#dy is giving fire the confidence to be who he is without fear

[twig-tea]

Fire and Dynamite Can Sit With Me

There have been a couple of really excellent posts about Fy and Dy on my dash this evening, and I wanted to yes, and them but am making my own post because things were getting long. First, if you haven't read this post by @waitmyturtles or this one by @lurkingshan or this one by @bengiyo do that first!

In addition to the moments all of these brilliant people have pointed out, I wanted to highlight a couple of other things.

First, like Ben mentioned, we find out later in the series that Dynamite first fell for Fire because he beat up bullies for him. The important thing this informs about how Dynamite interacts with Fire in the early episodes is that he sees Fire's fierceness as safety. This is important because Fire is RUDE, and it alienates other people from him. It also means that he knows Fire is a straightforward person who is not afraid to punch people he's genuinely mad at. Dy knows what Fire looks like when he's genuinely mad.

Second, one of the things that Dynamite picks up about Fire is how much attention Fire actually pays him. He says himself, if you weren't interested in me and you were interested in Jane, you wouldn't notice or care about my presence.

Third, Dy did not move in with Sansee in order to stalk Fire. It was a series of coincidences that led to them both being in that condo building. And when he says it's fate thanks to a goddess granting his wish, Fire doesn't disagree, he just curses out the goddess for granting Dy's wish.

Fourth, Dy is excellent at reading people and situations. You have to be when you have been bullied for your attitude in the past. He's constantly correctly reading Ten and his reactions to Prem, and he takes encouragement from how Fire reacts to him up until Fire legitimately wavers, and as mentioned by Shan in the previous linked post, that's when he backs off. Dy is not ever pushing when he can tell he's really unwanted, and he doesn't stand in Fire's way. He encouraged Fire to speak to Jane; he even got Fire Jane's contact info. He continues to flirt in front of Jane but he can tell she doesn't mind--we see him look at her and clock her reactions in those scenes. And he steps in immediately with Fire's mom to take the heat for Jane being in Fire's condo, without even talking about it, because he knows how damaging it can be to be cut off by a family member for being a disappointment.

So much about consent is body language and nuance. I'm not saying "no means yes" or whatever nonsense, but pushing when someone is genuinely uncomfortable even if they're not saying no is so much worse than sticking around even when someone tells you to go away because you can tell they're relaxed and not actually upset. The contrast in power dynamics, reading of body language, and consent vs non-consent is strong between Fire and Chef Changma, and Changma heartily loses that competition.

Despite clocking Fire as closeted from jump, Dy does not push Fire to come out. As Ben mentioned, he puts his own friend group--friends who at this point are functioning as his found family replacing the family that abandoned him, like so many of us have had to do--at risk to respect Fire's right to come out at his own pace.

Fire at first defaults to staying in the closet. But when he sees the toll that this has on Dynamite he decides to push himself to come out anyway, even though Dy is not making any demands.

As Turtles mentioned in their linked post, when Fire stops fighting himself with his whole being, he's soft. And this is how he is used to expressing love, it's how he expresses his love to his mother too.

In short (lol), I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOUR.

[girlsworldillusion]

Summary: Amid the severe consequences of war, Aemond finds himself alone, without the presence and support of his young and sweet wife, who insists on staying away from him, afraid of who he has become. He has been a respectful and patient husband. But tonight he feels like he has finally reached his limit.

Author's note: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: +18, SEX, SEVERE INTERNAL CONFLICT, DUB-CON/NON-CON, POSSESSIVE/OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, EMOTIONAL DEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND MORE.

word count: 6k

There is no specific description of which house the reader belongs to, so feel free to fill this in as you wish.

English is not my native language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Good reading!

He can taste vomit in his esophagus.

Aemond knows it wouldn't be too difficult to get out what little he ate. He coughs as discreetly as he can into the back of his hand before taking off his eye patch, wanting to splash some cold water on his face and throat. He pretends not to notice how his hands are a little shaky as he pulls the gloves off of them, cupping his fingers inside the basin left by the servants on the table. The cool water feels refreshing on his hot skin, and with a satisfied hiss, he looks up, staring directly at the reflection of his own face in the mirror.

The flickering flames of the fire near the wall provide no comprehensive illumination, and he is honestly relieved by that. What little he can see is disturbing enough. His single lilac eye is bloodshot, his silver hair is disheveled, so different from normal. Paleness in the face, sunken cheeks. The subtle glow of the blue stone in his other eye and the deep scars around it only add a dying touch to his ghostly visage.

Another deep tug wracks his stomach and he leans forward, gripping the sides of the table with abandon, preparing to actually throw up this time. But nothing comes, nothing but the painful, nauseating feeling in his body.

He can't forget.

It's all his doing, after all. It's all his fault.

The death of all those people, the desolation of the entire Riverlands. It's all his fault.

Any feeling of greatness and power that previously inhabited his body no longer existed. His superiority and confidence swept away by the tide until he was spat out on the shore with nothing but pain and trauma.

He is a hypocrite and he knows it.

Aemond is not a good person. He doesn't want to fool anyone with his anxiety attack, he definitely doesn't need to take on the role of the poor regretful guy. He doesn't regret what he did, he doesn't regret doing what was absolutely necessary for the good of his family. He could never regret this. And he knows that tomorrow, a week from now, or a month from now, he will do exactly the same thing again if necessary. There are no limits to what he is willing to do to and for those to whom he is loyal.

He can't even dare deny liking it all.

When he's on Vhagar's saddle, with the world in flames just beneath them and the addictive power to decide for good or ill for those poor, hopeless souls, he can swear he's never felt anything better. There's something disturbingly liberating about embracing the monster that resides in his chest. It's surprising to him how good it feels to be ruthless, to take on the role of the uncontrollable beast everyone says he is (rightfully so).

It wasn't always like this. But a series of violent and tragic actions that may or may not have been intentional earned Aemond more than just an ominous codename. They gave him respect; fear. Aemond One-Eye, the son without expectations, the child without any prominence. No more.

He feels ruthless when he is in the skies, dictating the fate of humanity. It gives him power. He is powerful now, he is no longer the boy forgotten by everyone. The feeling of being superior pumps hard through his veins until he goes wild, makes him feel like he's crushing people under the soles of his boots. He is more powerful. Their lives depend solely on the way his hand moves and it turns out that, to their misfortune and terror, his hands are wrapped around the saddle of the largest dragon in the world. It is difficult to be sensible and godly when there is so much power at his command. He is more powerful. There is nothing that can stop him. He feels invincible, unstoppable. He doesn't just enjoy it - he worships this feeling.

At least until it's all over.

When the dust settles and all that is left is the consequence of his actions, it is then that he quietly withers away.

He killed them. All of them. His hands are stained with blood and ash and it's all his fault. He has separated families forever, traumatized so many souls with insurmountable depression and pain and it is all his fault. Adults, elderly, children, babies. All dead. Because of him. Hoarse screams of terror and fear, all begging for a mercy that would never come - could never come. Not by his hands. Not when he had a family and a purpose he was so loyal to.

Aemond worships the sense of power that comes with a reputation for being ruthless and regrets nothing he has done and will do for his duty. Unfortunately, this does not mean that he does not suffer the consequences in equal proportion.

Another sigh. He drops his head and presses his fingers against the edge of the table. He closes his eye so tightly that patches of white light explode into his vision, each labored breath makes him lean forward and clench his teeth. The pain is impossible to ignore – it shakes his insides, leaves his limbs trembling.

"Is this hurting you?" a soft voice asks, a small, fragile thing, almost impossible to hear - if it weren't for the fact that he lives to hear the sound of that voice. He knows this, and so does the owner of the voice, both fully aware of this dangerous dependence. “Pretending to be a God, I mean.”

Aemond feels his heart beat faster, the angelic sound of your voice rescuing him from the merciless depths of his own mind, making him slowly raise his head as he stares at the place where the voice came from. He almost can't believe what he heard. But there you are, sitting on your bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets and pillows, your wide doe eyes catching the moonlight and fire flames in the dark of night, shining like stars.

His sweet wife.

He simply looks at you, not offering any kind of response right away. Not because he doesn't want to. But because he's too surprised to hear your voice and see your face to form words at the moment. Aemond doesn't know how he ended up here, in your private chambers - the place he hasn't been welcome in for some time. He was supposed to go to his chambers. Was he that distraught and distracted? Could the confusion clouding his senses have unconsciously led him directly to the person he needs most at the moment?

He looks around quickly just to confirm that, yes, there is no doubt that he is in your chambers. He didn't intend to do that. He shouldn't be here, invading your privacy and ignoring your request that he keep distance. Of course, his longing and need for you made him consider such a thing countless times. Regardless of your wishes, he was your husband; he had a right to be here. But he never did that. You don't want him in your bed anymore and you've made that clear. And Aemond was not ignorant or even insensitive enough to pretend not to understand your reasons. You had a lot of them and he knows.

You were not made for cruelty. Your innocence and purity made you unable to be aware of the horrible things he did and still treat him the same way as before. You were afraid of him now, just like everyone else. The blood of many was on his hands and you knew it, just as you knew he regretted nothing, and that he would not stop this - not until victory was achieved.

You didn't agree with that, you never did, not even before the marriage. But what could a young woman do in the world they lived in? You were just a piece on a board game, an ace up his sleeve used by your father specifically to provide armies and loyalty to the crown in exchange for a marriage and a more than convenient name for your family.

Aemond knew from the beginning that you didn't want to marry him; how could you after all? You barely knew him beyond the questionable reputation that surrounded him, and a dangerous family clash was about to break out in the kingdom - this was definitely not the right environment for romance to blossom. But you did your duty. You had been an exemplary wife in the short two months of peace that followed your marriage. You treated him with respect and patience, slowly opening your heart to him with each passing day. He wasn't the most talkative or the most sensitive husband and yet you showed empathy for his limitations, accepting what he gave you with gentle smiles and rosy cheeks, without demanding anything more. So sweet. So inocent.

It was no surprise the feeling that welled up in his chest.

Aemond was obsessed before he even realized it. Needing your gentle attentions like a flower needs the sun. He clung to you as his only comfort in an almost bleak existence, he became more and more obsessed with you and you didn't notice. You read with him, walked through the gardens with him and talked to him as you always did, kind and polite. And every day he felt hungrier, pushing the limits of restraint. You welcomed him into your bed every night, welcoming him between your legs as if he belonged there - and he did, indeed. Aemond's appetite for you and you alone knew no bounds.

But he wasn't the man you married anymore, was he?

You fear him now, any and all advances he's made with you over the past few months have vanished into thin air like the ashes he's so used to seeing now. The feelings he was carefully cultivating in your chest now seem to have sunk so deep into your being that he thinks they no longer even exist. You no longer craved his attention; the touch of softness and affection, whenever “husband” dripped from your mouth, was absent. And now all he could do was want.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, not wanting to miss this moment for anything, not after being deprived of it for so long. And you look back at him from where you sit on the bed, chin lifted in false courage. You looks at him with your bright eyes and high cheekbones, which seem even more highlighted in the warm lighting around your bodies.

He may have entered your chambers out of pure unconscious instinct, out of nothing but silent desperation. His body guiding him when his mind no longer could. But now that he's here, he doesn't know how he didn't realize it from the beginning. It's impossible to think about anything other than you. You, you, you.

At this point, deaths at his hands no longer existed. Not his pains or the weights he carries, not revenge, not duty. Anything. Absolutely nothing. There is only this moment, between him, a boy who so wanted to be enough for those he loves and the young girl who is illuminated by the light of the flames.

He feels it. It's not new. That strange impulse that draws all the attention of the environment around him to you and you alone; an almost painful need between his teeth to take a bite and not let go, to have it with all your heart and nothing less.

"Nothing to say?" You press and he's not even embarrassed by the fact that he doesn't remember what you said before. He should leave. It's all he thinks, even as he takes an uncertain step closer to your bed. And that's enough for you to immediately tense up, wrapping your small hands in the sheets to subtly pull them towards you. You are hiding yourself. Hiding yourself from him.

Aemond should leave, continue respecting your limits.

If this had been another night, maybe he would have done it. If the smell of smoke and dragon scales hadn't been trapped in the leather of his war clothes, as well as the dust of ash, then perhaps he could have left. If he couldn't smell the insistent scent of charred bodies and decimated land in his nostrils, taking permanent root in his lungs, perhaps he could respect your innocence.

Not even Aemond knew how on edge he already was. Your refusal of his proximity was just the final push to his downfall.

He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on. He respected your decisions and stayed away much longer than any other husband would have done. And this is how you repay him?

Aemond narrows the only functional eye he has left. You don't react, nothing more than another protective grip on the sheets and a slow swallow of saliva. He wants you so much and the thought enrages him. Why? Why does he feel this way? He desperately wants to punish you for making him feel this way. He wants to punish himself for even thinking about doing this to you.

You left him like this; nothing but a mess. When would you finally accept him for who he is? When would you understand that some cruelties were necessary for the final goal to be achieved? When would you see that everything he did and would do was solely for his family? For you. To keep you safe. When would he be enough?

He grits his teeth and feels his entire body tense with thoughts. He hates it; he hates the way you confuse him and make him feel all these terrible emotions. It makes he feels weak. The temptation of the slightest chance of your affection suffocates his common sense. He feels his hands shaking. He'd been so blinded by the hopeful, innocent vision he constantly saw you through that he fooled himself into thinking he was on your mind as much as you were on his all this time.

"Aemond?" You whisper, sounding more uncertain than before, disturbed by his extended silence as he slowly approaches the bed. He keeps looking at you the whole time, letting you glimpse the flames of fire reflected in the icy sapphire in his eye. He adores you, with every fiber of his being. But the flash of fear that shines in your eyes in response makes him stretch the corner of his lip in a malicious smile. He couldn't help it, there's something sweet and pure about you that makes him constantly waver between wanting to protect you and wanting to destroy you.

You try not to weaken before him, but Aemond immediately notices the way your body is a little trembling when his hand, that same hand that drags the musk of leather and death, passes through the fabric of the sheets, spreading lightning over your legs. You don't stop him, but your eyes flash with a frightened warning, a warning he ignores tonight. His palm flattens against your ribs, daring to caress, to feel the linen of the sheets beneath his fingers, the softness of your flesh beneath it, and you squeak an off-key sound, pulling the cocoon of blankets and furs up to hide you.

A small annoyed growl leaves his lips and his other hand quickly covers yours, stopping you from continuing.

"No. Enough of that." He says in a low but firm tone, looking sternly into your eyes. You part your lips, surprised by his behavior, and try to pull the hand still trapped by his, but he doesn't let you go. "That's enough, wife."

He thinks you might try to deny it, but you fall silent, slowly relaxing against his grip on your hand. Aemond wants to purr at this, wants to praise you and spoil you, because you are so good, so good. His good girl. Even when you're crushing his heart between your delicate hands.

It's not your fault, he tells himself. It's not your fault that he's obsessed with you, driven crazy by the idea of you. Aemond can't even focus properly, even when you're in front of him, defenseless and at the mercy of his whims. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest from pure ecstasy and excitement at the same time. And he can feel, on top of it all, the blood flowing to his hard cock, making it swell beneath his black riding pants. He feels embarrassed by his actions, but at the same time excited, just by the little things you do, by everything you are to him.

“Something is wrong with me...” He says, more to himself than to you, gently pushing a strand of your soft hair behind your ear, sliding his thumb in a gentle caress across your delicate earlobe. “You're in my house. You're in my house and I don't want you to leave. Never." He approaches your face, sliding his fingers from your ear to the side of your face, until he holds your small chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I need you." He continues, ignoring how honest and frank he looks - weak. “I keep thinking of ways to make this happen,” the more he talks, the faster you breathe, sweet little sighs near his lips, calling to him like a siren’s song… “I want to ruin you. Because I think that's the only way you won't leave me."

The intensity of his words scares you, he realizes, he sees how your eyes fill with tears and your eyebrows twitch. But even in the dim lighting of the flames, he can see how the tops of your cheeks turn red, how your chest trembles with the breath that catches there...you want him.

It's a shame you're so willing to keep him away.

But he can't stop.

Aemond closes the distance in an instant, pushing you down until he traps your body beneath his, feeling the contours of your soft, supple curves against him; he shudders. He caresses your face one last time before moving down, ignoring your hesitation and your useless efforts to push him away. Quick as a viper, he grabs the hand that moves to push against his chest, wrapping it with the other still attached to his, holding your wrists tightly above your head.

You cry out at the pressure on his wrists, the long lashes over your eyes fluttering, pleading. "A-Aemond, what are you doing?" you stutter. "Please, please... I said I needed it - please give me some more-"

"Time? Oh yes, you said it." He hums thoughtfully, placing a thigh between your legs, dipping his face into the crook of your neck to breathe in the fresh fragrance of your shower, snoring contentedly with your naturally sweet scent. Intoxicated by your scent, he trails his lips along the slender column of your neck before stopping at the shell of your ear. “I’m so sorry, dear, I’ve waited too long. We’ve both waited too long.” He intones, intoxicated by your presence. You sob once but don't say anything else, choosing to turn your face away from him. Aemond snorts a laugh at that, but doesn't stop you, preferring to leave a tender, wet kiss on your cheek.

Squeezing your wrists with one hand, he allows the other to slide slowly down your body, almost reverentially. He paused at the delicate laces holding the front of your nightdress before untying them with deft fingers. The front opens, exposing your silky, flushed skin to his hungry gaze. He doesn't have the patience to remove the fabric completely from your body, so he just lowers it enough so that your breasts are exposed. He bites his lip, holding a curse between his clenched teeth. When he presses his bare palm to your perky breasts, he tastes your trembling innocence, your soft flesh.

So beautiful.

So pure.

From the beginning you were his opposite, your delicate hands, as irritatingly clean as his are stained with blood and ash.

As much as he truly suffers from the consequences of his actions, he never regrets them, because he knows they are right - necessary. There was only the future to shape, the past should stay where it belongs; behind him. Something he had learned through much pain, but unfortunately, his sweet wife had not yet. But as he runs his greedy fingers down your body, feeling the goosebumps on your soft skin with each touch, Aemond knows he scares you as much as he excites you. You can't hide it from him. Your obviously involuntary response to him only makes him fiercer, hungrier. He wants to ruin you from the inside, until you can't bear to live a single day without his touch.

He allows you to continue your theatrics, still stubbornly staring at the wall while pretending his actions don't affect you. There's something almost too tempting about it, in fact; It's a matter of honor for him. He will break your masks and he will take pleasure in doing so.

Letting his fingers slide down your sides, Aemond's lips wander. He kisses the hole in your throat, moving down with wet, licked breaths to your breasts, tasting you. You gasp softly and grip tight fists on the bed sheets when he captures a soft nipple with a slow suck of lips and a teasing scrape of teeth, your body curling beneath him tightly. He smiles with your nipple still between his lips, leaving wide, warm trails of his tongue on the little perky bud. His hips slide against the inside of your parted thighs, pushing the hardened bulge in his pants against your pussy once.

You bite your lip and close your eyes, but he doesn't stop. With another thrust he uses his strength to push you back onto the bed, the bed you shared many nights with him, to fuck you into the warm sheets. It's almost too much for him to finally feel your little pussy once again, even through the leather of his pants and your delicate nightwear. But he continues with slow, strong thrusts, rubbing his cock against you in a way that teases your clit, the smell and heat of his effort wafting throughout his body; sweat, dragon, fire, ash, blood, death - all mixed together, merging with your own sweet, intoxicating scent and, of course, the unmistakable scent of sex.

Before the chaos broke out, Aemond was quite skilled at this, at driving you crazy. A part of him is extraordinarily pleased to find that he still remembers correctly, especially when a press of his fingers and a twirl of his thumb on your slobbery nipple makes you gasp. He wants to see you, to see you blush and sweat, looking ruined for him. Gods, oh yes, Aemond wants this so much. He can't stop, he can never stop, especially with you singing so sweetly to him. When you arch into his touch and whisper his name softly, like a secret no one can discover, his breath hitching. Aemond can't stop.

A specific thrust makes you let out a high-pitched meow, your hands pulling at the linen on the sheets and he moans along, releasing your breast with a wet pop to look at your face. You have your lips parted, your long eyelashes touching the top of your cheeks, your eyebrows furrowed in sweet agony. He thrusts a little faster, rubbing your clit with more pressure, taking in your presence and the feeling of your tiny, supple body, preening at every sound that leaves your lips.

Sounds so sweet, so beautiful; he considers himself a sinner with the way something so innocent and angelic makes his blood boil and his cock throb with need inside his pants, surely soaking the fabric with the way he feels himself leaking.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, baby...”

And yet, he doesn't think he cares about dying by your hands when things turn out like this. He is admitting defeat without any embarrassment now; he can bear the dull weight of war, he can bear his own mind trying to destroy him at every turn, he can bear the betrayal of his own family and the demands of his duties. He can bear with anything.

Anything except being without you.

With an impatient grunt, his fingers tug at the soft skirt of your nightdress, bunching the thing at your waist as he rips your underwear down your legs. You don't try to stop him, but you don't try to help him either, remaining almost motionless against the bed, and he feels like he can growling at you like an animal for that - stubborn girl. He hates and loves this about you in equal intensity. He's almost rough and punishing as he hooks the back of your knee into the inside of his elbow, pushing your leg up to your breasts. And then you're giving up your fight, sighing - all anxious expression, furrowing your eyebrows and biting your lip as he hurriedly unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to pull his cock out, slamming the wet, throbbing head over your clit before sliding his entire length along your folds.

You moan, he moans. The slide is wet and he can't tell if it's all you, if it's all him, if it's all both. He doesn't care, honestly. All that matters is how his cock is thrusting into your heat, hitting your clit with luscious pokes, coaxing more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips.

He hooks your other leg in the crook of his elbow and does exactly what he did with the other, trapping you between him and the bed in a position where your entire pussy is presented to him. With his hands flat beside your head, he brings his face closer to yours, the leather covering his chest pushing your knees further into your breasts. You moan through your teeth, unable to do anything but tighten your hands around his shoulders. He smiles slowly, drunk on the sensations, still gently sliding the length of his cock into your folds.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, enchanted by the way you dance between looking at the sapphire stone and the deep lilac of his functional eye. You've always done this, he thinks - saying one was as beautiful as the other, impossible to choose.

“I’m giving myself to you, love…I’m yours.” He whispers softly, husky, needy to you. "Will you do the same from now on?"

He’s so close he feel how your heart races violently at his words, slamming against your ribcage as you take a deep breath. Every expression on your flushed face makes him sure you're going to have an intense crying fit, but even when the liquid in your eyes pours down the side of your eyes, you keep yourself almost in one piece. You look deeply into his eye as your shoulders shake. "Y-yes." You exhale, fragile. “Yes, yes, yes,” your voice sings repeatedly, with quick, confused nods, tears streaming from your eyes.

He can't hold back the husky sound that leaves his lips, his cock pulsing in reaction to your obvious fragility exposed to him.

"Yeah?" He asks breathlessly and it's very slow - as he thrusts inside you, thrusting his hips back and forth once, twice, three times until your pussy swallows as much of his cock as it can, until the tip of his hip bones rub it against your thighs. And it's so intense, so obscene – the position he puts you in, the full weight of his body pinning you to the bed, broad shoulders hiding you from view, silver hair like a curtain around the two of you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and his releasing small curses between clenched teeth... debauchery.

You give his shoulders a few desperate slaps as he fills you, your tight ring of muscle stretched to accommodate his girth, and no matter how long it takes him to prepare you, no matter how wet you are, he knows there's always that initial pain that rips through your groin as he pushes into you. It makes you sway beneath him, little tearful sobs that are like the sweetest song to him.

Another curse muttered in deep Valyrian was his only warning as his palms sink into the softness of the bed. Your own hands looking desperate too, one tangled in the silver base of his hair at the back of his neck and the other gripping the material of his leather shirt, a strangled moan catching in your throat as he begins to fuck you slowly. You can only hold on as he pulls and pushes his body above you with each deep thrust, his impatience shown only in the forceful and violent way in which his hands grip the bed sheets.

He leans into you a little more, moving his hips in different ways, testing the angles until he makes more of those tears well up in your eyes as your pleasure increases almost painfully. Your moans quickly turn into babbling when a particularly strong movement of his hips makes you shake all over. The way your tight pussy tries to contain him and suck him in at the same time drives him crazy, feral.

He won't last long. He already knew this before it even started, but now, feeling your walls squeezing the life out of him after so long deprived of it, with your cute little noises getting louder and louder, with your expression drunk with lust and sadness, the buzz of battle still vibrating through his veins... Aemond feels release approaching shamefully fast for him.

He'll make it up to you later, Aemond promises himself. When the hot need subsides at least a little in his system, he'll take off his dirty war clothes, maybe ask you to take a shower with him. He'll soap your body and tease you until you're riding his cock in the tub at your own pace, his fingers rolling your little clit with each bounce of your hips. He will lay you on the bed and love every inch of your soft body, worship your skin with kisses and hickeys. He will part your thighs and bury his fingers and tongue in your wet softness. He will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you until you are hoarse from screaming, until your body is physically unable to continue.

He will do it all.

He has done it in the past, many times.

Now, however, all he needs is to find his release, to unload those months of forced distance inside his trembling body. But Aemond will be damned if he doesn't bring you along with him.

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, pushing your legs against your body further, lips parting with hoarse, breathless moans that escaped him with each thrust and the sweet pleas you murmured incoherently. The movement of his hips quickens, one hand leaving its blunt grip on the sheets to squeeze between your thighs, poking your clit in tight circles, his cock hitting a spot inside your walls that makes you shiver and tremble in anticipation.

“Aemond…” you cry, digging your nails into the back of his neck, pulling his body towards yours, as if you weren’t already physically as close as possible.

He growls at your plea.

“My little, innocent wife,” Aemond giggles wildly as your pussy clamps down on his length again, your climax approaching, his thumb rotating a steady rhythm on your clit. If only your mind was clear enough to form a coherent thought, maybe you'd complain that the rhythm of his cock in your pussy would be painful, that the continuous and harsh scratching of his clothes hurts the soft and delicate flesh of your body, but you don't say anything, not now. You just accept what he gives you. And he knows you missed him as much as he missed you. “Always so good to me baby.”

Aemond watches you intently, unable to look away from the pleasure that shows on your face. You're shaking, lost in your wet breaths and high-pitched, broken cries, your legs trapped between his body, welcoming him. You're tight and small, his sweet wife, and Aemond can feel your cracks stretching, a spider's web of fractured thought and temptation too much for anyone to bear, and as much as he knows it's impossible, he wants this moment to last forever. Aemond is undone. A fool in love. And it's sad. And it's beautiful. It's being at home.

"Mine." His murmur echoes next to your lips, both of you breathing each other's breath, his rhythm starting to falter, the searing heat rushing through his body beneath those layers of heavy clothing makes him dizzy, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't stop. “So pure, so beautiful, so delicate…” he caresses your clit without faltering with a rumbling purr as his cock swells inside you. “Ngh...oh fuck, so tight. You're going to get everything, aren't you, darling? All of me.” His own teeth graze your neck as you arch and scream in pleasure. “Be a good girl and don't let anything leak, hmmm…”

He fucks you roughly, your name dancing on his lips like a prayer in the dark. Aemond savors this moment with the veneration it deserves, the final chase. The two of you so broken, so vulnerable, shaking with pleasure for each other. He rubs your pussy, hips slamming into you at lightning speed.

And finally, gods yes, it finally happens.

"Aemond! A-Aemond, please! Please-" You throw your head back, your lewd pleas turning into a broken scream as you explode around him. Your face is flushed and glistening with a subtle sheen of sweat, tears streaming down. It's all he can take. You convulse and break and the sensation of his cock swelling with the resulting explosions of hot cum filling you follows shortly after. As your body and pussy tremble and clench, he finally releases his own pleasure, biting down hard on your shoulder to muffle his husky moans, spilling himself deep inside you, the continuous spasms of your orgasm milking every drop from him. You and he cum together, and even in the hazy haze of climax, he thinks he's never experienced something so sublime, so perfect.

You're both shaking as you come down from the waves of mutual pleasure, and Aemond is especially careful now, gently unfolding your legs from that tight position to allow you to stretch them, which earns him a long, grateful, relieved moan. He slowly pulls away until he's kneeling between your thighs, watching raptly as you bite your lip as his cock leaves your heat. A tight grip circles around your parted thighs, lifting them up a little to expose your dripping pussy. He looks almost in awe as he watches his seed flow steadily from your abused pussy.

But Aemond is selfish and his cum doesn't belong on the crumpled, sweaty sheets. No, he told you to keep it safe inside you and that's what would happen. His fingers slip into the wet mess of cum in your folds, pushing as gently as he can all the thick liquid inside you again.

You're too tired to react, but you still sob softly at the sensation, subtly squirming on the bed, legs shaking from being held in the same position for so long. He looks at you, icy lilac gaze half-lidded with lust, blue stone glowing in the flames of the fire. He looks at the soft, creamy flesh of your sweaty body. He longs to see dark spots and bite marks, a way of proving that you belong to him. He lifts his head, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, just above your left breast. His teeth leave crescent moons on your skin and you scream loudly at the stinging sensation, but you don't stop him. He walks away, admiring the constellations he had traced on your skin. Painting you for him, marking you as something unique to him.

You sniffle and blink wet eyelashes at him. He kisses his bite, murmuring gentle words to you, his lips trailing up with soft sucks and wet kisses in your throat until he brushes against your lips. And it's then, and only then, that he realizes he hasn't kissed you yet. He doesn't know why he didn't do it, given that it's probably the thing he misses most about you. Feeling the softness of your lips on his, the gradual way a small, innocent kiss quickly evolves into something more urgent, the way you immediately struggle to keep up with his pace, his hunger as he swallows your cute sighs and your ragged breaths as he suck your tongue.

Yes. This is what Aemond longs for. How easily he could make you fall apart in his hands.

Taking into account the way that you blush and look down at his lips, you're thinking the same thing. He smiles mischievously, slowly leaning in for a deep kiss, fingers damp with your juices and his cum resting on your jawline. Your little hands sink into his hair until you lightly scrapes your nails across his scalp, making Aemond shudder. The fingers of his other hand cup your hip, tracing the line of the bone in gentle patterns. His nose bumps yours as his tongue dances in your hot mouth, spreading in you the taste of smoke and revenge that seems to follow him at absolutely every moment now. And like his perfect antithesis, you gasp, let him savor your sweet, fruity flavor - so fuckin sweet.

Your legs circle his waist, making him press against your heat, quickly reigniting the flame of need within him. You lick it off his tongue, moan when he sucks your bottom lip and bites it, you beg between quick breaths and Aemond continues to rub himself against you, the kiss becoming sloppier, driving him crazy with how irresistible you are in this state. You give yourself completely to Aemond, without asking questions or making new complaints, and it drives him crazy.

"You are mine. Only mine. And you will never leave me again, do you understand?" He murmurs as he pulls away, both of you panting, looking seriously into your water-bright eyes, noting how they're a little wide and your mouth is swollen and wet from his kisses.

A few tears slide down your face, but you smile shakily at him, the hand in his hair stroking the silver strands lovingly.

"I am yours, Aem. Now and forever." Honesty bleeds into your shallow voice, your little fingers on your other hand tentatively tangling with the buckles of his shirt to open it.

Aemond rests his forehead against yours and truly smiles for the first time in a long, long time. Not a malicious, mocking or condescending smile... No, this time his lips are stretched into a small, but genuine, honest smile.

And it's because of you.

Because he knows he got what he wanted so much. He has you again. He was resilient, he was patient and he was fair. He fought and, with his efforts, created a space just for himself within your heart. He knows you're still unhappy with everything that's going on, and no matter how much he wants to, he can't change that. He can only strengthen you to bear it. It can only burrow deeper into your body and your heart until you are able to forget the atrocities that are happening around you - the horrible things that he is doing. It's a gaping hole in your chest that leaves you continually bleeding, he knows, but the exposed cut is so sweet, and here he is, licking the wound like an animal, with all the violent, relentless gentleness he has to offer as the vengeful prince that he is.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing his cock back into your abused pussy in a deep movement that draws a broken sound from both of you, pulling you against his chest. He rubs his sweaty face against your throat, your face, your hair. His voice syrupy and thick as he whispers, "I love you."

Fuck. Aemond would never let you go.

[bonefall]

How would you so Vindictive or spiteful in Clanmew?

Let's talk a little bit about the Clan Culture concepts of evil.

(Surprise Clanmew ask because today is Halloween! BOO!)

"Sin" translates directly into Clanmew. An action that incurs displeasure with StarClan is Nyaw. Not all sins are codebreaking, but breaking ANY part of the warrior code is a sin. There are cats who have been damned by StarClan for sinful behavior, without breaking a single part of the code.

There are 9 Great Sins (Arrarra Nyul Nyawchk) of Clan Culture, some more severe than others. It's also really important to note that there is a long history of Clan xenophobia; many of these sins did not equally protect outsiders, but it did unfairly bind them when interacting with Clan cats.

Arrarra Nyul = "Amount Amount Minus" = Nine... ish.

Arrarra Nyok Ul = "Amount Amount Minus Wholeness" = EXACTLY 9. Used extremely rarely; ESPECIALLY not by leaders in reference to their lives, which they are commanded to keep vague about in case StarClan did not give them a full set.

Nyawchk = Nyaw + -ochk suffix = Sin-est. The Most Sinnest. Great Sin.

The sins are,

Selfishness = Mwyrgna This is the evil of beasts; complete and utter self-concern. It's fear that causes a animal mother to eat her own young, it's the drive that causes a cuckoo chick to throw its siblings out of a nest, or the carelessness of a sheep that grazes ling into sward. It's cannibalism, fratricide, over-exploitation of a natural resource. It's a lack of care for anyone else but yourself.

Sadism = Yaonyyw This is the evil of humans; pleasure at one's ability to cause destruction. It's easy to confuse with pride, and yet, something Clan cats often overassign. It's what they believe humans feel when they take the claws off their kittypets, or what pleasure a twisted cat gets from eating prey that's still alive to be in pain. It's the closest thing to the English word for "evil."

Disproportionate Retribution = Sswrswa This is the evil of collateral damage. It's not quite "revenge," which is a neutral word in Clanmew. It comes from a corruption of Shredtail, who killed every piglet he could find with a speck of white and eventually sacrificed a clanmate to use as bait to lure his enemy, Deadfrost. It's involving innocent people in a quest for justice, or doling out more payback than what would constitute justice. It's "going overboard."

Idleness = Nyaarn This is the evil of hesitation. What that means is, if a Clan cat sees something bad about to happen, they believe it is a sin to do nothing about it. Even before the addition of Darkstar's Commandment, if a kitten was in danger, it was evil to simply watch them suffer. It applied equally to a warrior of another Clan who was obviously overwhelmed by a wild animal, or leaving a dying animal in pain. The "bystander effect" is seen as a type of sinful Dark Forest influence, which must be broken as if it was a curse. The English idiom, "Idle hands are the devil's plaything," has a parallel in Clanmew; "Kach urrWrrah maobeh mwrrSarrshik." "A demon has sheathed your claws."

Blasphemy = Shaikeoch The evil of insulting the stars. To speak poorly of, or to disrespect StarClan in some way. While not part of the code, this is a particularly egregious sin at times through history and culture. Also gets used as a way to phrase "offense against faith," which is specifically to destroy someone's belief in StarClan's righteousness or existence. (If Mothwing had been able to confide in someone that Hawkfrost had done this to her, the Clan would consider it on the same level as harassment.) This sin in particular is debated a lot in the Fire Era and beyond, as Clan xenophobia was a recurring part of the zeitgeist and cats of different faiths made their marks on history.

Waste = Bleel The evil of, well... waste. It's about improperly using land or resources like an invasive species, killing too much and allowing the lives of prey to be taken in vain, or even preventing the proper use of a material. (for example, RiverClan and ThunderClan argue that the other is wasting Sunningrocks, because RC doesn't use it to hunt, and TC doesn't use it to bask)

Theft = Geesharro The evil of ill-gotten gains. Yes, this applies to taking physical property from an individual, but there is an important social quirk at play. Post-Ripple Era, a Clan's Star owns all the territory of their Clan. Before then, the Elders (as soon-to-be StarClan warriors) owned it. In either case, a warrior does not technically own what exists on their Clan's territory. To DISHONORABLY take from one territory to give to another Clan, or to not righteously win your spoils, is a sin.

Disrespect = Nagarrl The evil of denying what is owed. When you make a vow, you owe your words honor. The warriors of other Clans still uphold the code, and thus deserve respect. Elders have a right to be protected after their long lives of service. The world deserves the truth, so a lie is a sin of denial. This is the opposite of Kurruar, 'honor,' but Nagarrl has more of a connotation of intentional, knowing denial.

Vulgarity = Mlarni The evil of being a jerk, really. In mortal life, it applies simply to conduct. Being rude, not reciprocating favors, doing the bare minimum on your tasks, the more grounded type of "selfishness" as opposed to Mwyrgna. It also applies to forcing your Nyams to "lose face" through association with you and your bad reputation, or threaten Clan cohesion. StarClan has completely used this in the past to damn people based on bad vibes, when they're enraged into being unreasonable. The opposite of Ualhe, 'nobility,' but like Nagarrl above has a connotation of doing it purposefully.

Each Clan regards each evil in a slightly different way. For example, WindClan believes that blasphemy is a higher sin than ThunderClan does, and no one takes the avoidance of waste as seriously as ShadowClan, who has developed ingenious ways to preserve and season practically any kind of meat.

ALL of these sins can be misused and abused as a form of social control, especially against cats that have particularly strong religious or pro-social convictions. As concepts, they are subjective, and evolve through debate and personal interpretation through the years.

With the introduction of the Leader's Rights at the end of the Ripple Era, which made the word of a leader law, a Clan's star suddenly had the authority to enforce morality as they saw fit. Several tyrant leaders used this rule maliciously to punish sins that were not codebreaking. This law was only repealed in the Modern Era.

Combine these with this suffix guide for attributes to describe whatever sinful behavior in whichever severity you need!

[highfantasy-soul]

NATLA Episode 5 - Spirited Away (3/3)

[Masterlist of my NATLA thoughts]

An explanation of what I'm doing here and my history with ATLA.

Of course, full spoilers ahead.

<previous/next>

Katara's fog memory was heartbreaking. I disagree with people who say that it makes her 'responsible' for her mother's death because 'she was so bad at waterbending it killed her mom'. I think that's an insanely terrible way to view the scene - almost like you WANT to hate Katara and punish her for not being your magical perfect waterbender who takes no shit.

She's a CHILD and the firebenders had already made it clear they weren't taking prisoners. Katara's mom DID claim to be the waterbender so they'd leave without finding Katara (in the animated series), this new addition just, well, adds to the same story where Katara was - and wasn't - just a helpless bystander. She really did try to help her mom, terrified though she was, but she was A CHILD. She wasn't strong enough then to really make a difference and had to watch her mother die because of the way Katara had been born - and the brutality of the Fire Nation. It adds so much to her trauma around waterbending and I like that they explore that generational, cultural trauma as Katara works through it in the series to become a great waterbender.

In the animated series, she's already pretty good before Aang shows up and she doesn't seem too messed up about the impact her mother dying because of waterbending has on her own bending ability. It's just not explored at all in the animated series. I like how the live-action really delved into the reality of real-world cultures that occupiers try to eradicate and the struggle diaspora youth face as they try to preserve their culture while not getting killed/punished for it themselves. The struggle between 'just assimilate so you don't get punished' vs 'this is my heritage and you WILL NOT destroy it' is very real, complex, and deserves this spotlight.

I really love how they give Kya more of a character than the animated series did - Katara's memory of her always watching the sunrise, her joking with Gran Gran about how many strands are best to braid with, and her encouraging Katara in her waterbending - all these little moments mean so much and I'm glad the live-action expanded on her character even a little bit. Uuughhh Katara trying to refuse to go into the igloo she knows her mom dies in is so heartbreaking. We know what's coming, she knows what's coming, but her mom's memory in the spirit world has to play the scene out like it happened. It's gut-wrenching and makes you want to reach through the screen to help her so bad. The seamless switch between Kiawentiio and the younger actress is so visceral and good to show the fear regression this memory has on her.

I think combining parts of the Bato of the Water Tribe episode here into Sokka's Fog journey was really smart - we didn't have time to have a whole side quest, so we got to see the ice dodging trial and the community of the southern water tribe before the older men went off to war though a flashback that seriously impacted Sokka's life.

I didn't see his father being disappointed he didn't do better was Hakoda being cruel at all - especially since he didn't tell Sokka, only confided in Bato. Hakoda knows that they're going to need to leave the tribe in the hands of a young person soon - his fears are legitimate. I also think that the memory was skewed from Sokka's perspective and we didn't get to see the whole picture of Hokoda's view of Sokka's skills. Sokka is YOUNG during the ice dodging trials, someone is going to have to protect and lead the tribe once Hakoda and the older men go to war: being concerned that your child isn't up to it is actually better than shoving a 14 year old into power and thinking that they'd do just as good as an adult in that position.

That doesn't take away the sting of hearing your father saying you might not be ready to have people's lives in your hands - especially if that's what you've been told is your entire worth. But let's be honest: how many 14 year olds would you trust with people's lives? Probably not many. So to me, it's not cruel at all for Hakoda to confide that in his friend - again, he didn't say that to Sokka, he only ever encouraged his son. The warring perceptions of Hakoda's sentiment don't make the blunt facts of it any less true nor does it undo the hurt it caused Sokka - both things can be present at the same time.

In the animated episode, I do really like the aspect of the story that's brought in with Katara and Sokka getting to meet back up with and reminisce with someone from their family - while Aang is left out, always remembering that he'll never be able to do that with his people. I think they'll have more opportunity for that in season 2 (I can see them combining the earthbender prison with one for water tribe pow). I think that with the episode count the way it was, having this episode for Katara and Sokka to go through these journeys alone (again, enhancing the theme that together you're stronger than when you face challenges alone) was a great way to really delve into the deep parts of them they don’t want others to see.

Also, the animated show making an episode about Water Tribe traditions primarily about Aang really cut some important stuff we could have explored with Katara, and especially Sokka with the ice dodging trials - so I like that the live-action really focused on the water tribe individuals during that rather than Aang. Aang actually got to reunite with his family during the storyline and I think it was handled well.

I think combining all the Spirit World aspects into this episode instead of having them pop up again at the North Pole was a good way to get the whole vibe of the spirit world into the live-action while not making the finale too cluttered. A LOT happens in the animated finale and I think moving Koh to this episode was a good move. Though I miss Fang, he doesn't really talk, so I'm happy to see an early appearance of Won Shi Tong - who canonically does speak - to give Aang some pointers about the spirit realm. And for those complaining that he should be at the library - y'all - he's a spirit. He can both be at the library and also take jaunts in the spirit world, it makes perfect sense to me.

I like to imagine that when interacting with Koh, Aang was drawing subconsciously from his past lives to keep his expression neutral when speaking with the spirit. Like in the animated series where Aang just 'knows' stuff - including his past self's names - I think it's reasonable to assume that his past lives influenced his knowledge of how to deal with Koh, especially since two of them had direct and intense dealings with him.

Gyatzo's inclusion here was really nice - it's Gyatzo who tries to fully alleviate Aang's guilt over not being there to help against the Fire Nation's attack. I think that hearing 'it's not your fault' from someone who went through the genocide and knew Aang before was a really important thing for him. I love this reason for Aang to head to Roku's temple and deepening the connection Aang has to all the past Avatars - his past lives' choices are directly impacting him in the here-and-now.

Really, the monologues at the end of many of the episodes are so good - this one about how it's hard not to feel alone - how the only thing keeping you company is your own pain. It applies to everyone in the series and I love love love how they include Azula in that as well - her training late into the night as Ty Lee and Mai stay with her even though they've passed out. The show does such a great job at exploring how this generational war hurts everyone - even the fire nation - and how wars like this only cause pain and loneliness within everyone and that pain, like Yue said, can lead to massive amounts of destruction.

[newsalvations]

leo woodall, bisexual + biromantic, cis man + he/him → isn’t that oswald “oz” michaels? i’ve seen them hanging out with the sirens. i hear they’re twenty-eight, but they’ve only been in alexandria for their entire life. they seem to be whimsical & alluring, but also unstable & cruel.

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: oswald gage michaels

nickname(s): oz, ozzie

age: twenty-eight

date of birth: august 10

hometown: alexandria, louisiana

current location: alexandria, louisiana

species: siren

ethnicity: white

nationality: american

gender: cis man

pronouns: he/him

orientation: bisexual + biromantic

occupation: lead singer of tbd band

living arrangements: at the chateau

language(s): english

accent: lousiaian

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: leo woodall

hair color: auburn

eye color: blue

height: 6'2"

weight: 154 lb

build: athletic

tattoos: a siren on both of his arms; various others

usual expression: devilish grin

distinguishing characteristics: his smile, his bright eyes

PERSONALITY

positive traits: whimsical, alluring, confident

negative traits: unstable, cruel, spiteful

myers brigg: esfp

zodiac sign: leo

element: fire

enneagram: the individualist

temperament: choleric

hogwarts house: slytherin

moral alignment: chaotic neutral

primary vice: wrath

primary virtue: generosity

fears: losing his voice, dying again

hobbies: singing

FAMILY

father: toby michaels

mother: charlotte michaels

sibling(s): aren michaels, one other brother

pet(s): none

FAVORITES

weather: rainy

season: winter

color: black

music: emo / punk rock / alternative

movies: comedy / horror

beverage: beer

food: burgers

animal: dolphins

NSFW

preference: vers top, dominant

kinks: breeding, rough sex, dom/sub, control in/out of bedroom, lingerie, open to others

anti kinks: scat, vomit, blood play, etc

BIOGRAPHY

oz grew up in a fairly normal and happy human household. they knew about the supernatural and seemed to get along with everyone. oz was the sweetheart country boy who played for his high schools football team and went to church every day. nobody could truly hate him, or so he thought.

at the age of sixteen, he was invited to a kickback in the woods with a few of the other kids from his school. what he didn't know was that a group of witches planned on sacrificing him for some blood pact that they needed. although they tried to muffle his screams, it burned him back to life with a rage he'd never experienced before.

the witches realized what they did and quickly began to scatter, he'd eventually track them all down and brutally killed them one by one until he burned the leader alive in the same place he'd been sacrificed.

after that, he knew he wasn't the same. giving up football and church, oz discovered that his voice was even more beautiful than it'd been before. he had always been talented at singing but it was different now and he decided to abandon his life to persue music. without a word to his parents, oz left in the middle of the night to california where he'd form a band of sirens, banshees, and harpies; quickly got the attention of record labels who ended up fighting over them.

the bands freshman album was an overnight success, people were almost hypnotized by his voice and he grew a loyal but rabid fanbase. he'd find his way into the beds of married men, from hollywood execs to fans of his. he didn't care.

the band released more albums as time went on, becoming a mainstream success despite the numerous controversies they found themselves in. oz was known as a heartbreaker and various accidents began to follow the bands name, including the deaths of those who knew them personally and fans. the biggest scandal was when one of oz's biggest fans was found with his husbands dead body in their bed and people believed the man did it to try and win oz's affection. little did any of them know that oz specifically told this fan that killing his husband was the only way to prove his love for him.

after this, their record label was furious and wanted the band to clean up their image. something oz wasn't interested in. he still had a desire to burn the world down, no matter what the costs were. they agreed to leave the spotlight for the time being, work on a new album, and maybe rebuild their image.

he's been back in alexandria for a few months now and the itch to destroy more marriages and couples is still getting to him, now that he can't do it to his pool of fans.

[anti-katsuki-lounge]

If Izuku hadn't gone to study at UA, what could have happened to Class 1A? Since Izuku, unlike Bakugou, he has a huge influence on the events of the arcs.

For this scenario, I’m going to assume that Izuku still has OFA and that he’s aiming to be a hero:

All Might might’ve not taught at U.A since he would most likely want to be with his mentee.

Ochako wouldn’t have gotten into U.A as the reason she scored so high was because she earned rescue points for wanting to give some of her points to Izuku.

Knowing Hori, he’d probably have Hitoshi be the student who replaces Izuku or Ochako.

Yuuga wouldn’t be involved much, or wouldn’t even be at U.A. As the traitor he was tasked with keeping an eye on Izuku, but if Izuku doesn’t go to U.A then AFO wouldn’t charge him with this task.

Tsuyu and Minoru would probably be dead. Izuku bought some time for All Might to arrive and was the one who defeated the villains surrounding the boat. In addition, if Minoru survived, he wouldn’t have any character growth.

Shoto would never use his fire. It’s Izuku’s empathy for the boy that taught him that he was his own person, not an extension of his father. I’m addition, Shoto would be far less tolerant of his dad. Might even go on the deep end and maybe become obsessed with vengeance like Dabi.

Tenya would be dead from Stain. Same goes for Native (though if I remember correctly he’s killed in the War Arc anyways). Stain would go on to kill/injure more pros (or would’ve been stopped by Endeavor or Gran Torino, but not without killing/permanently crippling Tenya and Native).

Kota would be dead since Izuku was the only person who both knew where Kota was and was fast enough to reach him. Muscular would probably still be roaming around with the LoV since Izuku was the one who defeated him.

Himiko wouldn’t take an interest in Ochako because it was her crush on Izuku that drew Himiko towards her. Incidentally she also wouldn’t have had her quirk awakening because it was her affection of Ochako that awoke it.

Katsuki would probably remain captured. Momo and Tenya wouldn’t go after him (Momo due to he lack of confidence and Tenya seeing as he’s dead). There’s a good chance he’d be dead too. If that happens, then no Jeart and Edgeshot would live to see another day. Otherwise, nothing changes except that U.A failed to protect a student and that would be a huge blow to their reputation.

The “Crushing Of U.A” during the License Exam Arc probably wouldn’t go so well for 1-A as Izuku was the one who bought everyone together (except for Katsuki, Ejiro, and Denki where Katsuki decided to be an idiot and Hori made the other two into his simps) and devised a plan.

Overhaul would probably still have his arms and Eri wouldn’t have been rescued as it was Izuku who defeated the man.

Mirio most likely would’ve been dead since Izuku’s arrival stopped the from man from killing him. Everyone else there also had a higher chance of dying too.

Gentle and La Brava wouldn’t be stoped and most likely wouldn’t have their redemption story. The Culture Festival might’ve been interrupted too since apparently U.A’s security is absolute ass.

Either the War Arc wouldn’t happen or it would happen and more people would’ve died.

Izuku Solo Arc is also a coin toss. If it doesn’t happen, then the fox lady might not have been saved.

Yuuga would probably still be with the villains, though due to fear, as it was Izuku who inspired him to face AFO.

Are we including movies too? Cause all three would have worse endings.

That’s all I could think of atm

[dragonologist-phd]

Owlcatober 2022 - #24. “Evil”

Years after the closing of the Worldwound, Lilith and Woljif meet up for a drink.

AO3

Even if Lilith were at all welcome in the Abyss, it is truthfully the very last place she wishes to revisit. As a mortal she’d felt nothing but disdain for the place, and as a Devil…well. Suffice to say she would rather avoid the plane as a whole whenever possible.

She is certain that Woljif feels much the same about Hell, so she arranges for their meeting to occur in Golarion, on neutral ground.

Woljif, of course, is far less punctual- and less subtle, as well. The startled, suspicious looks the tiefling earns when he finally bursts through the door are all returned with a cocky smirk, and shadowy smoke dances around his feet as he strides up to the bar as if daring someone to try stopping him.

Despite Lilith’s own opinion of the Abyss, she has to admit the place seems to be suiting Woljif well. The confidence he presents appears far more natural than she remembers, and it’s difficult to miss the way his attire glints with newly acquired jewels. The barkeep makes no attempt to disguise his wariness as he fetches Woljif’s order, but the tiefling simply gives the man a sharp grin of his own and allows the shadows around him to deepen and expand. They rise through the air and dance over the bar until the man stumbles back in fear, not even bothering to ask for Woljif’s coin, and Woljif watches him retreat with a chuckle.

Some things, however, never change. When Woljif finally throws himself into the seat next to Lilith, he immediately leans back in his chair to kick his feet on the table and shoots her the obnoxious grin that speaks of an incoming headache for Lilith. “Well, well, if it ain’t the chief! Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Having fun?” Lilith asks drily. She summons a small wisp of fire and flicks it towards his feet, forcing Woljif to remove them from the table as he rolls his eyes.

“So what if I am? I don’t come up here all that often anymore, and mortals are so much easier to scare than demons. Lemme enjoy myself- and don’t you judge me for it, neither! Not when you and Regill are down in Hell drinking fire from your enemies’ skulls, or whatever it is the two of you do for fun.”

“Devils do not drink fire. And if we did, I doubt we would drink it out of skulls.”

“Right. My mistake, thinking that dying would give either of you a sense of humor.” Woljif takes a long drink from his mug and fixes Lilith with an expectant look. “But like I said- it’s been a while. What’s the reason for callin’ me up now? I’m bettin’ it’s not a good one.”

Lilith raises an eyebrow. “What ulterior motive could I possibly have for meeting up with an old friend?”

Woljif throws his head back with a sharp bark of laughter. “And here I just accused you of not being funny! We’re not friends, and I know you too well for you to try that kinda talk on me.” He shakes his head, scratching at his chin as he regards Lilith quizzically. “You’ve got a deal for me, don’t you? Let’s hear it.”

And that is why, despite Woljif’s bothersome antics and incessant chattiness, Lilith still has a lingering appreciation for the tiefling- he always did have a way of cutting through to the quick of things.

“The closing of the Worldwound was not a favorable event for many demons,” Lilith says without preamble. “Lately, we’ve had to deal with multiple instances of demons who want to… re-open the wound, for lack of a better description. What they’re trying to do is impossible, of course, but their attempts are still giving us a headache.”

“’Us’ being you and your Devil pals,” Woljif interjects.

“’Us’ being me and the Legion of Hell,” Lilith clarifies, taking another sip of wine. “There is an order to the way these things are meant to work. The Worldwound contradicted that order. I fixed it. And I must say, it is quite annoying that so many demons are trying to undo my hard work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Woljif says, clearly unimpressed. “But where’s the part where any of this concerns me?”

“You know everything that goes on in the Abyss these days, don’t you?” Lilith prods, and Woljif’s eyes finally brighten with understanding.

“Ah, so you want me to snitch on the demons who are out there breaking your little rules!” He thinks on this for a moment, and his smirk widens. “Now get to the part where any of this benefits me.”

“Do you really not see that for yourself?” Lilith asks. Woljif just rolls his eyes again, but she ignores him as she continues explaining things which should be extremely obvious. “To us, chaos is…well, chaos. But to you, chaos is something you can use. For example, you happen to be in possession of quite a few demonic artifacts, don’t you? Not only that, you have a means of moving those trinkets between the planes. If you are the only one to have such things, they are quite valuable. But if these demons succeed in any of their plans…”

“Then I’m out luck. That’s your angle?” Lilith waits expectantly, sipping at her wine, until Woljif finally huffs and admits, “Okay, you’re not wrong. But still…snitching to Devils is a big deal. I’m not shakin’ any hands ‘til there’s something better in it for me.”

Lilith raises an eyebrow. It seems that over the years, Woljif has finally managed to become less foolhardy. Good for him. Luckily, she is willing to wager that he is just as opportunistically greedy as ever.

“Very well. The demons spearheading these attempts likely hold some amount of power- and some amount of wealth. Consider this: you tell us who these demons are and where we can find them. We send our forces to rip them apart. And then you get the first pickings of whatever they leave behind. Gold, weapons, jewelry- all yours for the taking. All in exchange for a bit of information.”

Woljif’s tail flicks back and forth, betraying his excitement even as he pretends to take his time considering the offer. “If those are the terms…I’d say you’ve got yourself a deal, Chief.”

Lilith smiles. “Deal.”

The torches lining the tavern walls flare brightly when they shake, bathing the room in red light. In the distance, the barkeep mutters darkly to himself and disappears to a back room, where Lilith suspects he may stay for the rest of the night.

“Pleasure doing business with ya, Chief,” Woljif says breezily. He drains the rest of his mug and jumps to his feet, tipping his head in Lilith’s direction as he prepares to leave. “Come down to the Abyss sometime if you ever miss causing trouble. Just bring the skull cups next time- I know you have them.”

Lilith sighs and waves him away, turning her attention back to her wine and the prospect of a quiet, peaceful evening. “Help me put the right demon’s head on a spike, first. After that…I’ll see what I can do.”

[ttauriwanderer]

God Steven was tired. This was, what, his third round now? He'd blipped, as the locals called an Echo dying and coming back again, twice in this whole outbreak. It wasn't fun either time but they both taught him valuable lessons: one, that he apparently didn't die here which opened up a lot of options he hadn't wanted to test before; two, that the moss was most deadly when you gave into the fear and let it consume you rather then standing up to it.

The second death gave him enough data to be fairly confident that he could last through a second infection without it killing him but man did it suck. It weighed at his limbs and clouded his mind but he was not going to let it get the best of him. No, he had too much to do to let it stop him now.

Especially as things got even worse then they'd been before.

Steven might not be able to see whatever was roaming around, but he could feel the disturbance. Now he wished more then ever that he could reach the Astral, see what was invisibly and intangibly surrounding the largest concentrations of pollen haze from the moss. It felt like a threat, like there was something hovering, waiting for him to fall asleep to hunt him and devour him whole.

It's not until he falls asleep at night and dreams his nightmare again that he confirms there is something there.

The same nightmare, the same fears. He knows them, accepts their possibility, plausibility even. He steels himself again and brushes them away, only to find himself... somewhere else. On the Isle but not and staring down a horrifying entity full of teeth and bones, something about it's aura giving him chills and freezing him to the spot. Its jaws open, tentacles closing in on him and he lashes out in self defense. Every strike passes harmlessly through it, the thing more ghost then living entity and it's hungry maw closes around him--

Steven stumbles out of the crystal tower dazed and alarmed. There were things hunting them all, there was something here but in their dreams and-

There's a flickering pink glow, a pale fire in a vague ball shape waiting for him down the path. It flits off and comes back, bobbing around for attention and flitting away again. Now isn't that familiar. Lux did the same thing when it wanted his attention, though it would talk at him excitedly at the same time. There's no malice that he can tell, not from this little light in the midst of the darkness around them, so Steven steels himself... and follows.

If nothing else, maybe he'll find what he needs to help these people who aren't coming back from their cocooned sleep.

He'd only read briefly about the Passage of Masks, a place that people went to search for enlightenment and self-realization, and had written it off as another sort of pilgrimage place that every culture seemed to have, usually some place hard to reach that granted knowledge of the self or something. Interesting but hardly relevant. As he follows the wisp past the arch covered in masks, having passed many other wisps bobbing about trying to get the attention of Echoes and leading them along, he's no longer sure. There's others traversing the path ahead and behind him but they all seem so far away, distanced in a way that he can only assume means that whatever is here is only for the individual walking it.

Okay. The wisps think this is important enough to get them all out here, he'll walk this path. He'll conquer it in his own way and he'll find what he needs to help everyone he can.

[canesshi]

the bounty | western au

pairing: outlaw!Jungkook x bountyhunter!reader (f)

genre: angst, smut, enemies to ???

plot: There's a fivethousand dollar bounty on Jeon Jungkook's head and you are after it. A few unplanned events lead to the two of you trapped in a canyon and you learn that maybe, after all, he isn't as bad as he seems.

warnings: swearing, guns, blood, fighting, alcohol, SMUT, unprotected sex (because this is fiction! be safe irl), grinding, passionate sex, handjob, creampie, mentioned sexism, lmk if there is more

Standing in front of the wooden board, you ripped the piece of paper off the rusty nail that had been used to attach it to the wood. 'Wanted - dead or alive' it said in red stamped letters, the text framing the sketch of Jeon Jungkook's face.

"You finally wanna try again?"

Your gaze shot up to Jin, the sheriff, who leaned against the wooden wall of his sheriff's office. The golden star on his chest was as shiny as it could be; he cleaned it regularly, it was never dirty.

"They put a new price on his head, after all. Might as well try again. Fivethousand dollars are enough to retire.", you chuckled and looked back to the paper in your hands.

Jeon Jungkook.

The name was not unfamiliar. His face was plastered on every wall even in small towns, the law desperate to finally catch him. He was one of America's most wanted outlaws and since he had left his former gang he raged through the country like a hurricane; stealing, drinking, fighting, shooting, cheating, murdering, robbing. He had steadily increased the price on his head with every crime he commited and every bounty hunter had at one point been after him. The money was promising and experienced bounty hunters tended to underestimate his skills because of his age. He was fairly young for being such a successful outlaw, all on his own. Along with a few other criminals he was considered a 'legendary bounty'. Bounty hunters who could turn in such a bounty were well respected and feared amongst their peers, and the reward money was a nice addition. But Jeon Jungkook outsmarted and outshot all of them. Most of the hunters were dead or had given up.

You were after him once, too. It was when he was still with his old gang. They had been in a gang fight with another gang and were vunerable, the timing was perfect. But as you almost had him, he slipped through your fingers, jumping off the bridge and landing in the shallow waters. You had thought he had died but never found his corpse, only to read in a newspaper a few days later that he and his gang had robbed a stagecoach near a big city. Since then, his bounty had more than tripled. And if you were being honest, you were quite impressed. But now that you had had time to prepare and train, you were convinced you had a chance at catching him. Maybe you were being too optimistic and too full of yourself, but how would you ever find out if you didn't try?

"Are you sure it's a good idea? He does not hesitate to kill bounty hunters and he surely learned a few new things too. That kid is too skilled for his own good.", Jin wore a worried expression. The two of you had become something similar to friends over the past months since you usually collected the bounties in this tiny town because there was less competition this far away from the big city. "At least catch all the easier targets first so you are not leaving us behind with a bunch of criminals roaming the streets."

"Jin, you're the sheriff. You can handle an outlaw or two."

"But you do it so well. Also, who would we spend the tax money on? If there was no bounty money to pay, we would surely be rich in a few months, we can't have that!", he joked, fake worry in his voice. Then, he got serious again, stepping closer to you, taking the poster from your hands and inspecting it. "Be careful. I mean it. He is dangerous and I would feel lonely here without you bringing trouble into this small town."

"I'll be back, don't worry.", you nodded at him, smiling reassuringly but he didn't seem convinced.

"When will you leave? Where is he right now?"

"I'll pack my things and be off. There has been news he was sighted near Blackwater last. I'll be starting my search there.", you untied your horse from the post, stuffing the poster Jin had given you back into your bag. You mounted the animal, tipped your hat to Jin who smiled at you worriedly but nodded back and urged the animal under you forwards.

The ride to Blackwater had taken one and a half days. You had made camp outside of Armadillo to rest before you began your hunt. You needed all the energy you could possibly get, so a good night's rest was indispencable.

You woke up early, the sun had barely risen above the horizon. The weak sun warmed your chilled skin as you kicked dirt into the still glowing embers of your dying campfire. The air was fresh and you felt confident; you'd find him today and he wouldn't glide through your fingers again.

Spurring your horse on, you watched as the city in the distance grew closer with each stride your horse took. You slowed the animal down once you reached the cobbled street, looking into the dark alleyways, suspicious looking individuals meeting your gaze and snarling. They recognized bounty hunters when they saw them. But you were not here because of them. No, you were after someone way more valuable.

Stopping next to the sheriffs office, you tied your horse to the post outside and stepped into the office, your spurs clinking with every step. You halted in front of the main desk, the sheriff and his deputy looking you up and down.

"I'm after Jeon Jungkook.", you said, slapping his bounty poster onto the table. "I was told he was seen here recently, any idea where he was headed?"

The sheriff and deputy sent each other a look before the older gentleman breathed in deeply. "It is true. He was here recently, caused a bar fight and left once everyone was fighting, then, robbed the general store while everyone was occupied. Shot a few fellars on his way out of town." The sheriff took the paper, looked at Jungkook's picture before scoffing and letting the piece of paper fall back onto the table. "No offence, but you won't be able to turn him in. The best bounty hunters have been after him and ended up dying or giving up. I don't mean any harm when I say this but... maybe you bit off more than you can chew. He's not your everyday thief." You wanted to scoff and list all the outlaws you had turned in before but you knew better than to let yourself be agigated by his words.

"Whether or not I can handle him is my business. You want him caught or not? I just need all the information you got, the rest is not your problem.", you said calmy, one hand resting on your hip.

The sheriff hesitated for a bit before opening one of the drawers in the desk and pulling out a map. He flattened it out on the table and turned it so you could see well.

"We think he headed south into the canyons to lay low for a while. There have been no reports of him in other cities so he probably is still there. He might not be alone, we don't know for sure. Riding out there is a ticket straight to hell, ma'am."

You didn't wait for him to finish. You just tipped your head as a way of thanking him before turning your back and exiting the building. Not a minute longer was wasted in the town. You urged your horse to a gallop down the dusty road.

It was noon when you reached the canyons. The sun was beating down onto you and you were thankful for your hat that was providing enough shadow for your face to be safe from the scorching sunlight.

You stopped your horse on a ledge that hung over the valley of the canyons. Then in the distance you spotted a trail of smoke rising into the sky. A camp.

You shouldered your rifle before urging your horse on. The walls of the canyon were so high they were intimidating. The trails you rode through were narrow and once or twice your stirrup scraped against the dusty orange stone. You couldn't see much of the sky, so you weren't sure if you were even riding in the right direction.

You were as quiet as you possibly could, but each little clinking or thudding echoed through the canyon. You decided that it was best to leave your horse behind and continue on foot. It was quieter and you could escape more easily if you had to.

You dismounted on a wider spot, the stone walls further away from you and making you feel less claustophobic. You grabbed a few more bullets from your saddlebag along with your bag in case you needed water or were injured.

Patting your horse's neck one last time and hoping you would be able to return to it, you continued through the canyon, your steps still echoing but a lot quieter than your horse's hooves had been.

When you smelled burnt wood you stuck close to the stone walls, making sure to peek before charging the open area. You peeked into the camp but there was no sign of a human being. You carefully walked into the camp, watching as the fire was still burning. Someone had been here not too long ago. You looked around and noticed bags and a bedroll on the ground. Someone had definitely been here shortly before you, and they would probably be returning soon. You kneeled down to open one of the bags when suddenly a gunshot rang through the canyon, the bullet missing you by an inch.

You immediately sprung into action, ducking behind a wooden crate and firing a few shots into the direction the bullet had come from. It had been a revolver bullet so the attacker was close to you, had probably sneaked up behind you.

It was silent for a while before a bullet hit the crate, sending splinters flying. Shit, you needed a safer cover. But there was nothing here. The attacker was just waiting for you to move, you knew it. You needed a plan.

You pulled your waterskin from your bag and opened it up. If you could throw it into the fire, there would be enough steam for you to move to a safer position, right? You peeked around the crate and immideately a bullet hit the edge of the crate, close to your face.

Shit, if you moved your arm from the cover they would probably shoot it clean off. You were trapped and if your attacker decided he had waited long enough, he could just start blasting the crate to kill you. You looked through your bag only finding a few things that didn't help you out now. Unless...

You fished for the red neckerchief and threw it next to the crate, careful to not reveal your hands or arms. Instantly a few shots were fired, hitting the neckerchief until it was in shreds. That's when you heard the familiar click of a gun being reloaded. You didn't waste a second and threw the waterskin into the flames, successfully creating thick puffs of steam that blocked your attacker's view.

You quickly moved into a crevice in the stonewall, barely wide enough to fit your body but at least safer than the wooden crate. Bullets were fired at you, but you had been faster, and they had no clear view. Once the steam disappeared, you watched carefully. The attacker didn't know where you were, and you watched as the broad figure move from behind the canyon wall to a boulder a little closer to you. You acted instantly, shooting a few bullets with your revolver, even though your heart skipped a beat. You had only seen him shortly but you knew his figure.

You had found him. Jeon Jungkook.

You heard a low hiss so you must've gotten him somewhere. You wanted to squeal in victory when he propped himself up on the boulder and fired a few rounds of bullets. The stone wall held off each bullet but little pieces of stone splintered off the surface and created thick dust which stung in your eyes. But instead of cowering away you took the rifle from your back, aimed at the figures head and placed your hand on the trigger. He wasn't careful enough. You could kill him right then and there, but your ego got the better of you. If you'd bring him in alive, he would be worth a lot more and you wanted to see the look of defeat on his face when you bound his wrists and turned him into the sheriff's office as they placed him behind bars.

So instead of his head you aimed at his gun and pulled the trigger, successfully blasting it out of his hand. He ducked as soon as the shot was fired but he wasn't fast enough. It was silent after that, no shots from him as you waited for his next move.

"That's it. You've got me."

You perked up at his smooth voice. He sounded like he was amused.

"You can kill me.", he said, slowly raising from behind the boulder. His hands were in the air to show you he was unarmed.

"But you'd miss out on a lot of money. They want to see me hang, they'd pay a lot to see that. If I'm dead though... there won't be much of a hanging going on. They will be disappointed. Less money."

"You think I'm stupid enough to fall for your trap, Jeon?", you hissed, rifle trained on his head, ready to shoot if you needed to. You moved away from your cover slowly, showing him you had the upper hand now.

"Well, seeing how you only shot my gun and not my head, I assume you are either a terrible, terrible shot or you are after a great deal of money.", he wore a smug smile on his face but you didn't miss the droplets of sweat dripping down the side of his forehead. That's when you saw the trail of blood on his side. That's where you had gotten him earlier, you thought to yourself.

"But since I know you can shoot well, I know it's the latter. Last time we met, you almost had me, and now you finally finished what you started."

You felt uneasy. He remembered you? How in the hell, would he remember you when he had to deal with countless of bounty hunters almost every day? What made you special enough for him to remember?

Maybe this was a trick, you thought. He was riling you up on purpose.

You had only been distracted for half a second when suddenly you were hit in the head by a hard item. You stumbled back, the rifle falling from your hands as you clutches your now bleeding forehead.

That fucker had thrown his gun!

He charged at you while you were occupied and pressed you to the ground beneath him. He pulled a knife out of his boot and moved to plunge it into your chest but you kneed him into his back, making him topple over you so you could roll out beneath him, an elbow to his back. He grunted as he spun around, slicing the knife through the air, missing your arm by an inch.

"You have gotten better.", he snickered through gritted teeth.

"So have you.", you answered, grabbing a hand full of dust and throwing it into his face. He clawed at his eyes as you finally distanced yourself from him again. You grabbed your revolver from your gunbelt and pointed it at him, ready to shoot when he suddenly pulled on the neckerchief you were standing on, making you topple over as your feet lost their footing. Before he could reach you though, you were back on your feet, your gun nowhere to be found. Shit.

A cut into your arm made you cry out sharply. The cut wasn't too deep but it began bleeding quickly. "You son of a bitch!"

You grabbed his wrist before he could bring down the blade again. Your nails dug into his dirtied skin, making him grit his teeth. He was stronger than you, but you took advantage of the situation when you kneed him into the stomach. He huffed loudly and the knife fell from his hand. You caught it and chucked it far away. "You have a lot of nerves coming here!", he sneered and grabbed your neck, pushing you down. You moved your head quickly, biting down on his bleeding hand, tasting the iron on your tongue.

That's when you decided to take off. If you made it to your horse in time, you could get another gun or flee. But you were so disoriented, you didn't know which way you had come from. Jungkook recovered behind you, so you decided to just run, no matter what direction.

You ran as fast as you could but your could hear his fast footsteps behind you, catching up with you.

You scrambled up a canyon wall that had been carved into a stair-like formation by the waters a few million years ago. Jungkook followed you without a problem. His stamina was way better than yours.

Once you were on top of the stone platform and you could overlook the maze like crevices, Jungkook caught up to you.

The two of you were standing in front of each other. Chests heaving.

"This ends here. One of us is going to die. And if I think about it, It might as well be you."

He lurched forward grabbing your body and pressing you into the ground. He raised a fist, wanting to knock you out but you moved your head to the side, his fist meeting the stone beneath you. You tried pushing him off of you and ended up changing positions with him, straddling him, before he tried pushing you down again.

But as he grabbed your hips, pushing you off of his stomach, your back didn't meet the hard ground. It was met with breezy nothingness as your body slipped off the edge. His body was inevitable pulled down with yours, your hands clamped down on his shirt. Your mouth was open in a scream as you fell but no noises came out.

It felt like you were falling for hours, hands still clinging onto Jungkook's larger frame.

Hitting the ground was painless and everything went black not even a second later.

Your eyes peeled open slowly. There was dust, dried blood, sweat and tears. You could barely see.

Your nose was running and you didn't kow if it was tears or blood.

How in god's name were you alive? Were you even alive?

You carefully moved your arms under you, pushing yourself up from the ground. Your head was throbbing painfully and little stones dug into your palms as you looked around.

Jungkook's body laid a few feet away, head slumped against his chest as he sat up against the canyon wall. He had probably woken up and moved to sit up against it before falling unconscious again.

You groaned as you pushed yourself to your feet, moving over to his body. You gently pushed against his legs with your boot, trying to wake him... or check if he was still alive. He looked horrible. Clothes ragged and dusty all over. His once jet black hair was matted and coated with brownish dust. You probably didn't look any better.

You kicked him again, a little harsher this time and a low groan escaped his throat as he lifted his head slightly. He struggled to open his eyes, the sun blinding him as he looked up at you.

"I was hoping you had died.", he rasped.

"Well, it seems like we're both still alive."

"Not for much longer.", he scoffed bitterly. That's when you took in your surroundings for the first time. The two of you were trapped inside a crevice in the canyon, barely wide enough for a whole body to lay flat, it was a few metres long in length. The more devastating part was that there was no exit or way up. The two of you were trapped down here. "Shit.", you murmored.

"If you still want to kill me, do it now. At least I won't have to starve to death.", he said, gasping as he sat up straighter against the stone wall.

"No-... There has to be a way out. We could-... climb up?"

"And how are you going to do that? The stone is too smooth, there are no ledges to grip onto. And even if you did make it up a few metres, if you fell, you'd only injure yourself more."

"Oh, so you just want to give up and die?", you scoffed.

"Unless you have a realistic escape plan, then yes, that's the only thing left for us to do."

You felt your head throb again painfully. You should have listened to Jin. This had been a dumb idea. Anyone smarter than you would've just given up after escaping with your life last time but no- you just had to try it again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Ah- fuck-" Your gaze dropped to Jungkook whose face was scrunched up in pain as he moved slightly. A hand was pressed to his side where you had shot him earlier. You didn't know how bad the wound was but it couldn't have been too deep considering he was still alive and not bleeding out. "I can't believe you really got me. I was slacking."

How he felt the need to talk to you was beyond you. You were his enemy but still - he was talking to you like you were an old aquaintance. You wanted to feel hatred towards him but it seemed like every bit of anger had left you. There was no point in fighting anyway - you'd both die down here.

"Let me see.", you forced out, kneeling down next to the man and trying to move his hand away from the injury. He didn't stop you but he seemed taken aback, eyes glued to yours as you pulled the button up shirt from his pants, careful to not irritate the wound too much. Once you had clear view of the gash, you inspected it. The bullet had only grazed him but it still left a decent gash on his side, skin ripped with ragged edges. It would take some time to heal and would probably leave a nasty scar, but what did it matter anyway? Neither of you would be alive then. How much you wished for one of those new devices you had read about in the newspaper - a telephone? Was that what they were called?

You went to grab something from your bag but it was no longer laying against you hip. Had it ripped off while fighting Jungkook? You looked around and saw the brown bag lying a few metres away. Thank god! Your bag was your ticket for living at least a few days longer. Dried meat and a small emergency flask of water could grant you enough time to think about all the times you had fucked up in your life or what desicions led you to be trapped here. Great.

You stood up to grab it and Jungkook followed your figure with curious eyes. He looked younger now that you really took him in. A boyish gleam in his eyes, though matted because of the circumstances. He was definitely not ugly either. If he had chosen a different life, you might have even bedded him.

What nonsense. You couldn't change a thing about the past and that was that. Thinking of all the possibilities if things had been different was wasted time.

You returned to Jungkooks side, fishing for a herb from the inside of your bag. You stuck it in your mouth, chewing it up into a paste before spitting it onto your fingers. "I know I'll die anyway but I'd appreciate it if you didn't give me an infection."

You just rolled your eyes as you applied the paste to the wound making him hiss slightly. You needed something to bandage the wound with but your neckerchief had been left behind at Jungkook's camp and was ripped apart anyway. You noticed that he was wearing one around his neck and went to untie it, hands combing through his slightly long black hair to get the knot loose. You didn't realize how close you were to him until you felt his warm breath on your own face. His eyes were locked to yours as he searched for something in them. Your brows furrowed and you quickly pulled back, unfolding the neckerchief and roling it into a bandage to tie around his waist. The fabric was barely long enough to actually be tied together but you managed, even though you must have hurt hime quite a bit in the process.

"Didn't take you to be such a whiny boy.", you said jokingly.

He didn't answer, only inspecting the bandage around his middle. You opened up the waterskin and poured it over his face earning a displeased grunt from Jungkook. You wiped the dirt, grime and blood from his face with your hands. "I could have done that myself, you know?" You poured a little water into your hands, cleaning your own face, being careful to only use as little water as possible.

"Why are you bandaging me up? Afraid you'll go to hell if you don't start doing nice things now?", he asked after some time, hairs falling into his eyes as he rested his head against the stone wall behind him. You had decided to sit opposite of him, sitting cross legged.

The truth was, you didn't even know the answer to his question. Why did you treat his wound? It was pointless anyway.

"Well, I guess in the face of death, people start to act strangely.", you answered, head turned away from him. Jungkook chuckled and licked his dry lips, throat feeling uncomfortably dry too.

"A shame that it has to end like this.", he then said,"I was wishing to escape you one more time. Bruising your ego a bit, you know?" He was laughing to himself, swallowing the bit of saliva his body could muster up.

"It looked more like you were trying to get me to meet my maker.", you answered, looking over to him, your lips curved slightly upwards now.

"You were better than I anticipated and I was taken aback. Didn't want to die, to be honest. You left me no choice."

You scoffed, the smile now wiped off your face. "Yeah right. You had the choice to not be a fucking outlaw in the first place!"

"Did I really?", he spat sourly.

You went silent then, watching as his brows furrowed.

"I had noone when I was younger. Should I have moped around the streets looking through the trashcans for food like the other street kids?" You knew who Jungkook was talking about. Homeless children were no rare scene, especially in big cities like Saint Denise. There was no furture for them outside of crime and gangs.

"When Namjoon found me, I was at the brink of starvation. He took me in and taught me everything I know about guns, horses and money. I truly did not have a choice if I wanted to survive."

He swallowed thickly before continuing.

"Besides, Namjoon always taught me how fucked up this so called society is. We just wanted to be free, to not be bound by laws and power-hungry people. Can you really blame us for that? Politicians and lawmen are not any different from us outlaws, they just have a badge that excuses every crime they commit against minorities."

"That's no excuse for the things you did. I am not here to try to make you regret your past but killing innocent folk is not any better than they are."

"We never intended to kill innocent people. I won't lie and say I have never killed anyone innocent but that was never our goal. We were just after the rich and powerful men. It doesn't matter now anyway. I left the gang a long while ago."

You didn't say anything after that, head resting back against the warm stone and watching as the sky slowly turned different shades of orange, red and pink.

You rumaged through your bag before feeling the cool glass against your fingers and pulling the whiskey bottle out. Jungkook looked amused as you took a big swig, handing it to him afterwards. He took the bottle gratefully and took a few big swigs, face scrunching up in distaste but continuing to down the liquid. When the bottle left his lips they were coated in the smooth liquid, glistening in the golden sunlight. He looked pretty. And that wasn't the booze talking... not yet at least.

"What about you? You had to listen to me whining about my shitty childhood, and now I'll listen to your tragic story."

"What makes you think I had a tragic childhood?", you teased, taking the whiskey from him and nipping at the bottle.

"Oh, please!", he huffed, "You are a bounty hunter and you want to tell me that you had a nice childhood? I have heard way better lies than that." You laughed at that, passing the bottle back to him.

"Well, my story is not as dark and dramatic as yours. I just wanted to catch bad guys and get decent money for it. They don't allow women to join the lawmen and even if they did, I guess we have one thing in common; I don't want to have anything to do with those people. I know their system is corrupt, only made to fit rich white men."

Jungkook seemed surprised. You were on different sides, you were supposed to represent the law and everything Jungkook hated but you were agreeing with him? He barely knew anyone that wasn't an outlaw or a beggar that thought like this.

He clutched the bottle tighter and nipped at it again, letting the liquid burn his throat. Maybe, just maybe, if things were different, if you two were to get out of here, you could start again? Get to know each other as people and not as enemies. It was foolish to think of anything in the future, seeing how you were doomed down here, but he wanted to know you. You were pretty, he wasn't blind. If the circumstances had been different he would have loved to bed you.

He shook his head, squeezing one hand into his pocket and pulling out a tiny photograph. You scooted closer until you were sitting next to him, taking the whiskey bottle that was almost empty now. It hadn't been full before, but still.

"This was the gang.", Jungkook explained, passing the photo to you. You looked at the faces, all smiling at the camera. You spotted Jungkook in the middle next to a tall man who had proudly swung an arm over his shoulder. If you didn't know any better you would have assumed that this was just a group of friends getting their picture taken. "That's namjoon, right?", you said and pointed to the tall male. Jungkook nodded, smiling widely. "And that's Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Hoseok and Soekjin." You laughed as you spotted Jin, a wide smile on his lips as he stood on the other side of Jungkook.

Wait a damn minute... wait. a. minute.

"Jin??", you gasped and Jungkook looked at you questioningly. "How is Jin in this picture? He- He's a good friend of mine and he's also a sheriff!"

"Oh, so that's where he went.", Jungkook mumbled to himself but you heard him loud and clear. You waited for him to explain.

"Jin was part of our gang but he mostly just tried to get the law off our back. He taught me a lot about who I am. Unfortunately, he left the gang one year before I did. Said he couldn't identify himself with the gang anymore... with what we had become. It's true, we were more ghosts than people by the end. I'm no saint - I know that - but I guess I never truly knew how much of a lowlife I was until Jin left. He was partly the reason I left a year later. How is he doing? How do you know him?"

"Well, I'd say he's pretty well. He is the sheriff after all, that gets you some decent money. I turned a lot of the targets in that he hung up on the bounty wall. We started chatting and then went out drinking sometimes."

"Oh, so you two are-...?", Jungkook gestured with his hands, trying to bring across his point without actually saying anything, hoping you got what he was trying to ask.

"No! God, no!", you laughed and Jungkook perked up at the pleasant sound. "Just friends. Collegues of sorts. But now it makes a lot of sense why he was trying to convince me to not go after you. He also took down your poster a few times. He always said it was because you were too damgerous and he wanted to protect reckless bounty hunters." You laughed. Imagining Jin in a gang of outlaws, hah! You would have to squeeze some details out of him!

Your face fell instantly. You couldn't. Because you wouldn't see him again. Maybe, just maybe Jin would come to look for you in a few days and find your rotting corpse in this hell hole. You chuckled bitterly to yourself.

"How much is it now?", Jungkook asked.

You took the bounty poster out of the bag and handed it to him. It was a little ragged now but still readable.

"Wow that's a new record. At least they didn't fuck up my face again with an ugly sketch." You smiled again as you watched him read his poster. "I'm sorry that you won't be getting the money now. But at least you managed to eliminate another bad guy. You'll surely be a hero then, right? People only idolize the dead. Like painters, you know? Maybe they'll write a campfire song about the bounty huntress that killed an outlaw by starving both herself and him to death in a canyon." You laughed and slapped his stomach lightly, already having forgotten about his wound. He hissed and moved away from the touch and you panicked. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry, I forgot!"

"It's fine.", he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Wait let me see if I disturbed the wound."

You pulled up his shirt, only now noticing the hard muscles that adorned his abdomen. You tried to lift the bandage but the shirt kept falling over your hands. "Take this shit, it's annoying!", you said impatiently. Instead of just holding the shirt up though, he pulled it off over his head, exposing his upper body. You didn't mean to stare but his body was carved by the gods themselves. You tore your gaze away from him and back to the wound. It seemed to be okay, no fresh blood or other substances leaking from it. "Okay, I think everything is fine."

"So you had me remove my shirt for your own entertainment, or-..."

You felt your cheeks getting warm as he teased you, holding your gaze.

"You-! You were the one to remove it! I told you to hold it up!"

"Well you did seem to enjoy it though."

You grabbed the shirt that was laying in his lap and threw it into his face, earning a low chuckle. He grabbed your arm and pulled you next to him again, taking the whiskey and downing the rest of it before turning his head to you. You looked up at his eyes, your own eyes flickering to his lips every so often. They looked plush and pink now, so kissable. Maybe it was the alcohol clouding your senses.

You went to turn away but Jungkook took your chin carefully, angling your face up so you had to look at him before placing his lips on yours in a sweet kiss.

You were surprised, shocked even, but you didn't pull away. His kiss was intoxicating and he tasted to good even though there was a hint of whiskey still on his lips.

He pulled back a few seconds later, looking for something in your eyes. "If your bounty hunter friends saw you right now what would they say?", he teased, voice barely a whisper.

"I think they would grant me one last nice thing before I die.", you whispered back, leaning back into Jungkook and capturing his lips in a more heated kiss. His tongue slid against your mouth and you opened it instantly, letting his greedy tongue explore your wet mouth. You moaned as Jungkook grabbed your hips, pulling you into his lap so he didn't have to crane his neck to the side. You fit into his lap like you belonged there, like you were meant to sit there at all times.

What on earth were you doing?

But did it matter? If you were to die soon, you'd at least be able to boast to the demons of hell that you had fucked Jeon Jungkook.

You ground yourself into his lap and he moaned, almost desperately, as your crotch prerssed against his growing hardness. You felt blood rush to your middle, throbbing in need, at the feeling of his hardening member. He pawed at your shirt, pulling it from your pants and pulling it off your body swiftly. His lips found your neck and colarbones in an instant and didn't miss the opportunity to mark you. He was sucking and biting your skin as you threw your head back, hands tangled into the long curly strands in the back of his head. You kept grinding into his crotch, wanting to hear him moan and hiss.

"Fuck-... If you keep going at it like that, I'll cum in my pants."

"We better get them off then.", you answered, feeling for the buttons and popping them open one after the other. You palmed his hardness through his pants before trying to slide them down further, which wasn't possible due to him sitting on the ground. Instead, Jungkook grabbed his shirt that was by his side, threw it on the ground behind you and gently lowered your back onto it, making sure to not hurt you. Once he was towering over you, you slid his pants down further along with his underwear, grabbing the throbbing and hot member. The skin was silky smooth and precum was already leaking from the red tip. You spat into your hand to make the glide easier and started stroking him. Jungkook dropped his head to your shoulder, groaning as you jerked him off with your soft hands. It had been some time since Jungkook had actually been with someone, so he was trying his hardest to not cum right then and there.

He occupied himself with releasing your breasts from your breastband, simply ripping it open, not patient enough to unravel it slowly. His mouth found your breasts as he kissed them all over, tongue flicking the hardened nubs. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter as he kissed and licked your body. God, he probably didn't even know what he was doing to you. Oblivious to the mess that coated the inside of your underwear.

You let go of his hardness as he kissed lower and lower, reaching your pants and unbottoning them slowly. He kissed each newly revealed part of skin before pulling off your boots and then the rest of your pants along with your underwear.

"Fuck. I have barely started and you are already soaking wet.", he groaned, lips exploring your hips and thighs. He was growing impatient, you could sense the urgeness in his kisses and touches.

His hands glided up your body again, reaching your breasts and squeezing them gently. He places open mouthed kisses against your mouth, licking into it hungrily. His wet, hot length was pressed against you as he settled in between your legs. "Fuck, you are so pretty, wanted to fuck you since last time you tried to catch me." You groaned at his confession. So he truly did remember you from last time you were trying to kill him.

"Wondered what you'd look like beneath me instead of behind a gun. Screaming my name in esctasy and not anger."

He kissed you gently before grabbing his length and running the silky head through your wet folds, passing by your clit and making you clench around nothingness. "Wanna make you cum. Cry out my name and cling to my body."

You moaned at his dirty words, feeling his head press into your entrance. "You want it?", he asked, kissing your lips and biting the lower one. "Fuck yes, Jungkook. Fuck me, please!"

He didn't waste any longer and burried himself into you deeply. Both of you groaned as he pushed into you until you couldn't take more of him. He was balls deep in you, your walls pulsing around him as he moved slightly. He gave you time to adjust to his size before starting a rythm that felt right for him. You locked your legs behind his hips, pushing him deeper into you with weath thrust. He was setting your body on fire, his length hitting all the right spots inside you.

You moaned and pulled his face into the crook of your neck, holding him so close you didn't know where his body ended and yours began. You could feel tiny stones digging into your back through the shirt he had laid down but you couldn't care less. He was panting next to your ear, skin burning up against you as he fastened his rythm. "Oh fuck- fuck. You feel so good around me. Such a tight little cunt-" You couldn't even respond because you were lost in the feeling of him pushing against your cervix with every thrust. It made you feel so full of him.

He hoisted his body onto his forearm, muscles flexing and giving you a nice view. He took two fingers and brought them to your mouth, making you suck on them. When he was satisfied with your work, he pulled them out, snaking the two digits between your bodies and finally findiny your clit. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan when he drew circles onto the sensitive nub. You clenched around him tightly and he grunted in response. With his fingers working away at your clit, you were barreling towards your orgasm. You wanted to tell him how good he made you feel, how the drag of his cock set your walls on fire and how you were close, so fucking close. But instead only breathy moans left your throat, gripping at his body tightly, as if you were afraid to slip over the edge because you knew it would be overwhelming.

"You- shit, you keep getting tighter. I'm not gonna last long with this tight cunt.", he announced, his rhythm faltering.

"Jungkook- fuck, I'm gonna-", you were silenced as you tipped over the edge, the pleasure almost too much for you to handle. You clenched hard around him, making it almost impossible for Jungkook to keep fucking into you. But he only needed two more thrusts before he was following you into his own high. A throaty groan left him, as he pressed himself into you as far as he could, pulling out only a bit before slamming back in, his release filling you up.

The both of you slowly calmed down, panting heavily against each other's mouths. He kissed you passionatley, moving to your jawline and down your throat. When he pulled back and looked at you, you gently moved the dark strands of sweaty hair out of his face. His eyes were locked with yours and you couldn't help but feel the warmth in your stomach as he looked down at you so lovingly. He proceeded to pull out, his release leaking out of you.

You helped each other dress. No word was spoken, but it wasn't awkward. Both of you still feeling the afterglow of an amazing orgasm.

That's when you head the sounds of hooves on hard stone. Jungkook quickly pulled your body to his, shielding you from the figure that leaned over the edge and peered down at the two of you.

"What in the world-... at least you're alive, I guess."

"Soekjin!?"

Jin had managed to pull Jungkook and you out with the lasso he had brought. The rough rope left slight burns on your skin but you figured it was better than starving to death down there.

While you were reliefed to see your friend, you were also confused as to how he had found you or why he was here in the first place.

"I wanted to help you catch he criminal!", Jin quickly said, grabbing onto Jungkook as if he hadn't casually been standing next to him the entire time. It made sense though. Jin didn't know that you knew of his history with the young outlaw.

"Jin drop the act. I wanna know why exactly you never told me that you were in a gang?!", you said, drinking from Jin's water bottle greedily. He choked on nothing and quickly turned to Jungkook who sheepishly grinned back at him. His ears turned six shades redder as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I- I thought it wouldn't bee such a good idea to tell a bounty hunter I was part of Jeon's gang. Who knows what you'd have done to me!", he joked. You scoffed.

"But seriously Hyung, what were you doing out here?", Jungkook piped up.

"Well both of my friends were gonna rip each other apart, couldn't let that happen right?", he laughed before suddenly frowning deeply. "Wait a minute... Wait a goddamn minute! Why the hell aren't the two of you ripping each other apart?"

"Believe me, we were, before we fell down into the ravine."

Jin eyed you suspiciously as he took note of your develished states... from all the fighting, of course!

He didn't question it any further.

The three of you proceed to get your horse that you had left behind as it was currently grazing peacefully. You were sat behind the saddle because Jungkook insisted on taking the reigns. Your arms were holding onto his tiny waist, feeling his muscles through his shirt. He was going to be the death of you. You were careful not to touch his injury, though it could not have been hurting too bad considering how he had fucked you earlier.

Jin had suggested bringing Jungkook to town and treating his wounds before he got going again. You had insited that you should get the fivethousand dollar since you technically were about to turn Jungkook in. Jin had protested to say the least.

As you were halfway there, Jungkook stopped the horse suddenly, making Jin, who had been riding ahead, stop as well and looking over his shoulder questioningly. If you had been able to see Jungkook's face you might have been able to predict his next move but since you couldn't you were more than surprised when he suddenly pushed you off the horse.

"Jungkook what the hell-", you said as you landed in the dirt, shoulder aching slightly.

"Sorry, I think it is better this way.", he grinned. "Also, where would be the fun in just staying? You'll seek me out again. My bounty will keep increasing for sure." A smirk was plastered on his lips as he urged the horse forward. "Until we meet again. I'm looking forward to it."

And with that he was gone. His figure disappearing into the darkness of the night. You couldn't even be mad at him. He had managed to escape from you in the end after all. You smiled to yourself, turning to Jin whose eyebrows were raised in surprise as he watched Jungkook disappear. Maybe he was right, it was better this way, he would have been recognized in town and all hell would've broken loose. Also, this way it would be way more fun.

You chuckled to yourself before you made a devastating realization.

"That fucker just took off with MY horse!"

[arcadejohn127-9]

Hello!1st I wanted to say i love your blog its *chefs kiss*,and 2nd could I request (i dont know if this is in someway triggering or not so i apologize) a MC who doesnt believe the brothers can love them 'cause they despise themself and they are so set on (?) with that mindset that the brothers cant convince them otherwise,but MC themself wants to feel loved they...just cant...and they just breakdown saying they arent special and when the brothers meet other humans they will realise that MC is nothing,that they are a horrible being and they will leave them for somebody better,does that make sense I dont wanna go too deep into it(totaaaaally not self projecting)I am so sorry if this is a sensitive topic,feel free to ignore this ask,this has been eating me out for weeks so I just wanted to seek some comfort.Once again your blog is great and dont overwork yourself, take care! :D 🤍

I've definitely been there and even now, I still have these fears. Growing out of these Insecurities and feelings are hard even if you work hard to be as confident as you can. One day it'll happen but until then you just gotta keep reminding yourself that you're worth the world

Also tip, please don't rely on others for self worth - people can be cruel or simply just unpredictable. Not all but until you see every colour of a person you don't know. If you depend on someone else to give you worth and make you feel good then that'll start a very unhealthy cycle for yourself

I hate this phase "love yourself before you love others" because you don't need to, you can find healthy and happy relationships whilst insecure. But I think what it really means is; get self worth before you love another. Make sure you don't do yourself damage by giving you Someone who does the bare minimum or will sometimes make you feel good but is usually a dick.

You can find love but that love can be wrong if you don't pay attention to the red flags. Don't let your insecurities drag you into unhealthy relationships.

Because you are stunning, worth it and loveable. You're Someone people can look up to or admire even if it's for something simple like your humour.

Also thank you, I'll be sure to not overwork myself, make sure you don't pressure yourself too hard about work or your hobbies. Hobbies are all about fun!

Warning: self loathing, depressive themes, angst

You could stand it.

Your eyes traveled along the gifts and trinkets that were in your room. Each one gifted to you by a powerful demon; a demon you live with.

You couldn't stand it.

You could get it; why would someone like that every like you? You weren't special and yet Everyone insisted that you were. You're not the key. Not anything Diavolo wants or expects. Definitely not what the brothers want.

You had to scoff. The brothers only like you because of Lilith, if you were related then they'd never see you as anything but some human. Lilith dragged you here, she made sure you came here and for what? To be always told you're going to be some big thing; someone to destroy hatred and help bring together three realms.

Do they not realize how much pressure that is??!!!! And the how are you even going to do that?! You're magic is unpredictable and useless - it perfectly reflects you.

You whimpered at your own thoughts. The word useless stinging at your heart; it was almost if a knife lodged itself into your chest. Constantly stabbing the word useless into it.

You were useless. They need to find someone who can actually live up to their expectations. Just a good for nothing human....why do they even like you?

You looked back at the gifts, your watery stare turning into a hateful glare.

The question was burning inside your head. You couldn't understand; what did he see in you? You're not special! You're not anything anyone wants you to be and you're just being forced on a pedestal you didn't make!

Why did he always look at you the way he does? Like you actually mean something. Why does he smile so softly when you enter the room?

Why would he be like that when you KNOW that as soon as he meets another human, he'll be running after them without hesitation. Everyone was so much more attractive than you and better than you - you couldn't get why he loved you. Why- no how?! You weren't good enough for him!

No matter how many times he says I love you or compliments you it leaves such a bitter disgusting taste in your mouth. You're so horrible you can't even let people be nice to you - it's all a lie anyway. No one could love you. Never. No one!

You were useless! Disgusting! You weren't even attractive! You weren't loveable! You're a horrible person who looks just as horrible as they are. How can they look at you like that?! How can they stand you?! You're nothing!

You don't get it!

Why?! Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why Why why why-!

A scream ripped itself out of your throat. Tears streaming down your face as you clutched your head. Your body curled into itself, shaking and trembling as you choked on your sobs. You coughed through it as you tried to breath but the tears kept coming. Drowning you as you desperately tried to breath under their weight.

The pain was unbelievable. You felt like your head was on fire. You could barely even make out the figure standing at your door. Whoever they were, they scooped you up from the floor and rubbed circles into your arms. You clutched to them for dear life as you cried.

Somewhere in your brain you could tell who it was and it only made you cry harder. Shame filling your lungs as you tried to escape their caring embrace.

"No-! Stop it! I'm nothing! I'm useless-! Let me go-!! Why- why won't you leave me alone?! I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!! LET ME DIE-!"

were you dying? You felt like it. The ache was painful; your chest growing tighter and tighter. You pounded on their chest, demanding they let you be the useless thing that you are alone.

Lucifer:

He forced back his tears

Just rubbing circles into your skin as he held you

To think you were this Insecure despite being the nicest person who knew

You were Better than him and don't let pride stop you - you were amazing

"not good enough for me? What made you believe that...? You're perfect for me, you complete me."

You denied his claims, sobbing as you listed your insecurities

"Your insecurities don't define you, you're so much more than that - I wouldn't of picked you to be my love if I didn't think you'd be adequate."

He wasn't sure if you were still listening but he pushed past his doubts

Adjusting you in his embrace

"I- I'm not sure if I'm comforting you....I'm not good at being the gentle hand, I want you to see how I see you - you're kind, charming and always keeping me in awe, you mean so much to me, I'll trade anything I could just to see you smile - I love you."

Mammon:

There can only be one self loathing idioit in this relationship

He refuses to let you feel like how he has

His forced confidence - you could easily see through it - anyone could

But you were the only one who then actually helped him feel better when you did see through it

He let a few tears stray, holding you close

"did someone say something to you? I don't forgive 'em for ever making ya this upset, I'm not letting you feel like this."

You shook your head, muttering that he should let you

"why should I? You're my favourite person and you've only made me happy - so let me make you happy! You're the only person who's ever treated me the way ya treat me and I won't let you hate yourself!"

He hugged you even tighter, squeezing you as he hid his face in your shoulder

"you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, okay? You always know how to make me feel better and it's my turn to make you feel better but you gotta listen to me! I lo-love you! The great Mammon loves you so badly that he just wants to kiss you every day! You're amazing and I won't forgive ya if you let yourself keep going on like this, let me support you.... please...I don't want you to go."

Levithan:

He couldn't get it

He's always been jealous of your personality and ability to make others feel good

His envy makes him despise himself - so seeing you be the same, he couldn't take it

He gave you one big squeeze

"d-don't be stupid! You're the best thing that's come into my life - even better than ruri-chan!"

You didn't believe him, he was obessed with that character

"but it's true-! If I could I'd get loads of merchandise of you too because you're my favourite person! You're just like the protagonists I read about."

His face was beat red but he was determined to make you feel better

"You're Henry, you are brave and kind, always trying your best even if that best isn't up to your own or others standards, you Inspire me! I've thought about of making a series about you...so others can feel just as happy as I do when I see you, you make me feel less insecure and like I actually mean something - why can I do to make you feel the same? You mean everything to me! I really like you....I like-like you-! I LOVE YOU AND I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY! Let me make you feel how you make me feel because then you'll see just how amazing you are!"

Satan:

Did someone makes you feel like this or was it just your own thoughts?

If it isn't the latter he'll need to find out who's hurt you

But right now, he hugged you tighter and cradled your head

He couldn't stand to see and hear you so destressed

"did I do something to make you feel like this? I'm so sorry if I did, I don't always realize when I come off rude or hateful- I could never hate you."

You held him tight, telling him to stop

"but I need to fix it if I've hurt you and if it wasn't me then whoever did needs to keep quiet, you don't deserve these feelings."

You huffed, trying to not cry more

He gave your Shoulder a small squeeze

"you're more than enough for me, you're so good to me - sometimes I wonder if I'm good enough for you, you're always so patient with me and don't make me feel like I'm some unthinking beast, you don't think I'm lying when I be genuine and that makes me love you - I do love you - you make me feel good and I want to do the same for you, you're beyond good and I'll always be happy with the person you are and can become because I know you can do so much and always bring positivity even in the darkest times."

Asmodeus:

He's crying too

He hated of being seen as insecure

He only wanted confidence

Seeing you sob and beat on yourself like this only reminded him of his most private moments

He held you even closer, rocking you gently

"No, dear, I love you too much to let you feel like this, you're amazing to me and I think you're better than even myself, you're my number 1."

You shook your head, telling him he's lying

"I'm not, why would I lie? You're the sweetest person I know, you don't see me as some sex object - you make me feel real and happy - so so happy."

He kissed the top of your head, hiding his tear streaked face

"I want you to be happy....you deserve it, you've got only so long to live and I'm so scared that you're going to hate yourself even until you die, I don't want that! You're beautiful amazing and I could never ask for anyone better! Please- just let's work on our confidence together...okay? You're so wonderful, don't let yourself become so hateful."

Beezlebub:

He's absolutely broken

How didn't he realize you felt this bad about yourself??

He didn't even realize he was crying aswell, just holding you close as his mind screamed at him

"did something make you feel like this? It hurts to hear you say these things."

You shook your head before nodding, muttering you just won't talk anymore

"I didn't mean that, I always want you to be open with me and if not me, atleast one of my brother's."

He picked you up, placing you in a more comfortable position and held you close to his chest

"I love you, it took me awhile to realize that but I do, you make me feel full and happy - like I just ate a big buffet of warm cakes and dishes, I'm always warm when I'm with you, I don't believe you're not good enough - you're kind to me and never judge me for eating, you help me with working out but most importantly, you fixed my family and brought my twin back, I don't know how to make you see how much that means to me and I don't want you to feel bad about yourself when you're always the best person in the room - you're really great."

Belphegor:

"just let me die"

Those words hurt him so bad

He was like that, he demanded to be left to Rot with his own self loathing when Lilith died

He pulled you close to his chest as he grabbed your shoulder

"You're not allowed to feel like this, you've done nothing to feel this much hatred towards yourself."

You told him he was wrong, crying harder

"when am I wrong? I- okay, I can be wrong but I'm not wrong about you, you're my favourite person which means I love you and I don't let my favourite people sit and cry."

He cuddled you, nuzzling his cheek against yours

"You saved me and I will never able to make it up to you, I've hurt you and I hate it- I hate that I'm a reason you get scared, don't ever let yourself rot away, when my brother's just leave me to sleep I always feel so much dread - that I'm being left to die in my bed and will never get to see their faces again - I'll never be able to see your face again....I wouldn't be able to take it.....seeing you everyday makes me want to leave my bed and always make sure you smile, let me make you smile again."

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None for this chap Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Sure, your soulmate may be a vampire (of sorts), but there's nothing that love can't conquer, right?... Maybe it's time you learn a little more about the odd circumstances of your soulmate's existence- and the fear that lies beneath the surface. Notes: If the last chapter was "hurt" followed by comfort, this is "comfort" followed by hurt, also known as the part where the story's central conflict comes into play. Features an appearance from Daniela, who reminds us that Cassandra's not the only one with a sharp tongue around here. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands, 3: Rumbling Thunder

4: That Which Burns

“Of all the stars, the fairest,” Bela murmurs in your ear, keeping her arms wrapped loosely around your waist, before giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. If you hadn’t already been blushing, you certainly would have now done so. You’re leaning into her touch, face flushed as can be, loving every moment of this. For a while now you’ve been curled up with her, while she reads excerpts from her favorite works. Although both of you would have preferred to do this outside, enjoying the view of the stars, you figured it would be best not to push your health too much. After all, you had lost a huge percentage of your blood. Well, temporarily, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

“That’s probably my favorite line from Sappho,” you chimed, fondly remembering some of your schooling. “Though the one about being remembered always stands out to me. I’m not sure I remember it correctly, and I’m sure it’s been translated a few different ways over the years… but I think it’s ‘someone, I tell you, will remember us in another time’. Might have gotten that backwards, actually.” Giving an awkward little smile, you sheepishly rub the back of your head with one hand. “Either way it feels so romantic. To think of a love so strong that it echoes throughout time, fondly remembered for generations… it warms the heart.”

“Mhmm, most definitely, my dear. Many aren’t as lucky, however,” Bela laments, an odd expression crawling onto her face. There’s the slightest waver to her lower lip as she speaks. Concerned, you turn in place to get a better look, gently reaching out to caress her cheek. Is there something I’m missing? You think, wondering what you should say. “I’m alright, I promise. Merely distracted by a fleeting thought. Let’s read another, yes?” Before you can protest, she’s already turned to another page, starting to read as if she already knew which one was next (which would not, at all, surprise you).

Love shook my heart, Like the wind on the mountain, Troubling the oak-trees

“Oh, if only I could speak Aeolic Greek, so that I could serenade you with tender prose, all the days of your life… just as it was originally written. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Bela offers, once again smiling wide, as if nothing in the world was wrong, at least not when you were by her side. Though you are not keen to ignore her earlier stroke of misery, you are equally reluctant to put a damper on her current upswing. Now what were you to do? Little comes to mind, other than the simplicity of human warmth, and so you lean once more into her embrace, head held aloft on the strength of her shoulder.

“Here, as I am now, is more than lovely enough. Your voice is soothing in any language, sweet as sugar, relaxing as can be,” you reassure her in your softest tone. Heart fluttering, she finds herself easing back into the comfort of the moment, forgetting all about her earlier woes. “Shall we read another?” Nodding, Bela again turns the page and begins to read:

He’s equal with the gods, that man Who sits across from you, Face to face, close enough to sip Your voice’s sweetness

And what excites my mind, Your laughter, glittering. So, When I see you, for a moment, My voice goes,

My tongue freezes. Fire, Delicate fire, in the flesh. Blind, stunned, the sound Of thunder, in my ears.

Shivering with sweat, cold Tremors over the skin, I turn the colour of dead grass, And I’m an inch from dying.

“Does that make me equal to the gods, then?” You ask, as soon as the last line is given its moment to shine. A small hum comes from your soulmate, who seems equal parts intrigued and confused. “I look in your eyes and my lungs light on fire, my heart ricochets around my chest, and I hear the chorus of angels singing your holy praises. The fact that I can manage to speak at all is confounding. Maybe the muses have seen fit to lend me their artistry, so that I might make conversation worthy of your existence, my dear.” With that said, you find yourself being squeezed gently, Bela placing another kiss against the top of your head. Now, it seems she is the one without the ability to speak. “The divine witnessing the divine, yes?... Let me read the next one, and we’ll see if my voice could ever compare to your own.”

It’s innocent enough, your choice. A turn of the page, just another poem, selected for nothing more than respect for chronology. Yet something drains from the space around you as you begin to read, so subtly slow that you hardly notice.

Girls, you be ardent for the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear melodious lyre: But now old age has seized my tender body, Now my hair is white, and no longer dark

How were you to realize that the great shadow of fear loomed over your soulmate, when she had refused to name it mere minutes ago? How were you to know to halt your reciting, when the aching of her heart rendered her throat dry, and she could not bring herself to call out to you? Words poured like poisoned wine from your lips… your soulmate having no choice but to drink up every last drop.

My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t support me, That once were fleet as fawns, in the dance I grieve often for my state; what can I do? Being human, there’s no way not to grow old

A shaky breath from age-old lungs, exhaled into tense air, forced out past a trembling jaw. Say something, Bela tells herself, any poem but this. For a split second you pause, and she wonders if her thoughts have found new light in your own mind. But you break the momentary silence without much care, simply having been unsure of your pending pronunciation of an old name, perfectly unaware of your partner’s panic.

Rosy-armed Dawn, they say, love-smitten Once carried Tithonus off to the world’s end: Handsome and young he was then, yet at last Grey age caught that spouse of an immortal wife

At last her ordeal was over. The final words hang heavy in the air, weighing down her shoulders, but they are done. Her fears had been dragged out from the pit in her stomach, now waving about like dirty laundry. There was only one way for her to avoid this happening another time: Tell you the truth. By now her silence had earned your attention, with you turning in her lap again, concerned gaze meeting her hollow one. Gently, she gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I… am not one to balk at the nature of things, however painful the truth. Yet I hesitate now, with the very person I am bound to with crimson ties… How cowardly of me,” Bela all but snarls, anger clearly not directed at you. It’s clear in the way that she holds herself that she has more to say. There’s not much you can do other than wait, though you do tuck an arm around her waist, beginning to rub soft circles against her back. “Allow me to drop the pretenses. You are not immortal, but I am. We’ve only been together for a day and a half, and already I’m worrying about your lifespan. It’s safe to say that this particular poem was an unfriendly reminder of our situation.”

Oh. How exactly were you supposed to respond to that?... Your girlfriend- your soulmate- was immortal. Hmph, as if her essentially being a vampire hadn’t already been enough to freak you out. Now this? Well, maybe it wasn’t too much farther of a stretch from the last revelation, even if you were still recovering from that one. Even then, something told you that this was equally hard for Bela- both to say, and to simply feel. As if she needed more stress surrounding her partnership with you…

“Of all the ways for us to mimic legends… I don’t even know what to say, my dear. I… I suppose that I can only reassure you that we will make the most of every moment we have. However much time we are destined to get, we’ll make sure it is filled with bliss,” you reply, slowly, making it up as you go. An ache builds in the center of your chest as you talk, an internal yearning for greater confidence. Although words were your “weapon” of choice, you were not always a master in your use of them, too human to be infallible. “Maybe we should set aside the poetry for now, shift our focus to something, ah, less meaningful?”

“That would be for the best,” Bela agrees, already shifting like she was going to stand up, before you even had a chance to get off of her lap. Something strange had fallen over her expression, an invisible veil, putting an uncomfortable distance between the two of you. Inside your chest, a thundering heart threatens to go still. Had you done something wrong? Did you commit some unspoken sin? Together the two of you rise, in sync yet more separate than before, a thousand questions and anxieties rendering both of you silent...

—————————

Across the room from you, a pair of bright eyes watch your every movement, peering out from over an open book. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought that the “ruse” was intentionally poor. But for all the five hours you had known her, Daniela Dimitrescu had done nothing other than prove herself odd, clumsy, and quite possibly… overconfident. Admittedly, that still made her undeniably more pleasant than Cassandra. If you had to be stuck alongside someone other than your soulmate, well, ‘twas best that it was this strange redheaded gremlin. Even if she had expressed an unfortunate interest in eating you.

Gods, what is wrong with this family? You think, frowning a tad, unable to stop yourself from making eye contact with Daniela. Instantly she’s looking away, pretending to be engrossed within her book. The very same book that had remained open to the same page for half an hour now. I do hope Bela is having more fun right now, with whatever “business” called her away so unexpectedly. She hadn’t seemed happy to have to leave your side, earlier tension notwithstanding. Coming here to the library had been her suggestion, though you doubted she knew that Daniela was there, or at least hadn’t anticipated her sister’s unnerving behavior. Already the redhead was looking back at you, even less subtly than before.

Sighing, you decided that you could only put up with so much of this tomfoolery.

“Are you in need of something? Or is there something on my face?” You ask, setting your own book aside as you do. There’s a few moments of silence, as Daniela glances around the room, as if you might actually be speaking to someone else. When no scapegoats teleport to her rescue, she very awkwardly clears her throat, then moves to sit at your table. Though you are loath to admit it, your heart starts beating faster as she approaches. Not out of attraction, hell no, rather fear. Perhaps getting her attention hadn’t been the wisest choice after all…

“I just think it’s funny,” Daniela chimes, trailing off just long enough to run a finger down the length of your arm, “that Bela abandoned you so quickly. You’re so… fragile. Cassandra told me about the fun little introduction you had to our family- the blood loss, being chained up, the fear you felt when you got caught in our territory.” Suddenly she’s devolving into a fit of giggles, hand resting not-so-gently on your wrist. When you try to pull away, her nails dig in, and her gaze snaps back to your own. “But you don’t remember that part, do you? If you did… oh, we’d have to lock you up, like the little pet you are, to keep you from running away. I’m sure Bela wouldn’t mind seeing you in chains.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You snap, uncharacteristically furious. While it was true that you couldn’t recall exactly how you made it into the castle’s dungeons, you refuse to accept Daniela’s implications about your soulmate, or her assessment of your dedication. A brief second passes where you think she’s about to lunge towards you. Instead, she withdraws her hand, moving it to prop up her chin instead. Then, her lips slowly drag upwards into a wicked grin, wide eyes filled with dangerous amusement.

“So you’re more than a wannabe Shakespeare, after all? A bit more teeth, a touch more vulgarity, maybe a twinge of bloodlust, and you might actually fit in around here. Not enough to get our family’s ‘gift’- our secret to a long, happy life- but enough that Bela won’t grow bored of your sappy poems,” she teases with another string of laughter. Before you can question her about this ‘gift’, she’s all but jumping to her feet, stretching out her arms as she does. “I can’t wait to update Cassandra about you. We’ll be betting on how entertaining you’ll end up being. Try to keep from bailing on my dear sister too soon, alright?”

Just like that she’s disappearing into a swarm of flies, leaving you more confused (and angry) than ever. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on what you need to do next: Find Bela. Talk to her. Get some goddamn answers.

[armenelols]

There isn't enough appreciation for Elrond's and Isildur's friendship.

I think much of this comes from the movies, where our only image of Isildur is his 'no' and Elrond yelling 'Isildur!', and then we see him die because he dives into the river while running away from a battle because the One Ring falls from his finger. Sure, there is some scroll Gandalf reads, but it only makes Isildur seem even more obsessed with the Ring than he already seemed. Add to that Aragorn's rambling about how he and Isildur share blood and weakness and you've got the perfect receipt for evil Isildur and 'cast it into the fire' memes.

Movie!Elrond's 'men are weak' really isn't helping.

So to start with, I think it is necessary to say that I am talking about book!Elrond and book!Isildur here, and while I don't recall either of them calling the other friend, it's a headcanon I have and it is to some extent supported by the books.

In the chapter The Disaster of the Gladden Fields in Unfinished Tales, Isildur shares a few exchanges with his son, Elendur, that I would like to show here.

Elendur went to his father, who was standing dark and alone, as if lost in thought. 'Atarinya,' he said, 'what of the power that would cow these foul creatures and command them to obey you? Is it then of no avail?'

'Alas, it is not, senya. I can not use it. I dread the pain of touching it. And I have not yet found the strength to bend it to my will. It needs one greater than I know myself to be. My pride has fallen. It should go to the Keepers of the Three.'

And later in the chapter:

'My king,' said Elendur, 'Ciryon is dead and Aratan is dying. Your last counsellor must advise, nay command you, as you commanded Ohtar. Go! Take your burden, and at all cost bring it to the Keepers: even at the cost of abandoning your men and me!'

'King's son,' said Isildur, 'I knew that I must do so; but I feared the pain. Nor could I go without your leave. Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom.'

Earlier in the chapter, we also get this passage talking about Isildur:

When he at last felt free to return to his own realm he was in haste, and he wished to go first to Imladris; for he had left his wife and youngest son there, and he had moreover and urgent need for the counsel of Elrond.

Nearer to the end of the chapter, when talking about Isildur's death, Tolkien writes this:

There suddenly he knew that the Ring had gone. By chance, or chance well used, it had left his hand and gone where he could never hope to find it again. At first so overwhelming was his sense of loss that he struggled no more, and would have sunk and drowned. But swift as it had come the mood passed. The pain had left him. A great burden had been taken away. There he rose up out of the water: only a mortal man, a small creature lost and abandoned in the wilds of Middle-Earth. But to the night-eyed Orcs that lurked there on the watch he loomed up, a monstrous shadow of fear, with a piercing eye like a star. They loosed their poisoned arrows at it, and fled.

And last from this chapter, this bit about the Ring itself:

It was little more than two years since it had left his [Sauron's] hand, and though it was swiftly cooling it was still heavy with his evil will, and seeking all means to return to its lord.

So what does this tell us? And in addition, where was I coming to with Elrond & Isildur friendship?

1. For all of Isildur's refusal to give up the Ring after the war ended here:

'Alas! yes,' said Elrond. 'Isildur took it, as should not have been. It should have been cast then into Orodruin's fire nigh at hand where it was made. But few marked what Isildur did. He alone stood by his father in that last mortal contest; and by Gil-galad only Círdan stood, and I. But Isildur would not listen to our counsel.

' "This I will have as weregild for my father, and my brother," he said; and therefore whether we would or no, he took it to treasure it.

- The Council of Elrond, Fellowship of the Ring

Isildur realized he was wrong. The Ring was still at its most evil, and it wanted to corrupt him, it wanted to go back to Sauron, yet Isildur resisted enough to be able to almost give up the Ring willingly or at least consider it.

When he was slain, he was already taking the Ring to Elrond. Whether he would have the strength to do it later, he resisted the Ring enough to at least consider it. How many would be able to do so? Of course, there was the factor of the very touch of the Ring paining him, but compared with the Ring's will, that's hardly enough to convince a man to give it up.

And at last, when the Ring slipped from his finger, he did not dive after it. He gave it up, and swam away; and even as the orcs killed him, they killed him a free man.

2. He was bringing the Ring to Elrond. At the very beginning I said this post is about Elrond's and Isildur's friendship, and finally, I am talking about it.

It should go to the Keepers of the Three, Isildur says of the Ring - and for that, he would have to know who the Keepers are, or at least know of someone who knows. And it is said repeatedly that he seeks Elrond's counsel, that he goes to Imladris; did he know Elrond has Vilya?

The location of the Three is one of the greatest secrets kept from Sauron, and it is said many times that almost no one knew of it. Did Isildur know, suspect? In addition to this, Elendur seems to have the same knowledge, which, as he is repeatedly called Isildur's greatest confidant, isn't much of a wonder.

All in all, Isildur either connected the dots well enough to realize that out of all high elven lords, it is Elrond bears a ring of power (and Isildur is clever, this is a possibility); or Elrond was not careful enough and Isildur figured it out from his missteps (which, considering Elrond's experience with cursed jewellery isn't very likely); or Elrond gave him hints on purpose; or he just. Straight up told him.

The last two options seem to be most likely to me, which brings me to Elrond trusting Isildur enough to reveal such a secret to him, which leads me to my Elrond and Isildur are friends agenda.

Should the first option be true, props to Isildur for figuring it out by himself without any clues from Elrond other than him being important. Should Isildur be bringing the Ring to Elrond in hopes that Elrond knows who the Keepers of the Three are, without knowing Elrond is one of them, it still shows Isildur trusted Elrond enough to bring him the Ring even for temporary keeping.

(there is also the matter of whether Isildur knows the other Keepers of the Three, as he mentions them a few times, but never enough to indicate if he knows who they are)

3. Parallels. It is said that Elendil and Gil-galad, the two high kings of their people are friends. Is it really so unlikely that Elrond, Gil-galad's herald (and possibly heir, even though he took no crown), and most trusted advisor besides Círdan; and Isildur, the heir of Elendil the Tall and his second in command, would strike a friendship?

The Isildur we are presented with is both bold and wise - he saves the fruit of the White Tree of Númenor alone because it needs to be done, and then he does it again, and he does it because it's the best for his people. He takes the Ring, and tries to make it listen to him, and realizes he made a mistake; he tries to fix it, and wants to bring it to Elrond.

The Isildur we are presented with has courage, and wisdom, and hope.

Do you know what does this remind me of?

Edain. Their ideals. The reasons why they got the gift of Númenor, greater wisdom, longer lives.

They resisted the evil, no matter how strong; they were loyal, true to their beliefs, brave and courageous.

Elros was chosen as the king of the Edain and really, I highly doubt Edain would choose him as a king just because of his heritage, or because someone told them to do so. Sure, someone could have pointed out Elros to them and say 'hey, look at this dude, he could be a nice king, what do you think?' but in the end, while they might start following Elros because someone else told them, I doubt they would let themselves be led by someone who wasn't the best representation of them. In Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, Andreth does not shy away from telling Finrod her beliefs, the beliefs of her people. And I don't think that changed with time.

What am I trying to say? I think Elros and Isildur were both similar in many ways, in ways that made them the leaders they were - and that in a way, Elrond saw Elros in Isildur, as well as himself; for Elrond still connected strongly with his mortal kin, and as I mentioned earlier, their political positions were similar.

And while Isildur was his own person and had done things neither Elros or Elrond would have done, and had his own good and bad qualities, it doesn't erase the similarities.

4. Aragorn was raised in Rivendell, by his mother and Elrond and his people. Of all the people there, it is easy to see which ones would influence him the most: Gilraen, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir. It is repeatedly shown how close he was to them. To some extent we may include Glorfindel, for they were friends, but not as much as the above mentioned four.

Now, as Estel, he wasn't aware of his heritage. He is shown to be proud of his heritage, of his descend from Isildur; and yes, this could be a simple pride in one's ancestors. It could have been that he simply liked Isildur as a historical legendary figure and it became greater after he learnt of his descend from him. Or it could have been that he was told many tales of Isildur, of his deeds and personality, and his family, and decided I want to be like him, and like Elendil, even without knowing he was in any way related to them.

And really, when it comes to the above-mentioned people, who would be the most likely to tell him stories of Isildur? Gilraen who only knew him from stories, or Glorfindel who was never mentioned around Isildur in the books, or Elladan and Elrohir, born after Isildur's death, who could have any number of first-hand stories about hundreds of Aragorn's cool ancestors but not Isildur himself?

All I am saying is there is a potential for Elrond to be telling stories of his old friend Isildur and Elendil and Gil-galad to Estel, and Estel loving them.

There is also the fact that in the chapter The Disaster of the Gladden Fields, Elendur, Isildur's son, is said to be very similar to Aragorn. And I love the idea of Elrond's and Isildur's sons paralleling each other, in a strange way, thousands of years apart.

5. In the books themselves, we do no see Elrond speaking about Isildur much. (I checked almost every mention of Isildur in most of my Tolkien books. So yeah.) On the Council of Elrond, Elrond talks about Isildur the most, but it is mainly in historical manner and 'the Ring should have been destroyed that day' manner, as you can see in the passage from the book I mentioned above in point 1.

This doesn't tell us much about their relationship, much less their friendship - and thus as a source for my image of them as friends, I give the place to The Disaster of the Gladden Fields, thinking they would make a good duo, and the potential of how Isildur's death may have had affected Elrond.

Isildur's death was unexpected. No one expected the road not to be safe - there is a reason why Isildur and his men were unprepared for a battle. They were simply journeying on a familiar road, to Rivendell and then Arnor. Not even the Orcs that ambushed them knew of the Ring. In Rivendell, they learnt of what happened only thanks to Ohtar, Isildur's squire who survived; and even then, the specific circumstances of his death were not revealed until Aragorn found Elendilmir and the chain which bore the Ring among Saruman's things.

In all honesty, I don't think even Elrond knew Isildur planned on giving him the Ring. I do not doubt he expected him, for his wife and youngest son were in Imladris - but I found no reason as to why he might know of Isildur's plans with the Ring.

That could give him a reason to speak ill of Isildur, couldn't it? Yet when he speaks of him, he only speaks of facts and what should have been done - he doesn't call Isildur too weak to give up the ring, or power-hungry, or proud - and by the latter, Isildur calls himself several times (as can be seen here, in the passages I used above)

It needs one greater than I know myself to be. My pride has fallen.

And here:

Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom.

And yes, it was a formal Council - Elrond had no reason to speak of his personal feelings towards Isildur. Yet I think the little he said reflects his thoughts well. He might have felt some bitterness towards him, especially as he later learnt what the Ring's nature truly was; and especially as he had no knowledge of Isildur being willing to give the Ring to him, for better or worse, whether he would find the strength to do so or not.

Still, once Elrond learnt of the Ring's Nature, I think he might have understood Isildur better - especially as he himself did not dare to even touch the Ring.

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part I)

Series Master list

Pairing: Canon Eren Jaeger x reader

Content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter Summary: After watching their teammates die in battle, reader begins to question their sanity and of their so-called partner.

AN: let me say goodbye to my favorite girl, who got me the best laughs and relieved my anxiety while reading manga chapters. At the same time, let me succumb to the misery and enlarge the wound with an canon Eren. I won’t be against following this fic if I see that a lot of people like it, but my list of fandoms isn’t going to change, this will be a unique exception.

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The chill in the air from the airship rushed through my veins. Less than two hours ago, I had seen countless comrades die, each one of them struck by bullets in different parts of their bodys or eaten by a Titan. I had seen countless lives fall and had been unable to save any. I knew we were going on a suicide mission, but deep down inside of me, I hoped we would all come home alive.

I was very naïve to think of a happy ending in this rotten and violent world.

Inside the room I was in, my mind wandered looking through one of the few windows this war machine gave us. I wasn't paying attention to what Levi or Eren were saying, I didn't even have the slightest intention of asking why Zeke was with us. Although being a member of the Survey Corps and a direct and in training medic, I was not fully informed of the missions. Eren’s courtesy.

Bored and mentally tired, I left the room where my leaders were having a heated discussion with "humanity's last hope." I didn't have the strength to add more charcoal to the fire, but trust me when I tell you I wasn’t at all happy with Eren's plan, simply and exclusively because I was completely unaware.

I walked down the hall making a mental note to kick the brunette in the face like Levi did when we got back. If my so-called partner, who had the decency to slowly push me away over the last year without explanation, wasn’t confident enough to tell me whatever was going on in his mind, then we would be in front of the doors of a serious conversation back home.

I opened the door where the scouts were when I heard a rifle go off. My eyes went wide and fear washed over me. I instantly scanned my body for wounds, completely ignoring the situation happening in front of me. Finding no sign of impact, I looked up only to find Sasha falling on her back, with a bullet impact on her chest.

The world seemed to have frozen as did my body. No one was able to move. Blood was spreading around Sasha's body, staining the floor, and that's when I reacted. My body moved on its own, pulling the cloak off my shoulders and folding it to make a small pillow. My ears didn’t catch any screams or cries from my teammates, as if I was underwater and the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat accelerating, threatening to come out of my ears.

"I need a syringe with anesthesia, a pair of tweezers, a needle, a lighter, bandages and hot water, NOW !!"

No one was moving, everyone was in shock, including me, but I was layered enough to know that if we didn't do something, Sasha wasn't going to survive.

"Jean, Connie, I need surgical elementes! NOW!!"

The two boys came out of it, running around the room, even going to the continuous, looking for something that might serve, while I tore Sasha's shirt and took her equipment. Mikasa was next to me grabbing the pieces that were in the way.

"Mikasa, I need you to put pressure on the wound and don’t move your hands"

Connie came running back with the anesthesia in hand, trying to give it to me, but me failing. The syringe fell to the floor, but thanks to whatever deity was watching us it didn't break. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, making it impossible for me to inject the needle into the glass vial.

“Sasha… I need you to stay awake, ok? I need you to keep your eyes open at all time"

The dying girl in front of me didn't give me an answer, but I knew she heard me. In the background, I could hear the desperate cries of the others, apart from the fact that someone had hit the culprit in the face. I injected the anesthesia and proceeded to remove the bullet from the lung. Mikasa reapplied pressure with wet cloths.

"Sasha everything will be fine, I assure you, everything will be fine, so don't you dare die on me, okay?"

I couldn't tell who I was addressing those words to, the girl who gave us the best laughs in our training days, or me.

Lighter in hand I proceeded to cauterize the wound, but my eyes fell on Sasha's, noticing how the life had left her eyes. The light that was so bright in her pupils had faded, leaving nothing more than an empty countenance.

"Sasha?...Sasha? hey, this isn’t funny, Sasha wake up…Sasha?? SASHA?!!?!" ...

"SASHA!!!"

Again.

Again I’d been unable to do anything.

Again I’d to see how I was unable to save someone.

Again.

I had seen a mate die. Again.

My chest contracted, the air was impossible to get in or out and my lungs cried out to explode. My stomach wanted to regurgitate, but there was nothing in it, causing me to spasm. My vocal cords were damaged from screaming and my head was about to collapse.

My whole body was about to collapse.

"How dare you!? You son of a bitch, how dare you to shoot the person who forgave your life?"

My anger was now directed at the child they had wanted to bring with us. It was impossible for me to look at her without having the desire to break her face, to make her suffer ... to kill her. To take revenge for Sasha.

“SHE FORGAVE YOUR LIFE BY NOT GIVING YOU A SHOT IN THE HEAD AND IS THAT HOW YOU PAY HER? YOU HATE US SO MUCH? HOW MANY MORE LIVES DO YOU WANT TO TAKE FOR US TO BE SATISFIED?"

My legs got up, leading me towards the girl, but arms held me from behind, preventing me from continue walking, preventing me from taking revenge.

"HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? YOU ARE THE REAL DEVILS"

In the end, my body collapsed, completely loosening and causing me to almost slide down Connie's arms. I fell to my knees when he released me, snuggling up and hiding my head in my arms. Tears flowed like waterfalls with no intention of stopping and my screams reverberated across the metal in the room.

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

Connie opened the door where our commanders were still arguing. Both with tears in our eyes gave the worst news of the night.

"Sasha died"

Jean and Hange's faces were disfigured and Levi hid his grim outline from us. The room was silent, but all that could be heard were my sobs, spasm after spasm.

"She had a ... a bullet impact ... in ... in the chest ..."

It was difficult, almost impossible, for me to relate the precarious medical report of our friend's death, trying to help me with the movement of my hands ... but even so the spasms won me over. I fell back to the floor, tears invaded my face once more and my ability to articulate words was gone down the drain.

Hange approached with a slow step and placed their hands on my shoulders, giving me the help I needed to give the report. I took several minutes of deep breaths and when my lungs returned to normal, I spoke again.

"Sasha had a bullet impact on the chest, on the left lung ... There was no exit, so the bullet was stuck in there...it pierced two ribs, tearing the skin of the lung and causing internal bleeding... I managd to remove the bullet, but I didn't have time to cauterize and sew the wound ... she bled to death"

Every pause I took to breathe made it so much worse for me to speak back. If it weren't for the fact I was undoubtedly taking deep breaths, I would have passed out from distress and hyperventilation.

"I could have saved her ... I know I could have saved her"

Silence reigned over the room, sobs from Hange and Connie could be heard if we were paying close attention. Jean and Levi glared at Eren, who had not deigned to lift his head at any time.

I got up as best I could, running Hange's hands gently, and left the room once again. I needed to be alone for a while, I needed to let go of these horrible feelings, I needed some air, otherwise I doubted I’d do anything rational in the state I was in.

My legs led me to a room away from all the common ones. It was empty, but it had a couple of windows that chilled the already cold metal walls. Some windows were at my height, allowing me to appreciate the view from the air, but let's face it, it was impossible to appreciate the landscape when your mind and heart were breaking to pieces. The only thing that kept my mind intact from any collapse was the path of smoke and fire that could be seen in the distance... signs that Marley was still on fire.

"Are you ok?"

That familiar voice, all too familiar, echoed in my ears pulling me out of my entrance. Eren had entered the room quietly with the aim of… what? See if it was okay? Because I really wasn't, it showed on my face and that's what made me even more angry than I was.

"Oh, I don't know? Am I ok? Do I FUCKING LOOK OK TO YOU?"

I turned from the window too quickly causing me to stagger and fall to the floor. My head was spinning and starting to ache as was every muscle in my body. I put my hands to my head, hoping the pain would dissipate a bit, but the only thing I managed was to sink further into misery.

"I could have saved her ... if I’d been faster ... I know I could have saved her"

He hadn't moved from where he was, he just stayed there, looking at me. My blood-soaked eyes looked him up and down searching for something, whatever, to speak of, but all I found were non-glare eyes and a neutral gaze, as if he hadn't cared how many lives this mission had claimed.

"Do you want to know how I feel? Fine, I’ll tell you"

I stood up heavily, my muscles begging for a break. I turned my head to see the black smoke rising on the horizon, still clearly noticing an orange and red flare.

“I am tired…I am full of rage and hate. I saw our comrades die and I couldn't do anything, I was unable to save them ... to save Sasha...and all because of not having been informed like everyone else"

My eyes hadn't left the window because I knew, if I looked into those dull turquoise eyes, those same eyes that once shone with all the innocence and life that a young man could have, I would end up punching him.

"Are you happy? Did you accomplished your mission now that you have the power of the warhammer titan? What will be the next step? Go back to Marley in a few months, finish what you started and devour the jaw titan and Reiner? Assassinate the cart titan?”

Again, I got no response. My patience had already reached it’s limit and I looked back at the man who was now standing in the middle of the room.

"You're not going to tell me, are you? No, you never say anything to me, it's like I'm a burden to you" I shuffled on the metal, standing right in front of him "I'm with so much anger in my veins that I want to kill a child, a child Eren! ... A child who had her head washed all her life, a child who doesn’t know the whole truth and who only knows that by killing she can be free"

Unconsciously, my body moved everywhere, as if it wanted to release all the pressure by tiring the muscles. I stood back in front of the window and with all the accumulated anger I gave it a strong blow, slightly scratching the glass and probably breaking some knuckles.

"Sasha died because of my incompetence and the violence of this world...I want to save lives Eren, that's why I'm practicing medicine...I want to dedicate myself to saving souls, not killing them...and we have the culprit stuck in one of our rooms...why?" ...

“WHY DO WE HAVE TWO CHILDS ON OUR AIRPLANE? WHY IS YOUR BROTHER WITH US? WHY DON'T YOU LET ME KNOW WHAT IS GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD?"

I was sure that my screams could be heard by our entire war machine. I was impatient for answers, but knew I wasn't going to get any, at least not now. My hands didn’t remain calm, they moved everywhere, a sign of my anxiety and my eyes turned around the entire room, looking at each screw, each metal beam... everything except the eyes of my supposed lover.

I was giving up, now I just wanted to rest and have a trip home in peace, even knowing that home was not going to sound the same or feel the same.

"If you have nothing to say Eren, you better leave"

I turned my back on him but didn't proceed to walk away from him. I needed to find an anchor point so as not to give up and throw myself into the arms that one day gave me warmth, the arms that wrapped me in the dark, the arms that reflected their love and affection ... into the arms that now wouldn't hold me from the waist or draw me to his chest. I wasn't going to throw me into some arms that weren't going to contain me.

I heard him take a few small steps towards me and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I put it aside abruptly and I distanced myself towards the remote window, seeing how little by little the smoke was getting smaller and I could no longer see the orange flame clearly; now I could only see a thin yellow line fading.

"Leave Eren"

His footsteps rumbled on the metal floor, leaving me alone once and for all.

The trip back was going to be a long one and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if there was anything for me in our home. Nothing was going to be the same anymore. Without Sasha, without Eren and with a war on our feet I doubted to even call “home” a piece of wet land in the middle of an ocean which is still the target of a world full of hate.

[sassyhobbits]

Guess I lied “Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.” someone from the Cadre telling this to Fen and him breaking apart and crying and dying I want him to suffer

had to so this one. always happy to write about my boy fen!!! luv him

heres day 4!!!

~~~

“Are you sure you want to make that move?”

“Yes. No. Fuck. What’s wrong with this move?”

“Why the hell would I tell you? I’m trying to win.”

Aelin laughed at the stormy look on Fenrys’ face as his dark gaze studied the chess board before them intently. She knew he was determined to beat her for once. She had been on a winning streak lately.

Aelin settled in her seat before the fire, studying the board before them. It was a beautiful set, something she had bought Rowan for Yulemas the year before. Her husband loved the game, but loathed buying anything for himself. She knew he was pleased to have such a nice set, though he tried to play it casual. They played together at least one night a week. Rowan was terribly good at the game. Three hundred years of practice of both chess and military strategy had made him a truly formidable opponent. Aelin had yet to beat him, though she had been getting better.

Fenrys, however, she beat over half the time. Learning from Rowan had given her an edge.

The male across from her finally picked up a knight and moved it, capturing one of Aelin’s pawns that had been protecting her king. She raised a brow at him. “Really, Fenrys?”

“What? You were too well defended.”

Aelin tutted and shook her head. “Short-sighted once again, my friend.” She reached out and moved her queen on it diagonal, placing it down firmly and smirking at Fenrys. “Check mate.”

A slew of terribly, dirty curses streamed from Fenrys’ mouth as he knocked over his king. He shook his head, studying the board. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I’ve always been good at keeping my schemes to myself,” Aelin shrugged. “That’s all chess is, anyway. Schemes.”

He cursed once more. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Fenrys sighed, accepting his defeat, reaching over to the bottle of wine they had been working through and topping off both of their glasses.

Aelin enjoyed having her friend so close. Aedion, Lysandra, Elide and Lorcan visited Orynth when they could, though they were busy running their own territories. Dorian and Chaol were in Adarlan, Manon rebuilding the Witch Kingdom. Even Fenrys had been traveling until recently. She had truly missed her companion.

They spoke and joked between one another for a few more moments before the door to the parlor opened. Aelin recognized her mate’s scent without needing to look back, even beneath all the sweat.

She sensed his presence as he stopped by where she sat, tilting her head up and smiling at him. His silver hair was in disarray from training with the guards that evening, but his green eyes were bright as he looked to her and then to the board.

Her husband studied it with a general’s intent for a few moments before a smile curled on his lips, looking towards Aelin with pride glimmering in his eyes. Good job, Fireheart, he seemed to say before pressing a lingering kiss to her temple.

Aelin’s nose crinkled at the smell of him. “You, husband mine, are in desperate need of a bath.”

“I agree,” Fenrys added. “My eyes are watering.”

Rowan looked to him dryly, though it held no venom at the younger male’s teasing.

Aelin began asking him about how the training had gone. They had a recent surge of new recruits and though many of them had potential, they were rough around the edges. Aelin knew that if anyone could whip them into shape, it would be Rowan.

Aelin fell into the lull of conversation, and it wasn’t until a while later that she noted a strange quietness coming from across from her. Fenrys wasn’t one to hold his tongue for an extended period of time. She glanced away from Rowan, looking towards the male across from her. Fenrys’ face was somber, staring hard into the fire that made his dark skin glow. His brows were pinched together, lips pressed tight, eyes glazed. Somewhere far away.

Rowan followed her gaze, ceasing his report to study his comrade.

It took a few moments for Fenrys to recognize the sudden silence, blinking away the haunted look in his eyes before glancing towards the king and queen before him, as if he could feel their gazes.

Something in Aelin’s chest clenched. She knew what the look meant, had worn it herself plenty of times. Her head tilted to the side before asking softly, “Where did you go, my friend?”

The smile that slashed Fenrys’ face came just a fraction of a moment too late, confirming that whatever he had been remembering had shaken him more than he could admit.

“I’m just tired. Losing to you takes more energy than you would think,” Fenrys sighed, trying to muster some bravado into his voice, though Aelin saw right through it. “I think I’ll head off to bed.”

Aelin watched her friend warily as he pushed to his feet, nodding a brief farewell before heading towards the door. She glanced up at her husband, seeing a familiar look of concern on his handsome face. It was evident that the White Wolf of Doranelle was not alright.

…

Once Fenrys deemed himself an appropriate distance from where the king and queen sat in the parlor, he allowed himself to let go. His shoulders curved in, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he rested his back against a cool stone wall and hung his head in his hands.

Everything had been going well. He had spent the day assisting his queen with her duties while Rowan worked with the guards. He was fine through dinner, through their game of chess. Maybe it was because he had kept himself thoroughly distracted but… when he had let his mind quiet, even for a moment, he had felt himself drift away.

One moment he was laughing and teasing with Aelin, a smile lighting the queen’s face. The next, he heard echoes of her screams of agony, flashes of Cairn carving her up bit by bit while he had to sit aside and do nothing. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, spiraling down into the darkest part of his memories: Aelin sobbing in that iron coffin, the sight of Connall spilling his own blood, the feel of Maeve’s cold, pale hands on his body.

It happened from time to time. The memories getting the better of him. He always tried to play it off to the best of his abilities, making himself flash an easy smile to hide the vulnerability. He knew that the others suffered from similar afflictions, knew his queen was still haunted by nightmares. There were nights when he would wake to a knock on his door only to find Aelin standing on the other side, eyes hollow in a way Fenrys recognized. Sometimes she would talk about it, others she would just sit silently in his presence. The only person who truly had an inkling of what she had suffered for those two months. He knew Rowan still feared losing his mate, still saw the flash of panic in his eyes when he couldn’t find her in the sprawling palace, even though she was always safe and content. It was just… difficult to shake off those feelings.

And yet… Fenrys never wanted to burden his already burdened friends with his own troubles. He knew they would protest that description. Burden. They wouldn’t feel that way about it but… he did.

Fenrys was lost in his thoughts, all of them dark and swirling like a storm through his head. It distracted him enough that he hadn’t noticed anyone approaching until the purposeful scuff of a boot over stone caught his attention.

Fenrys raised his head, finding Rowan standing before him, green eyes studying him carefully. He stood straighter, forcing a wobbly smile to his lips.

“You miss me already?” Fenrys said, though his voice betrayed him, crackling towards the end.

Rowan’s expression turned sympathetic, a look Fenrys had never seen on his commander’s face until he had met Aelin. He stood a step closer.

“You doing alright there, pup?”

Fenrys shrugged, still trying to hold on to some semblance of nonchalance. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Rowan didn’t press him right away, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dirty trousers. “Your quick departure made my wife quite worried about you.”

“Aelin has enough on her plate. She doesn’t need to worry about me too.”

“I’m worried about you as well, Fenrys.”

Fenrys blinked, sure he had heard the king consort incorrectly. Rowan had certainly warmed up since he fell in love with Aelin, but he was still rather stoic most of the time. He saved most of his compassion for the woman he loved. Rowan wasn’t cruel to Fenrys, he never had been. Though he was a massive bastard and a pain in his ass once upon a time but… he had never reached out like this.

It seemed that Rowan took his stunned silence as a cue to continue.

“You try to hide it, but I can see it in your eyes. The pain.” Rowan’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. “I did the same thing for years.”

“Yeah, but you took it out on the rest of us poor soul.”

Rowan gave a dry chuckle. “That I did. But you know what helped me heal?”

“Bedding your stunning wife?”

Rowan smacked him softly on the side of the head. Rightly deserved, Fenrys knew. He was being immature.

“I’m serious, boyo,” Rowan said lowly. “I didn’t start coming out of that darkness until I started opening up. Talking. Confiding in people who knew what I felt and what I had gone through.”

Fenrys rubbed at his eyes before rasping, “I don’t know where to start. I don’t want to burden you. Burden Aelin.”

“Aelin loves you,” Rowan said plainly. “She would never feel burdened if you reached out to her. You’re her friend. You’re my friend too, Fen. We’re always going to be here for you.”

Fenrys nodded, not trusting that his voice wouldn’t fail him. He was grateful for the friends, family, and support he had found in the recent years. This life that he had now… he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

He was silent for a few more moments, simply looking down at his boots and trying to banish the lump clogged in his throat. Rowan, the perceptive bastard, simply cocked his head to the side and met his gaze.

“Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.”

It was with those words that Fenrys broke. The tears began falling freely down his cheeks, blurring his vision.

“There are moments where I forget where I am,” Fenrys confessed. “When I get so lost in the worst of the memories that I fear there’s no way out. I don’t know how to escape, how to be free of it. At times, I feel like I’m drowning.”

Fenrys didn’t bother to try and smother the tears, the shaking breaths he took. He knew Rowan was right. Holding everything in certainly didn’t help. He wasn’t sure if crying in the halls of Orynth would do much either but-

His train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt when he felt arms wrapped around him. Fenrys blinked once, sure he was hallucinating. But no. It was real. Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius was actually hugging him.

He was frozen for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Some older part of him hissed that it was a trick, that the moment he let his guard down Rowan would put him in a headlock as part of a training exercise. But, Fenrys also knew that the cold and calculating commander of his past was no more.

Slowly, Fenrys reached up and returned the embrace.

For a few moments, neither of them said anything, until Fenrys whispered, “Thank you, brother.”

Another few heartbeats passed before Fenrys felt another pair of arms wrap around his torso from behind, the scent of jasmine and ashes tickling his nose. Aelin.

“You were snooping that entire time, weren’t you?” Fenrys asked with a tiny laugh.

“Of course I was,” the queen mumbled against his back. “How else am I supposed to stay three steps ahead of everyone if I don’t snoop?”

Fenrys chuckled lightly, already feeling lighter than he had before. He was a lucky bastard to have such friendship and support in his life. And, although he was still healing, he knew they were as well.

They would find the path to the light. Together.

[edie-baby]

Les Fleurs du Mal Chapter 1| Pierre Gasly

Summary: Sava Dvorakova had big dreams for Formula One. An opportunity of a lifetime comes around, so she takes it and runs. She proved just about everyone wrong, and is awarded a very controversial seat on the F1 grid. There’s smiles and grins, hugs and kisses, love and laughter. There’s tears and sobs, fights and break ups. There’s evil where you least expect it, hidden in the garden of eden. The Flowers of Evil.

Warnings: a lot of swearing, shitty parents (they’re a recurring theme), sexism, i ignored a lot of actual f1 rules because i couldn’t be bothered writing it into the story tbh, yuki is fcking adorable, a lot of smut eventually, like a lot.

There were hundreds, thousands, maybe even a million girls who have dreamed of making it into Formula One. It is the pinnacle of motorsport, the highest calibre and the most competitive of its many engine-based counterparts. Many women over the years have tried to make their way into the sport, but as each season becomes more competitive, it seems as though the women of motorsport keep slipping through the cracks. Perhaps it’s a timing thing - they weren’t in the right place at the right time - or perhaps it’s a sexism thing, or maybe the female drivers just simply are not at the same level that a lot of the men are at.

Sava Dvorakova feared being one of those women. One that would try their hardest, but were still unable to make their mark on a sport they had very clear passion for. The seventeen year old had been karting since her fifth birthday, progressing through the levels the Czech Republic had to offer before she moved onto European championships. Nearly every weekend of the year, Sava was in her kart, racing against boys three years her senior and thrashing them each time. However, she didn’t get the opportunity to progress into single-seaters for many years.

It was September 2020, just like any other race weekend when it happened, Sava piled into her kart as the marshalling for her heat was called. Her uncle patted the top of her helmet for good luck, a tradition the two had kept for about twelve years at this point, and she made it out onto her starting place - pole position as usual. Sava pulled clean moves the entire race, defended her position without being reckless or desperate, and had perfect pace. As she pulled back into the pits under her team’s marquee, she spotted her uncle speaking with an older man in a button up and slacks, something quite odd for a normal karting weekend. Sava hopped out, practically ripping her helmet and balaclava off as her footsteps increased in pace to get to her uncle. He scooped her up into a hug, spinning the girl a few times and congratulating her on another victory for the season.

“Bunny, this is Doctor Helmut Marko, he’s the director of Red Bull Racing. He’d like to speak with you about a driving opportunity.” Sebastian, her uncle, stated clearly, his excitement spilling into his eyes as he stared at his seventeen year old niece. Her dyed-pink hair sat matted to her forehead, the majority of it spun into Dutch braids down her back that would be tucked into the back of her race suit before the next race, her cheeks were flushed red, and her bottom lip was cracked in places from how much the Czech nibbled on it on and off track. Sebastian almost laughed at the situation she had ended up in.

“Dr Marko, it’s lovely to meet you. I have an hour until my next heat, so if you would like to speak urgently, there is a small cafe about a hundred metres from the track. If you’d like less of a time constraint, I will be completely free after 4pm today.” Sava told the man in front of her, Czech accent so thick the Austrian could barely understand her.

“It should only take about 10 minutes, so if you’d like, I can buy you and your uncle a coffee at the cafe while we speak.” Dr Marko offered. Sava nodded calmly, her uncle much more vocal about his excitement. Sava excused herself to change into less sweaty clothes, returning in a halter-neck singlet and a pair of ripped skinny jeans. Her trusty combat boots stepped over all of the tools, debris, and shit that was scattered around the pits as she made it back to the two men.

“So, Sava, what is your goal in karting?” Dr Marko began almost immediately after the trio had sat down in the cafe.

“To make it into formula one and win multiple world championships.” Sava responded confidently, barely a second between the question and her reply as it was something she had thought about for a very long time.

“So why aren’t you already driving in single seaters?” Dr Marko questioned further, and from the corner of her eye, Sava could see her uncle tense up.

“Because no one’s willing to give me a chance in the big leagues because they know I’ll do a lot better than half the boys on the grid.” The seventeen year old replied. Helmut seemed impressed with the rapid fire, confidence laden responses he was receiving.

“Well, I’m willing to. Jehan Daruvala, a Red Bull junior currently driving for Carlin in formula two is unable to attend the last three races of the season because of health issues. I want you to take his seat for those races, and if you’re as good in a single seater as you are in that kart, I’ll make sure you have a seat for next year.” Helmut laid out, and Sebastian audibly choked. Sava smirked at her uncle’s reaction, and stared into the eyes of the man offering her a fast track to her dreams.

“I’d love to. When and where is the next race?” Sava chuckled, her uncle’s recovery from his choking fit was slow, and Helmut looked on in amusement. He had seen many similar reactions from the drivers he was propositioning, but it seemed as though this duo had reversed the normal roles.

“The weekend begins on Thursday in Italy. You’ll be racing in Mugello.” Helmut told the pair dryly. Sebastian began coughing once again, Sava simply rubbing his back soothingly while she nodded.

“I’ll need to make arrangements with my school, but I presume you’ll make travel and accommodation arrangements from Prague to Mugello?” Sava continued her calm conversation, though she could feel her natural bubbliness and excitement ready to burst through.

“Yes. There will be a Carlin race suit and boots in Mugello when you arrive, as well as a helmet and teamwear. You’ll have a personal assistant for the time you’re in Jehan’s seat, to keep up with the media and to navigate the paddock. I’ll have all of the relevant information forwarded to you tonight, and there will be a contract for you to sign upon your arrival in Italy.”

“Then I’ll see you there, sir. I best be on my way, I’ll need time to change back into my race suit before my heat is called in about half an hour. It was lovely to meet you, and I look forward to meeting and exceeding your expectations.” Sava concluded, standing up to give her new boss a handshake before she turned on her heels and practically sprinted out of the cafe. She speed walked back to the track and into the changing rooms before letting out the ear splitting squeal she had been holding in since she won her race forty five minutes ago.

It was easy enough to sort out her absence with her school, as there were no assessments due and Sava was already miles ahead of the rest of her peers, so her teachers had no qualms with letting their champion out to represent the country.

The issue however, was with her parents. Her father, a man she had been emancipated from for over a year, decided he would give her grief for throwing away her education to take someone’s spot for a few weeks before they would inevitably drop her once they realised how bad she was. Her mother wasn’t much better. As her legal guardian, she technically did have the right to stop her daughter from going into the F2 seat, but after a gruelling discussion and many threats from Sava to emancipate from her mother as well, she conceded.

So, on a very sunny, very early Thursday morning in September, Sava hopped onto a plane with an overnight bag to begin catching her dreams. Unfortunately, Sebastian had work during the week, but would be flying out to Italy on Friday night to watch his niece’s races on Saturday and Sunday. But, Sava arrived in Italy as bubbly and excitable as ever. Her pink hair was split into her iconic high pigtails, a white crop top, and pastel pink pleated skirt and trusted combat boots covered her form, black duffel bag thrown over her shoulder with some clothes for the weekend, and all of her travel documents. The PA standing with her name printed on a sign was very confused when a very small, very pink teenage girl bumbled over to her and said ‘Hi, I’m Sava. But everyone calls me Bunny’.

“I’m sorry, I expected someone a little more gritty.” The twenty-something woman spoke, her blonde hair in a high ponytail with a Carlin shirt and dark wash jeans. Sava guessed the PA expected someone who looked more like herself.

“It’s okay, I get that a lot. Most people don’t recognise me out of my race suit, so I definitely don’t expect someone who’s never seen me to anticipate my looks. What’s your name?” Sava’s Czech accent, combined with her hyperactivity meant she talked extremely fast, and often it was all nonsense, and she simply spoke for the sake of speaking. The PA took a few seconds to process the words Sava had spoken before finally replying with a simple ‘Amelia’. The two made it to the car that was waiting and travelled to the track in silence, Sava taking in the sights, and Amelia tapping away at her phone. When they got out, Amelia handed Sava a paddock pass, explaining the importance of it and demonstrating how to use it at the gates. They walked through to the Carlin garage, one half working away excitedly, while the other side seemed rather dead.

“Everyone, can I have your attention please? This is Sava Dvorakova, she’s our reserve driver for the rest of the season. Make her comfortable, and make sure she feels welcome!” Amelia yelled, very quickly causing silence to spread over the entire garage.

“Hi! I’m Sava, but most people call me Bunny, so feel free to do either! Or if you’d like, Dvorakova works just as well, but it’s a bit of a mouthful so I understand if you mispronounce it. I’ll also probably respond to ‘hey you’ so anything works. I’m really looking forward to working with you all and giving you some good results this weekend!” Sava giggled at the end, her fists clenched in front of her chest as she gave a small cheer with her hands and the entire garage remained silent for a few moments before breaking out into whispers, their eyes trailing over the teenager’s body. The anxiety in Sava’s belly bubbled, and she began playing with her hands until she was approached by a boy who was a little taller than her with a friendly smile on his face.

“Hi, I’m Yuki. I drive the other Carlin. It’s nice to meet you Bunny.” Yuki introduced with a smile and fist bump. He was unbelievably pleased to meet a driver who was smaller than him, though he supposed that her being a girl wouldn’t ease all of the teasing he got from other drivers on the grid. The two chatted about their background in racing, and Yuki gave Sava a few pointers on handling the car she was about to drive for the first time ever.

“Sava, I have all of your race gear to try on, and later on you’ll need to do a seat fitting as the mechanics are just going to modify one of Yuki’s seats since you two are similar height.” Amelia stated, breaking up the conversation between the two youngsters. Sava apologised to her new friend before practically skipping behind Amelia. She received a few weird looks from others in the paddock, including a few F1 drivers she recognised from TV and her Instagram feed. She wasn’t sure why they were in this paddock, but supposed a few of the younger guys had only recently come out of F2.

When she got into a Carlin motorhome, race overalls and her flame-retardant undersuit were thrust into her hands by Amelia, and then pointed toward a tiny bathroom within the motorhome while the PA continued scrolling through emails, updating social media, and answering calls. Sava pulled the suits on excitedly, and though it was a bit tight in the hips, thighs and chest, she thought it looked pretty damn good.

“So, I think this was definitely made for a guy with less boobs and smaller hips, but the fit is still really good.” Sava joked to Amelia when she stepped out, only to see Helmut Marko standing alongside her new assistant. She went red instantly, her shoulders tensing and sliding up toward her head.

“Yes, well, we can certainly fix that before the next race, but right now, I believe you’re needed for fittings in the garage, so throw on your helmet and get down there.” Helmut ordered. Sava quickly snatched up her balaclava and helmet, threading the two onto her arm as she began undoing the pigtails to braid them on her way back to the Carlin garage while Amelia and Helmut stayed behind to talk.

If Sava thought she was getting weird looks on her way to the motorhome, she was getting even weirder ones on the way back from it. From what she could tell, it seemed more like mechanics, engineers and other personnel from other teams and she couldn’t see any drivers she recognised before she slipped into the Carlin garage, one braid half finished, and her helmet banging against her head every time she moved her arm. Yuki laughed at her struggles, ambling over to thread the helmet and balaclava off her arm while she held the half finished braid precariously. Sava thanked him with a quick smile and continued braiding, her tongue occasionally poking out the side of her mouth in concentration. One she was finished, and the long braids were tucked into the back of her suit, she pulled on the balaclava and helmet in record speed, and then was ushered into the F2 car to begin the tedious process of trying and changing one of Yuki’s seats to suit her height and posture. 

After about an hour of fiddling, she was allowed to take the helmet off, and was beginning to doze off in the cockpit while a few of the employees debated different ways of measuring and fixing the seat nearby. Amelia came into the garage to find the new driver fully asleep in her car with everyone still talking around her. She took a photo and uploaded it to Carlin’s Instagram story, tagging the driver and writing a quick word about the reserve driver they hadn’t officially announced yet. She giggled slightly, and when two of the mechanics came back over to lift the seat out of the car, they accidentally lifted the driver out with it. Amelia took more photos of the seventeen year old comfortably in her race suit, curled in her seat while two mechanics held the entire ensemble up above the car.

Suffice to say, Carlin’s Instragram was flooded with adoring new fans, angered stans, and a few cheeky formula one drivers on private accounts. 

[fireemblems24]

Post Grondor Field AM Analysis

I'm prefacing this by saying that I'm still not sure I can write a good analysis of this scene for two reasons:

1. I don't know what comes after, and

2. I'm very emotionally involved in what happened.

But I tried my best. One thing is for sure though, what happened in Grondor in AM was an incredibly significant turning point for AM and Dimitri and my thoughts and analysis on it will definitely expand as I keep writing about and playing the game.

Part of me is just so happy I got to see Dimitri's supports, have the inevitable turn around, and get to do things like tea and dinner time again that it's hard to be objective about this scene.

And by "this scene," I don't mean that actual fight at Grondor, but everything from Fleche's attack to Byleth's words in the rain later.

It wasn't all about Byleth . . .

Given how poignant Dimitri's character arc has been so far, I had a deep rooted fear player-pandering would ruin it. Byleth, as a concept, isn't bad, but too often the heaps of praise feel underserved and other things (like Claude's intelligence, Edelgard's relationships with everyone else) get ignored to make more room for player-pandering.

Thankfully this did not happen. Byleth, throughout the early chapters of AM's part 2, failed to reach Dimitri. And, honestly, seeing Byleth actually struggle for once has done wonders for how I view her character. Still, I worried that player-pandering-power, rather than something that felt earned, would cause the inevitable eye-opener for Dimitri.

But it wasn't just Byleth. Fleche's vengeance kicked everything off, what veered Dimitri away from his fate in other routes. He accepted his death at her hands, not bothering to defend himself. Rodrigue stepping in the way and his parting words forced Dimitri to confront things he'd ignored. Throughout AM so far, people have posed questions to Dimitri who refused to answer them because he didn't want to face what they asked. But Rodrigue dying for him, spending his final words telling Dimitri to live for himself - combined with Fleche's attack - forced Dimitri to confront things he avoided. It wasn't until after all of that when Byleth steps in.

And Byleth didn't "fix" him either. Dimitri's supports show a young man who's still very much struggling with his mental health, poor self-image, his previous actions, and wondering if he deserves not only to live for himself - but if he even deserves to live. Byleth didn't hand-wave Dimitri's problems away.

Everything about the scene is stronger because it didn't fall back on player-pandering, but more earned, realistic, and dramatic actions and consequences - including Byleth's involvement which felt far more earned than usual because of prior failure.

But I wish Dimitri's friends played a bigger role.

Not everything was perfect though. I wish we got a little more than we did from Dimitri's house mates - especially his childhood friends Sylvain, Ingrid, and extra special mention to Felix and especially, especially Dedue.

Throughout all of AM, none of the above mentioned characters feel utilized to their full potential. This isn't a problem exclusive to AM, and by all means it's far from the biggest offender, but given how close all the ties are in AM, it's felt when it's not there.

I still don't know what exactly I would've done with them. Maybe I'd need to make the game an actual novel to do it, and you can't forget how perma-death has historically held back games at times, limiting major moments to a select few "retreat" candidates.

Still, though, getting a bit more from Ingrid, Sylvain, Felix, and Dedue would've made the scene even more powerful.

I actually really liked the scene in the rain.

I haven't made it a secret that I dislike Byleth. Or maybe disliked is more accurate. Lately I've been rethinking my stance on Byleth, in part because I've heard from people who like her or found ways to make her work and from my own thinking about the game while planning future write ups.

I don't think it's Byleth I really dislike, but the player-pandering. Separating the two isn't easy, but it's easier since I've starting coming around to seeing Byleth as her own character.

There's been a few moments that made me care for Byleth, and this scene in the rain was one of them. Because she didn't just fix everything. She tried and failed for months to reason with Dimitri, and despite everything she never gave up on him or failed to keep offering her hand.

I'm not going to lie. I got all the bubbly, heartwarming, heartbreaking feels the writers wanted me to in this scene. Seeing Byleth reach for something and fail, and then finally, finally get through was rewarding in a way many of Byleth's prior accomplishments aren't because this one felt earned. And by God did she earn it.

Some people will likely disagree with that last point, but I disagree with them. She asked Dimitri hard-hitting questions, forcing him to come to unpleasant conclusions rather than trying to force him into anything. She kept Dimitri from veering to far off course, even at expense to herself when she killed Randolph. She saved Dimitri from Fleche when he refused to save himself. She quietly supported him, coaxing out the good she knew was still there and refused to give up on.

I'd never in a million years say someone in real life should put up with Dimitri's toxic behavior and verbal abuse, even considering his extreme trauma and aggravated mental illness. But seeing someone fuck up so badly still get forgiven, still get supported, still struggle but honestly change for the good, still get loved, start to accept and forgive himself through the power of love and forgiveness from others is very powerful, especially since media so often downplays those "softer" things as weakness in comparison to the "badassery" of ambition and stoicism. Using Byleth, who previously had little experience with feelings, who was encouraged to experience them in healthy ways by Dimitri, return the favor isn't really the worst choice.

It's cliche, but cliches aren't always bad.

The mentor dies. Redemption in the rain. Revenge against the protagonist's actions opens their eyes. Etc . . . This scene was chuck full of cliches, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Tropes serve an important narrative purpose because a writer can rely on them to convey a message to the audience that either saves time or sets them up for something unexpected or even expected. Fire Emblem has always and will always be incredibly cliche and full of tropes. It loves tropes so much there's in-universe ones that make some unit or character discussions sound like a foreign language to people outside of or new to the fandom, talking about "Ests" and calling someone a "Camus."

What matters is if a story pulled something off well, not if it's terribly unique. A mentor dying is powerful because it forces the student to grow. Redemption in the rain is high symbolic of water washing things away + the somber atmosphere rain creates. Someone trying to get revenge against a character provides an eye-opening experience about the ripple effect of their actions. We see these things in fiction all the time because they work.

All the tropes worked like expected in this scene. Using images instead of cut scenes did make less of an impact, but more on that later.

Tl;dr: There's nothing unexpected or terribly unique about what happened. It was honestly painfully predictable, but that doesn't make it bad and is in a series that does this all of the time.

The voice acting carried because those images can't.

A major downside to this scene is that it used vague images instead of a cut scene. I get that budget and time were likely concerns, but many cut scenes from earlier in the game seem rather trivial. Did we really need that dance one? Really? I don't think so.

This was a hugely important, action heavy moment. Using one or two still images to convey everything that's happening and all those emotions, really makes it less than it could've been.

That said, the voice acting saves it. I've raved about how amazing Chris Hackeny is as Dimitri, so nothing new here. Rodrigue's and Fleche's VAs also did a fantastic job. No one oversold or undersold the emotions. Even without the cut scene, you felt what happened thanks to the skill of the actors. This scene would've been so much harder to engage with without them, if this was an older FE game where all you got was text. This is 100% one of the moments highly elevated by the decision to have a fully voiced game and choosing high caliber talent (let's not talk about Radiant Dawn's voice acting).

Questionable support timing.

One issue I had came right after the scene when I viewed Dimitri's supports. The nature of some - like his with Raphael and Alois - didn't quite line up with the character I saw in dialogue right after. I wish they staggered them a bit more or got picker about what you could get in part 1 or 2.

This isn't limited to Dimitri either. In the same support batch, I also got a Marianne B support where she still had no confidence or self-worth. And then like 10 minutes later I talk to her in the monastery and she mentions about how seeing all the death in Grondor made her value her life even more.

In the past, I've also received entirely valid opinions that Dorothea in part 2 is hard to understand because she's cherry and flirty in her supports, and morose and hates the war in her monastery stuff, making her seem inconsistent.

It's a bit jarring. It's not really an issue for characters who don't change much like Edelgard or Raphael, but even for characters with more subtle differences than Dimitri, Marianne, and Dorothea - like, say, Lorenz - you get a lot of weird stuff because of supports. I just think Dimitri's stands out because he's a main character with a really prominent, important turning point for his growth.