#its genuinely making me want to replay fates

[laura5407]

Why does Trial of Fates go SO HARD its ridiculous

[janmisali]

Super Mario Bracket: VIVIAN vs COUNT BLECK

"You're about to have a really terrible experience!"

Vivian

SEED: 1 (215 nominations)

PREVIOUS OPPONENT: Kamek

SPECIES: Shadow

DEBUT: The Thousand-Year Door

NOMINATION EXAMPLE: TRANS RIGHTS 🏳️‍⚧️ as a nonbinary- and transgender-identifying person (thank you, jan Misali for helping me feel comfortable about myself, even indirectly), vivan is a character i love to see and hear about. i never played a paper mario game, but her presence in the thousand year door is very important to me, and i’m glad the remake of the game remedied the trans-erasure of the original release across versions. who doesn’t love representation in media?

[Super Mario Wiki article]

"Our duel will be worthy of the last clash the world will ever see!"

Count Bleck

SEED: 17 (34 nominations)

PREVIOUS OPPONENT: Iggy

SPECIES: Super Paper Mario character

DEBUT: Super Paper Mario

NOMINATION EXAMPLE: where do i even START. genuinely one of the saddest characters i can think of. trapped in romeo and juliet if juliet had actually died and come back to life and romeo thought the only way to kill himself was by nuke. his dad is racist. its his fate to destroy the universe and he doesn’t seem to think he can stop that even when he finds out timpani’s not dead. he and his story make me cry, genuinely, every time i replay SPM. and he does it all with a goofy speech pattern and a cartoon villain outfit. say what you want my man can multitask.

[Super Mario Wiki article]

[link to all polls]

[neontokyoo]

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Gn!reader Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort Summary: After being hit with a wave of guilt for using forbidden magic, Sebastian came to help comfort you. Warnings: possible mentions of death and/or violence, use of forbidden magic, MAJOR HOGWARTS LEGACY SPOILERS!!

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“I want to learn the curse, and I think it’s best if I cast it on you.”

“Very well, if that’s what you want. To perform the spell, raise your wand, point it at me and declare, ‘Crucio!’ Hold on as long as you can.”

In the dimly lit dorm room, shadows danced across the walls as your thoughts echoed in the silence. The air felt heavy with the weight of regret, and your mind replayed the haunting echoes of the Unforgivable curses that had become an unwelcome companion. The memories of that fateful use of the curses lingered, a bitter taste on your conscience.

Lost in contemplation, you gripped your wand tightly, the polished wood cool against your clammy palms. With a sudden surge of frustration, you flung it against the wall, the clash resonating through the room. The internal struggle between the desire for power and the realization of its consequences raged within you.

Amidst the internal turmoil, a knock on the door startled you. Composing yourself, you straightened your robes before opening it, expecting anyone but the unexpected visitor. To your surprise, Sebastian stood on the other side, a mix of concern and curiosity etched on his features.

"What do you want, Sallow?" you sighed, attempting to mask the turmoil beneath a forced smile.

Sebastian, undeterred by your facade, teased, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." The jest faded as he sensed your genuine distress. "Is everything alright? Ominis and I were concerned when you never showed up today."

You brushed off the worry with a lie, but Sebastian's perceptive gaze saw through it. "You're sure?" he pressed, genuine concern in his eyes. "You can tell me anything, right?"

"Yeah, I know," you nodded, attempting to divert the conversation.

Sebastian, however, wasn't easily swayed. "So tell me, what's on your mind?"

"I'm just… thinking," you confessed, the weight of guilt evident in your voice. "What if Ominis was right about using the Unforgivable Curses? What if we truly had gone too far?"

Sebastian cut through your thoughts, recognizing the source of your turmoil. "The guilt of using the dark arts," he said, his voice empathetic.

“Unforgivable curses won’t work unless you really mean them. I had to want to cause pain. And for that, I shall never forgive myself.” Ominis’ words hauntingly echoed through your mind.

You nodded.

"If you didn't want to know how to use them, you could have told me," he pointed out. "I wouldn't have shown you how to—"

"I know, Sebastian," you interrupted, reassuring him. "But I did want to know. I didn't want to tell you no."

Sebastian sighed, a complex mix of understanding and regret reflected in his eyes. "I never wanted this burden for you, especially not out of love. The dark arts are a slippery slope, and the consequences are heavy. But we can't change the past. What matters now is how we deal with it together."

He entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Let's figure this out, face the consequences, and make amends where we can. We're in this together, no matter what."

As you both settled down to talk, the room echoed with the weight of your choices, but a shared commitment to navigate the challenges ahead cast a glimmer of hope amid the shadows.

[rathologic]

it's frustrating because aglaya is already villainized by nearly all the characters in patho2 (yulia as the slight exception), and the point of this is that you, the player character, are asked to approach this fellow person trapped in an impossible situation with grace instead. the Haruspex, a character who is fundamentally about extending his love to everyone in the game (as described by the devs!) has the ability to extend love, platonic or not, to her! logical! so seeing people talk about how much they hate her IN PATHO2 is like extremely jarring.

aglaya never does anything to harm the player in p2 (boring choice, but that's not my point); the closest thing would be that she causes fan favorite badgrief to have a lasting personal crisis. but a lot of the violent hatred towards her instead seems to stem from her flirting with you...? and it's always visceral want to see her dead kind of hatred. sorry people can't handle a woman in a position of authority speaking somewhat impolitely to them but the "flirting" part does really bug me so I'll get into that

the single major change p2 implemented to aglaya's story was that the Haruspex can meaningfully be on her side by agreeing to her request to leave the town together. it's weird to see that disparaged by fans for her using the imagery of romantic attachment, while the player's never forced to use the same imagery in return. the escape's not "you instantly fall in love with each other and run away" it's about a way of reacting to the fate imposed on both of you by the narrative: pathologic 2 simply describes fate through the lens of romance, re: nara and the brides, re: "a fate like a good wife, emshen... your wife" (re: the option to call aglaya your wife on the train).

& there's a fascinating meta aspect to the fact she can tell the haruspex as the player has the ability to make this choice, to be the only person in the world who Could not villainize her, and maybe even help her under an extremely short time limit. her expressing attraction to the haruspex (through a reflection, even) is for once not a weird misogyny thing but a reasonable way of parsing her feelings and needs into something that you might listen to! it fits within the societal framework expected in the game, and adds a discussion of romantic love to p2's dissection of the ideal of love in general; "discussion" meaning it is given to the player to see how you feel about it, and remains open-ended.

then she doesn't even make it and replaying you Know she'll never even make it which lends all the more meaning to choosing to flee with her. since patho2 is a game at its core about symbolic choices representing love + what it means to the player to choose to undergo challenges for no extrinsic rewards! her whole quest is a microcosm of key themes of patho2 (aka: "udurgh"), and potentially, a moment of respite and genuine friendship during one of its most stressful phases. if someone felt strung along by it I have great news for them about the final impact of every other quest in the game

and furthermore the connections she sees between herself and the haruspex are genuinely there. they're both trapped in the game they both will cease to exist after it and meaning is derived, both for the player and for her ("touch me with your words"), from choosing to fight the inevitable however briefly instead of just submitting to death - and love being the only driving force that can motivate that choice. how did you miss the point about love when it's the only point the game ever makes.

[hidden-highlands]

xenoblade 1 spoilers under the cut // just some musings & ramblings

i just reached satorl marsh in my current replay of xenoblade and the more i replay the game the more i appreciate this section in terms of its narrative implications

and i'm mostly talking about dickson here (because let's be real when am i not) but like ??? everything he says during the brief segment that he accompanies the party is absolutely loaded with double-meaning. damn near every sentence out of his mouth is cast in a new light upon completing the game and learning of his true identity & motivations

which is why i find it so intriguing that during that one scene between him and shulk ('so it is written') he brings shulk's parents up out of the blue for seemingly no reason ??? specifically he says "forgive me, shulk. sorry i couldn't save your folks."

at this point shulk's already moved on to talking about exploring the world; it's dickson who circles back and drops this comment about shulk's parents, rather awkwardly at that, into the conversation. and it just kind of struck me how weird that is? most of what dickson says in that scene alludes very subtly to his identity and motivations. he initially starts the conversation by reminiscing about finding shulk on valak mountain -- which, ymmv here, but to me reads very much as, like, "shit that time's flown by and you're already stepping into this destiny that's been set out for you pretty much from birth". all his talk of 'shulk being part of a higher plan' seems, on first watch, to be extremely heavy-handed writing for the sake of the audience; only on subsequent viewings does it become clear it's dickson trying to nudge shulk in the direction he wants him to go.

but the parent comment. in a scene so full of double-meaning and hidden intentions, it sticks out even on subsequent replays for not seemingly having a double meaning ?? and yet. i can't quite settle on a satisfying reason for dickson saying that. he would have known there was no way to save shulk's parents, given how they died. shulk himself hadn't mentioned them before that point in the convo. and, if we accept the game's characterisation of dickson as this duplicitous, power-hungry guy who's remorselessly willing to kill those he's been closest to for the last fourteen years, then why would he care at all about the deaths of shulk's parents, these two people he didn't even know?

the only way i can make it make sense in my head is by rejecting that characterisation. by rejecting the idea that dickson was nothing more than power-hungry and remorseless. sure he was duplicitous as all hell, and he probably didn't start out caring about shulk (and the others) but i think he did, by the end. (i have so many reasons for thinking this but i'm not gonna elaborate bc this is already turning into an essay lol) and i think his comment about shulk's parents is his way of... admitting guilt? or remorse? at the fact that it's shulk who got wrapped up in this. at the fate that shulk has in store for him. and that if they hadn't died in the tower that day, shulk probably would have lived a normal life, raised by genuine people who cared for him, instead of by someone who was deceiving and manipulating him to satisfy the whims of a cruel god.

because dickson wound up caring, too late, and that comment is perhaps the only means he has of admitting his regrets (even to himself)

(besides, it would also explain that "can't say i feel so good about deceiving these kids" line at the end of satorl marsh)

[professor-abeloved]

It Loves Within (a review of goodbyes, gratitude, and gay screaming)

i read somewhere that an aspect of the horror genre is pain. and if you're a fan of the it lives anthology, pain is inevitable.

the pain of choosing who has to take jane's place, a game that (doesn't) end(s) in sacrifice, betrayal, and anguish. the pain of losing one's parents, finding family anew (in both blood and found) - only to potentially lose it all.

the pain of an impossible choice: do you end this, once and for all, to save everyone - only to never see them again when you finally return home? do you remain in this world, with gaping wounds patched by temporary bandages, for the life you've never thought you had the chance to live? or do you try try try to bridge it all together, pushing for a world full of potential, a reality still out of reach, but still worth fighting for all the same?

every ending of It Lives Within is tragic in its own way, a bittersweet balm to the trauma-filled fuckaganza of a journey of these characters we know and love.

i'm never going to stop saying thank you to everyone at the @itlivesproject team for making the choice to create and collaborate on this masterpiece. the pain of pixelberry cancelling sequels (er, trilogies) broke my heart, but this fan game is more than a dream come true.

(the rest of this is kind of a rambling review under the cut)

looking back, i'm actually glad that they cancelled it - because i wouldn't trade every second i played ILW for anything. (and my girlfriend knows i've spent numerous all-nighters just playing and/or talking about ILW <3. i tell my therapist it started with abel's first diamond scene--and okay getting side-tracked).

first off, i want to mention all the variants. the It Lives series were unique and notorious for having different branches and endings that carried through to the next book, something which isn't very common in mobile visual novels. since ILW had not one, but two books to reference... hoo boy. coding, writing, making art + sprites for, testing, editing, and hell even just thinking of the different variables and how they impact a third book is such a herculean feat and i applaud everyone on the team for all the blood, sweat, and tears poured into this endeavor.

the gameplay itself was super fun!! i think it hit the right balance of action with timed choices and puzzles (i now want my own crown paperweight), implementing that Nerve Score system that the It Lives series is known for. not only did one have to keep in mind their Nerve, but also their choices between Blood and Shadow that would seal the fate of everyone in this Pixelberry Cinematic Universe (hello, horror Julian HSSgame). it was fun as fuck, i really liked and appreciate the decision of 3 different main endings <3

because the plot was a downright banger. every twist and turn had me on the edge of my seat and frantically screenshotting everything (somehow i've gotten to 20k screenshots, but at least 98% is ILW. the other 2% are random crap and also Choices, lol). it was cool to theorize and guess correctly on some things and still be utterly shocked at the brilliant execution. i can't list every single thing that made me gasp, but the crumbs of foreshadowing are incredible. not just saying this as a tester, but the replay value is nuts. (also the different personalites of sarcastic, genuine, and aggressive are so good).

having character relationships as a core stat was also an organic, lovely choice. i adore how everyone started off at various points (joss at 0 and amalia at 75 iirc?) and could develop differently and sometimes independently of nerve (abel being easy to befriend but having tough nerve to raise because he's going through Some Shit, while jocelyn was more closed off yet had easier nerve to raise). it really colors the ways the main 4 interact with rowan, and i love how even the romance variants played a part in it. from jealousy-laden glances to the famed Union Walk Out, this game was a breath of fresh air to the usual 'i accidentally have 1 flirt point with this LI and somehow they're in love with me' vibe of current mobile VNs. (mattyass is an outlier and doesn't count <3)

speaking of characters!! holy shit they slayed and served, giving closure to our favs from the first book and then some (being pro connor green wasn't in my 2023 bingo card, but it happened! i like that funky lil dude), giving the cast of the second book vital yet natural roles, while letting the new cast shine in their own right.

the It Lives cast is vastly beloved for a reason, and the ILP Team not only nailed every single one of the canon characters, but they breathed new life into them (literally in the case of RF!noah/devon). i'm beyond words to express how amazing it was to not only have my blorbos back, but to be able to see a beautiful devonoah romance and flirt with dan pierce after years of pining and get married to andy kang?!?! the gift just keeps on giving. (i'm just biased in mentioning them because devon, noah, andy, and dan are my ILITW biasline but i'm so happy to have seen stacy, lucas, ava, lily again <3333)

i also adore the ILB crew to bits!! i had the impression they were barely gonna be featured (and valid), but the way the showed up!! the way harper was important and could kick ass while injured??? slay.

and the way everyone interacted in ch19 was some avengers assemble beautiful dream. i don't think i'll ever be that happy again in my life, fr <33

and onto the stars of the show...

it's been an honor to spend time with each and every one of the main crew. jocelyn was someone i was hyped to see, ever since her cameo in the ILB end credits scene. redemption arcs are tricky and while i admittedly felt the initial trepidation... the execution of her development blew me away. it is fantastic and realistic (getting to encourage her to be better or to leave her alone was also a cool mechanic. i love how it's in firm yet empathic encouragement that she works to better herself.). she grew into such a fierce, gruff protector with a heart of gold and fists of fury. i love her so much. her nightmare sequence facing her shadow past self is one of my favorite's. arcs of self-forgiveness vs self-flagellation hit hard, and it moves me to tears to see how far joss has come <33 her route having either a slow burn vibe or a fwb tinge was also an excellent choice !! i enjoyed fwb route (she's so sweet and considerate, putting a blanket over us with a frown lmao) and i can't want to replay for sb + to write fics with her <3

now onto lincoln, my fav mlm cowboy son. i was initially jealous because i thought my girlfriend would be into him + i thought abel and he were exes, but i came around in ch13, iirc. i connect with his arc of wanting to prove your worth to your parents very painfully, and it means a lot to see him know that others' approval will never define him. i'm also happy to see him process his pain and give others a chance - give himself a chance to apologize and let abel in again. he's also fun to torture write for in fics, and somehow he's soulmates with my most complex ILW MC, wan, despite me son-zoning him real bad, so that's just amazing characterization. excited to write more <3

amalia my beloved <33 the brains, brawn, beauty of rowan's rogue monster hunting operations. i love her and her route so much. childhood best friends to lovers always slaps (i mean, cmon thats most of the ILITW ships), and the way it was executed for amalia is chef's kiss. the angst of your best friend not being the person you thought they were was an excellent spin on the trope. but the love she has for you and the love you have for her is something all on your own?? perfection <33 also her dreams of wanting to make a difference, especially what happened with her family is a very relevant experience today, are so inspiring <3 i'm so excited to replay her route with a different mc and also to write her as well <3

AIJDBFHDFJDOK abel aifhsohifOSDHDSIGH okay that's it.

JK abel, my love, my light, my stars. professor dorklord. the reason i've changed my url after these long years. i love him and his sexy sweater vest of sin so much. my favorite scene of all time is when pretending to have a lover's spat with abel in amalia's university AISHFIOG. he's funny, sweet, and charming. i'd listen to his nerdy rambles all night long - and yes, partially an innuendo, and partially that i like nerds who ramble about things. i love how he can be too rational (yet always with a heart <3) yet also so selfless, and i love how he can choose himself and his happiness at the end instead of living with ghosts <3 i love you abel, baby, i'm coming back for youuu in every route, in every wip <3

to ro, my trans-coded, queer-coded power entity <3 i was so happy that MC had powers (not from a suit we had to spend diamonds on), and wow they executed this trope so well. rowan is so well written with 3 different personality types, it's wonderful. y'know, i used to make MCs for every choices book (until i got lazy lol) and i can't believe i have at least 4 MCs again <3 the creativity this game sparks in me i swear to the power. i'll see you soon: ronaldo, genuinely sweet and genuinely terrifying baby boy. wan, my sweet snarky selfless drag queen. amor, you tough dorky tcg-playing sweetheart. reg my flirty failgirl (gender neutral), beanie baby charmer.

shoutout to daddy mattyass for being the GOAT choices antagonist/secret LI. you know i have so much to say about him, but it's almost 2 am and also 90% of my ilw meta is about him anyways <3 love to hate him, hate to love him!! he lives rent free in my mind <33 (but fr, such a compelling character and no one else would've been as satisfying to deal with in the finale. i miss the king of delusion pathetic meow meow <3)

also loving luis, sunny, elena, jessica, milf mayor green, babygirl adrian kim, girlboss marianthe. every npc, every pixel and line of code and text and just everything, every thread that makes up the tapestry of this beautiful, priceless experience.

it lives on, it loves on.

pain is inevitable. it hurts because it's over, it hurts because i love this game with every fibre of my being... but love doesn't really die, does it? it lives on in a different form. the game will always be there. if anything, the fandom is alive with the love that's put into the project, the love that reaches us no matter where we are - even from the fictional town of Westchester to the Power dimension and beyond.

[arkus-rhapsode]

So... I kinda miss FE7's 10 chapter long tutorial was structured

So like many people I've had a chance to replay FE7 on Nintendo's NSO program. FE7 is still a great game, even with nostalgia goggles off. But something that is of course legend at this point in the FE fandom is the 10 chapter long tutorial.

This serves as Lyn's story and essentially a prologue to the rest of the game that stretches teaching you a lot of mechanics for 10 chapters. Now I experienced this once before so I was ready to grit my teeth and bare it. And the crazy thing is as I was playing it, I realized just how much this 10 chapter prologue made me care about the characters in a way the recent FE hadn't.

Now look, I like modern FE. This isn't me saying everything was better back in my day. But something about them that just isn't like the GBA era is that they introduce characters to you as clusters that you control off the bat. This is something that really started around with Fates, you'd be given a lord and then their two retainers. Maybe you'd have to assist them after some space was put between you on the map, but for the most part, you were handed a bunch of units that would train you to use multiple mechanics on a single map. FE3H was probably more extreme with this handing you an entire class of kids before you really even get a chance to know even the lord character.

But then when I played through FE Engage, the Yunaka chapter had genuinely shocked me. Engage up to that point had basically done the same thing Fates had done. Hand you a bunch of characters with different classes and test you with the map. But with Yunaka, the chapter was actually narratively structured in a way where she was the primary focus and showed who she was, then you got to the map which utilized her abilities. And by the end of it, I had felt like I really got a taste of her in a way I really hadn't with characters like Chloe, Louis, Celine etc.

From a meta standpoint, FE is a game with permadeath, so only the lord characters really have plot shields and arcs that are overarching that builds throughout the game. But since this is a strategy RPG with a bunch of characters, a lot of those characters really only have their introduction to make an impression on the player. Even now with the support system to flesh them out, an average non lord character will really only one chapter for recruitment. Now the obvious reason modern FE is giving you three new units a chapter is to teach you multiple mechanics. To avoid another 10 chapter long tutorial. But the thing is though, if three characters are all being introduced at the same time, namely the cutscene before and after a map, there's only so much characterization you can spread between them. I talked about Yunaka earlier, but her whole chapter genuinely felt like an exclusive highlight of her. Then I think about one of my other favorite characters from Engage, Lapis, and her intro is really nothing. Most of her intro chapter is about Alcryst and as far as I knew she was just his serious retainer. But then I actually grinned out her supports and found her to be one of the best characters in the game. And the sad thing is I almost didn't do it because I felt like I didn't really find her endearing in her intro.

This is basically the same problem I had with Fates and to a lesser extent 3H. But, to be fair, 3H was structured in a way that the emphasis was on socializing so even though I got a bunch of characters I knew nothing about, the game encouraged me to learn more through social activities with them.

But then I look at FE7, while yes the pacing of introducing mechanics is more stretched out, the chapters of FE7 genuinely feel like they endear me to the cast to point I want to know more about them. The levels are structured in such a way that the narrative portion pre battle its usually only focused on one character, but then there is also a recruitable character on the map who is in the middle of their own story. They feel like a natural inclusion while not detracting from the new character just introduced this chapter's time to shine. And like all FEs, a lot of these characters aren't really plot relevant going forward. I never have to use Dorcas ever again if I don't want to and it really changes nothing in the narrative. But when I play chapter four, I feel for Natalie and Dorcas's stories. I want to see more of them.

Now look, Im not saying I want to go back to the 10 chapter long padding of introducing mechanics, but I feel like with how FE is going with trying to hand you a bunch of units and then wanting you to learn more about them through their supports and not narrative chapters like the lord characters, I would like for those introduction chapters to maybe get more focused.

Instead of a lord and their retainers, maybe have a different dynamic? I think modern FE has had a bit too many characters recently who are just a lord and those they trust most. We can have an intro like Celine, Chloe, and Louis, but maybe structure the map more to be like an interactive episode than just a barrier between my party and getting the three new units. And if the recruitable units feel too much like a hassle, I feel like PoR and Awakening were probably the best middle ground. Slowly dripping in multiple characters a chapter while building that chapter to characterize them like the Maribelle and Ricken chapter.

Just one of those things where I understand was changed to make for gameplay convenience and even developer convenience. But with FE, I always want that balance of character and gameplay so these are more than just functions. I'd have been happy if I spent longer in like Firene if it was just to get me to know the characters more. Or play levels with a bit more of a difficulty curve if they were structured to play out in a less straightforward and more narrative way.

[frutiylaris]

Signalis. How and why?

I apologize for intruding on the signalis tag with my autistic love for this little game. It will most likely happen again. Signalis is just beautiful. I find it hard to enjoy most games that are released nowadays, be they indie, double-A or triple-A. I've become bitter about games and media and I'm only in my 20s.

So when my friend introduced me to Signalis thinking that I would enjoy it, I thought it would be another run-of-the-mill indie game about depression or some such nonsense. But then I played it... The first ending I got being the promise ending. Seeing Arianne and Elster embrace and just love each other made me weep. The sheer devotion this damned robotic woman had for her lover made me pause. And when I replayed it recently for my second playthrough just to make sure I didn't miss anything. I got the memory ending and my heart sank into sadness once again. I... I don't know how to describe my feelings towards the game. On one hand, I do not appreciate the heavy-handed foreshadowing, but at the same time a part of me now understands why it was done that way. Admittedly the moment I saw the King in Yellow and references to HP Lovecraft and cosmic horror my brain tipped me off on how it would end. I had a conception and then it was shattered and in its place a potted plant. A lily, covered in marble. Its blue veins still clearly visible. I want to understand Signalis. To comprehend that which I cannot, its an innate human urge to find some meaning, some purpose! But Signalis doesn't do that. Perhaps I became like Adler, once I understood what I was trapped within I so desperately wanted it to stop. To get out. To save the one I admired but in the end, I was twisted and left to a fate worse than death. I lost my purpose. And when Elster came by once more the events repeated themselves, no matter how much you try to reason and make arguments to one who is deeply in love. They will ignore it all. For it's not logic or thought that drives them, but love. That endless yearning for the one you know is gone, but yet you still chase after them. Even if you remember your promise. Forget it or whatever else. The cycle repeats itself. The world deteriorates more and more with each passing cycle until the rotted corpses arise from their graves and begin to roam the earth, unable to rest, to think, to feel. All being puppetted by something greater. I admittedly have not played the game a 3rd time since I wanted to get the artefact ending, but I just can't manifest the strength to do so right now. So I looked it up and... and it... I cried once more. I know what happens each and every time and that no matter what, it all ends the same. In tragedy. My second playthrough gave me a feeling of lucidity. Everything for but a brief moment connected together and I witnessed what lay before the black gate. And when I came back I couldn't tell anyone. I was paralysed with knowledge. Knowledge that I was never supposed to have. I traded in a part of myself unknowingly to even begin to comprehend what I had seen. And now that I am seated once more in reality, I fear speaking about it. About Signalis. Its beautiful. Its story is absolutely wonderful. Its gameplay whilst not groundbreaking is good, and the puzzles are a decent challenge. The music gave me a sense of primal fear and each moment I spent on Sierpenski and rotfront was unforgettable. I want this game to reach more people but at the same time, I fear it becoming popular. It feels so special, so unique that I want to hoard it away to myself. But that is selfish of me to do. I remembered my promise. I forgot my promise. I offered up something to the red eye and in return, it gave me one final dance to enjoy. The game about two space lesbians doomed to fail their mission made me feel genuine emotion. More than any other game has and I will forever cherish it. This forbidden tome of a love story. I have journeyed far into Silent hill and confronted my trauma. I have watched raccoon city burn and Umbrella fall. I witnessed Isaac clarke meet his final moments. I have gone to the depths of the Zone and seen the Wish granter. Signalis deserves a spot with all the greats. My only issue is its love of making a fair few too many homages. Thank you, if you read through all this babble.

From the Zone I came, to the Zone I return.

[whenthechickencry]

Umineko EP4. Replay Part 1

Certainly not her genes, Kryie, also Rudolf sees through Kyrie in that even when she's talking friendly about Asumu she's burning with jealousy. Certainly was never a healthy dynamic in any case.

The talk of miracles here is so interesting and I will probably talk about it in more detail later. Rika's belief in a miracle is what allowed her to break through her dead-end fate. Ange's belief in a miracle is what is slowly destroying her life. I don't think either framing is entirely right or wrong, and unlike others, I don't see Umineko as a sort of response/rebuttal to Higurashi as much as something that expands on its themes, but still... it's really interesting to think about.

You can tell that R07 has been in kind of damage control mode for Beatrice since the end of ep3 lol. He really needs to hammer it isn't as black and white as you might think and she isn't just an evil monster who tricked Battler for fun.

This is a really funny scene too, by the way.

Battler's is, as Beato says, in a lot better state than last time shit like this happened. I think he got the general gist that Beato wasn't acting 100% and that there is more to what is going on than meets the eye.

Ange's right. Battler is starting to try and seriously understand Beatrice's heart but that's opposed to Ange's purposes, which are for him to completely trample on her heart as soon as possible so she can get Battler back.

You can tell Ane's view of others is really warped by now, it's basically a less over-the-top version of Erika. Sure if you never trust anyone you will never get tricked but you will never build genuine relations either...

This is in complete opposition to how Satoko entered the school in GouSotsu, so I guess the schools work differently across... universes or whatever it is you would call this.

Well... considering the events of this chapter where she continuously gets attempted to get murdered by her family I can't really blame her for strongarming Ange's family....

The game is pretty clear the abuse didn't take long to start.... it's easy to take a more sympathetic reading of Eva later but it is clear she bears responsibility for attempting to take care of a child she was in no way emotionally capable of doing at the time.

Ha.... the way Maria got mocked at her school but she didn't get it and saw it as genuine praise really makes me think she has autism... I remember at school laughing along at jokes I didn't get until I finally got that the joke was disparaging me. The game doesn't show this as an entirely negative thing, though... after all she is able to create 1s from 0s. Also, I am not disparaging Ange in any way but it shows the level of her isolation that the closest image to best friend she can conjure in her head is the girl she hung out with once a year on a family conference.

I have never heard of enchilada cheesecakes before and now I want to try them out.

....uh huh Rosa....

It's no surprise Ange latched on to the diary.... she does the same magic Maria does towards Rosa to Rudolf. "He sometimes came home at my birthday so he loved me a lot" aka he couldn't be bothered to even be at my birthday usually.

Haha.... this scene is so sad to read.... Rosa is constantly embarrassed of Maria even in his idealized version of the scene.

Huh... I wonder if this kind of bullying is common for autistic children? This is exactly word for word what was done to me in school.

This is also a common thing for abused people to think, I used to think I had to stay in abusive relationships because if I didn't someone else would get abused. I am sometimes kind of in awe about how R07 can accurately represent many kinds of situations.

It's not really sustainable in the long term for Maria, though. She can pretend she isn't sad and that she's fine all she wants but in the end, she chose the Golden Land over living. You can't exactly blame Maria for her thinking like this, though, she's just a 9-year-old making the best of an awful situation.

In other words, "I am glad I can neglect my daughter now that she has a stuffed toy I bought at a supermarket to keep her company instead of me"

Rosa, you set way too many fucking rules for someone that can't even be bothered to get home.

Maria knows perfectly that her mom considers her an embarrassment, huh.....

Man, Ange is so fucking depressed.... almost every line she says has a hint of extreme sadness behind it....

He uh.... didn't ask that Maria.... you can really tell she's extremely lonely.

Okonogi shows up and immediately wants Ange to do something that would kill her, lmfao.

Okonogi hits the mark right on the head but mixes up "Yasu" and "Eva" which is pretty interesting!

Of course, the one who actually had that ring was Yasu and not Kinzo at the time, so Okonogi's theory came from false assumptions.

I had.... completely forgotten that Okonogi of all people was the one to introduce the concept that without love, it can't be seen... haha I was very shocked here. Okonogi is also pretty much 100% right here, esp wrt Ange being unequipped to find the truth as she is.

An impressive resume would be a shame if you would get beaten and tortured by a nine-year-old girl.

Ange's already making hints about the fact it's really a suicide plan more than anything, Beatrice and Ange parallels are bigger later on but the fact they both had elaborate suicide plans with Rokkenjima is interesting to me...

[icharchivist]

Which hurt you more, FF VII or XV?

oh FFVII, for real.

but it's not a very fair comparaison considering how much FFVII influenced the person i am today and how much i still feel echos of my own pain everywhere in the plotlines of the game. I cry multiple times in the OG, i cry everytime i play CC, last time i watched AC i cried genuinely the whole way through so much so i was a mess afterward. hell i made myself cry for 3 hours just two days ago thinking about the end of CC.

I've been fan of FFVII for 17 years. There was a time i couldn't replay the saga at all and it faded away from my consciousness, yet once in a while i would think to myself about the ending of CC, trying to explain it to people, while crying. It has never left me that i have such a deep, deep emotional connect to the game, and one that just ended up becoming more and more personal as the years passed by.

FFVII stands really as one of the fictional work that has been the pillar to my life, and so everything hurts a thousand time more. Even when i'm not actively thinking about it, it hurts me in some way, always at the back of my mind.

FFXV remains great though. it's a great and painful story. It plays as a tragedy even more so than FFVII does. The ending of FFXV totally ruined me, and Ignis' DLC itself also hurt a lot. I can't listen to Florence + the Machine's cover of Stand By Me without crying.

FFXV especially hurts because of its ending though, and it means that replaying it is so hard because you really feel like you're helping those characters through the last fun they'll have before fate catches up on them.

But the angst is limited to a specific cast of character, some of the angst also can be not as well delivered as it could be (i still remember the main Dev talking about how they hoped that one of the major character death of FFXV (not the last one, the one midgame) will have the same impact as the death in FFVII, and because he sets himself up for the comparaison i can just so much see how FFVII did it right and FFXV did it wrong LDKFJDKLFJD)

And eventually the angst is just not also an angst i relate to in a sense. I can't even begin to mention how much i've found myself relating with Cloud especially. How when i first played the game i admired Zack so much i wanted to be as cheerful as he is, and then i didn't have the tools to play the games again and my life took a very hard turn and i closed myself in so much, and when i finally came back to FFVII, looking at Cloud was like staring at a mirror. Or how when i was young i would always be wearing black and my parents would be so mad at me for not trying to wear colors, so much so that eventually i "compromised" by starting to wear pink dresses because somehow this was the one thing i found comforting, despite my parents being also mad at it because it was too girly- and then returning to FFVII and realize that the reason the pink dresses always felt safe is because of how much i looked up to Aerith and kept her in my heart for years.

FFVII is too intertwined with who i am as a person. As the way i evolved as a person. The way the themes stick with me in the most profond of ways.

It's home and it's comfort, and it's also seeing the rawness of my pain, of the person i have been, of the person i pretended to be, of the person i still am, of all sort of little things that make me myself. I can't figure out how much is just coincidence and how much is me subconsciously coping by finding safety in the one story that made me who i am. I look at FFVII and the pain is personal, it is mine, it's powerful in a way I can't properly put into words, like seeing my heart exposed raw for the world to see.

I do not have this level of connection with FFXV, which I only really played about 3 years ago. The pain and emotions from this game get to me the way you can be in pain for the suffering of your friend, even if you do not connect with it. It's tragic, but in a cosmic sense. FFVII's tragedy comes so much from people trying desperately to hold themselves together and how it's trying to fight while they're always threatening to fall apart, that eventually they can't keep it up, not like that, because you can't just put on a brave face and face what's in front of you if you deny everything else about yourself. FFXV's tragedy happens regardless of how hard the characters worked to avoid it. It doesn't make it a bad tragedy, but one that is removed from the personal pain put into FFVII.

They're different stories that hit me in a different way. I love FFXV to death and it is important to me and i'll always be crying because i wish FFXV's characters can be happy, so at least they can say they've lived happily before all fell apart.

but FFVII holds a part of my soul in it and it will always just hit different.

I'm super sappy about it DLKFJDLKFJ but yeah.... FFVII is just really one of the most influencial fictional piece who just made me who i am today. It can't really compare.

so yeah <3

[breathings-of-the-heart]

Stuck on You (Levi x Childhood Friend! Reader) Part 2

A/N: Hey guys! It’s been kinda a while but here is part 2~ I have this habit of writing and rewriting my pieces since I’m never fully satisfied by them, but overdoing that is just as bad so I’m going to leave this as is ajflkajada  The amount of love my first part recieved was so genuinely heart warming and I cannot express my gratitude enough. I’m nervous to post this because of it, to be honest, because I hope it lives up to the expectations. Thank you to everyone who has shown me support, it means so much! If you guys want a part three, or maybe just a short epilogue, I will consider it so let me know! Also if you would like to be tagged in my future works, comment below or send me a message <3 I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, Season 1 and No Regrets ova spoilers

Word Count: 4k

If you haven’t already, read part one here

As a former member of the Scouts yourself, you knew the ins and outs of the military’s regulations. Because of this, you also knew your request was a strange one, seeing as soldiers weren’t typically allowed visitors, but you hoped your letter appealed to the more personal side of Commander Erwin. Apparently it somehow moved the man, seeing as you had been brought by carriage to the legion's base the following night.  

The clopping of horse hooves eventually stopped, and you were currently being escorted into the building by another familiar face, her hand already outstretched to help you out of the vehicle as soon as the door swung open.  

“I understand your reservations about this, but you’re brave for coming here. I think he’ll be relieved to see you, (Y/N),” Hange spoke, her fingers hovering over the small of your back as she guided you down one of the many hallways, lantern swinging in her free hand. “I think he could benefit from seeing a familiar face.”

Your eyes were downcast, staring at the floor as rooms upon rooms passed by along your path. You couldn’t speak if you tried, words seemingly stuck in your throat and unable to keep up with your racing thoughts.

Deep breaths, (Y/N).

For better or for worse, there was no need to reply, as Hange came to a halt not a second later. She squeezed your shoulder gently before bringing her knuckles to the wooden door, knocking once, twice.

Your hands were clammy, heart thundering in your ears as you tried to steady your breathing.

“Levi, someone is here to see you,” Hange’s voice rang out firmly.

There was a distinct sound of a chair being pushed back, and footsteps growing nearer. Time slowed down, and you began to second guess every decision up to now. Would Levi even want you to be here? Will he be angry? You felt like bolting away and forgetting about the whole idea, suddenly afraid of his reaction. Afraid that your presence would only make everything worse.

Your eyes were widening as you realized the possibility of leaving was too late to explore, Levi already turning the handle from the other side. So instead, you swallowed your pride, stood up straighter, and pushed away the growing sensation of nausea in your gut.

“Who could possibly be important enough to interrupt my--”


The second his eyes met yours, Levi halted in all movements. Your gaze was fixed on him as well, every bit of longing settling back in your bones the second it did.

He looked nearly the same as the last time you saw him, clean and kempt as ever, hair styled the way it always was-- the same way he’d keep it when he used to chastise you for running your fingers through it.

And those stoic, gray irises that drew you in your were fierce, yet somehow emptier. At the sight of you, his flooding emotions became too much to properly register, unlocking every moment you’d ever spent with him as they replayed all at once.

“(Y/N)?” He couldn’t hide his disbelief, eyes widening ever so slightly. 


“Hello, Levi.” 


~~~~~~~~~

Never did Levi think he would grow to care for another group of people the same way he had for you, Farlan, and Isabel. But sitting around Petra, Gunther, Eld, and Oruo, he found their excited chatter over the dinner table endearing more than anything. The ever stoic look on his face didn’t change, and he would never openly admit it, but it felt reminiscent to be surrounded by trusted company like this. All of Squad Levi had full faith in one another; it was necessary for the battle field. This created an unspoken bond between all of them that the unreachable Ackerman did not picture building with others again.

Fate worked in funny ways, he supposed.

Sounds of clinking silverware and chatter filled the mess hall, sun setting outside of its many windows and painting the expanse in an orange light. The males eyes drifted towards the entrance of the room expectantly, where a clock rested above the doorway. He took a sip of his tea whilst squinting at it, attempting to get a better read before feeling a slight jab in his side.

“Looking for someone, sir?” Petra inquired, with a hint of deeper emotion in her tone that went right over the male’s head.

He glared at her in annoyance, having almost spilled his drink as the thought of you returned to the forefront of his mind.

It was strange, seeing how capable you had become after spending those months by yourself in the Underground. They made you a bit more calloused than when Levi last saw you, carrying over to your skills as a Scout. You never used to be skilled at riding ODM gear, not even when Levi tried to teach you in your youth. Seeing you slash Titans without blinking an eye was like watching someone completely different.

But you had to learn, since you had no one to protect you.

Your open displays affection had grown fewer and farther between as your time in the Survey Corps dragged on. At first, Levi thought nothing of it. Truthfully, the Captain had hardly noticed, with how busy the both of you were. He wrote it off as stress, or the workload catching up to you. Or, maybe, it was that nagging thought in the back of his conscience he dared not dwell on: he had turned you into this, after being away for so long and then failing to protect your friends.

But as your words replayed in his mind like a broken record, too late he realized this wasn’t the case.

“I see the way you look at her. I see it because you used to look at me that way.”

“Captain?” Petra repeated, leaning forward to study his distant countenance and successfully pulling the man out of his thoughts. “She’s probably just training.”

He rested his hand on top of her head, turning it away from him and sighing.

“Eat, Petra. I don’t need you to be whining about hunger during our patrol tomorrow morning,” he chastised, forcing his eyes away from the doorway.

After that talk, Levi had watched you go, telling himself that you’d return soon enough. Yet could not shake the feeling in his gut that there was something amiss. He pushed away the pit in his stomach. You were safe, you were healthy, and that was all that mattered. Humanity’s Strongest had other things to focus on, after all, and tuned back into his comrades’ conversation. The man blended back in easily, occasionally offering a few of his own comments as the meal dragged on.

Every so often his thoughts would shift back to your conversation earlier that day, and he realized that you were wrong. As close to Petra as he had gotten, there was a stark difference between you and her:

No matter how strong you’d get, and no matter what you thought of him, Levi would always shield you from as much of this world as he could.

But it was better this way. Better if you moved on from him and easier to do if you thought it was because he wanted Petra.

If only he knew your last words to him “I’ll be back for dinner,” had been a lie.

It had been strange for him when you didn’t return. Levi tried not to think about how Kenny had done the same, instead grasping for a reason. For once, he could not read your thought process. The male had no idea why you’d voluntarily leave, after everything. He knew better than to hold onto certainty, but you’d thrown him for a loop. You were always the one to communicate, the problem solver, the one who understood him without much direction. Didn’t you know that you were irreplaceable? He should have come clean: told you that he didn’t see Petra that way, and just didn’t have the heart to admit he didn’t feel good enough for you anymore.

Did he ever even get the chance to say “I love you?”

His regret multiplied tenfold as he began to understand that maybe if he had, you would’ve stayed.

~~~~~~~~

A strange sense of comfort washed over the man as you smiled softly, small hands clasped together in front of you. He blinked, wondering if you were simply a mirage caused by his sleep deprivation. But you remained where you were, after all this time, standing at his door. For once in the man’s life, his mind was drawing a blank.

“I’ll leave you guys to it, then,” Hange stated, excusing herself and soon disappearing out of sight. 


Her statement pulled the both of you back into the present, and you were suddenly self conscious of Levi’s stare. You tucked your hair behind your ears and gestured towards his office, unable to gage his reaction to your presence.

“Would it be alright if I came in?” you asked shyly, astonished he hadn’t slammed the door in your face the second Hange left. 


To your shock, Levi simply nodded, stepping aside to let you through. Your movements were unsure and hesitant, stark in comparison to his: calm and collected as ever.

Just like any space Levi occupied, the area was clean and tidy, a lantern sitting upon his desk the only source of light against the cloudy night sky. It smelled like tea leaves, sandalwood, and disinfectant, a signature scent that made you fill with nostalgia. As the click of the door echoed behind you, the reality of your situation set in, and you turned around to face the man you were here to see.

His gaze had never left you.

“You’re hurt,” was the first thing that left your mouth, concern evident as you studied the bandaging that peaked above his knee length shoes. 


“Long story,” Levi offered curtly, eyeing you up and down from a few feet away. “One I don’t particularly care to tell you.” 


“Of course, that’s fine,” you agreed softly, a weak smile pulling at your lips.

You did your best to mask the hurt, knowing you deserved to feel it. It hurt to be here, the fear that Levi hated you previously keeping you away. Now that you were facing the music, that fear seemed more realistic than ever. Your brain wracked to change the topic before your mind could continue overthinking; desiring instead to cut the unbearable, building tension that never used to exist between you two.

“How are you, Levi?” it was a stupid question, but you no longer knew how to talk to him.

“(Y/N).”


The way he said your name was sharp and challenging. You quickly cleared your throat and looked away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Of course you’re--”


“--Why did you leave?” Levi effectively cut you off, orbs narrowing as you dared to come closer.

The question caught you off guard. You thought you’d made it obvious with your last conversation with him those years ago. Surely, he had some idea, although his pained expression said otherwise. His fingers twitched at his sides, a movement you didn’t miss as your eyes flickered back to his in surprise. He had been so composed just a moment ago, that the sudden shift gave you whiplash.

Now his fists were clenching, as he waited in the painful silence, knuckles turning white.

“Why did you leave?” The phrase echoed tauntingly in your ears, over and over again.  

You don’t know what came over you. All you knew was that you needed to rid him of the rare, defeated look etched into his countenance. To purge him of this feeling you caused. Whether reaching out would help or hurt, you didn’t know.

But you needed to be near him.  

Levi’s eyelids screwed shut as you brushed your thumb across his cheek. The action was so simple, so delicate, so unsure and so familiar all at once, and at the feeling, the Captain’s composure finally came undone.


He reached up and gripped your wrist, as if you’d fade away if he let go. In previous years, it was always you who craved skinship, yet it seemed as if a weight had been lifted off Levi’s shoulders to have you this close. Your touch still felt like the comforting warmth of a campfire; the type that would make anyone want to stay forever.

“I’m sorry. I thought you’d be better off without me,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to cause you any pain.”

He let out a breath.

“Then why are you here now?” his question was more defeated than hostile, which you hadn’t expected.

If someone asked a few hours ago, your answer would have been much clearer. But now, the logic that brought you here seemed overshadowed by doubt. After all this time, and after everything that had happened between you and Levi, any semblance of a relationship with him seemed unsalvageable. You told yourself this mantra over and over until it stuck. So why were you here?

Levi must’ve thought it audacious, for you to run away like a coward and still think you were relevant to him.

“I owe you so much. Whether I ended up being wrong or right, I’ve always acted with your best interest,” you sighed, thumb brushing over Levi’s dark circles. “Truthfully, I don’t know if I’m any use to you now. I might be the last person you want to seek comfort from, but on the off chance that I still matter to you, I’ll always come back,” you whispered earnestly.

Levi’s grip on your wrist tightened imperceptibly, and you longed to bury your face in the crook of his neck; to feel him wrap his arms around you in his embrace once more. It seemed as if Levi was staring into your soul, his shallow breaths mingling with yours at this close proximity as he opened his eyes to fully drink you in.

“I’m here to tell you that if you need me, I’ll stay.”


He looked to the side as if brushing aside your touch, hand falling away from the raven-haired man’s face as he did so. It felt like rejection, as if he was brushing all of you away with a simple turn of his head.

Silence.

“You’re a real idiot, (Y/N),” he spoke finally, voice nearly out of place against the stillness.

Moonlight suddenly peaked through the window, showering you in a bath of silver light. Levi recognized this look. You were wearing your heart on your sleeve, offering everything you had to give; eyes wide and honest, shining with a vulnerability that even after a lifetime of knowing you, he had never seen before. The man felt conflicted at the sight, annoyance prickling under his skin as you somehow managed to hold him together and tear him apart all at once with your presence.

Losing his squad twist that knife in his heart, convincing him that he was cursed to be left by everyone and his superhuman talents only doomed him to live a life alone.

But now, here you were, standing within arms length: despite the pain you caused, still the only person he had left. Only you could draw this much emotion out of the typically monotonous man. He couldn’t tell if you were a blessing or a curse, but in the moment, all he knew was that he didn’t want you to leave again. He needed you to stay here, with him, the way it should be. Because you were family.

And true to your word, you did.

“You should really get some sleep, you know,” you stated after a while, closing the door with your foot as you entered with two fresh cups of tea. 


You watched Levi fill out paperwork on the other side of the desk, bringing the cup to his lips in the strange fashion you always teased him for. His gaze flickered up boredly.

“You know I don’t sleep. You go on ahead, though. The bed’s behind that door,” he paused, gesturing somewhere behind him. “I hardly ever use it.”  

You shook your head, reaching forward and plucking Levi’s pen from his hand.  


“What you’re drinking is caffeine free. I switched it, so you have no excuse now.” You ignored the indignant scowl growing on the Captain’s face, urging him to listen. “Please, you really should rest. You know you need to.”

It took an entire hour of imploring and convincing for the man to finally give in, him grumbling as you helped take off the boot on his injured foot and ushered him onto the bed. You knew you were the last person with any right to tell the short Captain what to do, but knowing Levi, he was running on an hour or two of sleep while his body was begging for rest. And yes, you were very much hypocritical, draped across the couch in Levi’s office, staring at the ceiling. But none of that mattered to you, as long as he was okay.

You had been lost in introspection, being a room away from your childhood best friend and first love after so long a surreal experience. It felt strange to be back here, but you were too tired to dwell on how strangely out of place you seemed in a place you once called home.

The weight of your abundant emotions from the day finally crashed down, fatigue settling in. You rubbed your eyes, and snuggled closer to the cushions, letting the darkness claim you.

And in the other room, as Levi slipped out of his uniform, shaking his head in exasperation. His last thoughts while he inspected the door as if he could see you through it, was that of course only (Y/N) (L/N) could be more stubborn than he was.

As he slipped under the covers per your command, the ghost of a smile spread across his lips at the thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perhaps it was the constant danger of where you grew up, and the need to always stay on your toes, but for as long as you could remember, you’d been a light sleeper. If someone so much as stared at you for too long, your body would jolt awake, ready to take action within a moment’s notice. There had been many instances where this came in handy in your past; even after years of seldom disruption in your now boring life within the walls, this was a trait you never seemed to grow out of. So it wasn’t hard to notice the heavy breathing and panicked movement from behind Levi’s closed door.

Just like for you, some things never changed-- when it came to old habits, you knew the man like the back of your hand. The reason he rarely ever slept was one you were quite familiar with. One both of you struggled with, and probably always would. Nightmares never seem to stop. You’d gotten through so many of your own rough nights with your friends by your side.

Levi, however, always refused to admit how they affected him. Insisted on going through it by himself.  

The subconscious urge to look after one other was most likely one you'd never grow out of, even if Levi had. You didn’t think twice before making your way across the office, swinging your legs across the sofa, awake within seconds. Without missing a beat, you stood up and made your way to Levi’s personal sleeping quarters, knuckles rapping against the frame twice. Levi’s shallow gasps quieted, and when you realized he didn’t plan on opening the door, you steeled your nerves to do it yourself. This was what you were here for, wasn’t it? To offer some comfort?

He did want me to stay.

“Levi?” You called into the darkness gently, feet padding foreword as your eyes adjusted to the lack of light.

His silhouette was upright in the bed, no doubt staring at you menacingly.

“I'm fine, (Y/N). Go back to sleep,” he snapped.

That didn't deter you, for he would never openly admit vulnerability. This was by no means new behavior. Besides, the strong emotion behind the Captain’s voice was an easy tell that betrayed his words. You pressed on, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“Do you remember the time we were teenageers and you got sick, but couldn’t afford medicine so I took that sketchy job you specifically told me not to?” Your back was to him, yet you could feel Levi peering at you.

“Obviously,” he humoured you with a reply, knowing you weren’t going to leave. “You came home half alive and I felt like the most useless piece of shit in the world.”

You chuckled, fingers fiddling with the white sheets beneath them.

“Yes, which was unfair to yourself but also something I did not realize since you called me pretty much every name in the book,” you smiled, the memory oddly fond despite its events. “You were so angry, but I was also scared out of my mind... which was more important than your anger, I suppose. So you let me lay next to you that night. That was all it took to make me feel safe again.”

There was a long pause, you trying to get your words together in a way that could allow Levi to understand how you felt right now.

“I know what you’re thinking; what you’ve been thinking your whole life. You haven’t failed anyone and that stupid idea should be the furthest thing on your mind. Take it from someone who knows, alright? So many lives have had meaning because of y--”

His hand closed around your wrist, the grip much like it was the day you left him.

This time, he would not let go.

“--Stop, (Y/N). Don’t.”

You hadn’t realized there were tears falling down your cheeks until Levi turned your face to look at him. Trying to look away in your embarrassment, you laughed bitterly. His grip did not budge as he examined you sternly.  

“Just be quiet and go to sleep, alright?”

You wiped at your face, determination etched into every fibre of your being.

“Mark my words, Levi, I will make you believe me.”

Levi rolled his eyes but tugged at you once more, opening the duvet in an invitation. When he sensed your uncertainty he simply nodded, arms winding around your waist as you finally crawled in beside him. Both of you knew that there was so much that still needed to be said; so many buried feelings and pain that would only take time to unravel. It felt like a miracle to find yourselves in this situation, pushing aside the thousands of emotions and questions and misunderstandings the two of you had, if only to stay together in this moment.

You didn’t need Levi to know that you still loved him; not while he was coping with another loss. It would be selfish to spring that on, and that was not what you were here for. But you had to tell him:

“I missed you.”

Levi hummed, nose brushing against yours in the close proximity.  

“You better not be gone when I wake up,” he chided in response, orbs fluttering shut.

Your fingers threaded through his onyx black locks, brushing through the knots soothingly. Knowing you’d help this man heal no matter how long it took, you took comfort in the realization that he’d finally let you do just that.  

“I’ll be right here. You’re not alone, Levi. I promise you never will be.”

He pulled you closer, thankful that there was at least one source of warmth left in his life that he could hold onto-- especially after coming to terms with and almost having been certain he’d never experience this feeling of contentment, again. But here you were to prove him wrong, a living slice of home in his arms.

It may have been wishful thinking, but you could have sworn you felt Levi’s breath fan across your hairline, a soft voice whispering “Thank you, (Y/N).” before you felt yourself slip away into slumber once more.

taglist: @asterroidd @chucky-26o1 @silversxble @belovedwindermere @christina-mj-stan @leviackerrman @cravrat @thekohakuriver1 @batakprincess @sunisenpai

[calaofnoldor]

Fake It ‘Til You Make It

Characters: Sam x Reader (gender neutral), Dean

Words: 3,295

Summary: Dean and his lady of the night are being obnoxiously loud, so you and Sam devise a plan of retaliation.

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, wee bit o’ language, mutual pining and other fun tropes

A/N: thank you for all the love and support on “Dean, Don’t” (there will be a sequel due to positive feedback!) tbh, i’m not sure how i feel about this one, but every single like, comment, and reblog is always super-duper appreciated!

MASTERLIST

Another hunt for the books, another bar tab for your fake credit card. Another leggy blonde for Dean, and another evening spent harboring your secret yet ever-growing crush for Sam Winchester. This was becoming a pattern lately.

You'd decided to join the brothers on their last several hunts after bumping into (and nearly decapitating) Dean in a vamp-infested warehouse in Colorado. That night, you bought him a beer to recompense, but he was rather swiftly distracted by the busty barmaid, and you ended up talking to Sam all night instead.

There was an instant chemistry between the two of you, what with your shared passion for monster lore and college dropout histories, conversation always flowed easily and often without end.

Tonight had been no different, from the moment you walked into the rundown bar in Iowa, and immediately placed a bet on the fate of Dean's evening entertainment.

"Twenty bucks says he goes home with that blonde in the red dress over there," you jerked your head towards the woman in question.

"Oh, you're so on L/N. She's way too classy for him. My money's on that short one over there with the space buns."

"Deal," you shook on it, while struggling to ignore the spark his touch ignited.

Three beers in and you had almost completely forgot about your bet, until Dean swaggered over with one arm draped casually around the shoulders of his blonde conquest. "We're gonna head out for the night, see you guys later."

You waited until the front door closed behind them before turning to Sam with a triumphant grin. "Pay up, Winchester," you held your hand out expectantly.

“How are you so good at that? I’m the one who’s been watching him my whole life.” He shook his head with amiable amusement while digging out a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.

You shrugged a little, “You learn to read people fairly quickly on the job.”

“Y/N, we have the same job.”

You pretended to ponder this fact for a moment, your brows furrowing, “I guess I’m just a better hunter then?” It was an obvious jest, and you both knew it, as evidenced by the wide, matching smiles that broke out across both your faces.

God, how you loved his smile, especially the genuine ones that brought out his dimples and lit up his eyes, but even more so, you adored any smile behind which you were the cause. Those you stored amidst your most cherished memories and replayed in your mind a hundred times over on nights when the insomnia hit… Oh no, had you been staring for too long?

Abruptly, you turned towards the bartender, waving the newly acquired bill in your hand, and proceeded to order the next round.

Fortunately, the night carried on with its jovial tone, and you were almost able to disregard the desire to touch Sam’s veiny forearms when he rolled up the sleeves of his plaid, or the need to run your hands through his luscious locks whenever a wayward strand fell before his glimmering eyes.

“I guess we should head out soon. Dean’s probably gonna want to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Right, yeah.” At this point, you were feeling a little woozy from the alcohol, and Sam’s hands were suddenly grasping your biceps as you rose unsteadily from the barstool.

“I’m OK,” you laughed it off, but instantly missed the warmth of his palms that seemed to seep through your clothes and set your skin alight. Sam simply smiled at you, yet something in his eyes was so resplendent you felt goosebumps replace the fire along your arms. You must have been staring again, for Sam looked away somewhat embarrassedly and asked if there was something on his face.

Ugh, why did he have such an effect on you? You’d been around plenty of male hunters in the past, some nearly just as attractive, but you’d always managed to keep your wits about you. Indeed, your unrelenting rationality was usually a subject of pride for you, yet here you were, a blubbering mess after a mere touch on the arm and that stupid smile.

Looking down, you grumbled a quick apology and a senseless explanation that involved blaming the booze before you took off.

Sam followed after you, but not before double checking that you had grabbed all your belongings. There was a strong and instinctive urge to look after and protect that stirred within him whenever you were around, and he couldn’t neglect it if he tried.

It wasn’t that you were weak and needed someone to look out for you. Sam knew you’d been more or less hunting on your own for years now, and could certainly roll with the best of them, himself and Dean included. No, Sam knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, yet he still could not brush the nagging need to keep you safe and by his side whenever possible.

At times, he felt as if a spell had overcome him and he was no longer in control of his senses when it came to you. It was annoying, really.

Tonight, for instance, Sam could have sworn he spent the better part of your time at the bar glaring down any man who came within three feet of you, foolishly daring to try their chances with you. He was sure you’d notice his strange behavior at some point, but you simply talked the night away with him, smiling that stupendous smile, the one that made him lose his breath.

Everything about you enchanted him, and Sam often found himself wishing he could just dive in and kiss you, hold you in his arms and never let you go. He was sure you could read it all in his eyes by now.

To his disappointment, however, you never gave any indication of reciprocation, always treating him in a strictly platonic manner, whether intentionally or out of ignorance, Sam didn’t know. But he never dared make a move, and he convinced himself that he felt fortunate enough to have you as a friend.

The walk back to the motel wasn’t long, although Sam took deliberately small steps to prolong your time together. When you reached the brothers’ room, your eyes fell upon a grey sock dangling unceremoniously from the doorknob. So Dean had taken Blondie to his motel room.

“How’s that for classy?” you looked up at Sam with a small smirk.

He let out a huff of a laugh and shook his head while staring at the sock. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he spent a night in the Impala.

“Hey, why don’t you just come over to my room,” you suggested as you motioned next door, “We can chill in there for a bit, wait it out?”

Sam’s eyes shot up to your face. All he had to hear was “come over to my room,” and his brain immediately began imagining all the potential scenarios those five little words could lead to… if you felt even an inkling of what he felt for you. He gulped and tried to reel his thoughts in, meeting your gaze with a dreamy look.

“Um… yeah, OK, sure, yeah. That sounds good. I mean, you sure you don’t mind?” he stumbled out.

You laughed that brilliant laugh, “No, I should probably sober up a little before I sleep anyway.”

Sam nodded, afraid of what words might escape if he opened his mouth again, and the two of you made your way towards the adjacent motel room. He watched as your delicate hands worked the key and instantly took note of the angry red scrapes and cuts along your palm when you turned your wrist to unlock the door.

Brows knit with concern, Sam silently berated himself for failing to take better care of you. He remembered you took a nasty fall when the ghost had thrown you aside to get to the brothers as they burned the necklace that tethered it to this realm. You must have landed on the concrete and braced yourself with your hands.

As you both stepped into the dim and modest room, Sam was about to ask for your first aid kit when you suddenly brought your arms overhead and stretched out your lithe body with a soft, satisfactory grunt. When the hem of your shirt rode up, Sam had to look away to stop himself from staring at the anti-possession tattoo that peeked out above your hip bone. Just that sliver of skin was so alluring to him; he really was in deep.

When you lowered your arms back down, you sent him a small, apologetic smile, “Sorry, it just always feels good to do that after a hunt and a night out in town.”

Sam nodded again, still finding it difficult to come up with the right words, but then he remembered his previous mission. “Give me your hand.”

“W-what?” you stuttered, dumbfoundedly. It was your turn to wonder if you’d heard right.

“Your hand, let me see it.” He repeated, and this time he simply caught your wrist and took your hand gingerly in his, turning it such that your palm faced up, so he could examine the extent of the damage.

“Oh,” you breathed out, slightly relieved, “It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.” You tried to pull your hand out of his intoxicating grip, but he held on quite firmly.

“Y/N, we need to clean these and bandage them so they don’t get infected.”

He had pulled you rather close to him, to the point where you could feel his body heat emanating towards you, and you hated to admit the proximity was really messing with your mind. All you could think about was the deliciously muscled torso that surely lay beneath those layers of cotton, and what it would feel like to run your hands across it.

Sam took advantage of your lack of response and led you to sit on the edge of the bed. As he went to look for the first aid kit, you couldn’t help but admire his backside, especially when he bent over to rummage through your duffle bag in the corner.

When he returned to your side, you quickly closed your jaw and reached over for the cleaning supplies, but he held it out of your reach and grasped your hand again instead. Your eyes met for moment, and almost as if on cue, a loud, lascivious moan came through the room’s thin walls.

Sam felt his cheeks heat up, and hastily averted his gaze. He mentally cursed his brother’s wanton ways, but when he heard your giggling, all was forgiven.

“I guess someone’s having a good time.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think this’ll be quite as enjoyable for you.” He motioned to the alcohol in his other hand with a sheepish smile, “I probably don’t need to tell you this is gonna hurt.”

You shook your head slightly, but still winced a little when he poured the disinfectant over your wounds.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Sam sounded truly remorseful and you chuckled.

“What are you sorry for? It’s not like you threw me to the ground, and besides, you’re helping me now,” you murmured softly.

“Well you did get in it’s way to protect m- us. And I don’t like to see you in pain.”

He meant ‘people’ of course, you told yourself in vain. He’s obviously a nice guy and he doesn’t like to see anyone in pain. That’s why he’s a hunter. Duh.

You were trying, unsuccessfully, to slow your heart rate when another emphatic cry came from the direction of the older Winchester’s room.

“Oh! Oh my god!” The high pitch had your eyes widening.

“You can call me Dean, sweetheart,” came the muted reply.

You and Sam both rolled your eyes before he continued to treat and bandage your hand. His fingers, though rough, were improbably gentle against your skin and frequently sent shivers down your spine. It was all making you quite jittery and you really weren’t sure you could take it much longer. To exacerbate things, Dean and Blondie managed to vocalize their passions on at least five more occasions by the time Sam completed his work.

It was becoming rather aggravating, particularly because you found it extraordinarily hard to look Sam in the eyes or maintain a normal conversation with him when you were constantly getting bombarded by the sounds of his brother and his lady of the night copulating next door.

You stood as soon as Sam let go of your hand, needing to release some energy. “You know what, we can’t just let them dick us around like this all night!”

Sam laughed at your word choice and looked up at you, a fond curiosity shining through his eyes, “OK, but what could we possibly do to get back at them?”

You paused your pacing for a minute, racking your brain for an answer to their impudence. Sam watched as a gleam appeared in your eyes and a mischievous smile took over your features.

“I’ve got it! My friend and I used to do this back in college when our roommate brought dates home and they got a little too carried away. It’s basically a game of chicken.”

Sam raised his brow in question so you continued, “If they’re gonna be obnoxiously loud with their fornication rituals, then we can go at it too.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s simple. An eye for an eye. We don’t even have to make it sound real, just as long as it’s equally loud and disturbing.”

“Y/N, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting? That we pretend to have s-sex?” Sam was feeling considerably dubious about your plan, as he couldn’t imagine himself holding back if you were to act in any way sensual around him, even if it was all make believe.

Just then, another resounding squeal of pleasure travelled to your ears and before Sam could stop you, you took the opportunity to show him what you were talking about.

“Oh! Yes!” You exclaimed salaciously in return.

Sam’s eyes grew as he stared at you in disbelief. Your own eyes were closed and your face contorted to an expression of intense pleasure that Sam had only dreamed about. He couldn’t stop fidgeting in his place on the bed, thankful that the first aid kit still sat on his lap as he adjusted his trousers a bit.

“Y/N, I don’t-“

“Come on, Sammy, join me! Trust me, it works every time.”

Sam didn’t have time to contemplate how much he loved the sound of his childhood nickname rolling off your tongue because a second howl came from the next room, this time lower in pitch, though you were there to answer regardless. “Oh my gosh, yes! Right there!”

If Sam thought the effect that you had on him normally was overwhelming, he was undoubtedly unprepared for the way his body responded to you making ludicrously pornographic sounds not two feet from him. Everything seemed to disappear around him until only you remained and held the entirety of his focus.

“Ooh, faster! Harder, Sam!”

Fuck. You said his name. And you said it with lust in your voice. It was as if all his fantasies had come to life before him in some twisted and desperately maddening form. Something in him snapped, and before he knew it, he was standing across from you, staring fixedly at your face, as you shouted in unison.

“Ungh! Oh god, Y/N!”

“Yes, that’s it! Don’t stop!”

Sam’s deep voice compelled your eyes to snap open. He was already looking straight at you, and you could almost taste the tension.

“Oh, baby! You feel so good!”

You didn’t join him this time. You couldn’t. He had you in a trance, his lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, the way his chest moved towards you when he inhaled, the sheer size of him. It was all too much. So you simply stared, feeling your breath come and go faster than you were used to.

There was a split second, or perhaps it was a lifetime, in which the two of you stood still, eyes locked in a fiery exchange, but in the next instant you both lunged forward, lips and teeth and noses and bodies clashing in a passionate, long-awaited display of carnal thirst.

But the kiss ended far too soon for your liking. “Wait, wait, Y/N. I really want this, but you’re probably still drunk, and I don’t wanna take advantage of you or the situation.” Sam panted hurriedly.

You smiled at his chivalry yet shook your head in disagreement, “Sam, don’t be an idjit. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sober, and I definitely haven’t wanted anything more than this, right now.” Your voice was just as breathy.

Sam moved his hands back to your face and that glorious, dimpled smile returned, “Baby, are you sure?”

The nickname brought a flutter to your heart, “Yes, I swear to heaven and hell, if you don’t kiss me again, Sam Winchester-“

His lips cut yours off in another bruising yet completely satisfying declaration of need. Your back arched and he brought one hand down to pull your waist flush against his solid form.

“Mmph,” you moaned against his mouth.

God, Sam couldn’t handle the sounds you made. A man could only hold back for so long. His enormous moose hands frantically grabbed at your ass, hoisting you into his arms in no time and carrying you back towards the bed.

Let’s just say Dean and Blondie truly had no idea of the spectacular and thunderous show they were in for.

The next morning, Sam awoke with a warm weight on his chest. He looked down to find your slumbering form nuzzled against him, head tucked beneath his chin and legs messily intertwined. A fond smile crossed his face as he subconsciously tightened his hold on you and pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. The feeling of elation didn't fade as he closed his eyes to rest again, but it did recede ever so slightly to the backburner when the door clicked and his brother came barging in. “Alright, rise and shine, lovebirds! That was quite the show you guys put on last night, hope it didn't-“ “Shhh! Dean, shut up!” Sam shushed his brother with a stage whisper whilst scrambling to cover your bare back with the disheveled sheets surrounding you, but Dean had already glimpsed the evidence. “Sammy, you sly dog!” He wiggled his brows, grinning proudly at his little brother, "And here I thought I was the only one who got laid last night." “Dean, get out.” "Yeah ok, I'm gone," he raised his hands in assent. "But tell your sweetheart we're leaving in twenty," Dean added before he finally let the door shut behind him.

His sweetheart. Sam sure liked the sound of that. The corners of his lips struggled not to raise with glee. "Mm, was that Dean?" you mumbled against Sam's chest, fingers tracing the ink of his anti-possession tattoo with half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, just came to tell us we're leaving in twenty." He gave your hip a gentle squeeze "He knows, doesn’t he?" You rubbed your eyes with a yawn. Sam chuckled at your adorably sleepy state. “Yeah, sorry…” he trailed off, unsure of how you would respond to the news.

“Well, don’t be. That just means I get to do this whenever I want.” You lifted your head to kiss him hard, and his hands instinctively cradled your face, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap and completely awake.

“You know, I think we still have about 15 minutes.”

“I like the way you think, Winchester.”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading! i’d now like to apologize for this obligatory self plug, but there’s new stuff available at lexicolor.redbubble.com, just fyi :)

[holydragon2808]

Thoughts On Dragon Age II after Replaying (Massive Spoilers)

Hello fellow DA fans! It's been quite some time since I last posted anything here on Tumblr. Hope everyone has been safe during all of the world's craziness. Figured I'd post something to let people know I'm still alive.

Anyway, DA2 was first released back in 2011. I was 20-21 years old at the time. Back then, while I still acknowledged the lack of genuine player agency with Hawke (in comparison to the Warden before them), I did belong in the camp of people believing that people went way overboard with the DA2 critiques regarding those complaints, at least back then.

Now though? After replaying the game again a decade or so later, and also in light of the Inquisitor and DAI, I now personally believe that Hawke's story stands out as (overall), all the more unbalanced in comparison to both the Warden and Inquisitor.

Massive Spoilers for the franchise abound beyond this point. Last warning.

Despite a lot of the old critiques leveled at DA2, it isn't a 100% terrible experience, and despite the oncoming rant, I do love the game overall.

Even though I've personally always thought that DA2 story was centered around tragedy a bit TOO much, in light of the growing franchise and the directional tone of the other protagonists thus far, it unfortunately stands out even more to me, and not in a good way.

A shame really because DA2 could have been a better and interesting contrast to DAO in tone and direction had it been more balanced with meaningful successes and failures for Hawke as a character rather than veering too far over into angst and tragedy.

For example, in DAO, your Warden character is railroaded into success against the Blight no matter what. Regardless of the origin, regardless of what sort of allies you acquire, no matter if you live or die in the end or which warden gets the final blow, you succeed.

This sort of narrative framing gave the writers a much easier way to balance genuine tragedy and success throughout the journey without veering too far in one direction or the other, and also without making nearly everything the player does seem like an exercise in futility.

In other words, there were failures and successes more properly balanced throughout, from experiencing meaningful failures and heartache during the chosen origin stories, to failure at Ostagar, to having more balance with the party members and their struggles (they weren't too boring or too dysfunctional), romances that stood out as a light for the Warden amidst all the fighting and death and their massive burden, to succeeding with building the army to take on the Darkspawn, to potential personal sacrifice to save the world and so on.

The option to play a more tragic, angsty or "evil" character who alienates everyone around them and then ultimately dies in the end is there too. The point is that the game largely gave the player the reins and let THEM decide what sort of story they were interested in shaping within the confines of the narrative railroading.

This balance just isn't there with DA2 as the player progresses. Hawke is railroaded into failure in almost every way from start to finish, whether in their personal life or with the massive political struggles in Kirkwall.

I'm sure most people would have been fine with the main plot between the mages/Templars spiraling out of their control in the end (thanks Anders), the Qunari rampaging no matter what, and even the Hawke family being forcefully separated as the story progressed.

However, to me some of the railroaded bleak tragedy should have been offset by Hawke (and by extension the player) at least having the OPTION of being able to keep their family alive.

I'm fine with the tragedy of losing the whole family being ONE POSSIBLE option in the game, but when this tragedy along with the main plot failures, the dysfunctional party members that are too problematic to help ease Hawke's burdens (in fact, they all add to Hawke's worries, which if Inquisition shows anything, that it finally takes its toll on Hawke) is THE ONE AND ONLY OPTION in light of everything else wrong in Kirkwall, then that's a potential writing issue and could potentially alienate the player more than make them care about anything that happens and wonder why they aren't given the option to just nope out and leave Kirkwall to its fate.

Tragedy can be fine, don't get me wrong, but not everyone wants to role play a COMPLETE AND UTTER tragedy from start to finish with no option to deviate in any way from that narrative. Options in the way people progress (especially where people can break the story down and see the holes in the narrative where it COULD have possible but just wasn't allowed), should be presented in a ROLE PLAYING game.

I personally find it more realistic and relatable when a character experiences a nice blend of both MEANINGFUL success and failure. However, the writers seemed intent on railroading Hawke into just being at the mercy of the main plot with little to no agency.

In stark contrast to DAO, planning for the entire story in DA2 (or just in an RPG period) to end in failure no matter the player choices is already a bold enough risk on its own. It can definitely work with the proper balance of both positive and negative experiences along the way though in both the political and personal aspects of the player characters life, to keep the player actively engaged in a way that doesn't leave them thinking that their presence in the story amounts to little more than the equivalent of holding a book and simply turning the page rather than actively doing something.

But combining an already planned bleak ending with a very corrupt setting where the leaders on all sides are either completely moronic or passive, party members where the majority of them have too many burdens of their own to give Hawke a genuine sense of a reprieve from the madness even if romancing one of them (except for Varric, Aveline, and Bethany, if alive, everyone else is either a whiner or dysfunctional. It's very telling that Hawke's PET DOG gets more no strings attached visits from the party members than Hawke does. Just saying), railroading Hawke to lose the majority of their family in some way, AND having what little success and influence Hawke DOES acquire to come back and bite them in the ass in the end (Hawke struck it rich and became Champion of Kirkwall?! Awesome!.....right up until its revealed the red lyrium idol they found in the deep roads played a part in screwing up everything), then at that point, a serious argument can be made that the writers veered far too heavily into tragic overdone melodrama for some people.

How cool would it have been to be able to leave the game with "Well, okay, I couldn't do anything about the corruption in Kirkwall or the mage/Templar tensions spiraling out of control, but at least my whole family is alive and well"? There could have even been an achievement/trophy for this very outcome called "The pride of the Hawkes" or something.

Just one possible example of how the railroaded political failures could have been offset by giving Hawke, (and by extension the player), the OPTION for personal success in a more meaningful way. The option for extreme tragedy with some or even all of the Hawkes dying can still be there of course for people who want that degree of angst, but again having multiple OPTIONS is more likely to accommodate more people and their preferred play styles or stories, and thus, give more reasons to play the game multiple times.

As it stands now, sure, Hawke can save the life of one sibling, but they're still railroaded into losing one of them before the prologue is over, the other is either killed by the Blight or forced from their side in act 1 because the game said so, and the mother is forced to die in the most shock value induced way possible (nevermind not even being able to warn Leandra in act one or follow up on this quest until it's too late in act two or the guards and Templars being forcefully incompetent for this to play out like the writers want).

Those have just been my thoughts as of late. Some people argue that in a way, this is the entire point of the game. That sometimes only REALLY crappy choices exist and there may not be a third option. I agree with that to a point.

But "there might not be" and "there NEVER is" an option for an ideal third way are two very different things and IMO, DA2 suffered in veering far too heavily in the direction of the latter, often being too focused on heartbreak and shock value (looking at you "All That Remains") to really work as well as it could have.

Anyway, these are just my thoughts a decade later. Make no mistake, I still love DA2 for what it is, love the general concept and idea of DA2, just not the execution. It's just sad to me that this game could have been so much better with more development time, more options to shape Hawke's story on a more personal level (whether with an ideal outcome of everyone in the family living, or a semi tragic one where some can die depending on choices, or everyone dying), and not being railroaded into tragedy to nearly nigh ridiculous levels to the point where a giant spider nightmare residing in the Fade in a whole other game mocks Hawke for their "failure is the only option" status.

And just to further clarify my point here, true, Kirkwall was a ticking time bomb with or without Hawke being there. They made the tensions between the two factions apparent as far back as DAO. A Mage/Templar war was all but inevitable, as was Anders eventually losing himself to Justice/Vengeance and after exhausting all peaceful options, finally doing the unthinkable and "forcing everyone to choose a side". That part was fine. And it makes sense for this part of the story to remain static and unchanged no matter what (as I said before, the issue isn't necessarily that DA2 had a planned tragic ending or was framed as a set story within a story).

The issue is that, at the end of the day, regardless of whether this is framed as a recounting of events already played out, Bioware still chose to present this part of the story to the world as an RPG, not a novel. It's just too easy to pick apart the current execution of the narrative and find too many holes and inconsistencies, far too easy to see that Bioware wanted tragedy and completely railroaded the player into it regardless of whether or not it made sense to do so at times. Part of it is definitely that it was rushed, but not all of it.

" Genuine inevitable tragedy" (example: the mage/Templar rebellion) and "railroaded and just never given the option to question/change anything because the game/developers said so but still forcefully insisting and trying to frame it as an inevitable tragedy" are two very different things (outright confirming in Act 1 that the remains of the serial killer's vicitms did indeed belong to one of the missing women (Ninette's wedding ring) and he gave them white lilies but conveniently never given the option to bring any of this up to the guards/Templars or pursue the quest or warn Leandra until it's far too late). Leandra's death isn't the only example of this problem, but it definitely is one of the most prominent and IMO, takes away from the intended story of a good woman who met a bad end with their oldest son/daughter being unable to prevent it when the game failed to let them (and by extension the player) truly try.

DA2 could have been a great contrast to DAO. Rather than having the influence to shape the fate of the world like the Warden and succeed in their goal, they could have compromised in DA2 with having the fallout of the Kirkwall Chantry destruction and the rebellion still happening no matter what (i.e. Hawke "failing" to stop any of the madness and still ultimately forced to flee Kirkwall in the end after finally dragging the Amell line back into prominence) but still given the player the option to save their immediate family members across the story if certain choices were made throughout. I'm sure most people would have been fine with a more "bittersweet" option being presented for Hawke, (and by extension the player) in the game, especially where again, one can pick apart the narrative and see where it could have been an option, but just wasn't allowed for no other reason than seemingly because of the "True art is angsty" trope.

Bioware could still have their own canon (similarly to how Alistair is shown to be king in their canon no matter what as an example) of the ultimate tragedy if they wanted, but again, DA2 is still an RPG where players expect to have more meaningful choices reflected in how they progress, even with an inescapable darker and downer ending.

Complete and utter tragedy is fine, but I just don't think it was the best decision to have it as THE ONLY option in an RPG.

[blueberrysets]

EXPLORING SONGS: HOW THE SUN TEMPTED ME

pairing: timeskip!tsukishima x f!reader

genre: fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of alcohol use, depression, grief, angst

word count:  3,343

summary: after the death of his best friend, tsukishima swore to never speak a word about that night and to not even mutter his name again. he would rather stay angry at himself for the rest of his life than to think about that incident. yet, it haunts him in his dreams and in his every day to day life. until the lovable roommate of his seems to show more care towards him than anyone else in his life.   

song to play: fine line by harry styles

an: yay!! this is my first installment in my writing collection of exploring songs! I’m super excited to keep writing for this and diving deep into the lyrics of the music. I hope you enjoy and let me know if you would like to be in the tag list for future installments!

masterlist!

taglist: @emiyummy @nyelsy​

In the five stages of grief, tsukishima seems to be stuck on the second stage; anger. He’s been that way for the past four years since he lost his best friend. it’s a relentless anger that is directed to anyone who happens to irritate him just slightly. he finds himself having to hold his tongue while an annoying little kid asks him a dumb question while he’s explaining fossils. he used to love their curiosity and would lend a hand to teach them. his anger starts at the bottom of his feet, flowing all the way up to the middle of his throat. having him choke slightly at the ball of frustration blocking his airways.

yet the one thing he can’t get rid of, is his annoying lovable roommate.

“tsukki!” her voice rings out, bouncing off the walls of the bustling museum. her arms stretched way above her head as she waves him down, a bright smile lighting up her face as her cheeks and the tip of her nose are rosy from the winter air outside.

tsukishima finds the corners of his mouth raising slightly at the sight. it’s not a new one, she’s always there for his lunch break so they can eat together. always making food and coming to his work with a bento that has his name on it. the slight smile stays for a second, but is soon replaced with his familiar scowl. he makes his way over to her, hands shoved in his khaki pants. his worker ID hanging around his neck on a lanyard, irritating the back of his neck and bumping against his dark brown sweater. 

her office attire is covered by a long, black peacoat and a thick, tan scarf paired with it. her hands lower as he gets closer to her, but her smile doesn’t falter. the familiar big purse filled with the contents of their lunch is hanging off her shoulder, the same color as her scarf. she calls it her “mom purse,” stating how she can literally carry anything in there. if only he could take his grief and place it in there as well. 

“look at you,” tsukishima snickers, “finally dressing appropriately for the weather.”

a look of annoyance replaces her smile, he feels himself missing it already. her hand winds back to land a slap right onto his bicep. he couldn’t help but laugh even more at her reaction. it’s fun to tease her, especially when she gets pouty. 

“keep saying stuff like that and i’ll stop making you lunches,” she grumbles as she sticks her tongue out at him.

“you and i both know you won’t,” he shrugs. 

“shut up, i hate when you’re right,” she mumbles again, pushing the straps of her purse higher up on her shoulder as she walks to where his break room is. 

a hearty laugh leaves his lips as his head is thrown back. his shoulders rising up and down as the laugh takes over his body. it stops y/n in her place to look back and take in the sight. seeing the pure joy covering his face as he laughs, it's a sight she doesn’t want to miss. so, she halts in her tracks and admires him. but before he could notice, she turns back around and continues her way to the break room. but how odd was it, to know that he only laughs that genuinely around her. 

the clicking sound of her heels now echo off the walls, and he follows the noise all the way to the familiar staff break room. she clunks her purse down on the dull, wooden table that sits in the middle of the room. to the left of it is a kitchenette area with counters, a refrigerator, microwave, coffee maker, and sink. to the right are various vending machines and printers. she places the two bentos and two pairs of chopsticks onto the table before dropping her bulky bag next to her chair. she unravels her scarf and shrugs off her coat before hanging them on the back of her chair.

it’s annoying how frustratingly beautiful she is, without even trying. her black skirt fits her curves nicely and goes great with her favorite maroon turtleneck sweater. the black tights that cover her skin from the cold air transition nicely into her black high heel boots. her hair in its natural state as her face is adorned with work-suited make up. yet, his favorite look on her would have to be the casual clothes she lounges in at home. 

he takes his usual seat across from her, sitting down and grabbing the chopsticks that were set nicely next to his bento box. he breaks them apart before unwrapping and opening his meal. but stops his movements to see her loosely putting her hair into a bun before she eats. stating that it keeps it from annoyingly falling in her face as she eats, another habit that he can’t seem to stop gushing over. they sit in silence as they start to eat, it’s a comfortable silence. one that is usually filled with the humming from the printer.

“how’s work been today?” she asks with her mouth slightly full, her gaze on her food as she continues to shovel it into her mouth.

“the usual, how about you?” he softly asks as he picks at his food, “is that greg guy still bothering you? you know i can sort that out for you.”

she lets out a snort, setting her chopsticks down as she wipes her hands on her skirt. chewing her food completely and swallowing before she replies. 

“i’m a big girl, I can handle it,” she states in a sassy manner, her gaze meeting him from across the table, “but no, he’s not.”

“good,” he answers shortly, briefly meeting her gaze before it’s redirected back down to his food. 

she clears her throat as she picks up her chopsticks again, returning to quickly eating. their lunch time together is short as she has to catch another train back to her office in a different part of the city. he’s told her multiple times that she doesn’t have to do this, that he’s perfectly capable of having lunch by himself. but she insists, and he’s glad that she still does. perhaps, he doesn’t like being alone. 

“i can’t believe it’s already december 12th,” she mumbles, mostly to herself, “it’s getting close to christmas, i’m not even done shopping yet.”

while the statement of the date is an innocent remark, it stills has tsukishima freezing his movements as the breath gets caught in his throat. he slowly places his hands back down on the table and slightly pushes the bento box away from him, no longer hungry. 

well, it’s official. 

today marks five years since his best friend's death.

“tsukki,” her voice breaks through to his ears as his eyes snap open and his body being shaken by her, “tsukki!”

his breathing is rigid as his hands grip onto her arms, the covers thrown off of him as he feels the hot tears streaming down his face. his eyes scan his surroundings in his semi dark room, the only source of light being his bedside lamp. his glasses are placed on the bedside table and his clock shows that it’s currently 1:23 am. then his eyes finally land on her. 

her hair messy from her bed head and her eyes holding a look of concern. her hands slide from his chest up to his face, wiping away the tears that continue to fall from his eyes. he’s confused, throat dry and raw.

“you were screaming,” she whispers softly, one hand leaving his face as she runs it through his hair, “i think you were having a nightmare.”

it hits him. he was. memories of that fateful night replaying in his mind, over and over again. always the same outcome, always him being too late. he squeezes his closed, more tears leaving his eyes as does. yet the gentle touches from her hands wipe them away.

“do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently, causing him to slowly open his eyes to connect with hers. 

he shakes his head no.

“that’s okay,” she nods, “whenever you want to, just know that i’m here. let me get you some water.”

she stands up, turning to leave to walk to the kitchen. his hand latches onto hers, stopping her from leaving. she turns around, her gaze soft as she looks down at their hands then back to his face. he swallows, this is very out of character for him. but he doesn’t want to be alone. 

“will you stay with me?” he gasps out, shyly lowering his gaze, “just for the night.”

her thumb caresses his hand before she gives it a gentle squeeze.

“of course, i’ll stay for as long as you need,” she coos, “let me get you water, then i’ll come to bed.”

he nods his head, releasing his grip on her hand. she turns and walks out of the room, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. the sound fades out as he is left with his own thoughts again. he lays back down on the bed, running a hand through his hair. his eyes dry from the tears and his head throbbing for some sleep. yet he can’t go to sleep, he doesn’t want to see it again. he can’t keep seeing that night again. it’ll tear him apart more than it already is. 

before his thoughts could get even more jumbled together, she finally returned with a glass of fresh water. she sets it on his nightstand before crawling into bed next to him, pulling the covers up with her. he turns over to grab the cup, taking a few sips to soothe his throat. he sets it back down and turns off the lamp. he flops back down onto his back. a hand laying underneath his head as he stares at the moonlight leaking in through his window. then he feels her, her arm thrown over his waist as her head lays on his chest and her legs tangle with his.

his heart swells at the contact. it was at this moment, that he knew he could trust her with anything. despite his snarky remarks, silent grief, and witty attitude; she decided to stay with him. how lucky can one get?

“i’m not sure if i’m ready to fully tell you everything yet,” he explains softly, one of his hands drawing circles on her arm, “but just know that things would’ve been different if i was there before…”

“nonsense,” she cuts him off, her face still buried in his chest, “fate works in mysterious ways, kei. sometimes it does shit that seems so unfair, so heartbreaking. we can’t help but blame ourselves sometimes. yet, it’s not your fault. things happen for a reason whether we like it or not. you could’ve prevented it then, but who's to say it wouldn’t just happen later on? stop being so hard on yourself, instead take time to heal from whatever hurt you.”

another tear falls at her words, but god how relieving it was to be on stage three; bargaining.

he was so tired of being angry.

“i’m going out!” he remembers her saying as she struggles to pull her high heel onto her foot, “don’t wait up for me, i’ll text you when i’m on my way home!”

yet it’s morning, and there was no text. no call, no text from her friends; there's just nothing. he paces the living room, frantically calling her number over and over. his hair a mess with how many times his hands had run through it. his pajamas fitting loosely on his skinny body, he has lost some weight hasn’t he? 

“pick up, pick up,” he whispers to himself as his bottom lip is being nervously gnawed at, “y/n pick up, damnit.”

voicemail, again. he aggressively pushes the red button to hang up, harshly throwing his phone onto the couch. he grips the edge of the sofa, his foot tapping anxiously as he tries to wrack his brain around what is happening. where was she? if she got hurt wouldn't he get a call from the hospital? or if it was something else, wouldn’t her friends or the police station call him? he is her emergency contact, he should be hearing something! what if she got kidnapped? maybe that’s why no one has told him anything. what if-

the sound of the front door being unlocked and opening interrupts his thoughts. he whips his head in the direction of the noise to see her walk in. she wears clothes that seem to be her friends as she holds her heels in her hand. she sets them on the ground gently, not wanting to make much noise so she doesn’t wake him. 

“where the hell were you?” he asks loudly, causing her to jump from the surprise.

“oh!” she exclaims, “i spent the night at a friends place, but my phone died. sorry i didn’t text you.”

“you didn’t think of maybe having a friend text me?” he asks in a snarky tone, angrily walking over to her, “i was worried sick, y/n!”

“i’m sorry,” she laughs, “i didn’t think it would’ve been that big of a deal.”

“not a big deal?” he sneers, his hands gripping her biceps in a tight hold, “what if something happened to you, huh?”

“kei, let go,” she warns, “your grip hurts.”

“i can’t lose another important person, y/n!” he yells, taking in a sharp breath at what he just said. 

“another?” she questions, her gaze more confused than angry now. 

“forget it,” he mumbles as reaches behind her to grab his coat. shoving his feet into his shoes before walking out the front door, slamming it right in her face. 

onto stage four: depression.

the last person he expected to see waiting for him at the end of his shift, would be her. her black peacoat contrasting with the red scarf wrapped around her neck. the scarf looking bulky against her frame, but comfortable. they haven’t had a conversation in two weeks, an awkward environment surrounds them since that morning. they kept to their assigned rooms in the apartment, yet she showed more compassion for him than he thought she would. she still set food outside his door, still packed him lunches, still did his laundry, or cleaned his room since he lacked motivation to do anything. opening his eyes felt like a chore lately, yet she still supported him silently. 

“come with me,” she said softly, reaching a hand out to him, “i’m taking you somewhere.”

his eyes are wide, filled with curiosity and confusion at the current situation. yet he still reached his hand towards her mitten-covered one and held onto it. he let her pull him along with her. following her to the train station, sitting patiently for their stop, then following her off the train. their hands never once letting go. he was afraid that if he did, she would disappear in thin air. truly, leaving him completely alone. 

she pulled him all the way to the beach, the waves slightly frozen as they crash into the rocky shores. she pulls him up onto a big rock ledge, sitting down once they reach the top. her legs dangling off the edge and the golden rays of the setting sun hitting her face. tsukishima was still standing, looking out at the perfect view of the sunset. but then averting his eyes to his own person sun sitting on the rock. he follows along and sits next to her, the harsh wind from the ocean hitting both of their faces. 

“i asked your brother about what happened,” she states over the sounds of the waves, “about yamaguchi.”

he lets out a shaky breath at the mention of that name, one he promised himself he wouldn’t say. for his own sanity, he wouldn’t mention that name again. 

“you did?” he asked quietly. 

“i did,” she states confidently, “and i want to apologize.”

he rips his eyes from the view to look at her, meeting her gaze that was already on him. confusion written all over his face. 

“i should’ve texted you that night, given you some indication of where i was. something to at least ease your mind,” she explains, her voice sounding like she was pleading for him to forgive her. all of this time, they both blamed themselves for the situation, “but i had no idea what you have gone through, but now that i do i completely regret my actions.”

tsukishima swallows hard as he looks down at his hands that rest in his lap. so she knows, and now she probably knows that he’s a huge fuck up. he took a few deep breaths, preparing himself for the conversation. 

“how long have you known,” he starts, “about him.”

“about a week,” she whispers, “i didn’t have the heart to bring it up to you, i wasn’t sure how you would react. but then, i’ve seen the grief and guilt eating at you slowly. i can't stand to see you like that anymore, kei.” 

“he called me,” he whispers, lifting his gaze up to her eyes. tears welling up in his eyes, “he called me that night asking for a ride, drunk. i remember that i was so annoyed by that call, that i didn’t leave right away. deciding that five more minutes of sleep was more important than my friend getting home safely. when i finally left and went to pick him up, the other guests said he left with someone else. then i get the call the next morning, the call that he was… well, you know.”

she scoots closer to him, placing her hands on his face. meeting his eyes with such intensity and care, he didn’t deserve her. the tears ran down his face, seeing who would get to the finish line the quickest. his body shakes from the sobs as he finally talks about that night after five years of avoiding it. 

“this isn’t your fault, kei,” she says slowly, meaning every word.

“but if I just left right away-“

“he would’ve still had time to accept that ride,” she states, her eyes full of certainty, “he knew the risk, everyone does when it comes to alcohol. yet, he still said yes. he could’ve said no, you already told him that you would come pick him up. he left you, you didn’t abandon him.”

“i don’t deserve you,” he sobs out, “i really don’t. you’re like the sun, tempting me to be happy with what i did.”

“i’m not trying to make you feel happy about what you did,” she explains as she uses her mittened hand to wipe his tears, “i want you to accept that what happened, happened. there were mistakes made, yes, but you can't change it now. what you can do, is live in his memory. live life for him, and dedicate every waking day to him.”

“i love you,” he gasps out, “i really do, you sunshine. you temptress. so please, if i’m gonna do this i want you to be there with me.”

a smile breaks out on her face, laughing slightly. for once, his eyes weren’t full with the hardening gaze of sadness and guilt. but bright and full of love, and how she longed for that gaze to be shown her way. 

“i’m not going anywhere, kei,” she smiles, “and i love you too.”

his arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer to him, lowering his head to capture her in a kiss. the sun is almost gone behind the horizon now, yet the glow from his own sunshine blinds him with love. tempting him to deepen the kiss as their grips on each other tighten.

he was right, he doesn’t like being alone.

it seems that he’s not anymore. 

[kimnamjoonsrightthigh]

1.1/Friday afternoon/KNJ

Series Protector, protected

Part 2/?

Summary On your way home, you encounter someone in need of your help. Giving it earns you six new friends and one new enemy.

Genre(s) Drama, fluff, bit of angst, bit of antagonists to lovers, eventual smut, hurt/comfort.

Pairing Namjoon x Reader.

Warning(s) Alcohol consumption.

Tags Tourist!AU, reader is a clumsy brave idiot, Jungkook is everyone’s baby, possessive!Namjoon, this will be a long one.

Wordcount 1.5K.

A/N I’m new to the social media AU sphere and also not from the US, if anyone could recommend me an app or a program for good fake texting/insta/twitter, that’d be amazing and I would love you forever.

On Friday afternoon, you were frowning into your gin tonic. Ani slumped into her seat across the table from you. A sigh left her lips, which went unnoticed by you as you watched the ice cubes in your drink. She narrowed her eyes at you and your expression.

“Earth to Y/N,” she said slowly, “are you here with me?”

“Hmm.”

“I take that as a no.”

“Yeah.” You considered the glass in front of you critically, with a look so scathing that it was usually reserved for incompetent colleagues, or annoying plaintiffs. Diluting liquor, you mused, seemed like a waste of everybody’s time, and yet you couldn’t stand shots without a chaser. You wanted to cling to that train of thought, somewhere between cocktail recipes and youthful memories, but you couldn’t. Mentally, you were still stuck on the group you encountered last night, replaying the encounter in your head over and over again. Your regrets had launched you into a full-on anxiety spiral that morning. You should have insisted on going with them. You should have insisted they take Jungkook to the hospital. Hell, you should have at least given them your damn name so the cops would have a witness. Bottom line, you should have done anything that didn’t include you awkwardly shuffling your way out of there. You felt like an idiot even thinking about it, but you couldn’t not think about it, either, because you were simply too old to behave like a headless chicken.

“I’m hungry,” Ani said, picking up the menu again, “let’s split some nachos.”

You hummed a response. Nachos seemed like a good way to take the edge off before you ordered another gin tonic. And then another. With ice. Which was cold. Like nights usually were. Unlike last night, when you had left a group of helpless tourists standing in an alley on their own… damn it. You had almost managed to pull yourself out of it. Almost. You forced yourself to look at Ani, whose eyes were focused on something behind you. She shook her head before saying: “That dude is wearing two fanny packs. No, three. Tourist much?”

Your head whipped around so fast you almost snapped your own neck. Sure enough, there was Seokjin, digging into one of his many pockets while Namjoon was fiddling with his phone and Hoseok studied the menu board of a restaurant further down the street. You nearly fell out of your chair in disbelief. They were all there, all seven of them. Either you got heatstroke at lunch and were now hallucinating, or the universe was sending you a sign to make things right.

“Order the nachos, Ani,” you mumbled. Without acknowledging her answer, or considering your choices further, you pushed to your feet and started walking towards the men. You were a few feet away, heart hammering in your chest, when you called out Namjoon’s name. More than one head shot up. You scanned their faces quickly, and they all seemed okay. Jungkook’s bruises looked better in the daylight, too. A smile blossomed on your face as the relief crashed right through you. Hoseok and Jungkook smiled back at you.

“Hey, guys,” you said.

Namjoon’s expression was unreadable when he looked at you, the hint of a strained smile playing about his lips. “Hello, Y/N.”

“You all look alive. And kicking. That’s good.” You felt a familiar nervousness claw its way up your spine, settling at the back of your neck like an oversized memory. Your hand came up to brush your hair from your face, and you found it trembling a little. “How’re you, Jungkook?”

“I’m good, thanks.” There was that grin again, slightly mischievous, but mostly sweet. You had no idea how any self-respecting mugger could have picked him of all people as a victim.

“Good. Great, actually. I, uh, wanted to apologize for running out on you like that yesterday. I should have stayed. Did you end up going to the police?”

“We did,” Namjoon said, “They wanted to put out a call for witnesses when we couldn’t give them your name.”

You blushed at that, because of course they did, and you didn’t think of it. “Yeah. Again, I’m sorry. I’ll get down to the station next week.”

“Seven strangers late at night,” he replied, shrugging in lieu of mentioning what seven strangers late at night might be capable of, “I would have wanted to leave, too.”

“Oh no,” you were quick to assure him, “No, not that at all. Just… that was my first mugging, too. In a way. I’m just glad Jungkook is fine.”

He crossed his arms against his chest and you wondered if that was his defense or offense. “Jungkook is fine, alright. We’ve been his friends for years, we took care of him.” You raised an eyebrow at him, very inclined to meet his tone at least halfway. The underlying challenge was not lost on you.

“Except for the time you lost him, of course. His English is good, though, I’m sure he would have found his way back – eventually.” You noticed that the other six had taken a few steps back, Hoseok and Yoongi grinning at each other, the others looking away.

Namjoon’s jaw was working hard to contain whatever unfriendly things he was undoubtedly thinking. You watched a range of emotions cross his face before he managed to settle on a smile.

“Again, thank you for your help,” he said, clearly intending to end the conversation there. You were ready to accept that, knowing now that they were safe and well, when Jungkook put his hands on Namjoon’s shoulders from behind and mumbled something into his ear. You were close enough to hear that something was being said, but not what.

“Would you be open to us buying you dinner as a thank you?” Namjoon sighed. You perked up immediately.

“It would be my pleasure,” you practically purred. You never said no to free stuff, categorically. It was free stuff, after all. Also, during your day of self-inflicted mental torture about the fate of the seven strangers, you had found yourself curious about them, their dynamic, whether they had enjoyed their vacation so far. There were things you wanted, no, needed to know. You didn’t believe much in fate, but two chance encounters were one too many for even you to ignore. So before Namjoon could change his mind or grab Jungkook and make a run for it, you pulled your phone out and motioned for him to do the same. Seokjin seemed to put as much trust in Namjoon as you did, because you saw him typing while you recited your phone number out loud.

“Tomorrow?” you asked, “I can come pick you up if you want.”

When Namjoon smiled this time, it seemed almost genuine. “Our treat, so we’re picking you up.”

After a few more waves and bows and goodbyes that were slightly less awkward than before, you returned to your table from where Ani had been watching the situation unfold, always ready to intervene if you showed any kind of discomfort or alarm.

“Don’t tell me that was them,” she scoffed into her beer.

“Yep.”

“And when did your life become a romantic comedy?”

“There’s nothing romantic about it,” you protested immediately. “It’s called civic courage. My duty as a citizen.”

“You’re full of it, Y/N,” Ani said, “but they’re hot. Whoever Jungkook is, you should have carried him to the hospital bridal style and locked that shit down.”

“Shut up and mind your boyfriend instead of ogling tourists.”

“Getting possessive already, are we?”

 After running some much needed errands on Saturday morning and getting some even more urgent cleaning out of the way, you were contemplating your closet when your phone vibrated with a new notification.

“I have no time for more of your boyfriend drama, Ani…” you mumbled to yourself as you picked it up. It wasn’t Ani, however, it was Namjoon, confirming the dinner time.

“Ever the gentleman,” you told your empty bedroom, but texted back something affirmative anyways. The big question remained, what in the fuck am I going to wear? So far, “dinner” was all the information you had. That could mean anything from a pizza slice to an actual reservation. You didn’t know where, what, for how long, would there be dessert? Should you wear a dress, or a dress? Sneakers or boots, in case you had to walk? The uncertainty was stressing you out more than any meeting you’d had this week. You decided it was high time to call the cavalry, but then Ani didn’t pick up and you were left to your own devices once more. Frustrated, you flopped down onto your bed to scroll through some apps. Your messenger was still opened to the last message, and you figured even Namjoon wouldn’t find a reason to get annoyed at you over a simple question.

You groaned, burying your head in your comforter. He really had to make this harder than absolutely necessary – not that you had expected him to be actually helpful. But even without his expertise, you were dressed and ready when 7 came around and your doorbell rang.

[cherryblossomtease]

In The Fairest Season ~ Part 4

18+ only

warnings summary masterlist

Chapter Warnings - mild graphic violence

~LATE AUGUST~

Bird song usually soothes you in the mornings.

Your bed is near the window and when the nurse leaves it open you can feel the cool breeze and hear the sparrows, but this morning you’re in pain and you wish you could quiet the little beasts.

You had a nightmare, that must be what it is. Your dreams have always been vivid, ever since you were a child. So much so that they set the tone for your day.

This one is a replaying of the night you almost died. You’ve had it before, for better or worse it is typically the same, but this time, he was there just watching as the butcher hacked away.

You woke with your pulse racing, scared for a while until the sparrows calmed you, and then the pain kicked in and now you are just angry.

It isn’t true. You know he’s the one paying for your care or else you would have been sent home weeks ago.

Instead you have a private nurse and this beautiful room on this quiet floor far from the chaos below with a doctor who speaks kindly when he comes to do his rounds.

He checks your wound which is a specific form of torment you would not wish on your enemy. It is too hard for you to speak when he asks how you feel, but you write with chalk on the little slate they’ve given you and when he is done prodding, they give you fresh bandages and let you sleep.

Eating slowly becomes easier too— when you have an appetite.

Turning your head from the bright light of day, you look at the vase on the table beside your bed and stare at the single dead rose.

It was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes after your surgery. Someone had placed it on your bed while you slept after they stitched you back together and you’ve kept it, refusing to let them throw it away.

Once, you overheard the doctor say that the assailant was in a hurry. The theatre was a risky place to commit such a crime and get away with it. His careleness and your bouquet which took the impact of his assault kept you alive, but it would take time and rest before you could speak.

You still do not have the heart to ask him about singing.

*

Baron Zemo likes the hunt.

It’s been a while since he has, but not long enough that he’s forgotten how it’s done, or how much he enjoys it.

Patience and observation are his weapons and he’d spent the past few days using both.

The Baron had stripped away his fine clothes, concealing his wealth with worn shoes, a tattered coat and the hat of a man no one would notice. He left the pretty summer mansions behind, forgetting the charm of street lamps and manicured topiaries that decorate the parks, choosing instead to disappear into the bleak slums, quietly following the man whose name he’d gotten through his first round of cat and mouse which had ended very badly for the mouse.

Down he went over shit covered roads, dodging the beggars and dirty children, slipping in and out of the shadows like a predator that crouches in the tall grass before leaping to bite the neck of its victim.

He had stalked around this way for two nights. Thankfully this man -Karpov- is simple.

It will be over and done before midnight.

Pressing his back to the damp wall, the Baron keeps out of sight as Karpov stops at the entrance of an abandoned warehouse just off the water. He speaks with the old man sitting on a barrel and lights what’s left of a cigarette while they chat, the sound of gulls and gentle waves  deceptively tranquil.

Zemo watches him, staring at his plain face. He will never forget it, or the way he feels knowing that you have seen him too, and why.

Their voices fade though his eyes stay trained on his target, just  a sliver of his face showing around the corner in the dark, the memory of you onstage coming to him quickly.

He can see you so clearly, with your voice so bright and strong. It fills the music hall with the most beautiful sorrow he has ever heard, just when he needed it most…

Karpov may not have killed you —little bird— you are still alive, you are strong and healing even now. But he tried, and that is enough.

There is a righteous anger burning in the Baron’s heart that drives him—pushing him forward much as it did when he lost his wife and son. He won a war fueled by that rage and it is this same hurt that clears his head and keeps him steady. He is at his best when he is hunting those who deserve to die. This man, he thinks watching Karpov take a long drag, is most deserving.

So Zemo waits.

When Karpov finally goes in and the old man slumps down in a drunken sleep, Zemo slips on the mask he has not worn since the fighting at the borderlands and goes inside, making his way through the dark, his eyes quickly growing accustom to it.

He sticks to the shadows moving in through the fallen beams until he notices the silence. Karpov knows he's here. That’s all right.

“No use for that, I know who you are.” Comes Karpov’s voice in the distance.

The Baron smiles beneath his cover. “Then you also know why I’ve come.”

“I guess you’re mad about your little ingenue” He says the word making it sound crude.

“That is an act, only the role played on stage. She —is anything but.”

“All the same, you’ve got a score to settle with me….same as you did the ones that ripped your country apart. Come on then. Stop hiding.” Karpov says and the Baron hears how his voice wavers with fear.

He must truly knows who has come for him.

“What stories have you heard?” Zemo asks, curious as he walks past the wreckage. “What tales of war have made it all the way to your filthy ears?” He smirks. When he steps into the dim light of a barrel fire, the doomed man backs away.

Through the flames, Karpov catches his first glimpse of the Baron. He sees the long black coat with the white fur collar, similar to what the men wore to stay warm through the long winters of a northern war and the thick gloves to make gripping swords much easier. And finally, the mask that had become the stuff of legend between the fighters. Karpov may not have been there to see first hand, but he'd heard enough on the docks from the ones who traveled through, those few who survived...

Zemo's men rallied behind the mask and his enemies feared it. The entire time, none knew who the man that wore it was, the Baron had managed to keep this identity secret. They only knew that he was fearless and seemed to enjoy the killing when it kept others alive. Now Karpov knew— he did not expect to live long enough to tell the secret.

“You’re Baron Zemo.” He says awed. “The masked swordsman of Sokovia.” He grins with the discovery. “You’re the one who waits, and hunts.” His gold teeth gleam in the firelight. "And falls in love with little stage girls who forget their place." He says with a laugh, but that laugh is not genuine. He is trying very hard to stave off the inevitable.

Zemo squares his shoulders and fixes his eyes on his victim. It’s been a very long time since anyone has looked at him this way, but it is instantly familiar. All cowards make the same face right before they die. Still he is surprised and tilts his head, perhaps a little flattered that his war reputation has reached so far. He gives a single nod. “Yes… the patient man. With experience.” He adds and looks Karpov in the eye, his grin hidden beneath the mask. Why is he still standing here?

“Run.”

The man growls an angry response, he does not usually back down from a fight, but when the Baron steps around the fire, and draws his sword, Karpov forgets his own reputation in the slums and turns, fleeing up a set of crooked stairs, jumping over the places he knows won’t support him as he makes his was along the balcony of the next floor. The Baron stays put to watch; his brain doing the calculations to follow without stepping on a rotted or missing plank.

When the time is right he follows.

“I can smell you from here.” Zemo says into the dark as he climbs, his voice finding Karpov before he does.  They say predators can smell fear, perhaps the war has changed him more than he realized. And to think he used to be a peaceful man.“People seem to find joy in taking things from me.” Zemo says stepping onto the second floor. He pauses to listen so happy that the hunt is not over. This may be Karpov’s territory but what is a broken building to a man who has seen the end of the world. “Such careless, stupid ignorance.” Zemo scolds softly. “Better men than you have tried my friend. And I’m sure you know that happened to them. You see it is not what I did during the war that should frighten you. It’s what I did to the ones who caused the deaths of my family after the fact.” Karpov is breathing is too loud. He does know.

Zemo hears and pauses, going left to find him instead of right.

Karpov feels panic, he’s set something off inside of Zemo, something that had been quiet for so long. He should never have done it, but how could he have known that the Baron the little bitch snuck off with was this one!

And then a breeze, like the breath of an angel catches his hair, reminding him of another way out.

Not waiting to test fate, the man scuttles across the floor boards down a short hallway with the broken wall that leads to the water below. He stands gazing down not wanting to jump, but not wanting to die in a fight either.

It isn’t so very far, he thinks watching the gentle waves break on the planks of the warehouse. But those rocks… he is certain he will not be able to miss them. He will have to take a running leap. Gathering his courage he takes a step back.

“Tell me, how long do you think it took your friend to give you up?” Zemo asks, his voice as light as a feather in Karpov’s ear. “Just the threat of my blade and he told me your name. I still killed him of course."

Karpov shuts his eyes, angry that he’s missed his chance. The bastard Baron moves as quiet as a snake in the grass. “You killed Charlie?”

“Yes.” He says and begins to raise his sword.

Furious at being caught, Karpov gives a shout and swings back with an elbow, but Zemo ducks missing the swing, rising with a single attack. His trusted sword delivering silent death. He takes a step or two back and waits. He did not miss.

Karpov stands, his face contorting, he reaches as if the Baron might help. He is confused and then he realizes.

The blood looks black against his dirty shirt blooming like a rotted flower as it seeps from the wound to his heart. The color drains from Karpov's face.

Zemo looks him over and it comes on quickly. Rage and fear are such a powerful combination. As the dying man sputters, the Baron kicks his stomach hard enough to send Karpov through the broken wall.

Pulling the mask from his face, Zemo quickly goes to the edge of the building, leaning over in time to see the way Karpov’s body breaks on the black rocks, ruined and hardly recognizable as a man.

He stares down at the gore for far too long, his only thought being that Karpov’s accomplice Charlie had been shown a mercy when his throat was sliced. Though it was a just end for a man so fond of showing the same -kindness- to innocent women.

Turing away, Zemo sheaths his sword and slips his mask into his coat, sad to put it away, and starts back through the warehouse. Unsure that he’s done what you would want, he questions his actions, but he is certain that his own brand of justice has been served.

The men who would cause you harm are dead. And that is all that matters.

*

“Throw it out,” You say. It is the first time you’ve tried using your voice. The nurse is shocked that you’ve finally given in but she seems so pleased that you try; you are only angry with what you hear.

It sounds like a crow scratching at a window.

You hate the sound.

It’s never even occurred to you to love or hate your speaking voice, it’s just been there and pleasant enough, sort of soft and unassuming, so different from when you sing.

Everything has changed so quickly.

“Are you sure miss? You’ve kept it all this time.” She says, her kindness punctuated by her hand resting light on your shoulder.

You look up at the ceiling from your pillow in bed refusing to look at that silly rose anymore. It is a symbol of something that has been proven to be untrue.

One week spent with your fate unknown. Three weeks you’ve lain here recovering. In all that time he has not written or come to see you.

It is unexpected, you’re not sure what to make of it, but you assume the worst and try to adjust to living with a broken heart beneath a lost voice.

“I’m sure.”