he prefers to save his pleasure for that which is truly worth it - but there’s nothing else he can call the expression that briefly narrows those blue eyes. “Reacting like that in front of a friendly tiefling?” he says - teasing, almost, and Essek feels his stomach flip. “I am not so sure.”

A friendly -

Surprised, he glances over at Jester and finds her wearing a smug expression that might not be out of place on Da’leth himself, if significantly sweeter. “E-ssek,” she wheedles, wide-eyed with delight, drawing every syllable to its maximum extent. “Are your feet like, super ticklish?”

Essek blinks - ticklish? But he hasn’t - really, he can’t remember the last time he might have known. As a child, perhaps, when Verin used to tempt him into playing by tackling him straight off his feet and -

Oh. Oh, dear.

At least that particular piece of evidence is decades out of date - a poor excuse to discard it, but he’s willing to compromise in the face of Jester’s ever-sharpening grin and the traitorously pleased squirm in the pit of his own stomach. “What? No, of course not, I was merely surprised-”

“You can be surprised and ticklish,” Jester corrects, skipping forward with a splash. Essek shirks back into Caleb’s hand, millimeters from tumbling off the ledge again, and she giggles. “And I’m pret-ty sure that you’re both.”

The hot tub, for all of its excellent qualities, is unfortunately not large enough to keep her at bay for longer than that. She reaches out as he’s still deciding which direction would be the best to flee in and scoops his ankle up in a grip like steel. “Ah-” he sputters. “I - Jester, wait-”

She drags a fingernail up the arch of his foot.

It feels like one of the few times while developing a lightning-based spell that he’d electrocuted himself - but the feeling doesn’t stop, shooting up his leg and tickling at his lungs too to make them shiver, and it’s silly, and he just -

He panics, jerks back against Caleb’s hand again, and in a moment of brash stupidity the animal instinct of his brain decides that the only safe place to hide is Caleb himself. He buries his face in Caleb’s side and grabs him around the waist just in time to shriek as Jester repeats the same lazy route up and down the sole of his foot, pausing only to scratch tingling patterns into his heel. “Tickle, tickle! Aw, guys, he’s so ticklish, look at how much he’s laughing!”

The fabric of Caleb’s shirt isn’t much of a barrier to Jester’s teasing - or to his own ticklish laughter, embarrassingly high-pitched and loud in a way that makes his whole face heat with shame - but at least they can’t see him blush.

Caleb jumps a little as Essek latches onto him, but his hand stays put, stabilizing, and starts to rub gentle circles on his back as Essek dissolves into cackling at another spidering assault on his arch. “Jester, please be gentle,” he says, amused. “I am not sure that is a good idea.”

Essek’s not sure how he feels either. It’s terribly embarrassing, and undignified, and if this was happening in front of any other being in the Dynasty he would have to learn some sort of memory erasure spell, but - the Nein have never cared for his layers upon layers of decorum anyway, have they, always prying for indignation and confusion and warmth that he’s not certain he even possesses.

Caught between Jester and Caleb and a vat of hot water, with the rest of the Nein making relatively amused noises behind him, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt warmer.

Jester just laughs. “I’m barely doing anything!” she teases, shaking Essek’s leg lightly. “He’s just so sensitive - oh, Essek, is it ‘cause you never walk anywhere? Is that why your feet are so soft and tickly?”

He’s giddy, even with the sudden reprieve, giggling too hard to speak. “I - ha - I dohon’t - ehe-”

“Of course it is,” Beauregard says smugly from a distance that seems far too close, “waving all those secrets and magic over our heads and he’s hoisted on his own fuckin’ petard-”

“What’s that?” Caduceus asks. Essek vaguely remembers the term to describe some sort of bomb, but Jester chooses that moment to send her mischievous fingers exploring under his fucking toes and it tickles like absolute hell. He shrieks even louder than before, if such a thing were possible, and makes a solid attempt to burrow his way straight into Caleb’s ribcage as his entire leg jolts in involuntary protest. No amount of desperate attempts to flex or curl his foot make the sensation any more bearable - it’s like the sucking feeling of a Teleport spell, like everything inside him is unmoored and floating in a sea of mirth and the only way he can get any of it out is to scream.

His cheeks hurt and he realizes, suddenly, that he’s beaming.

Jester cackles. “Come get his other foot, Beau,” she urges, easing off to just pinch his big toe between two fingers and wiggle it. “He totally loves it, he’s not even kicking-”

“Uh-huh,” Beauregard says, and there’s another splash. “Maybe I will.”

Caleb’s still rubbing his back - he stops, briefly, and from his huddled position Essek feels that Beauregard has jostled his other side on her way past. “His feet might be worse than yours,” she murmurs. He can hear the grin in her voice. “Better hope Jes doesn’t remember and go after you next.”

“Don’t remind her,” Caleb says, strangled. It’s remarkably friendly for Beauregard, though, and Essek is once again caught up in the paradox of this little group - merciless but fiercely protective, reluctant but trusting. It’s hard to be regretful - or wistful, maybe, one of those feelings that twinges in his chest every time he thinks of the Nein nowadays - with Jester tickling her way up the back of his bare calf and cooing over the way it makes him wriggle. But his heart, a traitor to the last, manages. There are so many secrets between them still.

Beauregard seizes his other ankle, hauling it up from the water, and he realizes for one terrible moment that if they were to, say, force him out of hiding and keep tickling, he might be inclined to spill some of them. “Scoot over, Jes,” Beauregard says, and there’s a squeak that, for once in the evening, doesn’t come from him. She chuckles. “Good thing he’s not trying to tickle you back, huh?”

He expects Jester to sputter and redirect her, as he would, but she sounds entirely unconcerned at the prospect. “Oh, Beau, do you want to have a tickle fight? We totally could, after this-”

“No,” she says, not entirely drowning out the little panicked noise that Caleb makes. “Not the kind of wrestling I want to do when half of us aren’t wearing shirts, if you know what I mean-”

“Beau!” Jester shrieks, giggling. Fjord groans loudly from the other side of the hot tub, and Essek, still squirming, is very sure that he’s blushing enough for it to show on the back of his neck, under his high collar. “Who do you want to wrestle with? Is it Yasha-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, moving on.” Beauregard interrupts hastily. There’s a popping noise that takes a second for Essek to place as her cracking her knuckles. “Hey, Essek - you think you’d trade another favor to get us to stop?”

Essek flails for something resembling a complete sentence as Jester’s fingers curl teasingly behind one of his knees. “Nngh - heh-”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She squeezes the back of his other knee, barks out a laugh as he jumps. “Jes, stop messing around, let’s get his feet.”

That makes him kick, but at this point his entire lower half is restrained - all he can do is take one last breath before fingertips are scribbling over both his soles and he’s cackling so forcefully that his laughter peaks into agonized wheezing with each fresh gulp of air. “Hhh - ha - ahahaaaa, hA -”

Caleb shifts a little, bending until one of the strands that always hang stubbornly loose from where he ties his hair back brushes the tip of Essek’s burning ear. Essek shivers. “You can tell them to stop, you know,” he murmurs.

Essek’s almost entirely sure that he’s crying into Caleb’s shirt, tears leaking from squeezed-shut eyes as Beauregard and Jester torment his feet, but Caleb seems - fond, oddly - as he starts to rub his back again. “They’re not trying to be cruel - I believe they’re just excited that you’ve. Ah. Lowered yourself to our level, perhaps.”

And what level is that, Essek wants to ask, suddenly conjuring a mental image of Caleb in the same throes of helpless laughter. But he’s barely capable of that, as he’s currently dying, so he just tightens his grip on Caleb and shakes his head. He can barely even register Jester and Beauregard’s teasing anymore - he doesn’t think he can speak right now without embarrassing himself even more if he tried.

“Fuck, alright,” Fjord says abruptly from somewhere miles away, “I think he’s actually crying now, the Dynasty is going to have our heads if we break him.”

“He wouldn’t let them, he’s our friend,” Jester trills, but she does stop tickling, ghosting a hand up over his heaving shoulders to pat him gently on the head. “His ears are really purple though, like magenta purple, I think he’s blushing.”

For some reason - perhaps because he can finally think - it strikes him, fighting through the warm and pleasantly tingling haze of being touched and gentled back into himself, that as much as the casual label of friend pleases him he cannot afford this kind of vulnerability.

“Or suffocating,” Beauregard says a moment later, dropping his foot unceremoniously back into the water. “Thelyss? You alive in there?”

And, a beat later, when he doesn’t reply - “Are you just, like, smelling Caleb now?”

“Gross,” Veth squawks. “Get him off, get him off!”

Caleb smells quite pleasant, actually, but that’s not the point - his self-awareness is slowly trickling back in as he remembers who and where he is, and what he’s done to the Nein, and now they’ve broken him and he would rather die than look any of them in the eye for the next year.

Caleb pats his back. “Come on, friend, chin up.”

And he’s right, Essek can’t afford to cling to this veneer of comfort any longer - but to his immediate and eternal shame, he whines and nuzzles further into Caleb’s ribs. Just a moment to gather his wits, maybe, and he’ll be able to Misty Step to the front door and don his mantle-

“No? Alright, then - I’ll go to work too, if I have to.”

The hand on his back lifts away and walks itself on two prodding fingers neatly up under Essek’s arm, gently wriggling into the hollow until he can’t bear to keep his arms up any longer. “Nnn, hnn! - eheh, thahat’s - enough, please-”

It’s. It’s not, is the problem - he tries to stir up anger, distaste, but there’s only fear. He would deal with this indignity again, suffer it gladly, even, just to have them speak to him kindly. It’s new, and terrifying, and he needs to think it over alone with a generous glass of wine in his tower.

He shrinks back in on himself, still snickering at the tickling under his arms, and Caleb takes the opportunity to grab him neatly by the shoulders and sit him back up - Essek catches a glimpse of his blue eyes shining with rare merriment and promptly swivels to look away from all of them. No one stops him as he rolls his pant legs down and shoves his feet into his boots, heedless of the damp. He can feel their curious gazes prickle on the back of his neck - shifting into an unconscious competence that’s carried him through many anxieties before, he’s already floating off the ground before he can remind himself otherwise. “I’m going to go now,” he says, rushed, still too terrified to turn his head. “Thank you, I -”

“Essek, wait!” Jester says, confused, and Beau scoffs, and he’s not going to think about how he can recognize their voices without even seeing them, he’s not -

Yasha’s voice, at last, breaks through the hubbub, and it’s only in deference to their conversation before dinner that he pauses to listen.

“Hey,” she says, quiet and certain enough to shake him. “You said that you’re lonely, right?”

The noise fades away. He inches down to the ground with it. “Recently, yes,” he replies, just above a whisper, fighting to keep his voice steady with the enormity of this, this feeling -

“I didn’t say so before,” she continues, perfectly calm, “but it’s a little scary, right? To not be so lonely, anymore.”

Essek says nothing - he knows, without the mantle, that they can all see the slight tremble of his shoulders.

“Go away, then,” she says confidently, and then, hastily, “oh, no, that’s not right -”

“Yasha,” Jester squeaks, horrified, and Essek, to his own surprise, laughs. More of a chuckle, really, but. That’s a relief, after all this.

He can place her roughly in the rightmost corner of the hot tub, turns just enough to catch her heterochromatic gaze in his periphery. Her mouth drops slightly open before she gathers herself. “I just, I meant -” She inhales nervously. “I used to leave all the time, to go do - things - and come back when I was ready. You can do that too, if you want, we won’t mind, as long as you come back. And the tickling - we’re all ticklish, you don’t have to feel bad about it - ah, maybe someone else should say something.”

Caduceus pats her shoulder. “Nah, that was pretty good.”

Essek agrees, despite his better judgment. He rolls his shoulders, forcing them loose. “No, no, that’s - helpful,” he assures, and then, taking a deep breath and praying that his cheeks have cooled, he turns to look at them all. “I am to show you my abode tomorrow, yes?”

Caleb looks extraordinarily stressed. “Ah, you don’t have to, if you would rather-”

Beau punches him in the shoulder harshly enough to make him wince. “Yes.”

“Yes, and breakfast pastries!” Jester cheers, clapping her hands together - he’ll have to talk to his staff tonight.

“Until tomorrow, then,” he says, and spares only a brief smile before casting Misty Step to take him to the door and then again to the street.

He’s not quite ready to lose all his dignity, yet.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 20 - Love Is Blindness

Masterlist; Chapter 19

Summary: The confrontation by the turnstile brings more tension into the scene. You and Neil have an opportunity to talk but it goes awry...

Warnings: Swearing.

Author’s Notes: So more of that glorious outfit, am I right? (and R here does have some fun with it) And more tension because why not (plot reasons). Ever so slowly we’re getting closer till the end but before we do let’s finish the Estonian chapter. I really hope I did the scene justice... I hope you’ll enjoy! Feedback in every shape and form always welcomed! 

The ride to Sator’s compound could not possibly get longer. Or tenser. For some unknown reasons, at least to you, Neil jumped into the same SUV. The lack of space in the cramped vehicle, which was already aggravating previously, got unbearable. Ives gave you the job of checking the route to make sure you were heading in the right direction (and avoiding the police patrols), which you took as a gesture of mercy. At least it meant you had something to stare at that was not the proximity of Neil’s knee next to yours. Still, your brain could not get past the fact that his shoulder, in that bloody navy shirt, was pressed against yours. The touch that normally set your whole being ablaze was now a harsh reminder of the lie you let yourself fall for. He did not love you. What is more, your feelings for him were a mere inconvenience rather than something he treasured. And the pain of that realisation broke your heart into pieces. You were foolish and naive; it was all that could be said. Whenever your thoughts wandered onto that territory, it was hard to hold back tears.

And so, you focused all the field of your attention on the map, giving out directions when needed. The rest of the squad was quiet, as though not knowing how to react to the show you and Neil put on. You could not blame them. After all, they have heard everything and now knew exactly how badly you fucked up. The least you needed at the moment was pity. You managed well to avoid even looking in the direction of Neil. It was as though the right side of your vision did not exist. On a few occasions, you could feel him stealing glances, increasing all the feelings tenfold. But, by far, the worst part of the journey happened near the end of those dreadful fifteen minutes. Just as you have been nearing the destination, Michael made one wrong turn. With the emotions heightened, that was enough to make you lash out:

“Fucking hell! Can’t you tell bloody left from right?” yelling, you met the soldier’s wary gaze in the rear-view mirror.

“I’m sorry” he hissed as though holding back harsher words “Where do I turn now?”

“I don’t fucking know”

Your hands were shaking. The additional strain of making sure you never touched Neil in any way, even passingly, made every move more difficult. And so, when you tried to grab the paper map of the area stashed in the seat back pocket, the tablet cluttered onto the car floor.

“Christ” you seethed to no one in particular and glanced at where the device had fallen.

The perfect spot was right on Neil’s shoes. A place you could not possibly reach without breaking the no-touch rule you have set for yourself. Just brilliant.

“So? Where do we turn?” Michael’s panicked voice broke through the paralysis.

Huffing, you checked the map. But it would not do without knowing your exact location. Fuck.

“One second” grudgingly, you turned your head to the right, doing everything not to lay your eyes on that blonde head.

Or the piercing blue eyes that landed on you. You were terrified of the coldness you could see there. Or worse, the indifference. But before you could dwell on those fears for much longer, Neil did the unexpected. He placed one of the gloved hands on your forearm, stopping any movement you intended. That was enough for you to face him. And feel close to tears again.

“I’ll get it” he leaned down and retrieved the tablet “There you go” placing it in your lap you were shocked by the tenderness of his gestures.

If anything, after that argument, you expected him to never willingly touch you again. But then, supposedly, he was conflicted. Enough. Shaking off the dangerous hopefulness, you muttered:

“Thanks”

After that, you have managed to direct Michael onto the right tracks again. Only when your SUV arrived with a halt in front of the building, you had to face your new reality. Because neither you nor Neil were paramilitaries, you were told to stay at the back and only enter the space after a signal from the team. You have fucked up while exiting the car, stumbling due to the overwhelming tension and nerves. Of course, Neil noticed that, shooting you a worried look. For a moment, you wanted to scream at him, yell, burst into tears or do anything else that could show the extent of what he has done. But that would be humiliating. So you met his gaze with defiance, as though trying to say: I’m bigger than this. Bigger than you.

“Everyone ready?” Ives’ voice brought you back to the moment “On my signal” he extended a hand and then motioned for the squad to begin the action.

You watched as they broke through the door to the compound and dealt with the mercs inside. The building itself was rather mundane, with a fence separating it in half. Inversion technology more than likely. It had access to the port dock as well. After a few audible salves from the rifles and a yell, you got an ‘all clear’, saving you from the awkwardness of being stood next to Neil. Surging forward, eager to enter the building, you got stopped by a strong grip on your arm. You turned sharply only to meet those damned blue eyes looking back at you with determination:

“Let me go in first” not exactly a plea, more a command.

You have never been more grateful for the layers of clothes separating his touch from your skin. Otherwise, you could never find the spark to light the anger once again.

“Neil-” he rushed to interrupt you, but you kept talking, “I know that you’re desperate to make my life a living hell, but believe me when I say that I can handle myself” you shook off the hand still wrapped around your arm “I don’t need you” you threw all the leftover passion and fury into those four words.

For a second, Neil looked shocked. As though your outburst caught him by surprise, and he did not know how to deal with it. But then he scoffed:

“That’s-”

Somehow you knew where he was going with this.

“A lie?” you interrupted him sharply “Maybe” meeting his eyes, you shrugged casually and stormed off into the building.

If he was allowed to lie, so were you. Even if to show him that he had not won.

Could the day get any worse? The moment you marched into the room, you knew the answer to the question. A turnstile, proving window, one side tinted red, the other blue. All too familiar at this point. Space was in disarray after the storming of the building. Instantly you spotted TP, hunched by the wall, as though in shock. Glancing at the other side of the room, you could see a woman in an elegant two-piece suit. Kat, Sator’s wife that Neil told you about. She was collapsed in the chair. The bullet hole in the glass was a giveaway. You flinched. An inverted round was a messy wound to deal with. As you stared, Wheeler and Michael joined Kat on the other side:

“She’s been shot” the female paramilitary shouted to Ives.

“Get her this side” he ordered, looking around the space, collecting information, taking control of the situation “Was she shot with an inverted round?” he asked TP, and you were struck by the look on Ives’ face.

Of course. He has not seen a younger version of his boss before. To him, the man was dead. You shuddered, almost missing the moment when Neil entered the room.

“This is Ives. He’s one of us-” before you could perceive the movement, TP stood up and grabbed Neil’s shirt, pinning him to the wall.

Fuck. Your heart sped up, soaking the tension that instantly permeated the room.

“Us?!” putting Neil in a chokehold, TP spit out the words, “Who are these guys?”

From where you were stood, you could see the utter panic and anguish in Neil’s eyes. This was off the script. TP was not supposed to know and yet you had no clue how else he could be placated. Despite everything that happened in the last hour, you could feel your heart cracking in sympathy for Neil.

“Priya’s. Ours” his voice was hoarse from the grip on his throat.

That answer was as good as any. You were silently praying the boss will accept it, move on, let the farce continue. But then he spotted you, stood on the side. Shit. You knew he recognized you from the way his dark eyes flashed. More confusion, and then anger. Neil’s eyes darted to you too. Panic and desperation.

“What is she doing here?” TPs question made you both snap your attention back to him “You lied about her too”

Somewhere on the periphery of your vision, you could see the squad deal with Kat. Only Ives seemed frozen in the spot, watching the confrontation with wide eyes.

“She’s my... She’s-” Neil’s stuttering made you stare at him in shock.

My? My what?

“Yeah? Who is she?” before you could dwell on it for too long, TP’s cold eyes turned on to you again “Who are you?” the simple question made your blood turn cold.

Sighing, you came up with the only answer possible:

“I’m one of you. Same as Ives and the squad” you meet the gaze of the man in question “Same as Neil” the blue eyes were trained on you with a strange emotion visible.

“So you lied?” you could hear the remorse in TPs voice.

“I had to” shrugging, you smiled sadly, unable to meet his gaze for any longer.

You could hear the breath he let out then. Defeated and disappointed. It hurt, and you could only begin to imagine how did it feel for Neil. But it was not the end…

“How did Sator know about the ambush?” the stronger hostile edge in TPs voice made you flinch.

“Posterity. An ambush on the streets can’t stay out of the record-” the strain in Neil’s voice made you look up again.

You were shocked by the deepening horror in his eyes. This was bad. You wanted to explain everything, all the reasons why you were forced to lie. Forced to depend on half-truths you despised so much. But you could not.

“Bullshit! He knew every move we made! Somebody talked, was it you?!” the accusation was thrown with surgical precision.

Looking at them, seeing the way Neil winced as though he was slapped, you felt faint again. He broke your heart earlier, but this was unimaginable. Slowly, you felt the resolve to hurt him back crack under the pressure of the situation. It was replaced by the wish to touch him again. To give him comfort in any way you could. Even if it would mean absolutely nothing to him.

“No…no” the stuttering in Neil’s answer only increased the feeling.

Christ. Almost unconsciously, you took a step forwards in their direction. This had to end.

“At every stage, you’ve known too much. I’m going to ask you again. Did you talk?” TP kept the chokehold strong, making the blood drain from Neil’s face.

You were close enough to try to grab TP now. But one stern look from Ives made you freeze. He approached them cautiously:

“Nobody talked. They’re running a temporal pincer movement” the reluctance in Ives’s eyes was new.

None of you expected the situation to go this way. Glancing around, you could see the squad help Kat with certain hesitation in their movements. First, you and Neil arguing, and now this. God knows they needed a rest from tension and conflict.

“A what?” the confusion in TPs eyes was palpable.

Only in moments like this did you remember that this was not exactly the man who chatted to you over dinner about the algorithm mere months ago.

“A pincer movement. But not in space, in time. Half his team moves forwards through the event, he monitors them, then attacks from the end, moving backwards. Knowing everything” you could see hints of frustration in Ives’s eyes as he explained the term.

It must have felt strange to go back to the basics with the man wearing the face of one’s boss. And not only the face but also the voice, the mannerisms were all there. Making this TP seem like a clueless stand-in for the original.

“Except where I stashed the plutonium” his statement drew your attention back to the scene.

He seemed to consider his options quickly, with a certain degree of remorse in his eyes, before letting go of Neil.

“Which isn’t really plutonium, is it?” the inquisitive look was focused on the blonde man.

You saw Neil shift nervously, smoothing the wrinkled shirt fabric and taking a deep breath that he has been denied for the past few minutes. You too felt as though a weight has been lifted. At least he wasn’t being choked…

“I told you it’s what he’s after” the conflict visible in the blue eyes made you stare at him longer “And you just told him where it was” Neil was disappointed.

You realised that you nearly forgot about the actual reason for the Tallinn mission. 241, the last part of the algorithm that you could still take hold of. Well, apparently, not. A knot tightened in your stomach.

“I lied”

What?

“Jesus…” Neil swallowed hard, looking across the room at Kat on the stretcher “You lied about it?” the bitterness in his voice made you follow his gaze.

The woman was bleeding out on the gurney, scowling in tremendous pain. Your heart broke for the tenth time. No one deserved agony like that. Let alone an innocent woman, unfortunate to have married a monster. None of this was her fault yet looking at the grim countenance of Henrik you knew that she was likely to die because of it.

“He couldn’t verify from inside the room he’d have shot her anyway. Lying is a standard operating procedure” the matter-of-fact tone of TP’s voice made you stare at him with disbelief.

Surely he couldn’t be serious?

“Standard operating procedure?” Neil muttered, making you look at him again.

For a moment, your eyes met. TP has joined Ives by the stretcher, and in a second, it seemed like it was just you and Neil suspended in the space. You could easily read him now. The pain, conflict, and worry in his eyes made your head spin. None of it made sense. Most of all, the way he gazed back at you hopelessly, as though unable to tear his eyes away. He was not like that familiar stranger that shattered your heart on the Estonian highway an hour ago. But neither was he the man you considered your lover. This was something else, someone unsure of anything in his life. The resolve kept on crumbling, and all you wanted was to know his mind. To understand what was going on.

“It’s spread too far” the grave nature of Henrik’s voice made your frown deepen.

“Meaning what?” seeing the fear in TPs eyes, briefly you wondered about his attachment to the wounded woman.

He cared; that much was obvious. The only question was how much exactly.

“She’s going to die” Ives got straight to the point, increasing the tension in the room.

You wanted to have something to hold on to. But the only hand you could hold was unattainable. His dark countenance, enhanced by the red lights in the room, made the beauty especially striking. It was in moments like this that you remembered why Neil could be seen as intimidating. With the sharp cheekbones, dark irises, and clenched jaw, he was an object of awe.

“Can’t you- can’t you do something?” the panic in the eyes of your boss was a startling wake-up call.

“Can’t you stabilize inverse radiation by inverting the patient?” Neil spoke for the first time in a while, nothing but business.

For some reason, it was almost refreshing to see him back in action. You could only stare, watching the situation unfold.

“That takes days” Ives being the voice of reason, looked at TP sceptically. It did not work.

“Let’s go” your future (?) boss stared at you all with newly found motivation, pointing at the turnstile.

“We took control of this machine minutes ago. Before that, it was Sator’s” Ives sighed heavily, already tired of the situation.

You heard of this way of stabilizing the inverse radiation during training you knew that it would take a while. And there was no way of knowing whether they could be brought back then.

“How long will she live on this side?”

“Three hours, tops” the medic shrugged helplessly.

That was enough to light the fire within TP. His back straightened as he took the control back into his hands.

“I’m taking her through. I’m not going to let her die. I’ll take my chances out there”

“Chances of what? We’ve got no way of bringing you back” the skepticism in Ives’ voice made you smile in sympathy.

While you understood the wish to save Kat no matter the circumstances, it did not look doable. Or wise, for that matter.

“We find another machine” the blind conviction in TPs eyes was almost admirable.

If he only knew… It took you good few weeks to learn the locations of the turnstiles strewn across the globe. Nothing seemed close enough. Or feasible.

“A week ago? Where?” Ives articulated your thoughts with that sarcastic edge to his voice.

That was when you realised. A week ago. Turnstile. The two men with a gurney, running across the tarmac as you stared. The blue eyes that met yours across space. It was so simple.

“Oslo” you blurted out before thinking.

All three pairs of eyes snapped to you. Unconsciously, your gaze flitted over to Neil first. He looked shocked, staring at you intensely, trying to understand. Then it was TP with palpable confusion in his expression, mouth open as though he too was about to mention the Norwegian capital. Ives just looked unbothered as though he was certain you have lost your mind.

“That facility’s impregnable. It’s inside an airport security perimeter” he explained, plain and simple.

Maybe to him. Before you could open your mouth, a familiar cheeky tone pierced the silence:

“Mmmm… Not last week, it wasn’t” glancing at Neil, you saw the famous smirk grace his features.

At least that was still intact, you mused while letting yourself observe him a little longer. He caught your attention with a curt nod. Well done, at least he was impressed. But it seemed like TP was the one who liked your idea best. He gave you a small nod of acknowledgement before addressing everyone:

“We’re going in. You might as well help” that last quip, aimed at Ives, was received with a roll of the eyes and a huff.

All back to normal. Or almost normal, you remembered as Neil passed by you on the way to the stretcher. The signal was clear. The boys were heading back to Oslo, and you wondered whether you could have time to talk. To try and make sense of what happened. On the periphery of attention, you could hear Ives introducing TP to the art of inversion (as you sometimes referred to the technology in the quiet of your mind). Taking your place next to Wheeler by the gurney you soaked in the look of surprise and uncertainty on the face of the boss. This would be his first inversion. You could only hope he will take it better than you did. At the memory of that afternoon in the courtyard, your cheeks warmed up. Your racing heart, Neil pressing your palm against his chest, prolonged eye contact interrupted by the unfortunate agent. Back then, you tried your hardest not to die from shame afterwards, wondering if it has not made you seem a fool in the eyes of the intriguing stranger. Now, knowing how it looked like from his perspective, you wondered whether he did not see it as a mistake.

“Let’s go” Ives’s command threw you out of the grim thoughts.

You helped the squad wheel the gurney into the turnstile, relishing in the familiar motion and sounds. In this whirlwind of a day, something as ‘simple’ as an inversion was almost a relief. This was recognizable. Everything else was not.

Exiting the machine on the other side, you met TPs wild gaze, as he kept on staring at you and then at the proving window, where your future selves were busy getting into the turnstile. You offered him a small sympathetic smile, the only comfort you could think of. As he joined Henrik at Kat’s side, you just watched, wishing you were useful somehow.

“How long does she need?” TP asked.

“4 or 5 days. A week to be sure”

“Figure out how to get us to Oslo” TP met Neil’s gaze “I’ve got to get back out there” you could see the surprise in those blue eyes.

A hand on your arm stopped you from listening to the conversation. It was Wheeler, evidently tired, annoyed, and conflicted. You could suppose that was the general mood among the squad:

“Can you help Henrik with her?” she asked tentatively as though unsure you were fit for the job.

“Yeah, sure” you nodded, glad to be given a task “Frankly speaking, I need something to do” you admitted while dropping your voice.

Wheeler gave you a shoulder squeeze and marched off, trying to get control of the squad. You approached Henrik, offering him your services as a provisional nurse. For the next few minutes, you were relatively at peace, occupied with the task. All you had to do was to pass him the needed instruments, disinfect the wound and make the process of field first-aid as smooth as possible. Despite not knowing Kat, you hoped she would make it. Henrik has assured you that he has seen worse but also that she may need a lot of luck. And that there will be a scar. You vowed to give the woman all the remains of good fortune you had.

The other advantage of the situation was the fact that you did not have to stress over the unfolding developments. From the corner of your eye, you could see Neil talk to TP and then to Ives. The word ‘container’ was mentioned. So that was their way of getting back to Oslo, you mused while passing the surgical suture to the medic. It most likely meant a whole week (or more?) of not only not being able to see Neil but also contacting him in any way. But maybe that was exactly what you needed…

“Wheeler, brief him” Ives walked over to you, looking completely done.

“What’s going on?” you asked while taking off the latex gloves.

You have finished the task. Now it was only a matter of getting Kat changed and the container ready for the weekly stay. You could see the team busily taking hold of the needed equipment and supplies.

“TP is heading out there. No fucking clue as to why” the squad leader answered your question with a shrug.

“I see…” turning around to the centre of the commotion you could see the boss putting on the mask.

Wheeler was giving him a summary of the effects of inversion and how to survive outside. But your gaze settled on Neil, taking hold of the various bits of equipment, lost in the madness of the moment. The ache in your chest was ever so persistent. The only thing you were sure of was that you had to talk to him before they left. Even if it meant another argument. Or definite rejection.

The moment you saw TP step out of the airlock the whole squad let out a breath. At least now, you did not have to watch your every move. All that proceeded was simple. Prepare the container, wheel in cots, food supplies, water bottles, oxygen tanks and masks, protective suits. You were given the job of assembling needed ammunition and artillery in case they ran into trouble. Handling the guns and bullets never felt quite this pleasant.

“Y/N?” Wheeler’s voice made you look up.

“Yeah?” you put down the Glock, looking around quickly.

You have found a secluded spot among the rows of containers. It was ideally placed because from there you did not have to see him all the time.

“You and Neil should talk” she eyed you pointedly.

She did have a point. Since you have exited the turnstile, you only exchanged two sentences. Both of them have been related to the type of gun Neil had on him. And even then, your usual dynamic was nowhere to be found. It was all strained voices, metres of space, and awkwardness that made you want to scream.

“That is assuming he wants to,” you noticed quietly, feeling the nerves come back.

“Maybe he shouldn’t be given a choice…” the implication in her voice made you think.

Tempting, but…

“Should I just go in there and make him talk?” you looked around the corner at the chosen container.

Just as you stared, Neil entered it, carrying some crates.

“You know him best” Wheeler’s comment made you frown.

“After today, I’m not sure I know him at all”

But maybe this was your chance… You hesitated, staring at the metal box, weighing your options. Gathering courage.

“Go. I’ll tell everyone to stay away for as long as it is possible” she whispered into your ear and joined the squad.

“Thanks” you muttered and took a deep breath.

You took off the protective helmet. Some used to dress up for the battle ahead, but you chose to make yourself more vulnerable. Smoothing the hair, you stopped right at the airlock made from foil. It was unzipped, and inside you could see Neil fumbling with some equipment. Suddenly he cursed under his breath as an oxygen tank rolled in your direction. That was the perfect cue. Without announcing your presence, you entered and picked up the cylinder. He turned with a question that died on his lips as soon as he realised it was you. Bloody brilliant. Meeting his intense, gaze you took a step forward, closing the space. Only when you were within reach, you dared to speak:

“Be careful with those” you handed him the tank with a small smile.

“Thanks” was all you got in return, as Neil turned back to whatever he was doing.

From how tense he was, you assumed he expected you to leave. Abandon any foolish ideas you could have had and ideally never speak to him again. Well, tough luck. You observed his chaotical movements for a beat before saying:

“Neil,” he somehow tensed up even more, “I think we should talk” you finished the sentence, studying him curiously.

His back was still turned to you. The hand with which he was trying to attach the tanks to the oxygen masks was shaking. And all because of you. Jesus. As the tears threatened to well up again, he muttered a response:

“I’m busy” it was that constrained voice again.

As though speaking to you was painful. Contrasting that with your recent phone calls, anger flared up within your heart. He owed you an explanation if nothing else.

“No, you’re not” you wrapped your hand around his bicep, ignoring the ache in the heart “Leave it” forcing him to face you “And just look at me” you met his gaze with newly found determination.

The conflict and anguish in his eyes shocked you. You could see him hesitate, fiddling with whatever he could get his hands on. And then he exhaled, defeated. Shifting, he perched on the edge of the cot, seemingly eager to hold that conversation, only…

“We already talked” the darkness in Neil’s eyes reminded you of the hostile face he showed on the highway.

The drastic changes in his behaviour were more than confusing. Glancing down to gather your thoughts, you could feel his gaze on you. Analyzing, examining, almost caressing if it was not for the lack of affection there. He truly was a stranger.

“That... that wasn’t a conversation,” you blurted out and raised your head again 

“I hoped that you’ve got enough decency to reject me in plain terms instead of whatever it was back there”

That sentence hit the mark. Neil’s eyes widened, mouth opened and then closed. He seemed paralyzed with the implication of your statement. You were unsure whether that reaction was better than him openly admitting that everything you had was a lie. You took a step closer, awaiting the inevitable. Now you were within an arm’s reach. Just in case.

“I don’t...” he tried and then gave up with a heavy sigh.

I don’t what? It was his turn to stare at the floor. Dragging a hand through the hair, he made the strands stick up. In the yellow light of the container, they looked almost golden. Your hand twitched, wanting to smooth them. You tightened it into a fist. That was not within your rights anymore. You could feel the emotions threatening to overspill at any moment. Forcing all the strength to keep the tears at bay, you spoke:

“I’m afraid you need to be a little clearer. Because what you’re saying and doing doesn’t make any sense” your throat tightened as though acting on its own accord “I’m just tired…” your voice cracked, and you breathed out the rest of the sentence “…of not understanding” a single tear trailed down your cheek.

Fuck. That was it for pretending to be strong. You let out a shaky exhale, trying to stop yourself from crumbling in front of him. When you felt Neil cup your cheek, your heart stammered. You raised your head, glad for the gloves separating his skin from yours. The heartbroken expression in his eyes was too much to take.

“See? This doesn’t make sense” you whispered, encircling his wrist with your hand.

Once your fingers made contact with his bare skin, Neil gasped and shivered. More confusion. Touching his pulse point, you could feel the rapid heartbeat. Suddenly, an idea struck. If words were not working, then maybe… One look at his tired face made you decide. You took another step forward. His knees were touching your thighs now. Your proximity made him look up at you with bewilderment. The feeling only deepened when you took one of his hands in yours and undid the Velcro strap around the wrist. Then with a swift motion, you slid off the glove and placed it next to him on the cot.

“What…” Neil swallowed hard when you brushed your fingers over his knuckles “What are you doing?” the uncertainty in his voice strengthened the conviction.

Maybe he did not love you, but this still meant something.

“I wanted to hold your hand” without waiting for him to respond, you got rid of another glove “And to make you more comfortable” you met his gaze, shrugging.

There was something almost endearing in him at this moment. The blue eyes tinted with confusion, brows furrowed, lips parted. Hair falling into his eyes. The wrinkled shirt and the vest that was undoubtedly your very next target. Finally, the now bared hands folded awkwardly in his lap. You focused your attention on them, taking both palms into yours and tracing the tracks of his veins up the forearms. The goosebumps in the wake of your touch encouraged you to say:

“You were right about some things, you know...” looking into his eyes, you added, “If that means anything to you” you knew he caught on to the meaning because of how his cheeks turned red.

Could that be shame? Surely not. You intertwined your fingers with his, pressing your palms together, reveling in the familiarity of the feeling. It felt like a stolen moment. Something that is about to come crashing down at any moment. And yet, you could not let it go. There was still so much you wanted to do if it was the last time. Neil had no answer for you, however. He was watching you wearily, guarding you from seeing more than he wanted you to. Using his moment of reverie, you released his hands and reached around his waist for the vest straps. That was enough to wake him up.

“What the hell?” the startled blue eyes met yours.

With how close you were, your arms still wound around his waist, touching the buckles, his nose brushed over yours. It was too easy to lean in. Despite everything that he has done, the pull was still there. And so, you gave in, leaving a sweet kiss on his lips, undoing the straps at the same time. He was too shocked to react at first, staring at you. Utterly speechless. Some things never change. You took a half step back, taking out the gun and the radio from the pockets of his vest and then taking off the article itself over Neil’s head. Only once that was done, he spoke:

“Thought you wanted to talk” the spite in his voice was tangible.

And yet, as your brain helpfully noticed, he was not stopping you. He has not pushed you away. Not even now when you allowed yourself to invade his personal space. It was as though in practice, nothing has changed, but at the same time, everything has. You gave him a quick once-over and rested your hands on his knees. Simple intimacy.

“I’m the only one speaking, and I’ve had enough” shrugging, you met his gaze with nonchalance.

Using the newly found dynamic, you slid your hands higher, up the thighs. Feeling the muscles tense in the wake of your touch. There was something strange in his eyes. A hint of the passionate darkness you were used to but tainted with apprehension. And boundless struggle.

“But… why this?” he raised his hands helplessly “I’m really not in the mood” Neil looked at you sternly.

Fair enough. Lifting your palms from where they rested on his thighs, you put them on his shoulders instead. Smoothing the wrinkles in the shirt, toying with the collar. Something in his eyes shifted. The sudden softness made the pain in your chest worse. The words you tried to swallow got stuck in your throat. It was as though after this mess of a day you could no longer pretend. Not when you were alone with Neil. Not when he was looking at you as though you could be the solution to every trouble in his universe. And you had no clue why.

“As I said... you were right” you smiled nervously before confessing, “I want you”

It was simple enough to say. Suppose when one has nothing to lose, it doesn’t matter anymore. Neil’s reaction to your admission was to be put on the long list of confusing things he did. He leaned forwards and pressed his forehead against yours. Breath ghosting your lips as he asked:

“… why are you saying this now?” the hesitancy in his voice only made the feeling stronger.

You knew that there was no question of ending this moment without confessing too much. He broke your heart with ease, but he was your everything. And those feelings were hard to ignore. You met his eyes without holding anything back and touched the tie delicately.

“Suppose I’ve lost my mind” was as good an explanation as any “Can I?” you asked for permission while loosening the knot.

“Might as well” Neil nodded, and you took off the tie, placing it along with the rest of the garments.

Then you undid the first two buttons, letting your fingertips ghost over his neck and shadow of the collarbone visible underneath the material. Neil sighed and put his hand on your waist, keeping you in place. Nothing made sense anymore. It was as though after the drama of the highway and the confrontation with TP, he did not know what he wanted. You still mattered to him. But that did not explain the things he said. Or the sudden switches in his behaviour when he seemed so distant and cold. At once, you wanted to shake him, to demand answers, and to keep on touching him, exploring the familiar angles and letting yourself get lost in the moment.

“This break might do us good” he broke the silence, making you look up.

Straight into the blue eyes that always sucked you in. It was not different this time. Another confession was on the tip of your tongue. This time there was no passion to blame it on. Nothing stopping you from jumping off that cliff and falling to demise. Just you and him, bathed in the yellow light of the container. Too close for people who had nothing keeping them together.

“If you say so” you muttered and took a deep breath “Neil, I-”

“No, don’t you dare” he interrupted you harshly before letting go.

A breach. But it was nothing. Only the more reason to say it. If truly everything was beyond saving, then why not? After all, it was there. Before he could stop you again, you spoke:

“I know that you don’t want me to… but, I love you”

It was like ripping off the band-aid – sharply, with no hesitation and dealing with the ghost of pain afterward. Neil looked as though you punched him. Fuck. You knew it was a mistake, but his answer was certainly not what you expected.

“Christ… you’ve really lost it” he sighed before looking at you calculatedly “All that talking about how much those words mean to you and now-” you dropped your hands from his shoulders and slapped him across the face.

Why? Maybe hoping it will wake him. Make him admit what you once believed to be obvious. But it was all a lie. The pain was almost unbearable. The mess of thoughts and feelings making you sway as you stared at Neil. He gazed back, for once completely stunned. That was enough to find the needed words.

“And now I wasted them on the wrong person? Yes, I’m aware” you let out a bitter laugh, feeling the situation dawn on you.

You confessed the truth without anything influencing the choice, and he turned it back on you. You were the stupid one. Guilty of falling for the wrong person once again. Sentenced to live through the heartbreak while Neil would walk free, unbothered. His heart was intact, guarded heavily against the inconvenience of your love.

“It’s not what I meant” Neil’s words broke through your thoughts.

He stood up, defensive and shaken. As though he had the right. The anger burning through your veins made you advance on him again, closing the distance until there was barely half a meter of space between your bodies.

“What then?” you looked up at him, spitting the words in his face “What did you mean?”

“I… don’t know” the restraint in his eyes made you furious.

“Fuck’s sake…” cursing, you placed a hand on his chest over the heart, feeling the rapid beat.

You have had enough. Acting on the most primal of instincts, you crashed your lips into his. Fueled by the anger and desperation, you started kissing him hungrily. He did not belong to you, but you were willing to show him the extent of your recklessness. Tugging at the lower lip, you groaned into his mouth, feeling him tense up beneath your palms. Just when you were sure he was going to push you away, Neil’s hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him. He opened his lips, letting you deepen the kiss and allowing your tongues to begin the dance. You were furious, upset, and careless. That was enough to give you the courage you have never had before. Biting down on his lower lip, you felt Neil pull you even closer as though he wanted you to melt into him. You tugged sharply on his shirt collar, forcing him to bow down ever so slightly. Tangling the free hand in his hair, you drew out a moan. It only got louder as you burst the blood vessel, piercing the thin skin on his lip. The coppery taste tainted the kiss, waking up a stronger desire. You wanted all of him. Everything at once. Sucking on the split skin, drawing blood from the cut, your soul was set alight with the need for Neil. He gasped when you licked over the damage done and leaned back. His wild, dark gaze was the only sign needed to continue. You pushed him back until his legs hit the cot, and he was forced to sit down. Entirely at your mercy.

Undoing another two buttons on his shirt, you kissed him again. His hands traveled to your hips, pulling you even closer to stand between his spread legs. Breaking the contact after a long, slow kiss, you assessed your work. Messed up hair, swollen lips tinged with blood, eyes hazed with want. Not yours. Ignoring the growing ache in your chest, you kissed the sharp edge of his jaw, sucking on the skin, making him shudder. Then your lips moved south, exploring all of his neck and throat. Making sure not to leave a mark this time but still hoping Neil will understand. His hands roamed across your body, unable to find anything uncovered in the protective suit. A frustrated whine he let out when your teeth grazed over his collarbone made you stop and look at him. Seeing despair in his eyes, the breath caught in your throat. How could he not feel anything back? Swallowing the panic, you ran your hands over his chest, feeling different muscles beneath the material. Then you let your palms settle on his sides, just above the belt, and you picked up the exploration, lightly biting the skin near his pulse point. In response, Neil shivered and pulled you closer, bucking his hips into yours almost uncontrollably. You wanted him to do it again, to feel something. Anything. Even just that pure want that had nothing to do with love. You captured his lips, everything but tender and slow. It was chaotic, breathless, carnal in how you did everything to get a reaction. And it worked. Neil broke the kiss, gasping for breath, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“Christ…” he breathed out, hands secured onto your waist.

Nudging your nose with his as a means of a break, you spoke:

“If you want me to stop, tell me, and I will” you met his eyes with certainty.

Then, not letting a single precious moment go wasted, you kissed his temple. Leaving butterfly touches on the cheekbones and over the eyelids, ending with a gentle nibble of the earlobe.

“N-no” the tenderness made Neil stutter, increasing the deluge of affection in your heart.

You realised that if he asked, you were ready to give him everything. No matter the fact that he did not feel the same. You were his, and that was unchangeable. At least for the foreseeable future. With the infatuation burning through every single cell in your body, you kissed the skin beneath his ear, getting lost in the sounds he let out. If he was unwilling to give you anything else, you had to take what was there. Even if it meant nothing. As though Neil was reading your mind, he made you stop, squeezing the hand that was stroking his chest. You met his gaze cautiously:

“I can’t say it back” Neil whispered as though ashamed to admit it “Not like this”

But you knew. It was nothing new. Shaking your head slightly, you gave him the best smile you could muster.

“I know you don’t love me” placing hands on his shoulders, you noticed the denial in his eyes “But it doesn’t change anything” you shrugged and closed the distance again, “I’m still here” the last word was placed on his lips ardently.

He responded with a kiss, bringing you closer with one hand tangled in your hair. The familiarity of the moment and the terrifying implications of it all were both responsible for the tears that started falling then. The salty undertone of the next kiss was more than appropriate. Lost in the moment, neither of you noticed the footsteps:

“I’m sorry, but it’s time” Wheeler’s voice made you stumble a step away.

Blushing, you met her gaze across space. You were sure she saw enough to understand how the conversation went. Hurriedly, you brushed the tears away, acutely aware of the other pair of eyes fixed on you.

“What happened?” Neil’s hoarse voice broke the silence.

“They set his car on fire. He’s in hypothermia” you inhaled sharply at the news “You should get going” with that, Wheeler left.

For the last time, you glanced at Neil. The perfectly ruffled golden hair, flushed cheeks, dark intense gaze, partly unbuttoned shirt, hands idly folded in his lap. The object of your utmost desire and love. Beautiful, elusive, like a masterpiece that is meant to be admired but never owned. There was nothing left to say. Nodding formally, you picked up the helmet and left before the pain could get any worse.

*** There was not much time to think, as TP and Kat were packed into the container. You were busy checking everything was ready for their journey until the very last moment. When Neil zipped up the foil and motioned for Ives to close the outside door, you felt the sting of tears. That was it. And you did not even say goodbye.

The feeling got worse when Ives turned to you then, digging something out of his pocket. Without a word, he placed a set of keys on your palm:

“What’s this?”

“Neil told me to give it to you. In case he couldn’t come back with us” the leader shrugged “Before all this” he added upon your inquisitive glare.

“Right” you swallowed, feeling worse than ever.

“They’re for his London apartment. I suppose he wanted you to have them” he walked off, leaving you with the problematic set clasped in your fist.

Brilliant.

[mc-critical]

Okay hi its me again💜 i enjoyed your answers to my questions but im here again lol

My Question now is probably annoying or hard but i asked another page a while ago and they said it was too hard (had to re search a lot for it) but i find it very interesting.

Ranking All Imperial Sultanas from MC/MCK by how Influental/powerful they were,would be very happy if u made a list with reasonings i love yours blogs and how well they're formulated.

I'll have to agree with the other page you've asked this question that it's going to be hard answering to it when it comes to history. There's still stuff we don't know for sure (we don't even know precisely how much political influence Hürrem actually had historically!) and there is a lot of research to be done in order to give a full perspective.

That's why I'm going to limit myself to the show. While I feel the hierarchy is even more of a mess there, the conclusions one can drive are far more clear cut, especially when it comes to the evolution of power being explored on a thematic level through the Sultanate of Women.

That said, for me, the most powerful and influential sultana in the show is Kösem. She got the most from the power as a sultan's favourite and the power as a valide. She had the support of both the people and the Jannisary. She was a regent during the early years of Murat's reign and even after Murat took away her regency, she could run her foundations and had meetings that were her making decisions about the state. She represented the state almost her whole life to the point she went as far as to remove every single threat that stood in its way. Out of all the sultanas, she was the one who had the most chance to utilize and extend her power, yet she was the one with the most opposition from people who were capable of anything to take her down. She fought with enemies that put her under constant pressure, but also had their fair share of power and it was a lot more possible for the odds to turn in their favor when it came to it. Kösem managed to overcome all of them not only through sheer force of will, but also through the sheer confidence in the amount of power she wields (and the way she uses it).

The two most important "branches" of Kösem's power that make her stand out among the rest are the reach her power has and her experience. Kösem's touch of power was relatively early - Ahmet and Mustafa, the the most important people in the whole empire, were in their death beds, Handan, the Valide Sultan, didn't know what to do when everyone else was only seeking their own benefit, and the only one who could stand up to the people in what was a massive revolt, was Kösem. By expressing the confidence that the sultan was okay, she represented the country as early as episode 7, she gained another, new wave of respect in the harem and it all unraveled from there. She was starting to "lose" her innocence, she clashed with arguably the most powerful people in the harem (Safiye and Halime + Dilruba), Ahmet, for all he was, acted very "loosely" with her, in terms of what he permitted her to do when it came to the boundaries of her power in the harem and his heart, he relied on her to make decisions when he couldn't, he looked up to her, he sought her advice, he even left the state in her hands in the end. Thanks to the evolution of the SOW, now that very powerful and influential women are the norm in the harem rather than the exception, Kösem was both in a precarious, yet very powerful position, she grasped what the ones before her had and yet got to lengths no one else before (or after her, show-wise) did. Her power spread everywhere, she had so many areas of influence, to the point Murat, the padişah himself, felt overshadowed by all that. But most importantly, she reached out to the people, they all loved and respected her. No sultana was as close to her people as Kösem and I feel that's the most valuable power one could have.

I would put Safiye as second. She's been in power for so many years and she perceives her own power as so massive it's hard for her to let go of. Her dresses, morning routines, material possessions, servants were exemplary. She was so influential in the harem that she was still pretty much perceived as a Valide, even when she already wasn't. She was apparently close to Queen Elizabeth in the show, as well. She also had foundations, even though reaching to the people was far from her first priority. What brings her down for me, is that her influence began to waver slowly, but surely, ever since she was imprisoned in that tower. (yes, she still had a concubine to poison Ahmet, but still...) She lost from Kösem eventually, but she still had very strong presence and was a remarkable member of the SOW. Something from her was left even when she was at her "weakest" - the person manipulating Osman.

I don't know where to put Turhan, to be honest. She was certainly very influential, because she could amass people to her side and staged this massive coup and what helped even further, is her being in a high position from the very beggining and her thematic role in the evolution of power in the SOW, that while everyone else there had their power from their positions as favorites to some extent, at least, Turhan got it solely from herself and what she achieved on her own, because the love and favor from the padişah in her case, was absent at best. But.... her achievements and early apparent upper hand at first only stemmed from the fact that she was Kösem's shadow, she was essentially fooling her and playing with her trust. That is surely bold and the amount of time she succeeded to win in her hands is definetly something, but that facade could last only so far and when it dropped.... Kösem and Turhan were pretty much on equal ground. They were doing move after move and Turhan won only because she used Kösem's weakness. And her weakness.. wasn't the amount of power she wielded. Turhan manipulated her to let go of her personal restraints, which was what she thrived in, but that wasn't really related to power. Power was what Turhan wanted to get, not what she fully had. The same goes with influence. The spheres of Kösem and Safiye's influences were also much bigger than what Turhan ever got and no matter how well she twisted her words, her stunt could even become ineffectual later on, because she has neither ideals, nor principals, but we cannot deny she went way beyond her predecessors for the thing she craved, so I guess she could be here for now.

The Halime and Dilruba (+Davud) faction is not to be underestimated at all. Despite that, similarly to (one aspect of) Turhan, most of their power came from their ruthlessness and how much they were willing to use it. It's interesting, because Halime's most "powerful and influential" was her at her most desperate point, when she seemed to be losing control, because when everyone (the Jannisary especially) learned about Mustafa's condition, no one wanted him to be their sultan, and when Mustafa was dethroned and Osman was the one who ruled. The faction being ready to do anything to be in power and win caused them to beat Kösem in certain instances and were the reason for one of her biggest losses. As far as I recall, they were setting people against Osman and they were also fueling the fire around him, as well as the other stuff. Their opportunism is also a key thing in their power, while it could be also Halime's flaw, when it was her strenght, it fully showed. Knowing when to act (post-E25 Halime and especially Dilruba) and circling around all sides (pre-E25 Halime) is important and advantageous, compared to those who are more direct in their motives. However, when that ruthlessness of the faction is gone, they end up believing way too much in their own victory, hence they let themselves get off guard. Which is what, as well as their ruthlessness that caused Kösem to act even more against them, brought them to their end. And Halime herself could act very irrationally when the opportunity finally seems to come for her, which made her fall under Safiye's traps.

Nurbanu had enough power to guide Selim, hide his mistakes and win him supporters in a way, even though I'm sure she could also be pretty independent of him. She also ended up defeating Hürrem, all things considered. She was cunning enough and she gained influence considerably fast, judging by MC's themes, of course.  However, we didn't see much of her influence outside of Selim in the show and seemed to have opposition quickly after her supposed victory was approaching, with the Safiye case she didn't have the upper hand in, in the end. (though it hadn't been such an easy battle, I'm certain of that.) Nurbanu is definetly the most powerful and influential concubine of a prince, but would she be more powerful than the current/future valides before her? I can't say for sure.

While I don't see her as the most powerful and influential sultana of the franchise, Hürrem definelty brought something new to the table, especially in regards to all the traditions she broke, her more extensive foundation work and her getting in contact with the statesmen, along with vast political allies. Hürrem was the sultana whose power stemmed from her favorable position, but that alone. And thanks to both SS and the themes and the time period, that also could only go so far. Her fatal flaw (the fixation of her enemies and her taking the more opportunistic political allies instead of truly testing their loyalty) made her political alliances become unstable in the end. She had her severe amount of influence, but that influence... seemed to disappear little by little when she seemed to be losing, especially when it came to Rüstem. Her power comes from Süleiman and if/when he dies, Hürrem loses absolutely everything. She has her fair amount of legacy, of course, especially with the favorable treatment and her marriage and how far could one start going on the road of power (though that was more on the themes that set Hürrem as a trendsetter for similar character arcs, not so much on Hürrem herself, but it's stil there), but there're sultanas more powerful than her.

I don't think I'm going to go through all the dynastic sultanas when it comes to power, because their characters and arcs are very rarely connected to power. Still, I find the most powerful and influential dynastic sultanas of MC to be Şah and Mihrimah, and of MCK: Hümaşah. Şah is especially there when it comes to influence and how many things she succeeded to pull off, to the point she could beat both Hürrem and Mihrimah, if she truly wanted to, and Mihrimah had SS's favor and her own growing confidence in her own capabilities, which is also very important. Hümaşah has her power as Safiye's daughter and then, very loosely, as a harem ruler, even though she's not more powerful than her or most of the MCK sultanas.

Ayşe Hafsa had her own fair share of power as a Valide Sultan. She wasn't that massively influential and she didn't weave political plots, but she was very strong in the harem, which she ruled with grace and poise. She had everyone there obey, respect and at times even fear her and she didn't give up so easily in her fight with Hürrem. She was a tough opponent precisely because of the power she had in the harem and even Hürrem admitted she was looking up to her to an extent. Everyone listened to her sound advice and SS considered her his conscience, even though she slowly lost her influence of him in S02B. (and even then SS still cared for her enough, of course)

A bit of a bizarre opinion maybe, but I put Gülbahar and Mahidevran next to each other when it comes to the power they wield in their respective shows. That's mostly when it comes to the vast amount of supporters they both have gained whether it's thanks to their sons or their own personalities, which could put them a step above their rivals at times. (the "Mahidevran is dependent on others" remark.... could actually be as much her advantage as is Gülbahar's seek of supporters and how she uses that.) Both have sons they strive to advice in their own beliefs and while sometimes they may not listen, they respect their mothers a lot. Both gain their strength and power without being favored by their respective sultans. Mahidevran's power shows much more when she rules her harem in Manisa, as she she shows decisiveness and justice and yet can use the same firm hand Valide Hafsa once used with her when necessary. Gülbahar's power shows much more in the castle with all the reach she has thanks to her supporters, along with her big ambition to get what's hers. I would put Gülbahar before Halime and Mahidevran after Ayşe Hafsa in this list.

In theory, Handan had a lot of power as a Valide, but she could by no means adapt to it. She was trying to exert it as much as possible, yet she never discovered how exactly to do it, and when she seemed close to discovering, someone either worked behind her back or everything just went all wrong. Nearly everyone's lack of respect thanks to Safiye's influence was even harder to get over. Handan wasn't suited for this harem life and her only solaces were her son and Derviş. Power wasn't Handan's thing at all, still she was an awesome character.

Farya and Ayşe are a tricky case. While Farya was the closest person to Murat ever being favorable to someone (besides Atike, actually no wonder they're besties!) and he married her, she didn't have the safest position in the castle, because she couldn't have children for the longest time. What Farya got in the end was only a slightly more favorable position that could end at any given time and Kösem becoming her enemy didn't help, either. Ayşe practically ranked above Farya as a mother of Murat's children, but her relationship with Murat was strained, at the very least, and that could pretty much cost her her life. Gülbahar only took advantage of her. The girl was stuck in an abusive and toxic relationship and all she could do to end it, was take her own life and that of her children. Thing is, we're talking Murat and he's as abusive and toxic with all his women as he can get, along with his fear for someone to betray or outshine him, so there's only so much power you can get during his unpredictable and (both direct and deep-seated) anger induced reign, so both Ayşe and Farya are on equal terms when it comes to power. Murat screwed both of them over so hard, I don't think there was ever time or a chance for them to seek such power and influence like others have and I don't blame them for it one bit. It's really, really heartwrenching, actually.

[peppersonironi]

12, 21, 19

(Is this late? Oops. Sorry!)

12: Favourite character to write about this year

Stephanie Brown, easy. She's my spirit animal, so I might be doing a touch of projecting, but I honestly don't care. She's just pure chaos in the best way. Some of my favourite lines that I've written are for her. Such as:

"What's up bitches? I brought donuts!"

"My waffles await!"

"FEAR ME!"

"Welcome to Steph’s Glitter Bomb Palace, Where Snitches get Stitches™! So don’t tell Bruce or I’ll sic Jason on you."

She's also the character I've gotten the most comments on. People really seen to enjoy how I write her!

A close second would be Duke Thomas. Bliss, a fic I wrote for the 2020 Duke Week, was one of my favourites! Or maybe Damian? His dialogue just comes easy to me.

21: Most memorable comment/review

the batfamily exist:

everyone: is,,is that allowed?

On Code Orange (Batfam/Young Justice Crossover)

*Or*

I have wanted to read a DCU/MCU crossover for a VERY long time. This story is such a delight. Your characterisation (and for me an introduction to The Signal) was fascinating in the extreme. I loved the game playing and the fact that I could watch (open-mouthed) as Bruce Wayne enjoyed childlike fun with his children and Alfred(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) was the cherry on top of the icing on top of the cake. I look forward to your updates in a way that you wouldn't believe.

On Batfam/Avengers Crossover

19: Any new fics to start next year

Oh boy. So many. You know what? Here's a list. It'll be good to get these ideas out. Plus, you guys can tell me what you'd rather see first!

Gen/just Batfam

Crack fic based off this piece of dialogue (came from a convo between my sister and I): Tim reached forward and poked Duke's face. "You're right!" He exclaimed. "You really *do* squish like a block of wood!" Duke Centric.

Based on THIS Incorrect Quotes. Talia moves into the Manor because she's sick of Ra's. Featuring a bunch of good mom!Talia.

Based off THIS Incorrect Quotes. Jason runs for President as Red Hood. I have so many ideas! This'll be really fun.

Loosely based on THIS post. It explores Jason and Cassandra's relationship, and how it evolves.

Duke Thomas Big Bang Fic (can't say much, but it'll be great!)

Platonic (need to be certain you understand that. There were some misconceptions w/ my Discord server) Slow Burn between Tim and Damian. At the beginning the absolutely despise each other. But over time they realise their own insecurities, and how they don't actually hate the other. And by the end they fully admit and embrace their being brothers.

Reverse Robins with Damian as the oldest (I made THIS post talking about it a while back. But I've highly revised it.)

Reverse Robins with Duke as the oldest (I wrote THIS fic, but I think I want to change this into a series!)

Cassandra as Batman. Stephanie as Catwoman. Carrie Kelley as Robin.

5 Times Bette Kane was the mastermind behind the batkids' pranks without Bruce's knowledge, and 1 Time her brilliance was brought to light.

5 Times Duke thought that he couldn't possibly get any more siblings and 1 Time he met the cousins (AKA: Duke meets the extended family)

Birdflash

Birdflash in the JL/JLU universe (based off that one hexagon by @novaviis ! Super fun!). The league is inviting potential members to the Watchtower one day. Except Wally wasn't there during the choosing of said members. So he's completely shocked when his husband Nightwing shows up. They have to act like they don't know each other, which basically involves Dick flirting his butt off with Wally, Wally trying desperately to remain professional, Bruce digging in the corner, the rest of the League in varying degrees of disapproval and confusion (at least a couple have seen Wally's wedding ring. So that adds a while 'nother layer).

Young Justice soulmate au. Dick, and eventually everyone else, knows that Wally is his soulmate. Wally is oblivious. Lots of pining and angst in this one. Slow burn to an extent (depends on how long I make it). But definitely a happy fluffy ending in sight!

Batfam Meets Young Justice

THIS fic.

Duke gets yeeted into the YJ universe, and promptly passes out. He wakes up in the Watchtower, and breaks out of the confinement the Team has set up for him. Pulls shenanigans (some unwittingly) and used his powers. The Team and JL are confused, and panicking. Because this guy keeps muttering things about the Batfam. And he has a bat on his chest.

The Team break into some ancient temple after getting info on a new Supervillian plot. They find purple clothed woman draped across a throne. She talks, and they panic, as she knows all their secret identities. The only one who isn't, is Tim. He looks bored. Alternatively: Steph needs Tim's credit card to take his sister out on a date, and absolutely refuses to text.

While the Team is on a mission to stop Lady Shiva, a dimensional portal opens up and spits out a strange Robin (Damian) and what seemed to be a female Batman (Cass as Black Bat). This new dynamic due promptly defeats Lady Shiva and all the goons. The Team is freaked out, and 'apprehends' the dimensional anomalies, bringing them back to the Watchtower. Where the due promptly break and and start chaos. Featuring "Toxic" by Britney Spears. I will not explain why.

The Watchtower gets a sudden emergency message from the Batcave. They accept, to find a stranger calling himself Signal panicking about Robin being missing. They all look at Tim, who ignores them, and says that he doesn't know where Robin is. Some naming shenanigans occur.

(Not sure if this fits here, oh well) Set in Season One, Bruce is tired of Clark's attitude towards Superboy, and adopts the clone himself. Not sure how far this'll go, but at least goes through Dick's time as Robin. (Based on THIS Tumblr post)

(Also iffy on placement) a continuation of one (not sure which? Probably Damian as older) Reverse Robins fics. It's a retelling of Season One of YJ, with Dick as Robin. Nightwing (Damian) feels protective of his brother, and so takes on the role Black Canary had in the show, training the Team. But as time goes on, he ends up being more of a big brother to the group. Cameos from the rest of the Batfam as well! And an Identity Reveal (including finding out Dick and Dami are brothers) at the end!

Batfam Meets the Justice League

Cass takes over being Batman for a bit, because Bruce was an idiot and broke his leg. This happens to line up with when the Justice League reach out to the Dark Knight, in order to extend an invitation to the league. They eventually meet Bruce as Batman, and are confused as to why he is so tall. And male.

Joyfire

Lian accidentally reveals her three parents' relationship by calling Bruce 'grandpa' over dinner.

Museum Heist

THIS fic

Operation: Seduce Nightwing. Based on a post for an ATLA ot3, Wally and Artemis realise silumaneously “Hey, we kinda have the hots for Dick” and decide together to see if he likes them back. Which involves a heck ton of over the top flirting, and shenanigans. The Team is sighing on the sidelines at their idiocy. Dick is internally combusting and thinking “Do they like me back? I’’m not sure.” 

5 times Dick and Wally fought over being the middle spoon, and one time Artemis had had enough.

Set in Season 3 (but ignores some canon), Bart is kidnapped by some mad scientist obsessed with the Speed Force. The Team mobilizes, and gets Bart back from the evil base. But when they get there, they find Wally West freed from the Speed Force. He and Artemis reunite, and everyone is happy. They prepare to leave. Then the Pick-up Squad arrive in the bioship, and Dick gets out. Everyone is expecting Dick to give Wally a hug, because hey, he's his best friend! What they weren't expecting was him to run forward and pull the speedster into a passionate kiss. They go back to the Watchtower, and some more stuff happens.

Soulmate AU where the first thing your soulmate says to you after they fall in love with you is tattooed on your body.

Post Season Two Get Together. Starts with Artemis living with Dick as opposed to Will. Might be Slow Burn? (They come pretty close to kissing) Eventually Wally comes back. Arty and Wally are back together. They both live in the same house as Dick, for convenience. Then some more Slow Burn happens. Maybe some Birdflash moments. Arty tells Wally she kinda had a thing for Dick. Wally admits the same. Maybe a touch more Slow Burn. They Eventually get together.

Batlantern

AU where Bruce met Hal back when he first came back to Gotham. Fic goes through how their relationship evolves over the years (up until current time, when Damian is 13). I'm considering a relationship reveal with the Justice League.

Hal's interactions with Bruce's kids.

Green Lantern Corp acting protective of Hal when Bruce comes to Oa. This was an ask that I got, and I'm holding off on writing it till I get as much into on the GL's as possible, as all I know if their characterization comes from that animated series, and Guy Gardener's (Hilarious!) parts on Young Justice.

Marvel

Like 3 different versions of the Peter Parker Field Trip to Stark Tower Trope.

2-part Crossover with the Batfam (they exist in the same universe), where the Avengers go to a Wayne Gala, and interact with the family. The second chapter involves them heading out the next night to try and contact Batman.

THIS fic.

[amagicdoctor]

I'm reading the old Iron Man stories for the first time ("Tales of Suspense") and in one tale, Tony saves (almost killing himself) Angel, one of the original X-Men and seems to part in very good terms with them. He didn't seem to show any anti-mutant prejudices. I wonder when he starts having anti-mutants leanings (if it's true he has them). To what extent? I was also under the impression that his and Wanda's animosity only existed (mainly at least) in the MCU and that in the comics they were friends most of the time? Could be wrong about that last one. Allegiance and friendships shift a lot in comics.

Hello! This is a really good ask, thanks for sending this in.

So in reference to all those comics you’ve read, these are all good things for me to know and add to my reading list. There’s a lot of old golden age stuff that I haven’t read yet but I don’t even know if I’ll be able to get to them anytime soon. There’s still a lot that I’m thinking about in terms of the dynamic Dr. Strange has with the X-Men, and how that relationship extends to other characters such as Iron Man and the Avengers.

I’ll have to say that when I go into building these relationship dynamics I kinda have to be a little biased. I love the X-Men, they’re my second favorite Marvel team/family, so I want to treat them well in whatever I do. At the same time, I don’t like the Avengers. So I want to bring that clear contrast between these groups in my story.

Asks like these are extremely important to me because I know there are people out there who would like some canon proof that dynamics like these exist somewhere. For reference, I have found that within the X-Men comics fandom there are some blogs where people believe (whether its a joke or not) that the Avengers are pretty bigoted. (I don’t know if anyone would like me to create a post of screenshots/memes of stuff I’ve seen but it’s really good stuff.) I was inspired by those blogs to wrap their canon around mine.

Like I said, I don’t know too much about what comics did back in the day and how they handled the Avengers reacting to the growing mutant community, but I started actively reading comics during the Civil War 2 (2016) event. I know that primarily had to do with inhuman issues (inhumans and mutants are both targeted groups, so this goes hand in hand), but if you saw the way the Avengers fought within their team over what was right/wrong, controlling people, controlling kids, making everything about them, it pretty much showed what they could have done if it was a mutant-related issue.

When did all of this prejudice stuff start? According to some comic timelines (like Avengers Origins: Scarlet Witch & Quicksilver [2011]), before Wanda joined the Avengers she was literally helping her terrorist father harass the X-Men and other humans. So it’s not entirely Tony’s fault for being extremely wary of her abilities. I think there are a lot of people that are still afraid of Wanda, and some of those people are Avengers. They might not want to kill her or anything but her reality breaking powers are definitely something to fear. It’s just that with all this bottled up fear/aggression toward the potential what if? is directed to Wanda and Wanda only because she’s the only high-powered mutant in arms reach. People like Jean Grey are all the way on the other side of the state in a school. So those mutants are in a more controlled environment with Prof. X watching them, but not Wanda.

You also mentioned the MCU- I also don’t like watching any Avengers film media, but I have only watched the first Avengers movie and Endgame/Infinity War so I can’t even speculate what Tony’s dynamic with Wanda was. I know less about Wanda in the MCU than I do in the comics (I get a lot of secondhand information from my friends/fandom). So I definitely haven’t been translating my MCU canon for them into this comics canon.

You also asked “to what extent?” Tony Stark is a businessman. I feel like despite whatever persona I create for him I also believe he has this courtesy to be a professional. In the Illuminati, a secret group made out of Marvel’s top superheroes, he had to work alongside Professor X, the greatest modern mutant activist ever. I think these two characters can definitely be petty between each other (and those scenarios will be explored later) but at the end of the day, they both know that mutants and humans have to come together to save the world. We only have one Earth and it takes all sides to find peace.

I think Tony knows he has to live and share a planet with mutants, and he’s ok with that, but he definitely would get agitated/skeptical at times when all hell breaks loose because a mutant caused it.

✨

I’m really excited to continue receiving follow-up asks like these. If there’s anything I need to add I’ll update/reblog this post with the new additions. Otherwise, please send in another question if anything here was unclear, or you can just DM me.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ five

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 3.9K ➻ Rating: pg-15 now/M later ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one part five

​

“Lieutenant. Nice of you to join us,” Yunho greets as he steps around the foot of the bed. You instinctively pull yourself up and sit up straighter. “Captain. You as well.”

“Let’s just get to business, Yunho.” Hongjoong steps out from behind the lieutenant’s back, dark eyes boring into you. “I want to get this over with.”

“O-Of course, Captain,” Yunho stammers. He moves around the bed to stand across from Hongjoong. “She has been making a quick recovery over the past couple of days. I expect a full recovery by the end of the week if not sooner. Vitals are all steady and manageable despite a lowered heart rate; however, she says that she’s not feeling any adverse effects from it.”

“Hm…” Hongjoong hums and glances past Yunho to look you in the eye. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of formally meeting me. Captain Kim Hongjoong of The Horizon. This is my lieutenant, Park Seonghwa. Of course, you may know us by other names seeing as you are military – or former military, was it?” Hongjoong pauses, the silence giving you an opportunity to respond, but you opt not to and instead stare back at the captain with blank eyes. “Scourge of the Black Sea and the Lieutenant of Death. And you, Miss L/N – the Ghost of Eros. Such a distinguished group of criminals all gathered in one place. I should’ve known you were much more than a petty soldier considering that you’ve got a mean right hook. You knocked Seonghwa on his ass so handily I thought he was going to die of shame.”

There is a lilt of humor to Hongjoong’s tone and only a sliver of vehemence and anger. The man’s presence alone is intimidation at its finest yet the mellifluous voice harbors none of that same intimidation. It’s a strange game he’s playing – dancing between cruelty and a carefree attitude – and you can’t figure out what his true intentions are.

“You don’t seem upset by the fact that I put your lieutenant on his ass,” you say, voice coming out surprisingly steady and even compared to how you’re feeling at the moment.

“Me? Upset? Of course not. It’s not my job as a captain to be upset for my crew. If he’s upset about it then that’s his problem. It only becomes mine when he fails to separate those feelings from doing his job properly. So, Lieutenant, are you upset?”

“No, not in the slightest,” Seonghwa answers, eyelids falling shut as he grins at you again. “More embarrassed than anything, getting my ass handed to me by a person who was injured.”

“Not because I’m a girl?” You inquire and dip your chin down a little bit.

“Not even close. It’s not about your gender – never was frankly – solely because you were injured in your obviously dominant arm.” Seonghwa folds his arms over his chest, seeming to puff it out a little as he matches your stare with an equally firey one of his own. Despite admitting weakness, he exudes confidence and power. It hits you at that moment. The strange aura surrounding each member of Hongjoong’s crew, and including the captain himself, makes sense as the puzzle pieces slip together in your mind.

These are criminals of the highest degree, men with extensive records and crimes that would take days to write down, and for some reason, that fact did not sink in sooner. Yes, you’ve had many an encounter with criminals. This should be nothing new for you but these men are far different than the petty criminals you had to deal with when part of the military. Even though you are considered to be one of them, a criminal on the same level as them, someone just as evil and cruel and merciless, you don't feel that way. A surge of fear courses through your body. Any one of these men could end your life in an instant with zero remorse or care. 

“What d-do you plan to–to do with me?” You direct the question at Hongjoong although it’s a struggle to drag your eyes off of the pretty lieutenant.

Another hum leaves the captain’s lips, and he looks away from you to stare at the ceiling for a moment. “Part of me wants to drop you out an airlock for attacking my lieutenant, sneaking aboard my ship, and stealing from my cargo hold. However, that is not what I’m going to do. I am merciless, yes, but I could drag your pain so much longer if I really wanted to. So give me a reason not to do that first.”

“Captain…” Seonghwa cuts in, reaching around Hongjoong to block his line of sight. “That isn’t the best idea. There is no point in torturing her if she can be useful.”

“Oh, so knocking you out counts as being useful nowadays?”

“Logic, Hongjoong. Think logically rather than emotionally. There are benefits to keeping her alive and well, especially considering who she is. Ghost of Eros isn’t a name thrown around lightly these days.”

“Yet there are also detriments to keeping her here.”

“If it’s space you’re worried about, we have more than enough of it. Plenty of empty rooms. She can stay in the med bay until she fully recovers then move into one of the empty rooms, no?” Seonghwa glances over to Yunho, who nods along with the words with fervor.

“Absolutely,” he says in a clear tone. “She should be ready to go any day now, and if we move her into one of the empty rooms, I can run post-operation checkups there rather than here.”

“You could also run those checkups from the brig. We have plenty of space down there as well,” Hongjoong argues, pushing Seonghwa’s extended arm out of the way.

“Be smart, Captain.”

“What are you insinuating, Lieutenant?”

“That you are thinking with your heart and not your head!” Seonghwa protests, voice climbing in volume. He steps around Hongjoong to face him head-on. “We have the space, and more than enough of it, so there is no point in putting her in the brig.”

“She is nothing more than a stowaway. That is reason enough, no?”

“No, because you never put Jongho in the brig for being a stowaway.”

“Jongho was useful, and he was barely a stowaway when I knew he was aboard the ship from the second we left that planet.”

“How do you know she can’t be useful as well? Hongjoong, at least give her a chance to be useful and carry her own weight until the next stop. You can dump her there if you don’t want her then.” The phrasing of Seonghwa’s words brings a scowl to your lips.

“Excuse me,” you intervene, climbing to your feet with shaky legs. “I am not an object or a piece of property that can be “dumped”!” Seonghwa shifts to look back at you.

“I’m sorry. I… That wasn’t what I meant to say,” he tries, the remorse evident in his furrowed brows. You return the apology with a half-hearted glare.

“In order to be useful aboard my ship, she needs to be able to shoot a gun,” Hongjoong cuts in and effectively redirects all attention back to him. “According to Yunho, that may not be a possibility anymore.”

“Wh–What?” You ask. Eyes find Yunho’s, and the second you make eye contact he glances away from you rather than facing you. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, you didn’t even tell her?” Hongjoong laughs. “Nerve damage.”

“Nerve damage?” You echo, a tremor rising through your body. Your legs fail to support you any longer, and you fall back to the bed.

“It’s not bad–”

“Not bad? Not bad compared to what?”

“It isn’t debilitating.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner? Seeing as oh yea, it’s my fucking arm!” Yunho winces at the scathing rage in your tone.

“I wasn’t sure about the extent of the damage. Sometimes injuries like yours show nerve recovery over time. I needed to see if that was the case with you. There was – I didn’t want to tell you out of fear of upsetting you without knowing for certain what’s wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you can still pull a trigger,” Hongjoong comments.

“But not aim a pistol as well as I used to,” you finish his train of thought, and he nods in affirmation.

“I don’t know if this will help but... we can correct some things through physical therapy and strengthening. Regain the ease you had with aiming,” Yunho offers, a sympathetic smile playing at his lips.

“But… I thought she didn’t need a fully functioning arm?” Seonghwa inquires, eyes finding Hongjoong.

“Huh?”

“To aim a sniper. You don’t need a fully functioning arm,” he elaborates for you. Your eyes fall into a sharp glare.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It means I know who you are. Ghost of Eros isn’t your only nickname. It only took one search in a military database to see who you are. Y/N L/N, wanted military traitor formerly of the operations assassinations and peace control units. Highly dangerous sniper. Wanted for theft of military property, desertion, capital betrayal, larceny, arson, evasion of arrest, the list goes on. Oh, and putting a bullet in the head of the King of Eros.”

Having someone list off your crimes is not as appealing as it would seem, and your shoulders fall further with each crime listed until Seonghwa mentions the last thing. It has you sitting up straight again, staring him down with such intensity that he actually seems surprised.

“It’s a hefty bounty on your head,” he continues in a much lower tone. “But an even heftier asset.”

Hongjoong releases a huff. “I have to agree with him on that, even though I don’t particularly want to. And yet I can’t help but wonder what drives a person to desertion?”

You refuse to answer the question. Instead, you press your teeth together, clenching your jaw and opting to remain silent in the face of the notorious captain.

“Putting a bullet in the head of a king is a pretty good reason. But that still begs the question: why put the bullet there in the first place?” Your chin dips closer to your chest as Hongjoong drives the metaphorical knife deeper into your chest. “I’ve put many a bullet in people’s heads; however, I’ve never had the luxury of doing it to a king. I have to say it’s quite interesting that you would murder someone like that.”

“It wasn’t murder,” you spit out. Your eyes find Hongjoong’s, and you find a taunting gleam in them. Perhaps this is what he wants – to drive you to a breaking point and see you lash out, and if he continues on like this then you won’t be able to resist the urge.

“Oh? Were you paid to do it then?”

You ball your fists around the sheets beneath you rather than responding. Your only answer is the continued glare you send his way.

“Stop it.” It’s Yunho’s voice that cuts in and bleeds through the mounting tensions between you and Hongjoong. “Stop, Hongjoong. She obviously doesn't want to talk about it. You don’t need to keep pushing it.”

“Stand down, Yunho. Are you the captain?”

“No, but–”

“No. You are not the captain and as such, you cannot tell me what to do. If I am even going to consider making her part of my crew, then I need to know her intentions.”

“I’m not going to kill any of you, if that’s what you mean.”

“How can I be sure of that, Miss L/N? Give me solid proof that you are a gentle and merciful soul. From what I can tell, there is none.”

“I am merely doing the same thing you and your whole crew are: just trying to fucking survive.”

“And what about when survival means killing someone? What would keep you from killing someone in my crew to survive?”

“Forgive me in advance for asking the same question of you. What would keep you from killing me when it comes to survival?” A huff escapes your lips, eyes stabbing daggers into Hongjoong’s form, and you extend the arm with the IV sticking out. “Take the IV out. If he wants me to shoot, then I’ll do just that.”

Both Seonghwa and Yunho whip their heads in your direction, Seonghwa’s eyes nearly bulging from his head. Yunho opens his mouth to retort but you still him by redirecting your glare to him. He moves towards you and slowly untwists the IV, leaving the catheter in place. Before stepping back though, he folds his fingers around your forearm and leans close to your ear.

“Seonghwa’s holster is on his right leg,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. The tall man leans back before Hongjoong or Seonghwa can comment on his odd behavior, and you barely process their expressions because your gaze moves for the gun lingering on Seonghwa’s right leg. You get to your feet with a fake sense of weakness.

In a split second, you dart for Seonghwa’s gun and jab the flat of your left hand against the back of his knee. Your right snatches the pistol from his holster with little trouble as Seonghwa is crumpling to the ground. You spin around while he falls, the barrel of the pistol finding a new home between Hongjoong’s eyes. He doesn’t flinch, nor does he move. His expression remains blank and unfocused. Seonghwa recovers, jumping up at exclaiming at the sight before him. Hongjoong lifts a hand and places it against Seonghwa’s chest.

“Stand down, Hwa.” Seonghwa listens to his captain albeit with great reluctance, and you try to steady your hand.

As silence overtakes the room again, the faint sound of the gun rattling against your quivering hand rises. It isn’t that you are afraid of firing the gun; you have shot a man just like this time and time again. You physically cannot get your arm to still. It’s twitching and shaking against your will, and no matter how much you focus, it doesn’t stop.

“Would you really fire the gun?” Hongjoong asks with his steely cold tone.

“In an instant,” comes your scathing response. “But that’s not what you want from me.”

“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa mutters. Out the corner of your eye, you can see his antsy moments, bouncing his weight from one foot to the other and ready to jump you for pointing a gun at his captain.

“What is it I want then?”

You blink, and Hongjoong is gone from sight. The gun clatters against the ground, pain spreads across your wrist, but it is nothing in comparison to the pain that sears through your whole arm a moment later. Hongjoong appears in your vision, standing beside you with his hand clenched around your bicep, directly over your recovering wound. A sadistic smile creeps across his features. Fingers dig into the bandage and push past the fabric to stab a finger into the hole covered by stitches. A loud cry of pain leaves your body. White blinds your vision, your legs give out under you, and Hongjoong holds you up with his tightening grip on your arm.

“Stop!” Yunho cries out, attempting to step between you and Hongjoong. “Fucking stop, Hongjoong! You’re hurting her!”

“Listen to me,” Hongjoong hisses. He yanks your arm, finger still pushed in your wound. A weak sob falls from your lips next. “Stupid ideas like that are the last thing I want.” His grip leaves your arm, but the pain doesn’t. It lingers, burns, seeps through your limb so much that you can barely think straight. His foot darts out and kicks Seonghwa’s gun in the man’s direction. “You can stay for the time being. However, the second I decide that you aren’t worth my trouble anymore, I will dump you either in space or on whatever planet is nearby. It’s your choice. I suggest you choose wisely next time.” Hongjoong stands up straight, face leaving your line of sight, and you watch his back retreat as he strides out the door, dark brown cloak billowing around him as he moves.

“Oh my god,” Yunho mutters. He is by your side in an instant, one hand finding purchase on your waist, and the other gently holds your arm. “Oh my fucking god. I can’t believe he did that.” He helps you back onto the bed then sits down beside you to pull the now bloodied bandage away from your skin.

“Are you okay?” The question comes from Seonghwa, but you can’t focus on him due to the pain in your system.

“He did a fucking number on my stitches.” Yunho sighs and gets up from the bed. “I’m gonna grab and needle and some thread, I’ll try my best to fix it quick. I will need to sterilize again as well as use some numbing ointment to just help with the pain.”

“It-it's okay,” you murmur, words slurring together. Seonghwa comes closer to the bed. He sits down beside you, careful not to touch you. When you feel the dip of the mattress, you tilt your head in his direction and blink at him in confusion. A smile decorates his lips, one that isn’t cynical or cruel, just one filled with sympathy.

“I’m sorry about your arm.”

“It’s fine. Not your fault anyways.”

“Yes, but I’m sorry for his actions. He’s too rash and thinks too much with his heart.”

“Oh, so he has one?” You joke. Your senses are slowly returning to you, words becoming more clear with each one spoken, and your vision is growing less fuzzy by the second.

“Surprisingly, yes.” Seonghwa chuckles, the sound as pretty as his face. “By the way… I have no hard feelings about the near concussion you gave me.”

“How nice of you.”

“Were I in your position, I would’ve done the same. If not worse. Especially seeing as you were wearing a military uniform. I was planning on killing you then and there before I felt the brand on your arm.”

“That damn brand seems to be a hot topic among you all.”

“You have to understand: it’s not every day we meet someone of your fame and caliber.” Seonghwa’s lips curl as he speaks. “Once Yunho redresses your arm, I can take you to your new quarters. They’re all ready for you.”

“What do you mean? How can they be ready already? Didn’t he just make the decision now?”

“Well, no. Apparently, he decided a while ago on his own accord. Hongjoong isn’t one for spur of the moment decisions. He takes a lot of time to decide on things, so I know for certain that he thought about whether you would stay or go for a long while. Thus, he most definitely decided prior to today.”

Yunho returns to the bed, medical supplies in hand along with another bottle of vodka.

“I, uh, I don’t have the belt this time so you may just want to grin and bear it. I would say bite down on a finger but you might take it clean off.” Delicate fingers find your left wrist, curling around them, and you glance over at Seonghwa.

“Try to focus on me instead of Yunho. It might help take some of the pain away.”

“I highly dou–” You’re cut off by your own scream, cold liquid pouring over your skin. Twisting, you press your fingers against Seonghwa’s hand and he grips you with an equally strong hold as Yunho sterilizes your wound.

“All done, all done,” Yunho announces. The stream of cold ceases but your arm still throbs even as Yunho dabs white ointment across it. He massages it into your skin with gentle touches. Once it goes clear, he pulls back and retrieves his small needle. “You don’t need to watch this bit if you don’t want to. I know some people are afraid of needles.” Despite Yunho’s warning, you continue to keep your eyes trained on the wound and watch as he pinches your skin together. The numbing gel he put across it worked quickly; you don’t feel a thing except for a strange heavy pressure on your skin.

“It’s fascinating work,” Seonghwa mutters, leaning forward to watch Yunho work as well. The healer laughs in response.

“It’s simple stuff actually. Nothing much to it.”

“Simple to you maybe but not anyone else.”

“It’s my job after all.” Yunho shrugs, hands remaining steady on your arm. “And I’m damn good at it, so it ought to be simple to me.”

It takes less than a minute for him to remove the old stitches and attach new ones. He works so fast that you think if you had blinked you would’ve missed the whole thing entirely.

“There, all done! It’s a little irritated from being jabbed at like that, but now that I’ve got the new stitches in, it should be just fine. The numbing ointment will wear off in an hour or so. If it hurts drastically then be sure to come back and tell me. I can get you some medicine if needed.”

“Is she all good to go now then?” Seonghwa asks. He unfolds his hand from yours, and you hadn’t even realized that you were still latched onto it all this time.

“Yep! Almost mint condition. You’re welcome.” Yunho sends a wink your way, cheeks scrunching up as he smiles. “You are free from my care at last. Don’t go messing anything up now, I patched you up perfectly. I don’t want my talent to go to waste, after all. I will check up and see how my stitches are holding up later today though.”

“Aw, have you got your post-patient loneliness already?” Seonghwa asks. Yunho responds with a scoff and swings a loosely clenched fist in his direction, which Seonghwa dodges with ease.

“Do be careful though. You still aren’t as strong as I had hoped you’d be. Walking too much will most likely make you lightheaded and woozy. Seonghwa, if she collapses, I’m blaming you.”

“Aye aye, Captain Yunho.” Seonghwa mocks the healer by bringing his hand up to his head and saluting him. “I’ll keep the princess on her feet.”

“Oh wow. Thanks, pretty boy. I feel oh so safe now.” You push yourself off the bed. Despite the shakiness in your legs, you step forward and trail after Seonghwa as he heads out the med bay. Before you step out of the room completely though, you hesitate in the doorframe. Yunho catches your lingering gaze as though he was expecting it. “Thank you again,” you say. The smile that comes to Yunho’s lips is neither cocky nor patronizing.

“Of course. I’m glad you made a good recovery.” He turns back to the bed where you were just seated but thinks twice about it and looks back at you. “Don’t be a stranger either. My door is always open for whatever you need.” He passes another wink your way, and the cheeky action has you choking on air. His laugh resounds in your ears as you move out of the room, shaky legs carrying you to Seonghwa’s side where he waits for you to catch up.

“Alright, follow me. If you get to feeling weak, just let me know and we can pause or I can help you along.” He pushes a loose strand of black hair from his forehead, and as the strands move you catch sight of a small emblem cut into his undercut. It disappears before you can fully examine it, however, and you have to move your gaze before Seonghwa notices your lingering stare.

“Wait–” you call out, and Seonghwa stops in his tracks. “I… I have a question for you before we go.”

✧✧✧

a/n: hello hello it’s tuesday my dudes ;) another chapter down, and most of the buildup and exposition doNE so things will be picking up in speed from here on out so yAY

taglist: @faeriewoobin​ @sugarrimajins​ @atinyinwonderland​

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[glassworkspiderlilies]

cordial

Genshin Impact | @albelumiweek 2021 Day 7 | Free Day | AO3 Summary: She makes a fist without being asked, and he gives her a faint smile before he opens his mouth, offering a brief view of his pointed incisors before he bites down. Lumine does not flinch, not anymore. She watches serenely as he feeds, ever polite, ever elegant despite the nature of the process. Notes: Ending the week with a vampire AU!! thank you everyone who’s followed along for the week, and thank you to the mods who hosted!!! <3

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Albedo is soundless when he slips through the door, but Lumine has grown more used to registering his presence and looks up in time to see him crossing the space to her desk. He smiles at her as he approaches, and she merely looks back down at the paperwork she is going through as though she were not interrupted. 

"That time already?" she asks idly, and she feels rather than sees him take a seat. 

"Yes. But I will wait," Albedo replies amiably, and gives him a grateful arch of her brow.

It takes a little longer than she would have liked to reach a good stopping point. She sets down her pen and leans back in her chair, rubbing at her eyes, though she doesn't get very far before she feels a feather-light touch on the back of her hand. 

"That's not good for your vision," Albedo says softly, and she looks up at him blearily, putting her hands in her lap with a sigh. 

"Neither is staring at paperwork for so long," she says ruefully, looking a little despairingly at what she has left. 

"Then perhaps now is a good time for a break, to indulge me?" 

"I would hardly call this an indulgence." 

But she holds out her hand, and Albedo trails a finger down the length of her forearm. He chooses a vein, then loosens his cravat to tie it tightly around her arm. He taps at her skin, then glances up briefly. She makes a fist without being asked, and he gives her a faint smile before he opens his mouth, offering a brief view of his pointed incisors before he bites down.

Lumine does not flinch, not anymore. She watches serenely as he feeds, ever polite, ever elegant despite the nature of the process. He has always treated this so...medically that even during the first time, it never felt wholly wrong. 

As she watches him this time, however, a thought floats up to the forefont of her brain, a stupid curiosity that she is voicing before she can stop herself. (Later, she will blame it on her fuzzy mind, a result of overworking.)

"Do you ever drink from elsewhere?" she asks, and Albedo lifts his head, blinking in surprise, his teeth still red. 

"I...well, yes, sometimes," he says, glancing down at the punctures on her arm. "But the arm is...easier."

"And the neck?" 

"The neck?"

"Yes. Like in the classic stories." 

Albedo tilts his head, eyes a little wider, almost innocent, though there is a particular gleam as well. 

"Why...are you asking?" 

"Curiosity, I suppose. Your method is very different from the stories, from what I've seen."

He chuckles a little, then bends back down to swipe the blood surfacing from his bite with his tongue. In the next moment, he's wrapping a clean bandage around her arm.  

"The neck can be easier in other ways," he concedes, his focus on his task, "But it can also be...dangerous."

"How so?" 

"You've larger and more important veins there. They require more pressure afterwards, and if you are not terribly careful with the bite to begin with, then you could very well kill someone. It is why the classic stories feature it thus, as we...did not care about being careful."

Lumine taps her fingers a couple times on her desk. 

"And that is why the Hunts against your kind became so fevered."

Albedo inclines his head.

"Just so." 

They are silent for a moment as he finishes wrapping her arm, the extent of the bandage a little more excessive than usual. Lumine does not pull her hand back when he finished, and nor does he remove his own.

"But it's possible?" she says, the question seeming too loud in the air, "To drink from the neck, without killing."

Albedo sits back, his eyes narrowing a little.

"Most things are possible," he says, the implication of but that does not mean they should all be attempted clear. 

Lumine hums, considering.

"I'd like you to indulge me," she says, and he draws in a sharp breath.

He stares at her, almost in disbelief. She can tell that he is mapping out the reasons why she offers—there's a few, really. At present, he needs to feed often from her, and she can tell from the amount he takes at a time that it is not quite enough to satiate him. When he does feed, it's always from the arm, which makes for a sore spot due to the frequency. If he were able to draw from her neck, while she might be more tired after, it would sustain him longer. And...it's an exercise of trust, yes between a vampire and the Lightbearer, which would go a long way in repairing reputation.

But most of all, it is an extension of trust between them as individuals. 

Even so. Such a thing favors Albedo wholly, and he gazes at her, trying to determine what the benefit is for her.

She smiles, understanding the unspoken question.

“It’s a secret,” she says, only a little mischievously, “Are you willing to find out?”

His brow furrows lightly, and he leans forward, highly hesitant. But she begins to unbutton the high neck of her dress, pulling back the collar to reveal her slender neck, and he will not pretend disinterest; he cannot hide the hunger that lights his eyes.

“Be gentle, will you?” she teases, and he tilts his head.

“Am I not always?” he asks, and her eyes crinkle.

“Yes,” she says, quietly. “Sometimes, too much so.”

It is silent between them again.

Lumine pulls back her collar even further; Albedo meets her eyes again, then looks to her neck. He trails his fingers down its length as he did with her arm, then hovers his lips just above her skin.

After a moment, she feels wetness of his tongue, then the slight prick of his teeth before they sink in entirely. She lets out a small noise—it is a new sensation, in a new location—but Albedo does not pull back.

He drinks.

The new position is exquisitely intimate, and the longer they stay that way the faster she feels her heart beat. She begins to feel dizzy—though she doesn’t know whether it’s from the heat flushing her body or blood loss. She doesn’t know how long his lips have been on her neck, but it’s not in protest when she reaches up a hand and twines her fingers into his hair.

She feels it when he drinks deep, and a gasp escapes as he does so. In the next moment he’s pulling back as though ripping himself from her, putting a hand over her puncture wounds and pressing down, reaching for bandages again.

She’s a little dazed. Lumine allows him his ministrations, but there’s a stiffer manner to him now, as though he is relying on the politeness rather than extending it the natural way he usually does.

“Was that enough of an indulgence?” he asks quietly as he steps back, and it takes a minute for Lumine to answer him, distracted by his lashes, the way he won’t look at her, the way his own pale skin is suffused with just a hint of color.

“Perhaps,” she murmurs. “And for you?”

He looks at her sharply, his brows knitted in what seems like irritation or confusion. But she smiles. He can be distant, yes, and may be lacking in interpersonal skills. But he is a smart man, too, and she can tell that he is coming to realize just what it is she’s gained from the interaction.

A break in his defenses.

“You walk a dangerous line,” he says quietly, his hands curling into fists before he hides them behind his back.

“I always do; it is part of my work.”

He says nothing, looking at the ground. She is not offended by his reticence and leans back in her seat, glancing out the window at the shifting night that never lifts.

“The years are long, Albedo,” she finally says, her voice soft, “And very empty.”

He goes still at the familiar sentiment voiced aloud. There are not many as long-lived as they.

It is only now that he comes to realize their meeting may not only have been a miracle to him.  

“…They are,” he says soberly.  

There is no more room to hesitate, he supposes. He’d thought to allow her space where he could, when he’d already occupied her body to sustain himself—but she continues to draw him.

And creatures such as him are greedy—though such is his own nature, as well.

He gives a defeated sigh and walks back to her, perching himself on the arm of her chair.

She looks up at him, holds out her hand. He bends down and presses her palm to his cheek, then turns his lips to the inside of her wrist.

“It does not have to be,” he murmurs, and her laugh is a little choked, as well.

He presses a kiss against her lips—chaste, too gentle. She sighs against his mouth, and leans into his side after they part.  

They sit there for some time, still and silent, holding each other’s hands, taking comfort that they no longer have to walk through the darkness alone.    

[phati-sari]

Hello PS! Hope you are doing well and everything is going okay on your end. First of all, I was to convey my heartfelt thanks to you for this awesome site and your amazing posts that keeps fans like me enthralled and escape from reality. I am interested in knowing your thoughts on why IPKKND became such a smashing hit and why are we so much invested and drawn in to this story? I know you are not too keen on us giving you options so I will just stop with an open ended question ☺️ Thank you somuch

Hi!

Awww, this is so sweet! Thanks :) I’m glad you like the blog!!

IPKKND was made in the era of saas-bahu serials -- serials that were defined by what we now call kitchen politics: issues that women encounter in shared households. They’re relatable and sometimes fun and reassure the audience that their experience is not out of the ordinary. 

Into this landscape came IPKKND -- a youth-based romantic drama that focussed as much on the depiction (and to some extent, validation) of lust between the lead characters as it did on True Love. A drama in which the male lead had more to do than stand in the background and provide reactions, a drama in which the female lead had agency (I’ll come back to this).

It’s difficult to see in retrospect but 4Lions broke and subverted many tellywood tropes with IPKKND. I’m not saying that it was the first Bad Boy meets Good Girl story, or that it was the first time we were shown an Angry Young Man with a Heart of Gold. They’d tried much of it with Geet, and Pratigya was being played at around the same time. But the way it told this story changed the landscape of tellywood.

IPKKND balanced everything it wanted to do quite well. It told a story about two families but balanced it with stories about the Alpha and Beta couples. Compared to serials that came before and after it, IPKKND didn’t get lost in its sub-plots, didn’t introduce characters just to forget about them, and was generally a very focussed, enjoyable story until it reached the end of its original story arc. And then it ended. I believe this is one of the most important aspects of its lingering success: that it ended before amnesia or an evil twin had to be introduced to extend the storyline.

IPKKND is one of the most syndicated shows in tellywood. It’s been successful in most of the markets it’s been introduced to. There’s a kind of universal appeal to this story. I think it, again, comes down to balance. Khushi is presented as the Every Woman -- the female audience is encouraged to see themselves in her. But she has a lot of agency.

There’s a tendency in shows to present the female lead as someone things happen to. By this I mean that the female lead is often a bit like a billiard ball -- she goes through life in a set direction and external forces change her trajectory. People are mean to her, they plot against her and misunderstand her, but she doesn’t cause any of it and is always blameless.

Some folks go through life this way -- framing events as though they have little to no agency and things happen to them and around them rather than seeing themselves as actively involved. This framing works for that audience and I definitely see it in much of the interpretation and analysis of this show. It’s present in 99% of the fanfiction written around it.

But IPKKND puts Khushi and Arnav at the front and centre of their story. They make things happen. Their (often bad) decisions and actions cause much of the conflict in the serial. Shyam is just there as a catalyst and as a vehicle for Devi Maiyya’s will -- Arnav and Khushi destroy themselves and their relationships more thoroughly than Shyam could ever dream of doing. (After all, his plans usually fail!!). 

So I think this is one of the reasons for its popularity. Whether the audience recognises it or not, it’s IPKKND is framed slightly differently from other serials in the same genre.

Another contributing factor is Arnav -- he straddles the line between Angry Young Man and Abusive Jerk admirably for a tellywood character. There’s something about our social conditioning that tells women that slightly aggressive (and a little angry) men are more desirable (I guess the idea is that they’re strong and they can protect us). But with that comes the expectation that, however much of an ass he is to others, he will be caring and loving towards those he loves. The challenge is to convince him that we belong in that inner circle. IPKKND plays into this with gusto.

The alpha-male lead is caring and protective towards his family, particularly his sister. An atheist, but he keeps a permanent temple in his home for his family. A self-made businessman and workaholic, but he always leaves work to come home if someone needs him. A rich and powerful man, but he rehearses apologies in the mirror. Arnav represents an ideal that is rarely found in reality, but it’s an ideal many of us (unconsciously?) strive for. Khushi certainly does.

She’s almost immediately attracted to the Bad Boy aspects of Arnav. He’s so forbidden, so outside the realm of what she’s expected to be attracted to, that she’s drawn to him. And Khushi isn’t some paragon of goodness either -- there’s an answering darkness in her that makes them perfect for one another. She helps him heal from a trauma and he becomes her anchor.

And while I say all this, we have to recognise that IPKKND is far from perfect. It can be problematic in its normalisation of abusive behaviour and its refusal to examine exactly how and when Khushi went wrong. It places too much emphasis on some things and not enough on others. It does not, in my opinion, depict a relationship we should aspire to -- men like Arnav are more likely to genuinely be abusive than have a heart of gold hidden deep inside and shows like this teach us to keep digging rather than cut loose and find someone else.

But in the end, IPKKND transcends its tropes to become something more. It’s the combination of the story, the clever use of tropes and motifs, the brilliant cinematography, the high production values, the balance of comedy and romance, the balance of family and individual subplots, the amazing casting, and the fantastic acting :)

[havenoffandoms]

Eskel & Ciri  May I Have This Dance (Gen)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list.

Prompt: “Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.”

Pairing: Ciri & Eskel (Gen)

Read on AO3.

Eskel and Ciri share a special bond, despite rocky beginnings. Even though it took Ciri considerably longer to warm up to Eskel - and get over her fear of his scars - the two formed a unique bond, or so Eskel likes to believe. Geralt is like a father to Ciri, that much is undeniable, and over the years Lambert adopted the older brother role rather than uncle. Come to think of it, Ciri never used the moniker ‘uncle’ for Lambert. He was always just Lambert. 

Eskel guesses that him being promoted to the role of uncle may have had something to do with the fact that he and Geralt are as close as brothers, even though they aren’t related by blood. Ciri picked up on that early on, which is probably the only reason she started seeking Eskel out more only a couple of weeks after she first arrived at the keep. At first, she would only come find Eskel if Geralt wasn’t around, or was otherwise occupied. As time passed, however, Ciri came to Eskel just for the pleasure of his company, and the two soon bonded over their shared interests - animal care, signs, embarrassing stories about Geralt… Eskel had a lot of those in his repertoire, and they always end with Ciri doubled over with laughter, tears running down her face. 

Eskel likes to indulge the child in Ciri. Just because she’s training with the witchers doesn’t mean that she should be deprived of a childhood. Eskel, Geralt and Lambert never got to be kids, never had the chance to play and have fun. For them, it was always very much about training, getting their skills up, preparing them for the Trials. It doesn’t have to be like that with Ciri, and Eskel will always encourage her to play and have fun whenever she can spare a moment from her training. Eskel often finds her crouching behind a door waiting for him to step into the room so she can scare him. It never works, not really, but Eskel pretends it does for her sake. It builds her confidence. 

Ciri and Eskel like to play hide and seek together. That usually happens in the evening, in the time frame between bath time and dinner, when Eskel is not on cooking duty of course. Ciri will often find Eskel in his room or in the library, nose buried in a book, mending his armour, or whetting his swords. She’ll saunter into his room, her vibrant green eyes sparkling with the promise of mischief. Eskel will look up from whatever task he’s busying himself with and manage a lopsided smile, knowing full well what the little she-devil is up to. When she’s close enough, Ciri will reach out and slap Eskel’s comparably massive hand before uttering a quick ‘tag, you’re it’, and disappearing in a flash. Of course, Eskel could find Ciri easily by following her scent, or by listening to the rapid fluttering of her pulse. 

But what would the fun in that be? 

Eskel and Ciri will spend ages playing hide and seek, usually until the others call them down for supper - in which case their game of hide and seek turns into a race to see who can reach the dining hall fastest, regardless of where they are inside the castle. Eskel often wins those races, which has Ciri huffing, but the little devil is getting faster and faster each time. Besides, she never stays mad at him for long. 

One evening, Eskel finds Ciri crying in her room late at night, long after they had retreated to their rooms for the night after dinner. The girl is clearly trying to be quiet about it, but there’s no fooling a witcher’s enhanced senses. Eskel knocks on her door softly and steps into her room, where he is met with the sight of his niece crying pitifully into her pillow. 

“Go away,” she mumbles miserably, though the usual heat in her voice is absent. Eskel goes to sit on the bed next to Ciri, the mattress depressing under his weight. His large hand nearly spans both her shoulder blades as he rests it soothingly on her upper back. He can feel the way Ciri’s petite body shakes with the force of her sobbing. 

“’s alright, pup. It’s alright.” 

“I miss her.” The heartbroken declaration is followed by wet sniffles that tug at Eskel’s heartstrings. “I miss grandmama. She always knew what to say when I had nightmares.”

“What would she say?” Eskel asks, his hand rubbing up and down her back. It takes Ciri a little while to calm down so she’s able to answer Eskel’s question. She manages to sit up and shift onto the mattress until she’s pressed against Eskel’s side. He wraps his arm around her body and pulls her closer. 

“She’d say… that she’d never let anything hurt me. Because I’m the Lion Cub of Cintra, and she is… was … the Lioness. And no one touches the Lioness’ cub.” 

“Hm. Your grandmama was a wise woman. Strong, too. And fiercely loyal to the people she cared about.” Eskel leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of Ciri’s head. “And just like the Lioness of Cintra would never let anythin’ happen to her cub, so the wolves of Kaer Morhen will always protect their pup.” 

Ciri cranes her neck and manages a grateful, albeit teary smile. Eskel returns the gesture fondly. 

“Grandpapa said that the Tuirseach bears would also watch over me. When I was small, he used to carry me around my room and dance with me. He taught me how to dance like they do on Skellige.” Ciri perks up at the memory, like she’s suddenly struck with an idea. Her green eyes meet his amber gaze, and Eskel recognises the now familiar spark of excitement in them. “Eskel, can you dance?”

A warm chuckle rumbles from deep within Eskel’s chest. 

“Afraid that is not a skill we were taught here.” 

“I’ll teach you,” Ciri declares, her sorrow long forgotten as she slips off the bed and stands between Eskel’s legs, “it’s only fair. You teach me how to fight, so I’ll teach you how to dance. It’s really easy.” 

“Ciri, it’s late-”

“Please, uncle Eskel?” Ciri’s lip juts out pleadingly, her eyes growing teary once again, and Eskel is unable to resist that look. He heaves a resigned sigh, which Ciri correctly interprets as him agreeing to her idea, if the wide smirk that graces her features is anything to go by. 

“Fine. I’m all ears, lil pup.” 

“So first,” Ciri extends her hand, knuckles up, in a very familiar gesture in noble circles, “you ask the lady if she’d like to dance with you.” 

Eskel’s lips curl up into a fond smile, but he happily obliges his niece and gently lifts Ciri’s extended hand to his lips, where he presses a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. 

“Your Highness, may I have this dance?” 

Ciri giggles, then nods her assent and pulls Eskel off the bed. She’s tiny compared to him, a fragile-looking little thing, but Ciri is growing physically stronger by the day. There is no doubt in Eskel’s mind that the child is mentally stronger than most people on the Continent - after what she’s seen, after what she’s been through, Eskel can only admire how resilient Ciri is in the face of tragedy. The Lion Cub of Cintra, the Wolf Pup of Kaer Morhen… 

Eskel lets Ciri stand on his feet, barely feeling her weight. She’s holding onto his right hand and wraps her left arm around his waist for balance. Eskel’s left hand is pressed against Ciri’s back, supporting her as she gets into position. 

“Now you move around the room. It’s very simple. Two steps to the left, then two steps to the right.” 

Eskel follows Ciri’s instructions, letting her take the lead and guide him through the steps. It’s a moment which will remain branded in Eskel’s memory for many years to come and which will keep him warm on the cold nights spent out on the Path. Ciri wormed her way into Eskel’s heart easily, effortlessly, and if Eskel never understood the bond between parent and child before, he does now. To an extent, obviously. Ciri isn’t his daughter, but Geralt’s. But she’s collectively their wolf cub, and Eskel will rather die than let anything happen to her. 

But enough of that now, he tells himself as he focuses on enjoying this tender moment. How often will he get the opportunity to dance with a princess, anyway?