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picwew · 3 years

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SQUAD UP! It’s time for Yuna and his crew of miscreant demons!

(Picrews are here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here!)

The characters are, top to bottom, left to right--

Nakajima, Yuna: A human with unusually high magical potential. His specialty is the binding of demons into servitude, which he utilizes to stop particularly troublesome demons from threatening human populations across the globe. Most of the demons under his care were seduced by him, as he has quite a knack for making men want him. As such, several of his servants are vying for his favor, but, in his own words, “I don’t play favorites~”

Obviously, Yuna is a bit of a flirt. His tastes extend well beyond demons, into just about any non-human he can get his hands on. He has a ravenous appetite for handsome men, but no plans to settle down any time soon. It isn’t that romance doesn’t appeal to him, more that he’s still young and a little too free-spirited for anything permanent. The way he dotes on his servants, though, you’d certainly think he was in love with them, Nihil in particular.

Mourning Dove: Affectionately referred to by his coworkers as “Dovey”, this little fellow was the first of Yuna’s servants, and is therefore his most staunch defender. The details of his past are hazy, even in his own mind, but he was born into the slave trade, nameless, nothing, the psychological toll of which would not become apparent until his eventual escape. He was full of hatred for the humans who had callously treated him as property, and claimed many lives before Yuna was able to soothe his aching heart. “You’re pretty as a mourning dove,” Yuna told him. From that moment on, he decided that this would be his name.

Dovey is, above all, an empath. Much of his time recovering from a life of slavery was spent learning to feel again. Once he got the hang of it, however, he found that he felt a little too much, so much so that he’s become somewhat of a crybaby. When others are in pain, he is often the one to comfort them. His sweet disposition and cute appearance have earned him his coworkers’ love, although they still get a bit miffed with him whenever he tries to hog Yuna’s attention.

Dr. Callaway: An interesting case, and a tough nut to crack. Only Yuna knows his full name; no one knows his story. All he’s shared is that he was fingered for human experimentation, and that, no, he has neither learned his lesson nor wishes to. Still, he behaves himself well enough, perhaps because he is entirely obsessed with Yuna in the most unhealthy way. While most of his coworkers consider one another family, Dr. Callaway is detached and often mocking of their sentimentality.

As expected, Dr. Callaway is a terrible sadist. He takes great pleasure in hurting others in any way he can. Nowadays, this is limited almost entirely to insults and threats, but he has been known to get physical with others when Yuna isn’t looking. It doesn’t help that nothing seems to bother him in return. You could beat the man senseless, and he’d come out of it grinning like a jackal.

Corvo: This one was a misunderstanding--or, rather, a case of cultures clashing in a very gruesome manner. Corvo is a hybrid of demon and crowkin. Beastkin are not true demons, but are often lumped in with them, so mixed-race families are not uncommon. Unfortunately, this can lead to some problematic offspring, particularly when one or both of the parents are detached from human society. Corvo, like many crowkin, was taught that food is food, and that human meat is the most delicious of all. He bore no ill will toward humans, but his view of them as, essentially, cattle culminated in a visit from Yuna.

Following his binding, Corvo began the lengthy process of finding something he liked more than human flesh. This, as it turned out, was sweets--all sweets, from pastries, to ice cream, to candy. He had never had sweets before, and everyone agreed that they suited his bubbly, affectionate personality more than human flesh anyway. He is certainly the gentlest of all of Yuna’s servants, dedicated to his family and to protecting those in need. He’s especially fond of cats.

Erebus: Known by those who worship him as the Master of Crows, Erebus is an ill-understood being. He is ancient, but has had little to do with his own kind since time out of mind. Instead, he appears to have become so entwined with his worshipers that he can no longer live without their faith to sustain him. During the Northern Crusades, a great many of them were persecuted for their faith, and Erebus fell into a centuries-long slumber. Only when his followers began to grow in number again did he wake--and command those loyal to him to seek vengeance for their fallen brethren. Naturally, Yuna had a thing or two to say about that.

Erebus is highly asocial, but does not dislike his coworkers. It would be a stretch to say he views them as family; even so, he gets along well with them on the rare occasion Yuna can talk him out of his comfortable pocket of darkness. As the oldest of his colleagues, he is respected and even admired, but he cares little for the love of his own kind. He desires mortal love, which he receives through his worshipers. Due to their number still being relatively low, you’ll rarely catch him awake. Only Yuna seems able to rouse him, and only because Yuna is his “most cherished one”.

Mage: A troublemaker with a bark worse than his bite--but he can and will bite, so mind your fingers. Like Dr. Callaway, his true name is known only to Yuna. His coworkers know him as Mage, taken from Magenta, the name of the rather nasty chemical he produces to draw in his prey. He doesn’t harm them, but he has seduced many a married man away from his wife. Causing strife among couples is what he does best. As an incubus, he finds the taste of a married man’s energy too sweet to resist. So, of course, when he found himself seduced by Yuna, he was completely baffled--and absolutely obsessed. He still toys with married men now and then, when he gets the chance, but spends most of his time trying to talk Yuna back into bed.

Though rare, Mage can be persuaded to bust heads, and does so with the best of ‘em. He’s highly territorial, meaning that although he rather likes his colleagues, he often tangles up with them over Yuna’s affection. He is particularly hostile toward Nihil, who rather delights in teasing Mage with his closeness to their master. Outside of his romantic conflicts with his housemates, he tends to be rather lackadaisical, spending much of his free time lounging on every comfortable surface available. People find his presence enjoyable due to his easygoing disposition and passion for mischief.

Nihil: Of all the demons under Yuna’s employ, Nihil is the one who has come closest to winning his heart. Theirs is a strangely intimate relationship, one which Yuna insists is platonic--and yet, Nihil is at his side always, his obedient shadow. Of course, they weren’t always so close. Nihil is an inherently violent, cruel man whose sole purpose in life is to cause as much pain and grief as he possibly can. He is absolutely, positively insane, for no other reason than this is how he believes a demon should be. This is his aesthetic, and a demon’s aesthetic is absolute. He minds his P’s and Q’s now that he’s bound to Yuna, but never lets his “family” forget what he is, Yuna least of all.

Nihil loves no being, except, by his own admission, Yuna. He teases his master constantly, always pushing his limits, always pushing his buttons. “I am your loyal dog,” is a favorite line of his, spoken, with a pointed smile, whenever Yuna asks something of him. For some reason, it never fails to fluster Yuna, which allows Nihil to worm himself further into his darling’s heart. Unlike his colleagues, he is not afraid to get physical with Yuna, and many of their more heated arguments have ended in the bedroom. Whether Nihil actually enjoys servitude remains to be seen, but for Yuna, he would pull the moon from the sky.

Pox: The general consensus on Pox is “unfriendly, but not unbearable”. A life of self-isolation has made him difficult to approach, even more difficult to befriend, especially given that everyone he’s ever loved, he has killed. He is a demon of sickness, of plague and of rot, of suffering so old as to be carved into the bones of the earth. When he was young, he could not control the disease that spread from him. Though his mortal mother tried desperately to guide him, eventually, she was overcome, and Pox left the village he had once called home, now populated only by the dead and dying. He learned then that he could not live among his mother’s people, but he knew nothing of his father’s. Rather than seek them out and put them at risk as well, he exiled himself to the outskirts of human society, interacting with it only when necessary. With time, he came to understand his power, and was able to control it--but his peaceful life came to an end when one of the few humans he had allowed himself to love was killed in a botched robbery. Pox designated himself judge, jury, and executioner, and it wasn’t long before Yuna showed up on his doorstep.

Pox hides his self-loathing under a cold, hard outer shell. His mask is flawless, perfected through a lifetime of guilt, and he allows no one near enough to break it. His coworkers believe that they are despised by him, but in truth, he loves each of them with every inch of himself. Saying so is difficult, though, and such an admission would only encourage them to endanger themselves. He may be in complete control of his magic most days, but there are times even now when he catches himself slipping. He is desperate to protect Yuna and the strange family they have all built together, so much so that he would rather suffer in silence than risk their lives asking for help.

Seta Sericum: The peculiarity of his name has led to his coworkers calling him Silky, a moniker which he has accepted only begrudgingly. Silky is a Nephalem, the product of a love between angel and demon. Typically, his fathers’ love for one another would have ended in tragedy, but the two stayed together even after their angelic half was cast from divinity. Silky was raised in a happy home, albeit a mobile one; his fathers couldn’t risk staying in one place for too long, lest the Church track them down. Ultimately, it was the Church, their greatest fear, that was their end. They were cut down while protecting Silky, who was forced to flee in the vain hope that his absence might somehow save his fathers. The Church searched for him, but he had hidden himself well. Now an orphan, he swore vengeance on his parents’ murderers--and he got it too, once he was old enough to control his immense magical power. He despises the Church, but killed only those among its ranks who had directly harmed him. Regardless, Yuna came for him, and he submitted to servitude as recompense.

Silky’s demonic father was a real fop of a man, and his son is no different now that he’s had a chance to adjust to a normal life. He insists that everyone pull their own weight, that everything be in its place at all times, and has a fondness for indulgences such as expensive wine and imported chocolates. Without these little luxuries, he would surely have gone mad, for both his mischievous master and his trouble-making housemates frustrate him to no end. He has tried, with mixed success, to serve as a role model for them, but, oh, they are all such children. Dovey is far too naive, Dr. Callaway is far too sadistic, Corvo is far too oblivious, Mage is far too flirtatious, Nihil is far too violent, Pox is far too cold, and Vincent is far too reclusive. Erebus, at least, is well-behaved, though Silky thinks he could stand to mingle more with the group.

Vincent Blythe: On the forefront of medical progress during the Victorian Era, Dr. Vincent Blythe has become little more than a shell of his former self. When his prostitute mother was murdered by one of her stags, something snapped in him. He began targeting, torturing, and finally killing any man who frequented brothels or whom he had seen with street-walkers, believing himself to be the protector of his mother’s people. It was only then when he realized he was something more than human. His father, it turned out, had been a demon who had fallen terribly in love with his mother, but whose feelings had been spurned by her. After receiving a near-fatal wound in a skirmish with a prominent vampire hunter of the day, Vincent tucked himself away in a dark corner of London to heal. He slept for over a century, and when he woke, attempted to pick up where he’d left off. Confused, his trauma still fresh in his mind, he killed all who drew near. Phone calls were made, flights were booked, and Yuna arrived on scene to bring him back to his senses.

Vincent is terribly withdrawn. On the one hand, he is distrustful of all humans, and men in particular frighten him. On the other hand, he has had little to no experience with his own kind, and so struggles to fit in among them. He finds himself at an impasse, unable to shake the trauma of his mother’s murder, and equally unable to bond with his father’s kin. Because of this, he is prone to bouts of violent madness when he feels that he is being threatened, or when he wakes from particularly vivid nightmares, in which he witnesses his mother’s murder and can do nothing to stop it. Dr. Callaway has oft remarked that Vincent is a genius, a true medical prodigy, and that it is too bad he’s so “broken”.

#picrew #male ocs #demon ocs

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jupitermelichios · 3 years

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So I decided to try watching Riverdale, and I have... thoughts. And also the words ‘holy homoeroticism batman’ written several times in increasingly large letters.

I started on season 2, because everything i read suggested that was when the show went off the rails, and i am here exclusively for the batshit weirdness. but it’s fine, because the show decided to fill me in on what i missed during the two consecutive 'previously on' sequences. was one not enough? was there an ad break between them? did they think people would forget what show they were watching if there wasn’t a little break and a logo splash halfway through?

we open on archie rushing his dad into the worlds most empty emergency room. there’s no one, no patients, no doctors, not even a receptionist, just a big empty room, right until the extras smell the blood of a protagonist and all converge. i assume they’re just desperate for something to do, working in the world’s least used hospital.

does snake pliskin exist in this universe? betty makes a reference that doesn’t really make any sense otherwise and given what i know about where the show goes eventually, it feels like a very real possibility. is this the escape from new york universe?

jingle jangle. they called the drug jingle jangle. honestly no criticism, amazing job everyone on the writing team, keep it up!

“dropping vintage bon-mot like vintage bon-bons” is a hell of a line that only works if you have no idea how bon-mot is said (and no idea what one does with a bon-bon. why are you dropping your candy on the floor veronica). fortunately neither the writers or the actress delivering it do, so it’s fine.

getting into the shower with someone without asking is a risky proposition. You have to be really sure they want it. there’s normal ‘i thought you were into it but you’re not’ awkwardness, and then there’s ‘i thought you were into it but you’re not and also i’m standing here wet and naked now’ awkwardness.

how many gangs are opperating in riverdale? I count three so far. riverdale is not that big, is it?

Actually for real, how big is riverdale? I have absolutely no idea. it’s a local small town with exactly one place to eat but it supports two highschools and three gangs. do we know where riverdale is, and is it anywhere near smallville?

cheryl sure knows how to dress for maximum drama. in general i’m basically neutral on the costumes, but everything cheryl has worn has been a Look and i am here for it. sexy runway victorian ghost aesthetic, yes, amazing, no criticisms.

define hood, because i’m not sure you know what it means. that’s a mask. i get that the comics character is called the black hood, but the costume team could have put him in a hood, why was their solution ‘ski mask but no one in town will admit it’s a ski mask’

half the high school is in this fucking hospital to support archie’s dad, good thing there’s zero other patients or staff or it would be getting crazy crowded

what riots, pop? you can’t just drop in ‘someone threw a brick through our window during the riots’ with no further explanation. what fucking riots?!

wise old spiritual black man, but he's just some dude is a take honestly. does he have some kind of special knowledge or divine connection? nope, he’s just a dude who likes being extremely cryptic in service of absolutely nothing

is cheryl magic? does she think she's magic? what does she think the kiss of life is? i was under the impression that magic wasn’t going to be real in this show for another season or two, but cheryl apparently does not agree!

the problem with every actor playing a kid in this show being in their mid twenties (insert KennieJD ‘brooding hot 25 year old teenager’ jingle) is that then they show a music teacher kissing a student and i have absolutely no context for how creepy it’s supposed to be. like, she’s twenty, he’s twenty, we’re not in a school setting, I have no idea how i’m supposed to be reacting. he might be an adult who’s decided to take up piano, or she might be a straight up paedophile, and i have literally no idea which. am i supposed to be sad she’s dead?

headmaster is weirdly supportive of his students becoming armed vigilantes. i feel like every teacher i’ve ever had would have had more questions than that.

as the grandchild of a silversmith, i have to say, veronica polishing the silver cutlery as one of her chores is a weirdly believable detail for a show this unhinged. that was one of my chores as a teenager, and still is when i stay with my mum for more than a couple of days. pros of your grandad knowing how to silver-plate: pretty. cons: absolutely everything that stood still long enough eventually got silver plated and it all needs polishing.

Love that everyone still has archie comics names. the mob lawyer is called penny peabody. amazing.

maybe it's the fact that i'm in my 30s but archie's dad is the only attractive person on this show

ebony dark'ness dementia raven way would be very disappointed by how milktoast the goths in this show are. try harder, CW wardrobe department.

oh man, the lighting team absolutely went off for this show, and i kind of love that it's in service of absolutely nothing

holy homoeroticism batman

i’m in this weird place where objectively bonkers things have happened, but not as much or in the way that i want them to, and i can’t decide if it’s worth sticking with it to get to the later more bonkers seasons.

on an unrelated note though, this is the creative team i would choose for a nailbiter adaptation. the weird lighting and colour pallettes, the time displaced americana vibe, honestly even some of the writing, exactly what i would want from a nailbiter tv show.

#maybe when the teen wolf movie comes out i'll actually finish that nailbiter x teen wolf fic i've been thinking about writing for the last 5 #riverdale #jupiter watches a thing #nailbiter #fr tho go read nailbiter #it's one of my favourite creator owned comics ever

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

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storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #my writing

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otp-armada · 4 years

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If Jason wanted to convince me that Lxa was the love of Clarke's life, he wouldn't have killed her off, effectively cutting their love story permanently, with 4.5 seasons left of the show. Their arc, starting with their introduction in 2x07 and concluding with L's death in 3x07, is 17 episodes long, accounting for 17% of the entire narrative. If I generously add 3x16 to the count, an episode in which L is already dead in the corporeal world Clarke is trying to return to, it's a whopping, grand total of 18%. An 18% congruous with Clarke's intense connection to Bellamy and vice versa, which even A.lycia confirmed as romantic. Feelings romantic enough to spur the formation of a love triangle. An 18% ignoring Clarke's ultimate choice to go back to her people when L wanted her to stay.

CL is a chapter in the story begun and wrapped up in the first half of the narrative. And that's omitting further illumination on the finer details making CL so problematic for Clarke. Do you expect me to believe it was coincidental for CL to occur at a time when Clarke was spiraling down a dark path, commencing with Finn's death? Who played a hand in forcing Clarke's own hand, with Finn, and TonDC, and Mount Weather? Whose example inspired her to ensnare herself in armor and warpaint to be strong enough to save her people? Whose behavior did she emulate in the pushing away of support from her people? Who gave her a place to continue hiding from Bellamy, her mom, and her friends? A place to be someone other than Clarke Griffin? In lieu of facing her fears like the heroine she is? The purpose of CL wasn't to provide Clarke with a magnificent, fairy tale romance gone tragically wrong. I believe Jason's intent with the relationship aimed to further damage Clarke's psyche after L's death, to solidify the belief that her love is not only deadly to its recipients but renders her too weak to do what must be done for survival.

After 3x16, CL is an often superfluous namedrop or two per season for Clarke to briefly react to before carrying on with the plot. Season 5 aside, most of these references are needless enough to be able to interpret them as attempts at reparations for the L/CL fandom's benefit -and their views- without altering the course of the story. Crazy me for thinking it's not enough to constitute an ongoing love story. Crazy me for not thinking this was on par with interactions between living characters. Crazy me for thinking it doesn't befit a love story for the protagonist.

This sliver of the story is what Jason and the CLs would have us unquestionably believe is the pervasive love story of The 100's seven seasons?

Despite his lie and the constant gaslighting from the pineapple CLs, some of us know how to decipher what a temporary love interest is. Lxa? I think you know where I'm heading with this.

I'll acknowledge my admittedly negative appraisal of CL as someone who recognizes its value to the LGBT+ community and treats it as valid while not caring for L/CL on a narrative level. I felt, when swayed by L's influence, Clarke became the antithesis of what I found admirable about her. I resented Clarke's acquiescence of her power to the commander. I wanted nothing more than to remove the wedge L had driven between Clarke and Bellamy.

Let me try to give L/CL the benefit of the doubt for a minute. I don't hold L as responsible for Clarke's choices, but I recognize the prominent role she played in their upbringing. The push and pull was an intriguing aspect of their dynamic, as was the chance to meet a manifestation of who Clarke might have been if she was all head, no heart. Her fall from grace was arguably necessary for her to be a fully-rounded character, not a Mary Sue. It wouldn't be realistic for the protagonist of a tragic story about a brutal world to be a pure cinnamon roll. When forgiveness is an innate theme with Clarke, it would be my bias at work if I was content with her applying it to everyone but Lxa. Clarke saw enough commonalities between her and L to identify with the latter. When she extended forgiveness to L, I believe it was her way of taking the first step on the path to making peace with herself by proxy. None of this means I wanted them paired up. At best, I made my peace with seeing the relationship through to its eventual end. In time for L's death, ironically. My passivity about them notwithstanding, my conclusions are, however, supported by canon.

If I may submit a Doylist reason for romantic CL? Jason knew he had a massive subfandom itching to see them coupled, thereby boosting ratings and generating media buzz. A Watsonian reason? Without relevance, I think L would have been another Anya to Clarke. Grapple shortly with the unfair taking of a life right as they choose to steer towards unity, melancholy giving way to the inconvenience of the loss of a potential, powerful political ally. Romance ensured her arc with L would have the designated impact on Clarke's character moving forward in the next act.

For a show not about relationships, Jason has routinely used romantic love as a shorthand for character and dynamic development. It's happened with so many hastily strung together pairings. And when it does, everyone and their mother bends over backward to defend the relationship. It's romantic because it just is. Didn't you see the kissing? Romantic.

No, The 100 at its core is not about relationships, romantic and otherwise. But stack the number of fans invested exclusively by the action against those of us appreciating a strong plot but are emotionally attached to the characters and dynamics. Who do we think wins? Jason can cry all he wants over an audience refusing to be dazzled solely by his flashy sci-fi.

Funnily enough, "not about relationships'' is only ever applied to Bellarke. Bellarke, a relationship so consistently significant, it's the central dynamic of the show. The backbone on which the story is predicated. Only with Bellarke does it become super imperative to represent male-female platonic relationships. As if Bellarke is the end all, be all of platonic friendship representation on this show. In every single television show in the history of television shows.

Where was this advocacy when B/echo was foisted upon on us after one scene between them where he didn't outright hate Echo? When one interaction before that, he nearly choked the life out of her. If male-female friendship on TV is so sparse, why didn't B/ravens celebrate the familial relationship between Bellamy and Raven? Isn't the fact that they interpret Clarke as abusive to Bellamy all the more reason to praise his oh-so-healthy friendship with Raven as friendship? They might be the one group of shippers at the least liberty to use this argument against Bellarke, lest they want to hear the cacophony of our fandom's laughter at the sheer hypocrisy of the joke. Instead, they've held on with an iron grip to the one sex scene from practically three lifetimes ago when the characters were distracting themselves from their feelings on OTHER people? They've recalled this as "proof" of romance while silent on (or misconstruing) the 99% of narrative wherein they were platonic and the 100% of the time they were canonically non-romantic.

Bellarke is only non-romantic if you believe love stories are told in the space of time it takes for Characters A & B to make out and screw each other onscreen, a timespan amounting to less than the intermission of a quick bathroom break. If it sounds ridiculous, it's because it is. And yet, some can't wrap their heads around the idea that maybe, just maybe, a well-written love story in its entirety is denoted by more than two insubstantial markers and unreliable qualifiers. B/raven had sex, and the deed didn't fashion them into a romance. Jasper and Maya kissed but didn't have sex. Were they half a romantic relationship? Bellarke is paralleled to romantic couples all the time, but it counts for nothing in the eyes of their rival-ship fandom adversaries. Take ship wars out of it by considering Mackson. Like B/echo, the show informed us that Mackson became a couple post-Praimfaya, offscreen, via a kiss. Does anyone fancy them an epic love story with their whisper of a buildup? Since a kiss is all it takes, as dictated by fandom parameters, we should.

If Characters A & B are ensconced in a romantic storyline, then by definition, their relationship is neither non-romantic nor fanon. "Platonic" rings hollow as a descriptor for feelings canonically not so.

If the rest of the fandom doesn't want to take our word for granted, Bob confirmed Bellarke as romantic. Is he as delusional as we are? Bob is not a shipper, but he knows what he was told to perform and how. Why do the pineapples twist themselves in knots to discredit his word? If they are so assured by Jason's word-of-god affirmation, then what credibility does it bear to have Bellarke validated by someone other than the one in charge? They're so quick to aggressively repudiate any statement less than "CL is everything. Nothing else exists. CL is the only fictional love story in The 100, nay, the WORLD. CL is the single greatest man-made invention since the advent of the wheel."

We've all seen a show with a romantic relationship between the leads at the core of the story. We all know the definition of slowburn. We can pinpoint the tropes used to convey romantic feelings. We know conflict is how stories are told. We know when interferences are meant to separate them. We know when obstacles are overcome, they're stronger for it. We know that's why the hurdles exist. We know those impediments often take the shape of interim, third-party love interests. We know what love triangles are. We know pining and longing.

Jason wasn't revolutionary in his structure of Bellarke. He wasn't sly. Jason modeled them no differently than most other shows do with their main romances. Subtler and slower, sure. Sometimes not subtle at all. There's no subtlety in having Clarke viscerally react to multiple shots of Bellamy with his girlfriend. No subtlety in him prioritizing her life over the others in Sanctum's clutches. In her prioritizing his life above all the other lives she was sure would perish if he opened the bunker door. There is no subtlety in Bellamy poisoning his sister to stave off Clarke's impending execution. In her relinquishing 50 Arkadian lives for him after it killed her to choose only 100 to preserve. In her sending the daughter Clarke was hellbent to protect, into the trenches to save him. In him marching across enemy lines to rescue her. In her surrender to her kidnapper to march to potential death, to prevent Bellamy's immediate one. No subtlety in Josie's callouts. No subtlety in Lxa's successful use of his name to convince Clarke to let a bomb drop on an unsuspecting village. Bet every dollar you have that the list goes on and on.

There are a lot of layers to what this show was. It was a tragedy, with hope for light at the end of the tunnel. It was, first and foremost, a post-apocalyptic sci-fi survival drama. Within this overarch is the story of how the union of Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake saves humanity, ushering in an age of peace. In this regard, their relationship transcended romance. But with the two of them growing exponentially more intimate each season, pulled apart by obstacles only to draw closer once again, theirs was a love story. A romantic opus, the crescendo timed in such a way that the resolution of this storyline -the moment they get together- would align with the resolution of the main plot. Tying Bellarke to the completion of this tale made them more meaningful than any other relationship on this show, not less.

Whereas the trend with every other pair was to chronicle whether they survived this hostile world intact or succumbed to it, Bellarke was a slowburn. A unique appellation for the couples on this show, but not disqualifying them from romantic acknowledgment.

Framing Bellarke in this manner was 100% Jason's choice. If he wanted the audience to treat them as platonic, he should have made it clear within the narrative itself, not through vague, word-of-god dispatches. A mishandled 180-degree swerve at the clutch as a consequence of extra-textual factors doesn't negate the 84% of the story prior. It's just bad writing to not follow through. And Jason's poor, nearsighted decisions ruined a hell of a lot more than a Bellarke endgame.

The problem is, when Bellarke is legitimized, the pineapples are yanked out of their fantasies where they get to pretend the quoted exaggerations above are real. Here I'm embellishing, but some of them have deeply ingrained their identities in CL to the degree where hyperbole is rechristened to incontestable facts. An endorsement for Bellarke is an obtrusive reminder of the not all-encompassing reception of their ship. A lack of positive sentiment is an attack on their OTP, elevated to an attack on their identity. Before long, it ascends to an alleged offense to their right to exist. The perpetrators of this evil against humanity are the enemy, and they must attack in kind, in defense of themselves.

Truthfully, I think it's sad, the connotation of human happiness wholly dependent on the outcome of a fictional liaison already terminated years ago. I'm not unaware of the marginalization of minorities, of the LGBT+ community, in media. I haven't buried my head in the sand to pretend there aren't horrible crimes committed against them. I don't pretend prejudice isn't rampant. When defense and education devolve into hatred and libel for asinine reasons, though, the line has been crossed. You don't get a free pass to hurt someone with your words over a damn ship war. No matter how hard you try to dress it up as righteous social justice, I assure you, you're woefully transparent.

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writing-of-a-british-bitch · 3 years

Text

Blame Me- Chapter 4

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Specified gender: Female

Word Count: 11.7K

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader,

TW: canon typical violence, canon divergence, flashback of past character death (OCs), cannibalism, detailed gore, sexual innuendos, suggestion of rape, reference to past child death, torture (dismemberment), Negan being Negan, probably badly written Negan, mention of a broken ankle?

Genre: Horror ig?

Series: Blame Me

Requests: CLOSED

Masterlist

A/N: Yeah, like I warned last chapter, I got a little carried away with this chapter. Negan is so fucking hard to write, so warning you for that as well. I loved this chapter though. And, uh, a lot of trigger warnings. Enjoy!

(Y/N) sighed, looking into her bag. Her supplies were running dangerously low - only two cans and half a water bottle, not to mention the nonexistent ammo. She wouldn't be able to stay out here much longer. But paranoia crept into her, as it had done regularly since that night, and kept her in place. Trusting people was damn near impossible. Being in a group, in a community, a camp? It was terrifying. Unless she was truly desperate, and only then, would there be the smallest slither of a chance of it happening. Maybe she would be better just moving on. Staying alone. She was safer alone.

"Don't be stupid, woman, ya barely standin'." She could practically hear Daryl's voice in her ear, and her head snapped to the side just to check. But she was met with empty, open-air, and her heart sank a little bit, despite knowing he wasn't there. (Y/N) let out a huff, a mix of frustration and sadness, and looked back to the clearing in the bushes where she was watching Terminus. Goddamn it, even when he wasn't there, he was always right. She was going to get herself killed. There was a herd on the way, so it wouldn't hurt to stay a couple days right? Restock, sleep, and then get on the road again before the herd hit. They'd destroy that place anyway.

(Y/N) watched with hardened eyes as the fencing was pulled open, fixed on the men behind it. He had a smile on his face and open hands but his eyes gave him away. There was something menacing behind them. She wasn't sure she wanted to find out what that was. Just a few days.

"Hello there! My name is Gareth, I'm kind of the leader around here. Welcome to Terminus," Gareth greeted, striding forward, much quicker than (Y/N) had liked. She stepped back in response, narrowing her eyes cautiously.

"(Y/N)," She responded after a long pause. Hell, the longer she spent alone, the more she was sounding like her husband. Gareth's eyes flittered to her dirty, bloodied face; to the gun, she held in a vice-like grip; to her furrowed eyebrows; to the way she swayed lightly in exhaustion.

"Well, we're glad to have you. Before you come in, though, I need you to put your weapons on the ground. All of them. Just so we have no surprises," He replied. (Y/N) glanced down to the gun, still with the safety off and hesitated. Gareth waited patiently, much to her odd annoyance. Eventually, she gave a small nod, watching as relief flooded his features. There was something off about him. What was he hiding? She didn't trust him. Not that that meant much anymore. Down the gun went, along with the knife from her belt, still covered in walker blood, and the small handgun she kept clipped to her bag. Gareth came towards her, slowly this time, like someone approaching a scared pet. "I'm just going to pat you down now. Just our policy."

Much to (Y/N)'s relief, he kept professional as he patted along her arms, down her torso and legs and back up again. He was giving her that fake gentle smile. That only made her stiffen and the leader was quick to back off when he was done. He was trying to earn her trust. A nagging voice in the back of her head kept asking why what was he up to? (Y/N) tried to shake the suspicion as she bent down to pick her weapons back up.

"C'mon in," Gareth gestured to the gate and despite her unease, she allowed him to take her through to a small courtyard. There were a few people, maybe ten or so. Some of them were sat down on tables and little booths that were dotted around, and two people were stood next to a barbecue, where there was a blonde woman stood behind cooking. The closer they got, the stronger the smell wafting through the air did, and it made her stomach twist in a knot. She knew that smell. Why did she know that smell? The lady shot (Y/N) a warm smile as she offered her a plate of whatever it was she was cooking. But she only stared at it, a look of scepticism and partial disgust and the Terminus people exchanged a glance. Finally, the lady shrugged and handed the plate to a guy who'd come to stand behind the survivor. "You really find it hard to trust people don't you?"

"I'll be here for a day or two. I just need to rest," (Y/N) cut in sharply, readjusting the bag on her back, leaving a hand on the strap for grounding. Gareth shook his head slightly and placed his hand on his hips.

"Right this way," He breathed, growing increasingly vexed with the newcomer's dismissal. This time, she was led to what looked like a canteen, made out of an old factory (maybe? It was hard to tell), and this time she let herself sit down on a bench that had been shoved against the wall. Her bag was placed on the floor between her feet, never letting it get too far. The three pictures and a random bobby pin that she had no idea how it got there, that were folded in her back pocket were stabbing into her ass through her jeans but she didn't move. If she was going to get stolen from again, she would happily lose everything as long as she could keep those three photos. Gareth disappeared into a back room and she let her gaze slide around the room. It was barren but looked like it had been untouched by the dead. A few minutes stretched by and her knee began to bounce nervously, before he returned, holding a can of sweetcorn, top already taken off, and a glass of water. He handed it to her, and hesitantly she took it. Hell, she was starving.

(Y/N) dug in a second later, ravenous, and it would long before the can was empty. The leader was babbling on about the community and rules and all that bullshit. By god, that man could talk. She'd zoned out by now, more focused on getting fed and hydrated. She took a gulp from the glass, nearly emptying, and putting on an expression that made it seem like she was listening. Slowly, however, his words started to fade in and out, muffling and blending together. Her head felt light, and she felt like she could barely hold herself up. She felt so damn heavy. Her body fell to the side, lying on the bench. Gareth knelt down in front of her. There it was. Through her dotted vision, she could see the dark grin on his face, and a shiver ran down her spine. He'd put something in her food and water. That motherfucker.

"What the hell did-" (Y/N) started. She could hardly recognise her own voice. It was slurred and quiet, but still filled with the anger she'd hoped for. Well, if she was gonna die, he wanted her to know she was pissed about it. Gareth just stared her down, and eventually, she surrendered to the black dots. For Fuck's sake.

The faint noise of hushed chatter made (Y/N) lift her head from the floor. Shit that was a mistake. She scrunched her eyes back shut, trying to relieve her pounding headache. Slowly, she let herself open her eyes again, only to be met by the same darkness, bar a slither of light coming from under, what she assumed to be, a door. Everything fucking hurt, but she still pushed herself up, shuffling until she met a wall, to get grounding. The room couldn't have been very big, a storeroom or something? Well, at the very least, she knew she could trust her instincts. She saw something suspicious in Gareth and the motherfucker had drugged her. Asshole. The next question was, why the fuck had he drugged her? As if the people outside could read her mind, the door slammed open, flooding the room in sunlight, which made (Y/N) shut her eyes. Fuck that headache was killing her. Whoever had opened the door gripped her arm, jerking her out of the room across the rough ground and tearing her skin slightly. That was gonna sting later. She moved to fight back but found her wrists tied by course rope. How hadn't she noticed that? Probably the headache, damn it. When her eyes adjusted, they raised to glare at the person. Gareth. Of fucking course.

"Hey asshole," She quipped, giving him a sarcastic smile and he smiled, though there was no kindness in it. She heard him mumble something about being a smart ass before he lifted a bit of cloth from around her neck (when had that gotten there? Stupid drug side effects) she was tugged to her feet and shoved forward. (Y/N) had no idea where she was going, but the faces of the Terminus people read glad and... hungry? They had plenty of food in that pantry, more than (Y/n) had seen in a long time, why would they be hungry?

It wasn't long before her surroundings became gloomy and darkened as Gareth took her into another old looking warehouse. The corridor opened up to a large room, with different kinds of tools littering the walls and various tools, along with a long trough in the centre of the room. Oh fuck, oh no. Oh no no no. She'd been hunting with Daryl and Merle enough times to know exactly what this fucking meant. She was NOT going out like this, no fucking way. And definitely not without a damn fight She squirmed in his grip, launching her leg backwards to try and kick him, but Gareth managed to jump back just in time. He twisted her arm slightly in return and she released a grunt of pain, but didn't let up, turning, bending, kicking, just moving as much as she possibly could, shouting out, trying to backpedal. Anything to get away from that trough. There were two guys in the corner, bouncing on their heels and shuffling, clearly waiting for Gareth to ask them to step in.

"Stop, fucking stop," Gareth growled in her ear, pushing her forward even more, despite her struggling. She was getting closer, and closer and closer and she was running out of options. This was gonna hurt like a bitch. Better than getting eaten. With a deep breath, she threw her head back, smashing into his nose. Shit, shit, shit she was right that fucking hurt. Instinctively, he let go, swearing violently and she made a mad dash for the door. The likelihood of her actually getting anywhere, especially with tied hands and goons around every corner but hell if they thought she was gonna just lay down and let them kill her, they were wrong. She raced back down the route Gareth had just taken her, and she soon heard three sets of footsteps behind her. She managed to get outside, back to the courtyard she'd been in hours (maybe? she didn't really know how long she was out) earlier, before one of the men who'd been in the slaughter room tackled her to the floor. Well, there went another layer of her skin on the ground. Ow. Over the slight ringing in her ears (Y/N) could hear slightly panicked muttering from the small crowd in the courtyard. Gareth came over seconds later, towering over her, and she grinned at him upon seeing his bloodied nose and the drips of blood on the collar of his shirt. He gripped her shirt harshly and pulled her up and hurriedly pushed her towards the small storeroom she'd been in minutes earlier.

"What? Don't have the balls to try and kill me again?" She asked through the gag, which Gareth pulled down before shoving her down to the floor. He stood in the doorway, glaring down at her with a wild look in his eye. He crouched in front of her, and despite the fear snaking into her, she kept his gaze, smirking slightly.

"Oh, don't worry, we'll kill you. But, you see, we have some newcomers, who we've yet to break the news of how things work here. We don't need you scaring them off. You can stay here for a few days, let things calm down and then..." He trailed off and ran a finger along her cheek. (Y/N) moved her head away, sneering at him.

"And what happens if your new people don't agree with the way you run things? I mean, eating people? You're not that different from the snarlers," She asked, her voice slightly hoarse, but still full of venom. There was that flash of amusement on his face and he leant forward, right in her face. She narrowed her eyes, resisting the urge to smash her head into his nose again. That headache was still hammering behind her eyes and Jesus, it still hurt.

"If they don't agree, you can have some buddies joining you, and you can help the rest of us out," Okay that was just a weirdly cryptic way of saying they'd get eaten too. The leader was still too close for comfort, and she just looked at him, before spitting and narrowly missing his eyes. He snarled and stood up before slamming the door shut behind him and flooding the room with semi-darkness. Fantastic.

The only way (Y/N) was measuring time was the light underneath the door. It'd been around three days, and her arms had started cramping just hours after Gareth had shoved her back in that shithole. Thankfully, around halfway through day two, someone had come and untied her, only so she could eat, but her arms still felt tender. They fed her, and while most of it had expired, it was more than she'd eaten in weeks, and it made her the strongest she'd been in a while. The smell of her own vomit had made her nose numb, and honestly, she couldn't wait to get out even if it meant her becoming dinner. In the darkness and mostly silent room, she had nothing to do, other than getting lost in her thoughts. It was the only thing stopping her from going crazy.

"You're telling me that Merle got you this?" (Y/N) asked, about three years younger, looking back to an also younger Daryl. The pair were stepping through dead leaves, and moving past bushes. He looked over, moving his significantly shorter hair off his forehead.

"Ya really surprised by that?" He questioned, raising his eyebrows. He felt naked without his crossbow, but his girl was holding it tightly, he knew it was in good hands. She laughed quietly, as he led them to the makeshift target range he'd set up the day before.

"Don't really know why I'm surprised by it," She replied, moving slightly closer, and looking down at the crossbow. Her eyes were bright and full of excitement. (Y/N) had been begging her boyfriend for months to teach her to use the crossbow, or at the very least hunting. Not because she was actually particularly interested in it, but because it was such a big part of his and Merle's life. And when Daryl had learnt that, he damn near melted. Stupid, affectionate woman, she remembered him saying, despite the faint blush on his face. "Y'know my mom's been pestering me about getting you to teach her how to use this thing as soon as she found out you used a crossbow."

Daryl glanced over to her, his lips twitched upwards and shook his head. Her mom, Lily, was so sweet on him, and he wasn't quite sure why. However, it was clear that she hadn't been swayed by Merle yet. Couldn't exactly blame her though. His brother was an asshole at the best of times.

"She still movin' to South Carolina?" (Y/N) and Daryl kept walking, but he used a hand on her back to direct her more to the left. She nodded with a small grin but didn't say anything. They walked in comfortable silence, occasionally sneaking glances when the other wasn't looking before they reached their destination. There were various little targets, ranging between small empty bottles and bags full of rice or hay. Daryl took her into a small box on the floor made out of twigs so that there were bigger targets closer to her and smaller targets further away. He started explaining how to pull the string back to the latch, showing her and then letting her do it herself.

(Y/N) brought the crossbow up to rest near her shoulder, closing one eye to look down the arrow track as Daryl had instructed her.

"Merle ever show ya how to use a rifle?" Daryl inquired. He was stood right behind her, so her back was nearly pressed to his chest, and his head was hovering over her other shoulder.

"Would it be Merle if he hadn't?" (Y/N) shot back with a playful smirk and he just chuckled, reaching around and adjusting her grip on the crossbow. He placed his hands over hers, and he could already tell she'd be teasing him about it later, especially if she saw him blushing. Well, if she saw him, he could shoot back that she was blushing too. Win-win, he supposed

"Ya don't damn act like it. Y'ain't even holdin' it right," Daryl returned, but it was light and he wouldn't deny the grin on his face if she said anything. (Y/N) tightened her grip, finding comfort in his hands over hers, keeping her eye on the arrow track. "Now, ya gotta line up the bolt and the arrow track, and when ya think ya got it, ya pull the trigger."

(Y/N) couldn't deny how at home he seemed out there, in the wilderness, with his crossbow. He was content, as content as a Dixon could be at one time, and the way he hovered around her made her fight back a smile. The asshole was just adorable and he didn't realise it.

He watched as her eyebrows scrunched more in concentration, and he felt himself soften when she stuck her tongue out slightly. Fucking hell, she was gonna make his mean redneck facade crack. Not like it mattered, there wasn't anyone around.

With a deep breath, (Y/N) lined up the arrow track with one of the rice-filled bags closer to the box, and pulled the trigger. The bolt went flying out, and the string lurched forward, making her jump and Daryl let out a loud laugh at the movement. The bolt stabbed into the floor right beside the bag and she let out a huff.

"That's pretty good for a first try. I want ya to try and hit one of the bottles. Don't matter if ya miss," He said, short hair sticking to his forehead in the Georgia heat while he moved from behind her to go and retrieve the bolt. As he was getting the bolt, (Y/N) pulled the string back, so when he returned she slid the bolt along the arrow track. She stood back up, and Daryl returned to his place behind her. A few seconds later, the bolt whistled through the air, and once again narrowly missed the bottle. But she felt pride blooming in her chest. It was further away, after all! She turned to her boyfriend with an excited grin, happiness seeping from her and Daryl couldn't help but smile back at her.

They continued like this for a few hours, until (Y/N) arms started to hurt from holding the crossbow up, and they started heading back. She was trailing ahead of Daryl, back in that comfortable, and very frequent, silence. He had to admit, she was pretty damn good. Her aim wasn't bad and after some practice, she'd probably be as good as him. But the excitement she'd had even when she'd missed the targets, her grin every time she got a little bit closer, made his heart feel full. If he hadn't been certain before, he definitely was now. She was it for him. He was gonna marry her someday, even if it wasn't his thing. He was gonna be with her.

The ground-shaking below her feet and an ear-splitting explosion, as well as a faint flash of bright light under the door, knocked her to her side and pushed her from her reminiscing. What the fuck? Silence stretched for a minute before panic started, and footsteps raced past the door. (Y/N) pressed herself against the door, and a second bang went off, close enough to knock some debris into her door, and send it shooting open and slamming her back. She groaned, using the wall to stand up, but she shot behind the door when she heard the all too familiar noise of snarlers. A lone snarler stumbled past her door, and she banged her hand against the wall, just quiet enough for it to only lure the one. It paused and growled, turning into the room. (Y/N) slowly bent down and picked up the bit of debris from the floor, before stepping out and slamming the debris into the snarlers head before it had time to see her. There were more coming, the explosion would have lured them for miles and miles. She had to think fast, but with only the sharp bit of debris, that would definitely break soon, she didn't have many options. Fuck. She was gonna have to cut the snarler open. Great.

With a small shiver, and a pause much longer than she probably should have risked with the oncoming storm of snarlers, she lifted the snarlers ripped shirt and brought the debris down into its stomach. Resisting the urge to vomit (god she'd never get used to that smell), she pressed on until the debris snapped and she started pulling out guts. A disgusted noise escaped her as she started spreading the guts all over her body, along her arms and legs, and, unfortunately, her face too. (Y/N) couldn't resist a shudder as the smell got caught in her nose. Jesus, she couldn't wait to find a creek or a river already and wash this shit off. At least she could go out with the snarlers now, and maybe find a weapon, and maybe her stuff. Not that she had much worth saving. She had her pictures and right now, she was just grateful for that. After giving her lungs a much-needed breath of fresh air, she walked into the sunlight, squinting in the sun, at a snail-like pace. Blend in, please for the love of fuck, please blend in. (Y/N) turned a corner, and she couldn't stop herself from hesitated. Terminus was flooded. There was no fucking chance of her getting her stuff back. She had to get out. Gunshots were filling the air, doing nothing to deter the snarlers.

However, while the snarlers hadn't noticed her, someone from Terminus clearly had. A ginger woman surged forward towards her, knife in hand. Perfect. She immediately stretched her arm out to slash at her face, but (Y/N) managed to duck under her arm and grab it, but the woman twisted and pressed it forward. It inched closer and closer to her face, and a bit too close to her eye, and (Y/N) used the grip she had on her wrist to push it back. Apparently, their strengths were matched, since they didn't move for a second. She grunted lightly, before glancing down. While she was defending her face, this woman had left her legs undefended, and she smiled at her before kicking her knee, hard. The woman went down with a cry of pain, clutching her knee and allowing the knife to clatter to the floor and (Y/N) didn't hesitate to pick it up and stab it into the woman's temple. She let out a sigh, leaning on her thighs for a minute. Christ being locked in a tiny room for a few days and launching into the fight right after wasn't a good idea. The snarlers were getting closer, and (Y/N) plucked the gun from the woman's holster and walked forward, allowing herself to fall into the herd.

She was trying to follow the herd's direction while also looking for an exit. There was a lot of shouting and gunshots and screaming surrounding her, not to mention the groaning and growling of the snarlers, and it was getting harder and harder to decipher which direction any of it was coming from. Her eyes skimmed her surroundings. There had to be an exit somewhere. Right as she thought that, she noticed a gap in the fence, like someone, had torn through it and she started trying to move towards it, as much as she could without alerting the snarlers. Despite the loud noises surrounding her, one noise that was getting easier and easier to pick out were gunshots that were getting closer and closer and the herd getting shoved into two, like a twisted version of Moses splitting the sea. A group of maybe 12-14 people were sprinting through, moving too fast for her to really see them properly, shooting and slashing as they approached the fence. (Y/N) continued on in the herd, hoping she wouldn't get caught in their rampage. It wasn't until one of them got grabbed, a little boy, and was getting pulled forward by a snarler. Some cowboy looking guy froze in his tracks, probably his dad. But he wouldn't get there in time, she knew that. And she wasn't going to have another Anna. Not again. She rushed forward, raising her gun and shooting the snarler right between its eyes. The little boy stared up at her, fear and shock still present in his eyes and her eye softened, before the father came running up. The father pulled him away immediately and stared her down like she hadn't just saved his son's life. She narrowed her eyes and yelled "go!" and thankfully, they didn't hesitate in following her instructions. But now, the snarlers knew she wasn't one of them. She had to make a break for that gap. This would be fun.

(Y/N) felt dead on her feet. She'd been walking for days, and while she was sure it was gonna kill her eventually, every day she was closer and closer to Washington. Maybe another one or two days and she'd be there. Her supplies were running short again, not that she'd found many after Terminus. Most places had been picked clean by now. There had to be something in Washington. There had to be. And while the realist part of her knew she shouldn't get her hopes up, another part of her was really hoping that Daryl would have made his way North, and be there, with his weird attachment to his crossbow, and his much too short hair, and following behind her louder than life brother-in-law, and the fiddling of his wedding band whenever he was nervous, or angry, or even just lost in thought. She hadn't really let herself think about him much since the world had gone to shit, apart from in Terminus, and it made her heart hurt. He could be dead. He could have died months ago and she was just holding out false hope. Merle could be dead.

That only reminded her of why she hadn't let herself think of her family much. (Y/N) shook her head and focused on the woods surrounding her. There was a map tucked into the side of the worn backpack she'd found two nights ago, and there were a knife and a gun strapped around her waist. Like the rest of her resources, she was running low on bullets. Maybe ten or eleven bullets left. Knife work had become common practice unless she'd gotten caught in a tight spot, which thankfully hadn't been often. But with each day and the lack of supplies, she was getting weak again, and she knew if there was nothing in Washington, she would probably die. And it was fucking terrifying. She was just thanking whatever god, or lack of, was up there that her husband had taught her to track and to navigate the woods.

Nightfall was nearing, and (Y/N) had managed to find the ruins of an old gas station. If there'd been more choice, she would have found somewhere else. It was too similar to where she'd stayed with her group near the beginning. With Kai, her mom, Andrew... But there was nowhere else, and it was safe enough, so it would have to do. It beat sleeping in a tree again. Seriously, sleeping in trees was going to destroy her back. After clearing the gas station, and trying to barricade the doors as much as possible, she opened the latch of the room, closing it behind her, and climbed onto the roof. She placed her bag down on the roof, and hesitantly lay down, using her bag as a pillow, keeping her knife and gun close. Nowadays, as it had been further proved by Terminus, it wasn't just the dead she had to worry about. After a lot of tossing, turning, rumbling of her stomach and worrying, her body finally shut down, and she let herself sleep.

Dawn was barely breaking when she was woken by the sound of brakes squealing. Fuck. People weren't something that reassured her. Not anymore By instinct, the sleep was shaken from her body and the grogginess was non-existent as she crawled back to the latch, panic starting to rise in her chest.

"You're sure it was here you saw someone from Hilltop? Boss is coming to check it out himself," An unfamiliar, and much too loud considering how many walkers were around. The door of their vehicle was slammed shut.

" I saw 'em last night. Just the one, killed a couple dead fucks and barricaded the doors. Looked tired, sick, think they ran away from Hilltop or something," Another voice replied. Oh fuck. This guy had seen her. He had to know where she was. She was gonna have to have a mad dash for freedom. Carefully, she opened the latch, making sure to drop into a crouch when she got back into the store and tiptoed towards the backroom where the least barricaded door was, only made of a relatively flimsy. metal shelf Last night, she'd been too exhausted to barricade it properly, which now she looked back was unbelievably stupid, however it was also potentially saving her life now. The two voices continued as they got closer to the storefront, and (Y/N) used the little strength she had to push the barricade out of the way and opened the door. However in her rush to escape, she hadn't noticed the bit of broken metal jutting out of the shelf, so as she pushed her body against it, it torn through the side of her leg. Red seeped down her leg, making a small pool on the floor quickly. (Y/N), you fucking idiot.

"Fuck!" She whispered. Fucking hell that hurt! She moved to try and apply pressure but the sound of glass smashing in the front of the store made her freeze. She didn't have time to stop, she had to get out of here, even if it killed her. Something about the way these people talked alone felt off. Honestly, she wasn't sure if it wasn't just her paranoia at this point, but after Terminus and that night at the camp, she wouldn't risk it. Just as she limped outside, she heard another squeal and she could only assume another vehicle had pulled up. Her bag, her body, everything felt heavy as she stumbled forward and back into the woods. She wasn't getting far, but if she could get just far enough that she could hide, maybe she'd be okay. Knowing her luck, it wasn't damn likely. (Y/N) couldn't help but be hyper-aware of the blood trail she had to be leaving behind. She managed to get a fair distance before the pain searing up her leg stopped her, and she hid inside a bush. She didn't have any other options. She heard swearing and shouting, and some snarlers getting taken down and eventually, two men came barging out the partially open back door. One of them was holding a rifle, up and ready to shoot and the other one had a revolver. Both of them looked like the perfect example of someone who could ruin (Y/N)'s day.

They were looking around, still on guard, and it was clear they were looking for snarlers until she saw a new guy on the roof where she'd been just minutes ago and called down that she wasn't there. Well hell, they were definitely looking for her now. One hand was clutching her leg, desperately trying to stop the bleeding as much as possible so she didn't bleed out, while the other gripped her gun tightly, ready to fight if she had to. She had to bite her lip to stop her from crying out as she applied more and more pressure. It wasn't deep enough to have hit a vein, and she knew if she'd hit an artery she would already be dead and eating these fuckers, but it was deep enough to not stop bleeding with a little bit of pressure. Upon hearing that (Y/N) wasn't on the roof they cursed, and pressed further on and unluckily, nearer to her bush. Rifle guy whispered to revolver guy and revolver guy went back around the building towards where she assumed the vehicles were. Maybe he was going for the boss? She watched carefully, before letting her gaze fall back to her leg, applying more pressure and she was starting to taste something metallic in her mouth as well as she bit her lip harder. Apparently, that split second was all it took for the rifle guy to creep forward right in front of her bush. It made her think that they'd known where she was all along.

There was the end of a rifle right in her face when she looked up and she couldn't stop the alarm from spilling into her eyes as they met his. This guy had a smirk on his face, looking very accomplished. The living didn't want to give him a fucking break, did they? Knowing her chances against a rifle were disadvantaged, she stood up slowly from her hiding, wincing as she put a little pressure on her leg. The barrel followed her as she rose, even as she stumbled slightly on her injured leg. The pair stared at each other in a moment of tense silence, and she tried her hardest not to let her internal panic spread to the outside, and (Y/N) scowled at him, eyes sharp and narrowed. What she was about to do was the dumbest plan she'd ever had, but with a fucked up leg and nothing to patch her up, none of her options was looking particularly great. So, she quickly raised her gun and fired, so soon he only just reacted. The bullet skimmed his head, tearing a bit of skin from the side of it, and he tackled her, his rifle falling out of either of their reach, but not before catching her face and leaving a nick on her forehead. A cry, borderline scream, escaped her as his knee fell onto her wound, but she gritted her teeth and stretched to his belt where a knife was protruding. He pulled back, but she'd just managed to grab it and turned them around so she was straddling him awkwardly, her injured leg at an angle to avoid any pressure.

(Y/N) raised the knife to stab it down into his head, seeing an angry but smug expression on his face. She couldn't help but wonder how the fuck someone in his situation could be smug, but her question was answered by the clicking of four or five, as far as she could tell, guns.

"I'd drop that if I were you," Rifle guy smirked from underneath her, and she glared but reluctantly released the knife and let it drop. He shoved her off and she let out a grunt of pain. Shit that leg was going to get infected. Her gaze raised to look at the semi-circle of men around her, along with one woman, with dark-haired and bleached tips pulled into a bun and a deadly look in her eyes. The rifle guy stood up and picked up his rifle and joined his people. A slight glimmer in the corner of her eye in the dawn sun made her look up, and there he stood in dead centre. He clutched a barbed wire wrapped bat, a glove on the hand holding it, and she had to admire his weapon. It was pretty damn cool. Baseball bat guy was wearing a white shirt, super impractical for the apocalypse she couldn't stop herself thinking, with a leather jacket on top. His hair was dark, but greying along the sides and in his scruff. And he was grinning, and while there was no malice in it, it didn't make her feel at ease by any means. If anything, it made her squirm more. His eyes raked down her body and suddenly she felt small. He was a predator, and she was the prey. Oh fuck. He whistled, almost akin to that of a wolf whistle.

"God damn lady! If that didn't make my pants tight I don't, know what will! Adam, you should be ashamed. She nearly killed you, and she was fucking injured!" Baseball guy grinned, stepping forward swinging the bat slightly. (Y/N) didn't say a word, just glared at him and she saw entertainment dancing behind his eyes. He crouched in front of her. She was starting to get really sick of egotistical men who had a little bit of power over her crouching in front of her. Fucking condescending assholes. His eyes dragged down to her wound, and he pressed two fingers to it, making her hiss.

"Go to hell," She growled, leaning towards his face. If only to prove she wasn't intimidated despite the terror in her lungs. He let out a loud laugh. But unlike the murderers at camp or Gareth, it wasn't fake or dark. It was a genuine laugh. Somehow that worried her more.

"Is that any way to talk to your saviour?" He asked with a cockiness that made her skin crawl. Her glare deepened, and he removed his hand from her wound. He wiped his bloody hand on his jeans, before using it to grip her chin. She had to resist the urge to pull her face away. This guy was more dangerous than the other asshole men she'd met. He was calm but dangerous. Like a landmine that hasn't yet gone off. One wrong move and he'd explode. After a second her eyebrows raised in question. "If I hadn't come, you would have killed Adam, not that I could blame you," He leant forward to her ear whispering the next part "He's made moves on some of my wives before. You'd be doing me a favour. However, my loyal crew here would have had to kill you. But I sent my crew and stopped you, so you get to live. You should thank me."

With that last sentence, she was suddenly back nearly two years in front of a dim campfire, with Andrew and her mom at her side. Kai's body, wide-eyed and still bleeding, was slumped in front of her, her mom's throat was slashed and she was gurgling, trying her hardest to cry out. Andrew was beside her, the ghost of a triumphant grin on his face and a bullet between his eyes.

"Really you should be thanking us."

Baseball guy was watching her with a wide grin, as she came back to reality. She was trembling, and tears were building in the corner of her eyes. God damn it.

"Should have a stony as shit lady like you had met some fucked up people. The way I see it, you're in my debt," He heaved himself up with a deep sigh, still holding the barbed wire bat, which he placed beneath her chin, the spikes cutting and pricking her skin lightly. He clicked his tongue and his eyebrows flashed up quickly. "Hell, woman, you gotta stop giving me that look. Makes me wanna take you back home and fuck you six ways to Sunday."

It took every fibre in her body to stop her from shuddering, and she already knew that when the adrenaline ran out she would be having some form of breakdown. That would be fun

"But, we can discuss that later," He said with a wink "As I was saying, you're in my debt, and you have two ways to pay it off."

"Which are?" She ground out, pressing harder on her wound. Oh, she was definitely going to pass out from blood loss soon. She was already starting to feel woozy.

"See fellas! This is what I mean when I say I want direct! Goddamn, I can tell you are gonna fit right in!" (Y/N)'s unamused look made Baseball guy laugh heartily before continuing on "You can either join us, work for me, we break you down and you become my soldier. Maybe if I'm lucky I can convince you to become a lovely wife for me," He shot her a wink and words of rejection were already building on her tongue "Or, we kill you. Right here and now and leave you for the dead fucks."

Well. She probably should have seen that coming. Men like him wanted few things, and they usually fell along the same lines. From the way he spoke, while he was brash, vulgar and clearly larger than life, he seemed to have a vague, fucked up, set of morals. While he'd talked about fucking her, he'd never suggested forcing it upon her. But she could never be too careful. (Y/N) knew if she tried to run, she wouldn't get anywhere and they'd kill her anyway. Maybe if she went with them, they would patch her up, she'd work there for a while and make an escape. Maybe this guy was just an asshole and his community wasn't bad. From the look of his crew, not likely. Once again, she had limited options. She was getting sick of being in these situations. Baseball guy was watching her, glee in his eyes. However, he was growing impatient, and she could tell when he pushed the barbed wire slightly more into her chin, tearing into her skin, that she knew she had to give him an answer. (Y/N) wasn't stupid enough to deny she was scared. If she wasn't full of so much adrenaline, she would probably be paralysed by it. But she looked up at him, as much as she could with the barbed wire pricking her chin and met his eyes.

"I'll join you."

Being in that room felt too much like Terminus. If it hadn't been for the stitches in her leg, her brain could have tricked her into thinking she was there. It was silent, more so than Terminus. At Terminus, she could at least hear people in the courtyard and walking past the door. She could keep track of time through the sunlight under the door. Here, there was nothing. No light. No noise. Nothing. She didn't know how long she'd been there. They fed her, and at least here the food wasn't expired and once in a while (once a day maybe?) some guy in a scientist coat came in to check and change her bandages. The doctor had told her that Baseball guy was called Negan, but everyone was Negan, which made no fucking sense but she was sure it would in time, and they were in 'The Sanctuary'. Narcissistic bastard. (Y/N) had a strong suspicion that he wasn't supposed to be telling her by the hushed voice he used, but she didn't reject the information. It was the most someone had talked to her in days (hours? Who fucking knew anymore). There had been six doctors visits, so maybe six days if she was right about the time frame, until they pulled her out.

Danica was still storming ahead, but Ben had fallen back to walk beside (Y/N) and Lily, who had an arm around her daughter as she worked through the shock.

"Thank you for saving our asses back there," (Y/N) mumbled quietly and Ben looked to her with a small smile. He shrugged, and turned back to his sister, keeping a careful eye on her. She was pissed, and she got reckless when she was pissed.

"Don't worry about it. Maybe you can save my ass in the future as payback," He quipped lightly, and a small giggle escaped Lily. They were deep in the woods by now, and the dim flashlights Danica and Ben were holding were the only things stopping them from being completely blind. (Y/N) smiled at him. He seemed sweet, unlike his bitchy companion.

"Maybe," She responded faintly. Milky white eyes kept flashing in front of her, guts spilling from a stomach and she shook her head viciously to remove the image. Ben's face suddenly fell, and his eyebrows furrowed as he began running towards Danica. Lily and (Y/N) followed soon after as soon as they saw Danica holding someone at gunpoint. There were four of them, one of them stood in front, wearing a military-style uniform, holding a gun and a military-grade backpack on their back. Two of them stood in front of a little girl, no older than 6 or 7. One of them had short ginger hair with thick eyebrows, looking stony and glaring at Danica. The other kept his hand hovering near the ginger guy and the other hand in front of the kid. He had long, shoulder-length green hair that was starting to fade. (Y/N) rushed to Danica's side, narrowing her eyes at the strangers.

"Hey, hey, hey, look we don't want no trouble. Just wanna get down ta Georgia," The military one said, attempting to defuse the situation, placing the gun down on the floor.

"We have a kid for fuck's sake," The ginger one snapped and (Y/N) looked to Danica. When she didn't move to put the gun away, she put a hand on her arm to get her to lower it. Danica glared daggers at her but hesitantly lowered the gun. The little kid was looking scared, but she had these big green eyes. (Y/N) was never one for kids, she and Daryl had had that discussion before, but she was cute, and she could see herself getting attached to her.

"Hey, alright, it's okay. We just had a tough time, we're all a little on edge. I'm (Y/N) Dixon, this is my mom, Lily, and these two are Danica and Ben," (Y/N) introduced trying to give them a reassuring smile. The tension in the green-haired guy's shoulders deflated slightly and the little girl moved forward a little.

"I'm Kai Thompson," The military one smiled, picking their gun back up and shoving it in their holster. "This is Andrew and Oliver Stewart, and their daughter Anna."

Lily crouched down in front of Anna giving her a little grin, as she moved from behind her dads. She extended a hand to the little girl who took it reluctantly. Her dads were watching carefully, still not trusting her entirely.

"Heya Anna, I'm Lily," She said softly, shaking her hand gently. (Y/N) folded her arms slowly, giving the group a once over, and she noticed how Ben kept his hand over his knife.

"Where y'all headed?" Kai asked, and (Y/N) could pick out that strong Georgia drawl anywhere. It only made her think of Daryl and Merle, out in the middle of nowhere, possibly dead by now. She had to get home.

"Down to Georgia, you?" Ben replied, raising his eyebrows. (Y/N) could feel eyes burning into the back of her head and it didn't take a genius to figure out it was Danica.

"Us too. Meant to be a safe zone in Atlanta," Kai answered, finally dragging their eyes away from Danica. There was a look of budding trust in their eyes, and (Y/N) could tell that they were going to keep each other safe.

When the door creaked open, (Y/N) squinted at the artificial light that flooded the room. Oh, this was way too much like Terminus. A deep chuckle made it abundantly clear about who was standing in the doorway, despite her current lack of sight. As her eyes adapted, she saw him extending a hand to her to help her up.

"C'mon gorgeous, think you've spent enough time in this shithole. Much too disgusting for a lady like you," Negan smirked, and she glared back at him but took his hand. He helped her to her feet, catching her as she toppled slightly on her bad leg. She could tell he was resisting the urge to make a shitty joke about 'falling for him' and she was glad he didn't say it. If he had, she probably would have hit him and sealed her fate as dead.

"Where are we going?" (Y/N)'s throat felt like acid, as she limped beside him. He was leading her back through the corridors deep in the Sanctuary and upstairs, which took her much longer than she'd hoped. Despite how long it took her, Negan didn't lose his patience this and with him still clutching that damn bat, that she'd learnt he called Lucille, she had to be grateful. He was even helping her when he could. However, after being alone for so long, she hated herself for relying on someone else, especially someone like him.

"You've got a big test, beautiful. Gotta make sure you belong here. And I really hope you do, because I wanna pound into you at least once even if you won't marry me," Negan grinned and part of her wished she were still in that cage. Sure, she was convinced she was going crazy in there, but at least she was away from his uncouth comments.

"Not interested," (Y/N) shot back, almost immediately, narrowing her eyes. That only made Negan laugh again, helping her up a small set of stairs.

"Well, that's a damn shame. Never say never though, princess. I'm sure I can convince you," Did he ever stop talking? She knew he was trying to get under her skin, and unfortunately, he was succeeding.

"You've got other wives, fuck them instead," She snapped, sarcastically. Shit, her smart mouth was going to get her killed someday. Pick your damn battles (Y/N).

"Just cause I've got wives doesn't mean I can't mess around some, right darling?" He returned. That cocky grin didn't fall from his face, but there was danger hiding in his eyes. Stop pushing, stop pushing.

"Clearly we have different definitions of marriage," With her response, Negan's eyes darted to her ring finger and he chuckled humourlessly when he saw the silver band. Well, she had just shown her hand. Good fucking job.

"Married, huh? What a shame. Always the hottest ones that are taken. He still out there?" He asked, voice light with glee but she looked away, glaring and biting her tongue. To (Y/N)'s relief, he dropped the subject as they reached a huge room, once again looking a bit too similar to the empty warehouses of Terminus.

Negan removed his hand from hers and moved her to be leant against the metal railing. Below them most if not all of the Saviours were gathered, looking scared and confused, and there was a guy tied to a chair in the dead centre of the group. (Y/N) managed to pick out a small huddle of women, all wearing strappy black dresses and tall heels. His wives. The thought made her squeamish as she looked at the discomfort on their faces. All of a sudden, he slammed Lucille on the metal railing beside her, making her jump out of her skin. He placed a hand on her back, but she limped to the side, just out of his reach. She didn't want his filthy hands on her. Everyone's heads shot up, and they fell to one knew. What kind of cult-level shit was this?

"As all of you know, when we save someone new, when we get a new recruit... they have to prove their loyalty. You know what's about to happen, and you know it isn't going to be pretty. But we got a rule breaker in our midst and a new recruit, so why not kill two birds with one stone?" Negan started down the stairs just beside where (Y/N) was positioned, and she watched him cautiously. "Now, I wish I could let this slide, I wish I could ignore the rules, but this man here betrayed us. Our little AJ here decided he didn't want to spy on our friends at the Kingdom anymore and made a runner! Now, you all know that one of the things I can't stand is a traitor. We're all we have in this shitty world and we can't be turning our backs on one another! Why can't I ignore our little rule-breaker here?"

"The rules keep us alive!" Seriously, this had to be a cult. (Y/N) didn't know how much longer she could stay here. They were all fucking insane.

"That's right! We survive, we save others, we bring civilisation! Rules keep us alive," The guy in the chair, AJ, eyes were darting around, filled to the brim with terror. "And we need to show that to our newest member! So, it's time to punish our dear AJ, and time for our newest member to prove her loyalty. Arat, hand me the saw."

The woman (Y/N) had seen at the gas station the other day strutted over, handing Negan a sharp saw, with the hint of a smirk on her mouth. God, what was wrong with the people here? (Y/N) felt her blood run cold as Negan took the saw and stepped towards AJ, who was starting to panic, wriggling in his bonds. Negan looked up to her, and he stifled a laugh at how tense she was. Without any other words, Negan pulled AJ's sleeve up, and rest the saw on his arm. He wasn't. He couldn't. But she was wrong. Negan brought the saw down, slicing it into the guy's arm. AJ let out a blood-curdling scream, and (Y/N) felt her blood run cold. Her eyes were wide, and she could feel panic sinking into her lungs. There was red everywhere, dripping down his arm, onto the floor, staining Negan's shirt, his scruff, his jacket. He just kept screaming and screaming and screaming. She couldn't breathe. The sickening noise of bones snapping and seperating, of flesh tearing filled the air. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Eventually, the guy passed out, just as Negan yanked his dismembered arm off. (Y/N) was frozen in spot. What the fuck, what the fuck. He looked at her again grinning and used AJ's arm to wave at her. (Y/N) managed to drag her eyes away and looked around the room. The saviour's faces were all blank, no one showing any emotion apart from Negan's wives, who were crying in horror.

"Doc, take him away, fix him up. Fellas, bring it in!" The doctor who had been checking (Y/N)'s leg started untying AJ and quickly whisked him away on a stretcher that had been placed to one side. There was an all too familiar noise of a snarler behind her, and (Y/N)'s head snapped to look at the doorway Negan had to lead her through earlier, and there stood two saviours leading a snarler on a weird adapted leash. It was reaching out, teeth-gnashing, and she tried to scurry back, but her stupid leg decided she had moved too quickly. She tripped and started to fall back but was stopped by Negan once again. She hadn't heard him come back upstairs, but to be fair she was more focused on the snarler. He wrapped an arm around her waist while she tried to move away, and she thrashed slightly. She had no fucking weapon, what the fuck was he doing? She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe.

"See, if you're going to be one of us, you can't be afraid to get your hands dirty, and do every little task I ask of you," Negan announced, handing AJ's arm to her. "Feed it to the dead fuck."

"You alright, princess? You look pale," Negan asked. He'd moved her to what looked like a meeting room after she'd...

(Y/N) didn't say a word. She still hadn't fully comprehended what just happened and she was just staring at the floor, silently. She couldn't reply. Even if she wanted to. Red everywhere, flesh tearing, bones cracking and creaking. Negan walked over to where she sat, placing Lucille on the table right in front of her, before he placed his hands on her shoulders, to which she'd flinched much to his satisfaction, and leant down next to her ear.

"Okay, better question. Who are you?" He whispered, and she squirmed at the feeling of his breath on her neck.

"I'm Negan."

"Hey Spencer, are Aaron and Eric back yet?" (Y/N) questioned, jogging over to the gate. They should have been back two days ago, but the storm must have stopped them and she couldn't deny how worried she'd been. Deanna had let her into Alexandria about two weeks ago, just after Negan had sent her on her task. She shouldn't be getting attached. She knew that. And she knew it would make it all hurt later, but despite how weak everyone in this place, and how little they knew of the struggles outside the walls, they were the first trustworthy people she'd met since Kai and the others. Spencer let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes.

"If they'd been back, do you think you wouldn't be the first to know?" He snapped, and she raised her eyebrows, daring him to keep pushing. She'd beaten his ass twice before, she would happily do it again. The way he and his brother dealt with runs was ridiculous, and they'd fought over it on more than one occasion. Deanna had nearly kicked her out the second time it got ugly.

In the short time she'd been there, she'd found herself growing close to Aaron and Eric. When she arrived, Deanna could sense something was suspicious about her. As much as the woman irritated her, (Y/N) couldn't deny her sharp wit. She'd put her in with Aaron and Eric after the latter had offered, in some weird hope that they would stop her from getting into trouble. (Y/N) had to hand it to her, apart from a few odd occasions, the couple had been keeping her out of fights, especially when she first joined the community. After so long out there, she was always on guard, and while she didn't think she'd be able to ever get rid of that, she felt safer here. From the snarlers at the very least.

After Nicholas walked over to take his shift on guard duty, Spencer shoved past her. That guy had serious issues. With a small sigh, (Y/N) turned around and walked back into her neighbourhood. She had to get back to her job. Even though she'd hated the idea of working again, of pretending that the world hadn't gone to hell, after a few days, she had started falling into a routine. Since she had much more experience out there than anyone in the whole of Alexandria (not even Eric or Aaron really had any idea what it was like despite being out there so often), she went on runs with Spencer, Nicholas and Aidan, though she knew there was something slightly fishy going on there. Half the time Aidan and Nicholas would wander off somewhere and leave her with Spencer. Spencer only came on runs sometimes, but he would share looks with the other men before they left. Part of her had been tempted to go with them, but she got an awful feeling that prying would do her little good. Especially if they started prying into her business because of it. That would get them killed. And probably her too.

Every week, she had to meet someone from The Sanctuary with information about Alexandria. He needed to know whether it was worth making a deal with them. At first, it had been every two days, and Negan had come himself, to ensure she didn't try anything. But after a few days, he started sending random Saviours, most of which she'd never seen before and extended the time between. She hated them. Every inch of her soul hated herself for ever accepting Negan's offer. She should have died that morning. That would have been better than living with the constant crawling guilt every time anyone showed her any kindness. Or the nightmares of AJ and that snarler that would haunt her every time she closed her eyes. Part of her was tempted to run away, but she knew they'd find her. Negan wouldn't let her go, now he had her unless she was very lucky. But as she'd learnt the past few years, she definitely wasn't.

When she wasn't on runs, she was helping run Alexandria, not that Deanna ever realised it. (Y/N) had learnt that suggesting was more effective than demanding. If she made it sound like it was Deanna's idea, it was more likely to get through to her. That was the only reason some of her ideas had even gotten put into place, like putting locks on houses of the elderly to lock at night in case they passed and turned in their sleep.

"(Y/N)!" A familiar voice sounded and (Y/N) turned around to see Enid jogging over. The teen was known to be extremely antisocial, and according to one of Jessie's sons, Ron, it had taken her nearly three weeks to say anything when she first joined. But for some reason, she'd gotten attached to (Y/N), and she stuck by her as much as she could. Maybe it was the fact that they both knew how much the post-apocalyptic world outside the walls sucked. Enid came to walk beside her as she started heading back to the house she shared with Aaron and Eric. God, she had to stop getting attached. They would hate her later.

"You doing okay, kiddo? I thought Pete was meant to be teaching you and Denise some medical crap?" (Y/N) questioned, shoving her hands in her pockets. Enid shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"He was, but he only wanted to teach Denise because I'm 'just a kid'" She grumbled, using sarcastic air quotations that made (Y/N) chortle. Enid gave a small smile, one that only (Y/N) really got to see.

"Well, kid, you already know how I feel about that man," The two continued walking, exchanging repetitive conversation about the pantry, Pete, Enid bitched about Ron and Sam before they reached her house. They stepped inside and collapsed onto the couch.

"Hey, I was wondering, next time you're on a run, could you try and grab some more comics? I've nearly read all mine, and Sam keeps stealing them," Enid asked, bashfully and (Y/N) smiled. The kid played adult more often than not, and it was nice seeing her actually acting like a child.

"Of course, Enid, I'll see what I can find," She answered, and Enid went to thank her when Denise came crashing through the front door, making the pair jump to their feet. Shit, walkers? An attack?

"They're back and Eric is in the infirmary, c'mon!" Denise dashed off again, and (Y/N) was hot on her heels, sprinting to the infirmary. What the hell did that idiot do now? How bad was he injured? When they reached the infirmary, (Y/N) didn't pause for even a second, and went barreling to Eric's side. Pete was hovering near his feet, but she couldn't help but notice how deathly pale her friend was.

"What did you do, you dumbass?" She demanded, but Eric could hear the pure relief in her voice, and he smiled back at her, despite the small glare on her face.

"Just took a page out of your book," He teased, but let out a groan as Pete started setting his ankle, which she was starting to guess was broken.

"Be careful, asshole," She hissed, and Pete sent her a deathly glare. Eric put a hand over hers, to reassure her. She knew it wasn't Pete's fault, but she was still winding down from the worry.

After about half an hour, Eric was moved home, with the help of Denise, Enid and (Y/N), and she hadn't moved from his side, except to get him anything he needed. Enid had left to give them some space. According to Eric, Aaron had found a new group of about 14 people, and at some point, they'd split up and half of them had found and saved him from getting eaten by snarlers. She made a mental note to thank them later. Aaron had gone with the group for their interviews. Yeah, she remembered hers. Even then she'd found Deanna pretentious. Eric was the one who noticed Aaron walking back to the house, and he laughed when (Y/N) sprinted out of the house to nearly tackle him in a hug. Aaron had to step back a few steps so he didn't fall over, and he was more than a little surprised. She didn't show affection very often, but he supposed he'd probably scared her by being out for so long. Over his shoulder, she couldn't help but notice some kid in a sheriffs hat with his dad. Hell, he looked a lot like that kid from Terminus. But she was probably imagining it.

"You can't just stay in here until my ankle heals, you need to leave, do your job, actually talk to people. Besides, Denise is bringing my crutches later," Eric stated, folding his arms. Aaron was stood behind him from where he sat on the couch, and they were ganging up on her.

"When you first got here, we didn't stay here every day while you had that gash in your leg," Aaron agreed, and (Y/N) started messing with her ring absently, narrowing her eyes.

"You barely knew me then. It's been two weeks and I know you better now," She shot back, starting to pace slightly.

"Okay, look. If you go out for at least an hour, you can come back and check on me. I can survive for an hour, as long as I have a book or something," Eric tried to reason, and (Y/N) paused, holding his gaze. Fuck, they weren't going to let this go until she went outside. It was two against one, and she wasn't going to win this one.

"Alright, fine. One hour, but then I'm coming right back," She snapped grumpily, and the men both grinned. "But let it be known, I'm not happy about this."

"Oh, believe me, we know," Aaron laughed, before kissing Eric's cheek and heading out the door. (Y/N) went to walk out but Eric caught her arm.

"I'll be fine, (Y/N). I promise," He stated and she sighed, leaning down to give him a brief hug before nodding and waking out the door after Aaron. He was stood out front, talking to a large group. Must be the new group, since she knew all the faces here by now. The kid (Y/N) had seen yesterday raised his arm, waving at her with a kind smile, and she waved back, beaming. Then it dropped and she froze, as her eyes caught with some in the small crowd. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. She had to be hallucinating. This couldn't be real

"Daryl?" She heard someone say, but it sounded like her. She couldn't move. This was it. She'd lost her mind, she'd gone crazy. She felt her eyes building with tears, as the breeze blew her hair into her face.

His crossbow, the one he'd taught her how to use so many years ago now, fell to the ground with a clatter, and suddenly he was moving, running, closer and closer until he stopped right in front of her. Her eyes darted all over his body. This felt so real. Could it be real? There was a moment of dead silence between them, where she couldn't hear the confused muttering of the group behind her. Where she couldn't see the wide grin on Aaron's face as he put the pieces together. Then suddenly, Daryl launched forward, yanking her into him so tightly she thought she felt her ribs creak.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. She wasn't crazy. He was there, he was right fucking there, holding her so tightly, a hand on the back of her head keeping her locked against him. Her fingers stabbed into the back of his vest, and she was whispering against his neck without even realising it.

"You're alive, you're alive, you're here," Over and over. She could feel him trembling and tears dripping onto her neck but she didn't care. Her Daryl was alive. Her husband was alive.

"Holy shit," Daryl choked out, and she felt like she could have cried. She never thought she'd hear that gruff, southern drawl again. She let out a teary laugh and she pulled back just enough so she could see him properly. Her hands drifted from his back to hold his cheeks, thumbs running over his cheeks, still laced with dirt and grime.

"If you haven't brushed your teeth, I'm going to kill you, Dixon," She said with a smile before she tugged him forward into a rough kiss. His hands shifted to her hips and he held on so tightly. Like she would disappear if he let go for even a second. Behind them, she could hear Aaron's voice, filled with glee, and the voice of a woman in a similar tone. Confused voices, borderline shouting, and the sound of footsteps running over. But none of it mattered.

He was alive.

TAGS: OPEN

Tags (for this series): @graniairish @fuseburner @gloomystorm @bxxbxy @browneyes528 @hoemadegrace

(Some of the tags didn’t work last chapter for some reason I’m sorry!)

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faustonastring · 4 years

Note

Hello! How the main 6 (especially Asra) would react if MC recover their memories?

Thank you for requesting hopefully you like it!

Request are open :)

How the main 6 react to Mc recovering their memories

(Also another fun disclaimer: I feel like this really depends on what terms your mc left off on with each of the Li’s I also feel like your apprentices past definitely would effect this depending on how you imagined it, so for the sake of this head canon I’m going to be using the in game canon as a reference, but if any one wants something more spefic lmk!)

Asra

Immediately checks you for headaches, nausea, anything that could be hurting you, and when he sees that your okay?

I can’t begin to describe the amount of diffrent emotions that goes through his head.

He’s happy! Of course he’s happy this is all he’s ever wanted, this is what he’s been looking forward to for the past three, four years? But then it hits him like the bus that hit Regina George, you remember everything

You remember that he left you to die during the mist of the red plague, that he wasn’t there for you, that he left you to die

He shuts down for a minute, dropping to his knees In the middle of the shop, clutching his heart, uncontrollably crying, what has he done what has he done what has he done what has he done

Please just run over to him and hold him, let him ride it out, tell him you still love him, that you’ll never leave him (like he left you) that its gonna be okay, no matter what terms you left off on, you’re still here, none of that matters any more

When he calms down he makes you both some tea and you talk over everything, before the plague, during the plague, even after the plague, while he holds you in his arms playing/braiding your hair

And afterwards, you both feel kind of refreshed, you head off to bed early that night, tired from crying, laughing, other things

And when he wakes up? You’re still there next to him, you don’t care about what happened in the past, you’re here now, and asra is finally realizing that, and now he’s just happy, happy you remember the old, and you get to remember the new

But if things didn’t go that smoothly? Asra would run off to nopal for a couple days to blow off some steam, to have some time alone to comprehend what the hell is going on, and when he comes back, he’s better....but things don’t seem to be the same.....

Nadia

Cancels all her plans, all her meetings, hell, she even considers canceling the masquerade even though it’s months away the only thing that matters right now is you

Asks you how you feel, do you need anything? Water, tea, maybe some golden goose? Anything you need will be at your hand within seconds of you asking for it, and now that you have everything.... tell her everything

She wants to know everything to your family, your realtor ship with asra, your opinions on Lucio, and more importantly if she’s a better leader or not, she won’t directly ask you (maybe she’ll ask if there is a couple things she still needs to improve on) but please let her know she’s doing a much better job now, and a better job than Lucio could EVER do, (countesses get self conscious too guys)

She’ll ask if you want to get back in touch with your family, and if you do, they’ll be at the palace by sunrise, if you don’t, she’ll ask why, then ask if you’re sure, then tell you to forget she ever asked in the first place (but does bring up inviting your family to the winter ball or masquerade)

The rest of the day is spent cuddling in bed, while eating fancy foods and talking about your family, your childhood, your old crushes, and trash talking Lucio, because now you remember even more about him, and you really wish you didn’t

Julian

He freezes for a moment, unsure on what to do- you remember everything? How? Are you okay, are you hurting, do you need to lay down?

Tells you to sit down while he makes you some tea and asks you some “very important” questions (as he calls them) like the basics; “does your head hurt? Are you dizzy, nauseous? No fever right? That’s good that’s good...”

Then starts asking more serious questions, like “what’s the earliest you remember. What’s you’re favorite memory? Your least? What was the latest memory you have, up until.... you know...”

And when you tell him it’s you, dying at the Lazaret, poor man goes paler than he already was, going uncharacteristically silent, then sputtering out every apology in the book (no matter what happens, I headcanon that asra, Lucio, and Julian still feel a tad bit responsible for your death.... I mean trauma doesn’t just go away over night...)

You have to constantly tell him that it’s okay, that it wasn’t his fault, and try to coax him out of his anxiety attack, and when you do get him out, he starts to realize that you forgive him, you remember and you forgive him. For everything he’s done. For lashing out on you, for leading you to you’re death (and anything else that happened in your canon) and you still forgive

He breaks down sobbing clutching in to you for dear life, now muttering thank you, not fully understanding why you still love a sapsucker like him, but here you are, holding him, petting his hair, telling him you love him, that it will be okay, that you’re hear for him. And he falls asleep in your arms, wherever you are, the clinic, the raven, his house, hell even mazelinkas, and doesn’t have any nightmares about your death, and after that day never does

But let’s say things didn’t go as planned? You didn’t comfort him, still holding a grudge or just uncomfortable at the ‘doctors’ sudden out burst,he starts to distance himself more, drinks out at the rowdy raven more, more overtime at work, more time at mazelinkas, more time away from you, not because he doesn’t love you, because he does, and you deserve better

Portia

“Wait really?! How!? Tell me everything thing- wait wait wait let me get comfortable first...”

INSTANITYLY builds a pillow fort, and starts barking orders at you (lovingly of course) to make some banana bread pudding, hot choclate or tea (what ever you prefer she’s not picky) and to bring her, her Good sweater, you know the one

Better get comfortable because you’re gonna be there for an hour or two, or three... you know what make that four or five- but all jokes aside She’s just so excited to finally be able to know your past! “Any past lovers I need to know about? And abusive ones, you can tell me babe, because next time I see them I promise I’ll whoop their-“

Wants to know about your family, and definitely would love to meet them, but if you left off on bad terms with your family, that’s okay! She’s waaaaay more interested in what Vesuvia was like before she came in the first place! She want to know about the flooded district, the shop, how bad of a ruler Lucio was- you know the basics!

She’ll also tell you about her past! About how stupid Ilya was as a kid, how she was in a kid gang, how she used to eat soap because it smelt nice-(and yes this is canon, via one of the old ask the arcanas) she’ll also ask you to teach her some Magick tricks you used to do as a kid, or some recipes you used to bake, or what ever your aprentince used to do (deffiently the most excited out of all of them)

Muriel

Oh cool

WAIT A MINUTE

Has a VERY delayed reaction, sometimes it just slips his mind that you can’t remember your past (and honestly prefers it that way) but none the less,He asks you if you want to talk about it, and you at no means have to, but I would be lying if I said he wasn’t the least bit interested, Muriel would be lying too.....he wants to know, he just doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

If you are comfortable tell him EVERYTHING, your past crushes, your past friends, the goods, and the bads, he’ll sit you in his lap and listen to everything, and I mean EVERYTHING you have to say, and he will remember all the tiny details, including but not limited to: your first pets name, what you had for lunch nine years ago, your first crush who went to jail for horse theft and who is now a musician. He IS paying attention, even though you can SWEAR your starting hear him snore...this man hears everything. EVERYTHING

If you don’t bring up your family, he will ask about it, as of why you didn’t mention them? Did something happen? Do you want to talk about it? He won’t pry to much, and has a very good sense that your uncomfortable, and will leave it be, but it never really leaves his mind, so he might ask asra about it, and if something BAD happened definitely tells you he knows, and that he’s here for you.

But he does want to know this one thing more than anything else: how much do you remember from the coliseum? Now being that as of now atleast we don’t know how much the apprentice knows about the coliseum prior to them... y’know so this really depends on your apprentices back story so this conversation could go one of three ways

The first way is, you simply tell Muriel that you knew it was there but you never really participated in it, you never saw the fights, you never wanted to see the fights, and your glad you didn’t. And he can’t help the smile that forms on his lips

The second way is you tell Muriel that you did see the fights and you regret it, you wish you never did and your sorry. He doesn’t know how to react at first, but when he realizes your crying because of the guilt, he holds you a little tighter, kisses the top of your head, and says he believes you, and he still loves you. And you tell him you still love him

The third option,is your try to avoid the topic. But Muriel knows. And you know Muriel knows that you remember that you had to fight him on the coliseum, and that you barley escaped with your life, (if your apprentice didn’t die in there that is, and if they did? That’s angst for another day ;) ) you spend the night in each others arms crying, clutching on to each other and muttering apologies, telling each other that you still love eacother, that you never want that to happen again, and it won’t

Lucio

Well first thing he wants to know is how good of a ruler he was...”c’mon don’t be shy, you won’t hurt my- I WAS NOT A BAD RULER. I WAS THE BEST! I JUST MADE SOME.....SOME OOPSIES”

When he’s done throwing a ‘playful’ tantrum after you said he was a bad ruler...(I know it’s true, you know it’s true, even deep down Lucio knows it’s true, we need to stop sheltering him, he’s like ATLEAST in his early 40’s) he asks you what you remember, yeah yeah sure sure, your family and friends seem cool but do you remember all the awesome parties he threw! Which one was your favorite, and you have to pick only ONE (1) and list off your top ten favorite things from said party and THEN at THAT MOMENT you can move in and tell him about all the boring stuff

And if you tell him you never went to any of his trashy tacky flashy parties, you will NEVER forget the drastic look of disappointment that crosses his face “like do you really not go to any of them-“ but you may continue, but you have to promise him you’ll go to ALL of his new parties okay? They’re gonna be WAY cooler anyways

When you’re trying to tell him about all the cool adventures you had as a kid, or growing up or all the bad relationships you’ve been in, he makes it sort of a game to one up you, each story that HE tells gets a little more drastic and a little more....how do I say this nicely....unrealistic? He’s trying to listen he’s trying really hard, but he has the attention span of a golden retriever and honestly could care less about the boring stuff

Doesn’t remember much but buys you some of your old childhood toys that you mentioned (if your apprentice didn’t have any of that he’ll buy you some anyway “to make up for the lost time”as he puts it) but in reality it’s because he wants to try them out for himself (mama Morga didn’t let him play with toys as a kid she said it would make him weak) he finds most of them boring but for some reason is STILL trying to make the square block fit in the circle hole and won’t listen to you when you try to tell him otherwise

Thanks for reading!!!!! I tried to make sure every one could use their apprentice despite their past so hopefully I got close! Also to everyone who sent in arequest: thank you! I plan on doing one a day in the order that they got requested so the older ones don’t get buried in the void, but I just want you to know that I saw in and I’ll get to it in the next couple of days! Just please be paitent! Also...

Request are open :)

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comradelup · 4 years

Text

fuck it. balance youtuber au because i’ve been thinking about it

(modern au with no magic but still elves/dwarves/etc)

the twins have a joint channel but they post things together as often as they make videos on their own. they do vlogs, story times, and challenge videos both together and not, but do stuff with fashion/makeup together. taako does cooking on his own and lup does chemistry experiments that involve fire more often than not. if someone says they like the twins’ videos it’s a wild card as to what they watch them for, but everyone ends up liking all of their content because who can hate the twins? they have a lot of “annoying influencer” energy but are actually really nice to fans/people in general and donate a lot of their Youtube Money to charities and stuff (all of the ipre does this too because fuck rich people except for them)

magnus’ channel is mostly woodworking/construction projects. he does occasional story times and in every one he’s carving and/or painting a wooden duck. he does vlogs too and half of them are him buying more woodworking stuff (idk shit about it so idk what he’d get lol) and the other half have a part where he sees someone walking a dog and him going to meet them. almost every video includes/mentions julia and people make “magnus talking about julia” compilations bc he loves his wife and talks about her all the time. he’s very positive in general and everyone loves how he’s a human golden retriever

merle’s channel is 99% gardening, 1% collating with the others. he made one joke along the lines of plant fucking and it was not serious at all but his subscribers/followers made into such a big joke that he makes at least one joke per video except for when his kids are in the video, which is when he makes it suuuper educational and fun and wholesome. mookie tries to eat the plants and play with the soil and mavis tells her dad about what she’s learned about biology in school. also he puts “(emotional)” and “(not clickbait)” at the end of video titles randomly despite knowing what they mean

barry’s channel is science-centric (yes he collabs with lup frequently) but about more feilds of science. sometimes he goes on rants about theoretical physics like a madman a la bdg’s unraveled series and sometimes he makes videos titled “making the volcano kitchen experiment but the size of a kiddie pool (emotional).” he also has a series about paranormal activity/cryptids, stuff like “why ghosts should be and are real” and “my top five favorite pieces of bigfoot evidence” and like i said this is a no magic au but he once was asked in a q&a about what he’d do if he was a lich and gave a surprisingly detailed response? people were really confused but intrigued?? did barry invent magic???

lucretia 100% has an art channel, but she also writes prose and poetry in her free time and sometimes reads them for videos. she posts speedpaints of her work (digital and traditional) with her telling her process/inspiration or doing story times as the background audio. she had a period of time where she started writing a whole novel in her spare time (basically the balance story but different characters) and all her videos were her making concept art. her fans loved it and boosted it to the point where it actually got published, so now she’s a best selling author with a seven book series. now she keeps making videos of her concept art for other book ideas (the other arcs) with her infodumping about the characters/plot/etc

davenport doesn’t actually have a channel, but has been in the background of all the others’ videos to the point where he’s treated like a cryptid and has a small fanbase of his own. he’s mostly in merle’s videos (because they’re dating) and magnus’ vlogs (because magnus Loves His Friends) but he’s been in at least a handful of everyone’s videos. he makes a twitter and instantly gets thousands of followers. he tweets the most random shit at the most random times and half of them become memes. people find out he’s a professor at the college the rest of them met at and everyone looses it

kravitz is in a similar position as davenport, but he was convinced to start a channel. he mostly does stuff involving antiques because he collects them, so he does haul videos of what he bought or thrifted and videos of him restoring them as he looks up how old they were and what random shit they were used for and stuff. people make compilations of him getting off topic and going on a tangent about taako then realizing he just rambled for ten minutes and getting flustered. he also plays a handful of classical instruments and makes occasional collabs with lup + barry

despite having completely different channels they’re all friends??? people didn’t know at first but they found out through davenport and kravitz “this one guy who i think is dating taako but i’m not sure and idk his name” showing up in everyone’s videos. from then on they started collabing more often and it’s really fun to see them outside of their element. lup once almost burnt down magnus’ workshop while making a chemistry video with him. taako tried to teach kravitz how to make macaroons (keyword: tried) and kravitz talked about this new antique shop he found the whole time. barry went on and on and on about biology while gardening with merle, who tried to follow along but failed and ended up making fun of all the scientific names for plants

they call themselves the red robes after the main characters in lucretia’s novel (they’re not similar to the characters but there’s seven of them and six youtubers + one davenport)

they once did a big group collab where the twins dressed everyone up in high fashion outfits and lucretia painted a big portrait of all of them. it was very wholesome but also had a lot of lup and taako arguing over what accessory fits who and “no this person should do their hair like this!” and at one point magnus and kravitz just dipped to go play cards and talk about dogs

speaking of wholesome angus has a channel of his own which is mostly booktube with him getting halfway through a mystery novel, predicting the ending, and being 100% correct. he’s done videos with the others and is kinda associated with them but not totally, and is often lovingly referred to as the nephew to the rest of them

killian and carey don’t have a channel but are in the bg of magnus’ videos often. they were referred to as “magnus’ lesbian friends” until they got popular on instagram and became an internet power couple. johann has a small channel and a soundcloud he plays violin on and did one (1) collab with lup and it made him blow up overnight. avi has a semi-popular twitter and is mostly known as johann’s bf. sloane and hurley have a channel about drag racing/cars in general and don’t show their faces and go by the raven and ram

i was trying to think of who’d have a gaming channel and it’s 100% graham, who casually mentions that he’s friends with Pro Wrestler Jess The Beheader

lucas has a science focused channel similar to barry’s where he tries to be educational and ends up being annoying/kind of wrong about it. barry has a mini series called “lucas miller is a bitch here’s why” and it’s him disproving lucas’ theories with a deadpan expression and generally being better at science than him

remember when i said taako and lup have influencer energy despite being nice? yeah, lydia and edward are like that but they’re actually annoying. they have a popular makeup/fashion channel and lup and taako have gotten into slight drama with them over how the wonderland twins have been rude to them and the how the red robe twins are “jealous.” the internet is divided over who likes which pair of twins better

lup learns that greg fucking grimauldis (who the twins knew in high school) has a popular twitter/insta platform and tweets the “i am to collect” speech out of nowhere from everyone’s pov. taako tweets the video he took of him telling her and her immediately going “no fucking way that ASSHOLE is getting away with what he did to me” and opening twitter. it becomes a meme and he pays her back and changes his social media handles to “gregfuckinggrimauldis”

i can’t think of anything else because i don’t know enough about youtube but yeah.

#i was gonna go on about lupcretia in this au but this post is long enough #txt #balance #taako #lup #magnus #merle #barry #lucretia #davenport #kravitz #taakitz #ipre twins #ipre #not tagging the rest because its in the bg lol #long post

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scenes-in-between · 4 years

Text

Trust No 1 (Part three)

“Who authorizes you? I mean, what gives you the right? Who ARE you?!”

“I’m the future, Agent Scully. And I risked my life being here.”

“Well then why do it? I mean, why meet me?”

“Because you can reach Mulder. Mulder needs to know what I know or he may have no future. Perhaps no one will. Another car is parked on the main road, half a mile out. If I see that you haven’t contacted Mulder in the next 24 hours, I disappear and you never see me again. Do you understand, lady?”

Scully stalks away, seething. All of the theatrics, all of the waste, and for what? A two-minute conversation that raised more questions than it answered? What was the point of any of it?

Scowling, she pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket - because apparently it was absolutely necessary to blow up her clothes and her gun and inspect her watch, but Mr. Mysterious had no qualms about letting her keep her phone? - and punches the speed dial for Monica Reyes. Monica picks up immediately.

“Dana! Thank god. We’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where are you?”

“At the end of a very long and very stupid wild goose chase,” she grumbles. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get in touch earlier. How’s William?”

“He’s just fine. John’s in the kitchen right now heating up a bottle for him.”

“Agent Doggett stayed with you?” she asks, surprised.

“Not the whole day,” Monica says. “After that couple left, he went to the office for a while, but then he came back a few hours ago when we still hadn’t heard from you. Seriously though, where have you been?”

Scully answers with a groan, then gives an abbreviated account of the day’s events as she continues making her way back to the main road. Her foot catches on something in the dark and she stumbles, cursing. Of all the times to be without a flashlight…

When she gets to the part about the car and the remote detonation, Monica says, “Holy hell, Dana! Do you need one of us to come get you?”

“No, he said there’s another car parked up the road. I’m heading toward it now.”

“But are you sure that’s safe?” Monica presses. “What if it’s rigged to explode, too?”

“Whoa, wait, what’s rigged to explode?” Scully hears Doggett say in the background, and she shudders at the thought that she spent the entire day driving around on top of a bomb. However, the fact that she’s still alive right now is a fairly good indicator that she’ll be able to get home safely.

“If he wanted me dead, he had ample opportunity,” she says. “No, what he wants is for me to contact Mulder, which I can’t very well do if I’ve been blown up. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

What she’s not sure of is exactly where she is right now. It became harder and harder to track her relative location after she left the interstate. The very notion of spending who knows how many more hours on the road fills her with a mix of exhaustion and dread, and she’s angry all over again at the phenomenal waste of time today has been.

“Maybe you can help me figure out where I am, though,” she says. “It was too dark to read the street signs, the last couple of turns he told me to make, but I was on Route 17 going north for a while, somewhere between Norfolk and Fredericksburg. It’s not much to go on, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

“I’m on it,” Monica tells her. “Can I use your computer?”

“Of course.”

“Here, you can talk to John while I pull up MapQuest.”

Ahead, Scully can just make out the bulk of a vehicle in the darkness. She reaches to unsnap her holster out of habit and grimaces when her fingers catch nothing but the fabric of her waistband.

In her ear, Doggett barks, “What in the heck’s going on? Where’ve you been all day, and why is Monica talking about things being rigged to explode?”

Scully sighs. “I’m going to let her fill you in on the details because I would just as soon not go through it all again right now. Short answer is that I’m fine, just tired and frustrated. I’ll be on my way home soon, hopefully. I want to thank you, though, for helping to look after William. I really do appreciate it.”

“Well, you’re welcome, but I didn’t do all that much. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

She approaches the car, again wishing she had a flashlight. It’s too dark to see anything through the rear windows, but the front of the car at least appears to be empty. Cautiously, she reaches for the door handle; it’s unlocked, and the interior light comes on when she opens the door. There’s a piece of paper on the driver’s seat.

“Son of a bitch,” she murmurs, picking it up.

“Agent Scully?”

“You can tell Agent Reyes that I don’t need her help after all. I’ve been left a map.”

“A map?” Doggett asks. “So where are you?”

Thirty miles. She is all of thirty miles from Fredericksburg. It is going to take her less than two hours to get home. It could have taken her less than two hours to get here. Of all the stupid, pointless, absolutely and completely asinine...

“Just a bit southeast of Fredericksburg,” she says tightly, glancing at her watch. “I should be home by nine.”

“All right then. Be careful.”

“Yeah.”

***

This isn’t the first time Monica has been asked to watch William, but it is the first time she’s had to try and put him to bed.

And he is not having it.

She’s never seen him like this. She’s never felt him like this; William’s energy is always vibrant -- she’s known that since the night he was born -- but it’s usually contained, like the potential energy in a compressed spring. Tonight, it’s like a storm, howling around him as he wails in her arms.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. Should we call Dana?”

John chuckles at her, evidently unconcerned, because of course he can’t feel what she feels.

“There’s nothing wrong. And there’s nothing she could do even if there was. He’s just tired.”

“No, John, I’m telling you, something is--”

“Here,” he says, holding out his hands. “I’ll show you.”

She passes the squirming baby to her partner and steps back, nerves jangling. John gathers William against his chest and starts to walk around the living room, gently bouncing him while murmuring softly. At first, Monica can’t hear what he’s saying over the sound of William’s cries, but as the boy gradually quiets, John’s words become clearer.

“There you go, easy does it, your mama’s gonna be home soon, don’t you worry, atta boy…”

He’s asleep within minutes, energy storm subsided. Monica shakes her head, a little abashed at having so comprehensively misread the situation.

“You were right,” she says quietly.

“Eh, nothing I hadn’t seen before, that’s all.” He doesn’t meet her eyes, his gaze still trained on the top of William’s head as he slows the bouncing to a gentle sway. “Luke certainly did his share of fussing.”

She didn’t know him then, of course. She’s only ever known him as a grieving father; this is the first time she’s gotten a glimpse of what he was like as a dad, and it makes her unexpectedly emotional.

“I’m gonna see if I can go put him down,” he says, and she nods, watching him go before turning to pick up the few scattered toys and take William’s dinner bottle back to the kitchen.

***

By the time she has retrieved her own car from where she left it parked this morning, after stewing on the whole drive home and running through the day’s various cryptic conversations over and over, Scully has come to three conclusions.

Number one: nearly everything that man claimed to know about her, he could have learned by bugging her apartment and going through her garbage bins. What did he really give her that was concrete? Knowing her clothing size seemed eerie at first, until she remembered the receipts she’s thrown away from a handful of recent shopping trips. Her childhood clown phobia? She and her mom were laughing about that in her living room a month or so ago. The rest of it -- resting heart rate, ATM pin, college boyfriend, et cetera -- was only specific enough to seem unnerving without actually proving that he knew any of it.

Her emails to Mulder would require some additional access, but that could be as simple as someone following her to the cafe. It’s probably one of the “regulars” that she -- blithely, it would seem -- dismissed as a potential threat.

Number two: while her apartment has definitely been under surveillance, apparently for quite a while, Mulder’s has not. The “one lonely night” the man mentioned? She’s reasonably certain he was referring to the night she asked Mulder to stay after the IVF failed, and that was not their first time together. If, as he said, the events of that night surprised him, then he could not have known about what they had already been doing at Mulder’s place. Or, for that matter, what they had been doing at her place before that night. So now she also knows approximately when the surveillance actually began.

Number three: if this man genuinely does have useful intel about super soldiers -- and that is an extraordinarily big “if” -- then it may in fact be worthwhile to call Mulder home. The idea terrifies and thrills her in almost equal measure. On the one hand, there is nothing she wants more than to have him home. Nothing. But on the other, if she has miscalculated, and calling him out of hiding only ends up getting him killed, she will never forgive herself.

In the end, it is Agent Doggett’s words from yesterday that settle the issue for her. If we know who these super-soldiers are we can go after them. This is somebody giving us a way that can make it safe for Mulder to come home.

How else are you going to get him home?

It’s a risk, possibly a big one, but ultimately, it’s one she has to take. He has been gone for almost seven months. This is the first time in those nearly seven months that there has even been a chance he might be able to come home. If she lets this chance go by, how much more time will pass before they get another one?

She walks into her apartment having made up her mind. There is a giddy, fluttery feeling in her stomach that is only temporarily eclipsed by ravenous hunger as she steps through the door and the smell of Thai food envelops her. Reyes and Doggett look up from where they’re sitting, at her kitchen table, takeout cartons amassed between them.

“Hope you don’t mind, we got takeout,” Reyes says, standing. “We didn’t know if you’d have a chance to eat, but if you’re hungry, there’s a bunch left.”

The last thing she ate was a bag of almonds from the gas station, hours and hours ago. To say she’s hungry is a massive understatement.

“Mind? I could kiss you both right now.”

Doggett’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and Reyes laughs. “I’ll get you a plate.”

Scully nods. “I’m just going to change and wash up.”

On her way to the bedroom, she grabs a plastic bag from the closet. The likelihood is slim that there will be much in the way of usable trace evidence on the clothes she’s wearing, but it would be irresponsible not to even look. She opens the bedroom door quietly so as not to wake William; by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, she can see him sleeping peacefully in his crib, and she smiles, some of the tension from the day melting away. Though she would love a shower, she's too hungry, so she settles for changing into sweats, carefully folding and bagging the "borrowed" outfit, then washes her hands and face before heading back to the kitchen.

Doggett and Reyes have tidied up their dishes and are in the process of putting on coats and shoes.

"We'll let you get some rest," Reyes says, though she’s looking at Doggett when she does. “Whatever else you might have to tell us about what happened today can wait until tomorrow.”

“Unless,” Doggett adds, in a tone that sounds like he’s continuing an argument from earlier, “there’s anything you think we need to know now. Or if you don’t feel safe staying here alone, knowing that this Shadow Man may well have eyes and ears on you.”

“Is that what we’re calling him?” Scully asks, arching one eyebrow. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine. As violating as it feels to be surveilled by some NSA creep--” she emphasizes the words, fully assuming that she’s being listened to right now “--I don’t have any reason to believe that William and I are not safe here.”

“Well I still don’t like it,” Doggett says, frowning. “Why don’t you let us post a couple agents out front, just in case?”

“I really don’t think that’s necess--”

“That’s a good idea, actually,” Reyes interjects, then drops her voice to a murmur. “Especially in light of what happened this morning. We know you can take care of yourself, Dana, but we also don’t know exactly what we’re up against, here. Maybe the answer is to try and watch the watchers, find out who they are, see if we can figure out who else the Shadow Man is working with.”

Scully sighs but has to admit that’s a sensible course of action. Either the knowledge that she’s being watched over will deter this so-called Shadow Man and his associates, or it won’t, in which case they could be exposed and identified.

“All right,” she agrees.

“Good,” Doggett says. “I’ll take first watch until I can get someone else over here.”

As soon as they leave, Scully makes herself a plate of food and takes it to her computer desk. If the Shadow Man is able to access her emails even when she sends them from the internet cafe, it seems pointless to wait until morning to write to Mulder. The giddy feeling from earlier comes rushing back as she types.

Mr. Hale,

I am overjoyed to tell you that circumstances appear to have changed. Exercise caution, but put the plan in motion. I cannot wait to see you.

All my love,

Dana

She clicks “send” with her heart in her throat, wondering where Mulder is and when he’ll be able to read her message. How long it might take for him to make the necessary arrangements and begin the journey home. He could be in her arms as early as tomorrow, a notion that seemed impossible just 24 hours ago.

She powers down the computer -- according to their plan, his next communication will come via text message from a burner phone -- and picks up her plate to finish eating in the kitchen. A glance out the window as she stands up reveals Agent Doggett sitting in his truck across the street, cell phone held to his ear. She sighs, regretting the additional work and worry she’s given her former partner but also deeply grateful that he’s got her back, he and Reyes both. She appreciates them more than she can say.

With any luck, all of this will soon be over. Mulder will come home, the Shadow Man will give him the information they need to take down the super-soldiers, and things can go back to… well… “normal” for them, anyway. It’s maybe too much to hope for, but right now, she will allow herself to be comforted by the fantasy, at least for a little while. When she finally crawls into bed, later, she falls asleep with her cell phone on the pillow beside her, imagining the sensation of being wrapped securely in Mulder’s arms.

***

“Holy shit,” he breathes, reading her email for the third time.

The library’s just about to close, and he had checked his email one last time before leaving, more out of impulse than any actual expectation that there would be anything there. The surprise of a new email was immediately eclipsed by the surprise over its contents.

Home. He can go home. He and Gibson both, even. No more hiding in the desert. No more ache of longing binding his stomach and keeping him from sleep. It almost sounds too good to be true, but she called him Mr. Hale, the code phrase they established before he left so he’d be able to tell a genuine summons from a trap. This is the real deal.

Which means the threat is past. Maybe Skinner cut a deal, hell, maybe Kersh did. Who knows? Who cares?! He gets to go home!

The grin on his face is massive as he logs off and heads for the door.

***

“You’re leaving," Gibson says, before Mulder has even closed the front door behind himself. "You promised you wouldn’t. But I guess I shouldn’t have expected you to keep that promise.”

It's still weird, Gibson knowing what he's thinking about before he's even said anything, but it doesn't throw him for a loop the way it used to.

“No, we’re leaving, Gibson. Both of us.”

Gibson scoffs. “You know I’m not going anywhere. It’s not safe. You might be able to outrun them if they catch us, but I--”

“Scully said it’s safe. And yes, I’m sure the message really was from her.”

Gibson stares hard at him and Mulder thinks as forcefully and loudly and clearly as he can.

We can both be free. I swear. I will protect you.

“I believe that you believe that,” Gibson says finally. “But I don’t think either of us knows for sure whether that’s really true.”

“Look, I know you’re scared. And you’re right that there are no guarantees. But for the first time since I left Washington, there is at least a chance that it’s safe for us to get out of here. If we don't take it, I don't know when another one is gonna come along. Do you really want to hide here for the rest of your life?"

"If it doesn't mean dying horribly and having my head karate chopped off by an alien replicant? Yeah. I'm fine with that."

Mulder’s thoughts flicker, involuntarily, to Dr. Parenti’s severed head in a jar, to the gash in Skinner’s forehead, to his own memory of being hurled across Parenti’s lab by Billy Miles.

“Exactly,” says Gibson. “I’m not letting that happen to me.”

“I trust Scully,” Mulder says, thinks. “She wouldn’t call me home if it wasn’t safe. She’s too smart and too cautious to take a risk like that.”

This, at last, seems to convince him, if only somewhat. He may not trust Mulder’s judgment, but he apparently trusts Scully’s, at least enough to finally sigh and say, “Okay. I hope you’re right.”

Despite Gibson’s reluctance, it takes almost no time at all to pack. They don’t have much to take, not bothering with spare clothes. Mulder shoves the stuff he printed about Mount Weather into his backpack, along with a little food, the fake IDs from the Gunmen and all of their remaining cash. They’re out the door and on the road in less than twenty minutes.

On the way to the train station, Mulder stops to gas up the motorcycle and buy four prepaid cell phones from the convenience store. Two hours later, as they’re getting ready to board the train that will take them eastward, Mulder types Scully’s number into the first phone and sends a single-word text message.

“Midnight.”

Once the message sends, he opens the back of the phone, pockets the battery, and tosses the phone in a garbage can.

#x-files fanfic #TXF: Trust No 1 #scullyfic #mulderfic #gibson praise #monica whalesong reyes #john doggett #msr #mulder on the run #a/n: this installment of scenes in between was originally going to be in two parts #and then it turned into three #aaaaaand now it's gonna be four #there are just too many gaps to fill in #hopefully no one minds ;)#i promise it won't take me as long to finish and post part four #as it did to finish and post part three

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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

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Loki Series Thoughts—Glorious Purpose

Ok, I’m always nervous about posting my thoughts, but here we go. Spoilers ahead of course!!! (Disclaimer: Any gifs or images are not mine.)

Let’s start out with the episode’s name: Glorious Purpose. I know some people were a bit miffed about the emphasis put on the line, but I actually thought it worked well. It’s not so much that Loki actually believes in this “purpose,” but rather he is clinging to what he’s been told his purpose is. And by the end of the episode, he’s finally working through some of the things he’s been hurt by, abandoning what he’s been forced into and ready to be who he wants. Granted, it’s still going to take some time for him to come to grips with all that has happened, but I’m excited to see the journey.

The TVA. They undeniably suck. Whether or not it will be addressed directly, they are the (or one of the) antagonists in the show. What they are doing is, frankly, tyrannical. Three “time keepers” have taken it upon themselves to force countless versions of time and people into one single stream. And you know what? They can’t control that timeline. Not like they want to. As much as Loki’s line about “the weak” applies to himself, it applies to the TVA, too. It’s a facade of control that they cling to; if they truly had the right, the ability, to control time, everyone would follow their path. There would be no variants. Now, I could write a whole separate analysis on the MCU’s explanation of time travel. It’s convoluted and in a large way doesn’t make sense.

I’d like to talk about Loki’s characterization. I am, in a word, relieved. From the trailers, Tom seemed to be over-acting, something rather strange for someone so good at conveying deep emotions through nuanced actions. Now I believe any exaggerated lines from the trailers are just Loki trying to separate himself from who he’s been told he is, and trying to reinvent himself. I don’t think that’s a bad thing either; they’re not rewriting Loki, he’s just growing in a new way. And though this way is “new” I think it will be similar to what we’ve seen before. From what we’ve seen so far, there is good continuity, and they are addressing things about Loki that should be addressed in canon.

Loki projects. Most notably in the Avengers, but also a bit in Thor 1 and The Dark World, a lot of Loki’s lines can be applied to himself, though he is talking generally or towards another group. What comes to mind is actually something he touches upon again in the series. The illusion of freedom. And though it is not said that line in particular is him thinking of himself, it can be inferred based on his admission that the line in the gifs above apply to him. Also that little gesture when he says “weak” breaks me. He’s hurting so much.

Loki is not a villain. He may think he’s one because everyone else is telling him that, yet we’re already seeing it brought up that it’s not true. I can only hope that we’ll see Loki state this himself later in the series. He was largely forced to do what he did. It is not his fault, so how can he be a villain?

Loki cares. Tom’s acting is just *chef’s kiss* Seeing his mother’s death hurts so much. I love that his first response is denial. Loki is thrown into something he’s never known about before, being shown things that, to his knowledge, have never happened. But then when he’s had a few seconds to wander around the TVA on his own terms, he’s more come to grips with all that’s going on. So, when he’s by himself and see’s Frigga lying there, dead, it gets to him. Then seeing Odin still call him his son, he feels the slightest glimmer of hope, but also regret; he already knows in the back of his mind that he’s not actually going to get that. Loki’s living from second to second, trying to hold on. He probably thinks this ends with his death. (I do have issues with that Odin scene in context of Ragnarok but that’s more a tangential aside, so I’ll gloss over it for now.) Then seeing Thor and himself acting like brothers again is heartwarming. So just when he’s feeling uplifted, Thanos comes into the picture. He realizes how much control the titan still had over his life; he never really escaped. And in the end, Thanos made good on his promise. And that is terrifying! And he laughs at it. It’s a sad sort of laugh, one that’s slightly crazed. Loki feels that no matter what he does, it ends in pain. By the end of seeing all that, he is a man broken. Rather, more broken than he already was.

Loki is struggling. That’s nothing profound; it’s obvious. But where it really stands out to me is actually in a part I originally thought to be out of character. I am referring to “What if I was a robot and I didn’t know it.” Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s actually that his perception of himself has been so thrown that he really isn’t sure about his own chemical makeup anymore. Odin and Frigga keeping from him that he’s a frost giant made him so unsure of himself, he thought he might not even be a living being.

Nervous tics. Was I the only one noticing his leg bouncing when he talked to Mobius? And what about that scene when he’s sitting on the steps? He begins to pick at his hands. Note, that’s something he did in T1 after finding out he was a frost giant and while confessing to the Warriors Four about how he was the one who told the guard of their trip to Jotunheim. Just a little detail I really appreciated. (If anyone has gifs of any of these things, feel free to share :)

Mobius. I’ll be honest, I’m a bit undecided. I’m hesitant to say he’s evil. After all, we haven’t seen that much of him yet. However, I will say he is unscrupulous and manipulative. His questions weren’t to help Loki work through his trauma. Mobius was trying to goad him into helping, and likely was trying to gauge how much this Loki is like the variant he’s tracking. When Loki makes any admission of his feelings, it’s something he already knew, not a conclusion Mobius helped him reach. Mobius mocks him a bit and pushes his buttons because he sees Loki as a means to an end, and wants to know how easily he can get him to work with him. And what strikes me is how similar Mobius’s deal is to Thor’s deal in TDW. Thor doesn’t offer Loki freedom, he offers revenge. Mobius’s deal is just another variation of this. He can’t offer “salvation” but he can offer something “better”. Working for the TVA really isn’t better, though. So what does he mean? Well, I think he means a chance for Loki to prove he’s a hero. I hope as the show progresses it’s addressed that Loki doesn’t have to prove himself to anyone. That’s what he’s been doing his whole life, but I want Loki to see for himself that he doesn’t have to.

Miss Minutes. Propaganda. Plain and simple, it’s propaganda. Besides the way it praises the “time keepers” as amazing saviors, necessary to keep the world in order, it’s essentially saying “don’t think for yourself.” The whole point of the video is “the time keepers are great. The TVA is flawless. Trust us to decide everything. You have no autonomy in the world we want, so surrender your free will. Submit to the system we’ve decided is perfect and everything will be just fine.” Of course, by “just fine” they mean the variant will be pruned and the timeline will keep going as the time keepers see fit. The animation style was great though! It really fit.

The infinity stones. I think their inclusion makes sense. If you remember from Endgame, the stones being in the right place in the right time keeps the timeline from branching, and thus prevents the multiverse from being created. Likely, the time keepers used the stones to make their “sacred timeline.” Naturally, any variant time stones would cause a problem. That’s why they have so many extras. But think about how pointless so much of what happened seems. Nat, Gamora, Vision, Tony, everyone who was snapped, everyone who was left. So, literally the entire universe was flipped upside down for paperweights. It really puts Thanos’s pursuit of the stones into perspective, doesn’t it?

The cloaked figure. I think there’s some misdirection going on here in one way or another. Mobius says he’s chasing a Loki variant, then immediately it cuts to a scene with the cloaked figure. Our minds are likely to assume that is the variant then. But they don’t actually say it’s Loki, so I’m inclined to believe it’s not. Though, I don’t have enough information to say who I do think it is, I could make a couple of educated guesses and say Mephisto (he certainly interacted with Loki in the comics, plus there’s the stained glass window) or Sylvie. Well, whoever Sophia Di Martino’s character is. I know she was previously listed as Sylvie on sources such as IMDb, but that has since disappeared. But why would you have a “young Sylvie” (Cailey Fleming) without an older version? There is speculation Di Martino’s character will be Lady Loki, but I hope this won’t happen. If they make Lady Loki her own character, I doubt we’ll see Variant Loki get to be fluid. Even if it’s confirmed on the record, it’d be nice to see actually happen beyond a piece of paper. And with twist villains being such a prominent force in modern media, I’m interested to see who our cloaked friend really is.

Time travel. Like I said earlier, this is a lot. But I can’t talk about the episode and not mention this aspect in at least a little more depth. I don’t like how the MCU deals with time travel. I think it’s an unnecessarily complicated mix of a number of different, already complicated theories. However, I think Loki will ultimately escape from the TVA and create a multiverse too difficult to prune (and maybe he’ll actually get to burn the place down too!) This will then tie directly into Doctor Strange 2. Do you guys know what that’s called? The Multiverse of Madness. Actually, in the Miss Minutes propaganda, they almost exactly say “will throw the multiverse into madness.” Will we get to (finally!) see a certain raven-haired god meeting Dr. Strange? And maybe even the Scarlet Witch herself? Well, I’m not sure, but right now I think it’s looking pretty good!

And some random things that didn’t really anywhere else:

Peggy is in the background?! My thought here is that Steve wasn’t supposed to stay with her. This made not only a Variant Steve, but also a Variant Peggy. We may not see Steve, but I bet he’s been taken care of too!! And who knows? Maybe there will be a cameo later. Otherwise, it might be something that was cut from the show, or just a fun easter egg of sorts.

The score was so good! It sets the mood perfectly.

Loki is a good fighter. Even if he’s overpowered, he finds a way.

Some of the humor didn’t land, but that might just be a personal thing.

So now my final thoughts. It’s their strongest pilot yet. So much emotion crammed into less than an hour. A lot of exposition, too, yet it didn’t feel tedious (Endgame I’m looking at you). And then we get to delve into Loki’s psyche, something that really appeals to me! Overall, 9/10. I hope the rest of the series is as good!

Did I miss anything? Was there something you were hoping I’d mention and didn’t? Or do you have something to add or (politely!) disagree with? I’d love to hear it all! Remember, fandom is a safe space to talk about, analyze, and debate about things you enjoy. My ask box is always open with anon on. Reblogs and comments are great too. Thanks!

Me after watching the episode:

#the loki show #the loki show spoilers #the loki series #loki series #loki analysis #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #the loki series spoilers #I know there’s nothing particularly profound here but here you go #*throws thoughts into the void*

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middleinthenight21 · 4 years

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Ain't that the worst thing you ever heard? Part 3

This is sad for me, It's the end

Thanks to @ravenfan1242 Without your help I could not have done this. Thank you!

If you read stay safe

"Damian Wayne has a girlfriend and she's beautiful."

"It is a pity that Bruce Wayne's son already has a partner."

’’ I ship them so much.’’

’’ Tessa Collingwood and Damian Wayne are so beautiful. God, they look so in love’’

’’ I need someone to look at me like Tessa at Damian’’

Tessa Collingwood was a British actress, mostly known for starring in teen series. Her fame exploded when she participated in a Netflix series about the rampant life of wealthy teens, the series was questionable in many ways, but it powered the careers of its stars; Tessa Collingwood accumulated more than three million followers on her accounts, being a celebrity on Instagram looking beautiful in all her photos. The actress was gorgeous with long fire-red hair, a freckled face and big blue eyes, plus an innocent smile.

The photographs circulating on the internet were taken at an auction, the youngest of the Wayne family holding a glass of champagne out to the crowd, right next to an ice sculpture in the shape of an angel with flapping wings and Tessa Collingwood looked impressive In a red dress that highlighted her hair, she was hiding a smile behind her glass. The following showed a conversation with Dick and the one who was supposed to be the manager of the actress, but the young woman was inclined as if paying attention to something Damian said and smiled.

Conner was jealous and Jaime muttered something in Spanish about the fate of some.

He rolled his eyes.

"What is she like, man?"

He frowned, he was not willing to talk about anything related to the actress, since it could be misinterpreted, especially by his colleagues, who tended to exaggerate everything and if a few simple photos could ignite all that paranoia a few words would probably make them explode. He threw his bag on the living room sofa and ignored the questions choosing to sit down.

Jaime snorted "Give us something. You are being linked to an actress and model, and you are so indifferent" He showed the actress' social networks on his cell phone, as if that cleared his mind. "It's Tessa Collingwood! She won an award for best actress in a drama series. "

He said nothing.

Donna grimaced at the ceiling, she didn’t even know who they were referring to and was thankful that there was at least one reasonable person in the room.

Superboy didn’t stop talking to Garfield about the actress and her presence at the auction, as well as reading comments together and laughing out loud when they called Damian a gentleman, but he refused to continue this conversation.

His older brother sat next to him, crossing his legs with a smirk. He nudged him "Tell them. She kept smiling at you. "

"You too? I let them take a photograph for a single event and they already mad up a silly love story", he growled. His words were tinged with rejection at the idea of all those people getting into his life. Over time, he accepted that some types of relationships are necessary, but if he considered it, it would not be in the public eye. The point was "He had to wear the scarf. "

"And Bruce would have loved it."

Damian said nothing, just grimaced and looked away. The journey from Gotham to Jump City was more tiring than he’d like to admit, plus the auction for the sculpture by Allard, an artist known for his dark style, became famous for his sculptures of smiling demons, tormented angels, and trees with sloping logs; He had been fascinated by the man's work and the details, even though people murmured how horrifying it was.

The event was slow and boring, he knew it would be, but there were responsibilities that came with being a Wayne. Commitments.

"Dick, you have to tell us," Conner insisted. "Is it true that she offered him her phone number as anonymous sources say? "

The man laughed at just imagining it and Damian crossed his arms.

Jaime looked at him as if he had done something wrong.

Garfield kept reading comments aloud and zooming in on the photos.

Troy cocked her head, processing who the actress was and why they cared so much.

Conner bombarded Dick with questions, trying to get as much information out of him as possible. He couldn't believe he considered him a friend, he's an idiot.

"I prefer cancellation."

Each one looked at him. He ignored them by focusing on removing from the packaging of the small statues he bought at the auction, as well as a handwritten book by an anonymous ancient Arab poet., The piece was valued at less than a million dollars and how millionaires are of unknown origin. They had nothing to brag about, but Damian found a value for it, perhaps because he is also an Arab, perhaps because people are stupid, especially those with more superficial money.

His older brother gave him a sideways glance.

"What? " He asked defensively. He put everything heshe bought in his bag, taking care that it was kept in perfect order.

"You've been reading a lot lately."

"Is there something wrong with that?"

He raised his hands, as if stopping an invisible attack.

"No, I didn't mean that, Damian." He shook his head. He put a finger on his chin thoughtfully. "It is just that I have seen you with at least two books in the week. Three days ago, I saw you reading Lovecraft, then Whose Body? or whatever ... "

Garfield looked up from his phone and watched him.

"Who, darling?"

Kory stroked Dick's chest from behind, pressing her chin against the hero's shoulder. Damian pulled away, despising the show of affection from the apparent team leaders, and the entire team made excuses to go elsewhere.

"I have to go bathe with my tongue." Garfield disappeared down the hallways.

The couple laughed. It seemed that they lived in a sugary bubble when they are together, all the time they touch each other and smile every time their eyes connect, once the caresses begin, they do not stop and they are not shy at all ... Damian has bad memories of this.

He left.

He just wanted his bed. After finding his face on the internet and what's on the fingers of so many people who just want to get involved in the gossip of the moment, he wanted to train, use his time productively.

Preparation is a prerequisite for victory.

And he's always ready, but he just wants to sleep.

For some reason, he can't help but start reading this book. That baffles him.

When passing through the kitchen a person is sitting eating a cereal bar and holding a coffee with a pungent chocolate aroma. She keeps a book over her face, covers her expressions and is dressed completely in dark tones., She had on a sweatshirt that is triple her size and one shoulder is exposed, he could only see a vestige of some shorts , since they disappeared in the long sweatshirt and thick stockings.

Her foot moved to the rhythm of an imperceptible melody and her hair was tied back in a high ponytail, leaving strands at the nape of her neck.

She turned the page "If you stay longer there, I will consider you as a stalker, what do you want?"

"And they say I'm rude."

Raven looked up. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him standing at the door, he was not surprised that she did not look excited, since the girl rarely showed her emotions and he was grateful for that. After coming from an event surrounded by teenagers who sighed ion his face, daughters of mayors, granddaughters of businessmen, actresses, models and influencers who took pictures of him on his social networks without asking for his permission.

He had considered suing, but Dick found it unnecessary and his father kept speculating with Selina about the possibility that a black-market gang would steal the pieces. Bruce thinks they collaborate with the Penguin, but he doesn't count them until they arrive.

The best detective in the world.

She puts the book down, but reluctantly does it "Sorry. I thought it was Garfield or Conner. " He bit down on the cereal bar, keeping an eye on Damian. "So, what happened? "

He frowned.

Raven watched him.

She is empathetic, he reminded himself. Sometimes he overlooked that detail, this was one of her powers, that does not make it more tolerable, he did not like that people would look below his appearance; It felt like an invasion of his privacy, it doesn't feel right, but he can't get mad at Raven for knowing too much.

Supreme warriors like us never give the enemy a chance to defeat us, not when it comes to emotions or appealing to feelings. We must get rid of them to rule the world, Ra's Al Ghul was clear. You cannot guide them to a better world, being equal to them.

You will not be useful to me, just as you are.

He pushed Talia and Ra's voice away, as if shaking the dust off.

He sat across from Raven. He watched her silently taking small sips of her coffee, when he met her he believed that she was a person drinking bitter espresso, but she has an insane inclination towards sweets of all kinds; she went to that little sweet shop on Riva Street where they prepare artisan cotton candy and bought those colored candies that she keeps in her pockets, like an amulet.

Damian grimaced when she added a spoon of cream to her coffee and licked what remained on the kitchen utensil. Pennyworth would disapprove of her behavior; he can almost hear the scolding in his head.

"Nothing. "

For a few seconds he struggles to remember her question. If this happened to him in the mansion, his older brothers would mock his face, and he grimaced.

After a weekend at Wayne Mansion living with his brothers and Helena, he was fortunate to be back with the Titans - his thirteen-year-old version would hit him in the face - but his little sister is loud, shaking her fists in the air and she opens her mouth as much as she can, claiming attention only for her, the noise of his brothers adds to it, that combination almost drover him crazy.

He doesn't want to talk about the auction.

"Look." She pulled a package out of her pockets. He raises an eyebrow, because he doesn't think it's anything special. "Son ghraybeh" she tried to pronounce. Raven lowers her voice, like she does when she's admitting something, she doesn't want anyone to hear. "I bought them in an Arab store. "

Damian analyzes one of the cookies. In his childhood in Tibet he had seen these biscuits in the markets of the nearby towns, the masses had almonds, pistachios and all kinds of nuts, but he had never tried them.

He bit into it. The sweet has a bitter flavor charged by spices, it’s an explosion in his mouth and he’s almost transported to those stores, to women covered by hijabs and it reminds him of the music his grandfather listened to during dinners, Of burnt incense, the blue hyacinth that grows as a weed and the Dragon Blood tree that rested in the garden that was extremely cared for, his grandfather had said that it is as old as he is and it’s sap is the color of blood.

Raven smiled, she bit into one of the cookies herself while drinking coffee.

He is not surprised that she had visited Arab stores, since in her spare time she visited bakeries, and that bookstore where the owner recommended novels and would have a reserved seat in the Costa restaurant while reading a book, as well as the ice cream parlor hidden among the luxury stores .

She tried foreign dishes, does not despise any genre of novels and is shocked by the arts. He supposed it was due to her time in hell, but deep down it's more than that; Raven is someone who leaves memories between those streets, measures people's energy and how they impact places. At first, he thought that her powers focused more on magic, such as enchantments, potions and spells, but she is more focused on emotions and feelings, she is different from Zatanna or Constantine.

"Is it true that the Belmont Allard sculptures were being auctioned?"

He set the cookie aside by making a mental note to finish it longer.

"I should have known that you were interested in his works."

Raven rolled her eyes, glancing at her book, her eyes scanning the page, and was drawn to whatever she now has on her reading list. She was quiet, reserved, and would rather sit in the back than walk in the front, but she should not be underestimated, and Damian had seen her vanquishing godlike humans and demons, yet she has a gentle aura. It is difficult to explain.

"Allard is famous. It has a history related to Satan, it is full of treasons, witches and enrichment overnight. "

She Mocked "Typical of pacts with the devil. "

Despite her mocking tone the truth slips.

Damian pulls out the book he bought, it's not flashy, it's dirty and worn. It smells of dust and dry ink, lined by a thick cloth of a dull red hue, it has damp spots and folded corners.

She says nothing but he sees the interest in her eyes.

"It is from an anonymous poet. It is of Arab origin; historians say that the book dates from 750. approximately, which corresponds to the times of an Iranian revolution" explained. "They assume that the author is a wealthy man because of the references to luxury and the elaboration of the work, but they are not sure. "

She stared at the book. He let her analyze it, but she frowned as she turned the pages and her mouth twisted into a grimace, like she was annoyed.

"What's wrong? "

"The book transmits strong feelings" her eyes shine, and she continues turning the pages. Damian raises an eyebrow, waiting for a clearer answer. "It brings me a feeling of longing; it is as if the author had misplaced something or someone" she closed the book. "It's amazing, I never felt this coming from an object" she leaves it.

He frowned.

It doesn't seem like a danger to him.

"Also, I can't read it."

He rolled his eyes.

Almost on impulse he opened any page of the book. The leaves are of a yellowish tone, with the corners eaten by humidity and the poet's pen is small and light, a scribble made of ink that in some places is smeared and he is surprised by the content of the letters.

"What does it say? "

He read in a loud voice. His voice was released, his mother tongue slides through his tongue and it is simple, after speaking English for so long it is even relaxing to speak Arabic, but she was puzzled and confused by his words, she was even happy that she does not understand what he is saying. Despite knowing the language, the words feel foreign.

عظامي المحطمه تتصلح

مع كل تلك الليالي التي قضاينها

حبك سر آمل احلم اموت لحفاظ عليه

التغير من اولوياتي

Despite everything, he prefers that she be the one who listened to him. Damian realizes she is comfortable; he feels domestic and that makes him reconsider what he just did.

The girl bows her head and frowns, she didn’t understand what he just said and struggles to try to associate the words, but the English and Arabic languages are opposite. Raven rests her head on her hand.

"What does it mean? "

Damian Wayne does not make these kinds of mistakes, his grandfather would subject him to abysmal punishment and his mother would slap him in the face, even his father would growl, but the answer is said before he can avoid it.

The translation is simple for him, a custom that he acquired over the years.

"My broken bones are healing with all these nights we spend. Your love is a secret that I am waiting, dreaming, dying to keep" responds. "You change my priorities. "

He looks her in the eye. Her eyes are like the purple tanzanite, a precious stone that Ra´s Al Ghul kept around his finger in a ring, a symbol of his status and power against his enemies; in the end it did no good, even the most powerful person in the world and his kingdom had fallen. Ra´s Al Ghul was no different than Julius Caesar, Tarquin, Darius I, Napoleon or Hitler and what they built.

Now he understood that the stone on his grandfather was a sample, a shell to inspire fear; Tanzania is extremely rare and expensive, its color was a boost to make it so coveted, and it seems imprinted in Raven's eyes.

He is aware of the level of communication they have; words are not necessary. Damian would have turned away, walked away and ignored her presence, he did not like that anyone felt familiar with him., He is a warrior not a sentimental teenager, but after the last few months he had been alone, nobody talked to him apart from matters involving the missions, he couldn't help but measure his actions and keep an eye on anyone who was around, it could be a stalker, maybe a person who hates him, or someone interested in selling a photograph to a magazine.

Damian preferred solitude, he exiled himself while the media storm passed over his head. Long ago he would not have cared, the Titans many times represented being a nuisance, they were open to anyone who told a sad story without caring about their past, but the weight of the distance began to haunt him.

He understood the nature of his character, how difficult it is to establish relationships, and the approach is difficult to deal with. Damian was extremely professional at best, concerned with realistic aspects and devised plans based on data, measured his peers and analyzed each and every action, judged and issued verdicts, disliked being touched by anyone and growled with his words to anyone who treated him like a child to be protected.

What before seemed to him aspects that should be highlighted now are the reasons why he is so hated.

He realized that his skills are a mattress; He was not welcome in many places, many heroes had complained about him and insulted him to his face, but they recognized how good a fighter and excellent strategist he is, not for nothing he is the son of Batman and the heir to the League of Shadows, and that does not mean anything. People on the internet didn't care who he was, what he accomplished, or what his story was. They hate him for the pictures, videos, and comments, and he couldn't do anything. It's tiring sometimes, when people decide to subject you to rejection and there is nothing to do to correct that.

They besieged his castle, forced him to close the gates of the kingdom.

He may not need third-party approval when criminals were loose on the streets, but it doesn't make it more tolerable.

His father told him of the harassment he would receive when he was recognized as the son of Bruce Wayne, but his home was snatched away, burned from head to foot and he had to create a new belief system out of thin air, he wanted to feel like he belonged somewhere. Bruce was right.

His privacy was stolen, he found his face on the covers of youth magazines and invented relationships with strangers based on nothing, he committed innocent people to address him and he does not want to live like this. He hates other people getting into his life, he doesn't have to explain to anyone, or hide, but Damian does.

I despised help, as well as apologies and looks of pity from others.

Raven was silent, and did not push him away when it appeared, she doesn't not care about the cancellation or how the Internet saw the next heir to the Wayne fortune. It was silent, private and intimate.

It is not dependency, it is not attachment based on loneliness or trauma, he doesn't even know where to catalog it. Raven had a breakup recently, although he knew that she is now friendly, that had affected her and he was canceled, tried and sentenced to global rejection, while his civilian identity was compromised, it is not a good combination.

She gulps and looks away. His hands tremble around his book and he almost see her shudder.

Damian stirs uncomfortably and insecure, he wants ...

"Tessa Collingwood talked about you!"

The entire group entered. Kory had ordered food from a local restaurant, and the rest just argued around the news on Garfield's phone, as if this was a gathering of old ladies arguing about the life of a misbehaving neighbor.

Raven raises an eyebrow "The actress? "

Jaime nods.

"She mentioned Damian in one of her stories," Garfield replied. Donna laughed at something, and Conner grimaced rereading the screen. "She said:’’ Me and Damian are just friends.’’

Kory smiled.

"I doubt I was friends with someone I saw only once." He crosses his arms. Looked at the Titans. "In fact, I have known certain people for years and doubt that I would include them on my list. "

Jaime rolled his eyes.

"Do you have a friendship list? Dude, that's absurd."

Conner nods looking at the green teenager, while Donna decided that the adult conversation is more interesting.

"Anyway, this beautiful actress mentioned you."

He hit the table with his book, attracting everyone's attention. "I don't care what it has to do with her." He turned around. "I will be in my room."

Someone called him, it was Raven ...

He stopped, standing at the door with his fists clenched.

He looked at her, while she held the book in her hands and smiled, just a little, as if she had heard an internal joke that only she knew. He had left the book.

So, everything was very clear and he's an idiot because he hadn’t seen it before.

***

Raven was lost.

Completely lost.

Alone and confused in her room, wandering from place to place like a caged lion. She wanted to demand answers, she felt like she was about to go crazy, and it is as if it is slowly killing her, she tries to fight, but she loses the fight as soon as it begins.

She compared this sensation with the previous ones; Raven had experienced love, the one that hurts your heart, the one you justify when you are hurt and you throw yourself into the void, with your blindfold you stumble over stones and ignore the blows, but this is different; born of intimacy, like a secret that grows until it is difficult to maintain.

She had to know.

Oh, Azarath.

She never learns from her mistakes.

Now she talks to everyone except him.

When surrounded by her peers it's easy to keep up, she just focuses on the cakes Kory brought, Donna's fighting techniques she hones in the training room, she even prefers her father's voice in her head to pay attention to her.

If she bleeds, if she hurts not to have it, she would never tell him.

Your love is a secret that I am waiting, dreaming, dying to keep.

Damn the poems of unknown Arab authors.

Raven wants to bury her feelings; burn his perfect face and the dimple rarely shows to others. Maybe he's aware of his own charm and she did something that bothered him, and he's only taking revenge on Raven in the worst way, Damian was vindictive and…

This is ridiculous.

I'm going to kill that boy, witch. You are a whore girl.

She makes a gesture to turn away her father's voice, but he doesn't shut up and she doesn't care.

She is so disoriented, she lives anchored to him like a bird in her blue sky and she has no way to kick him out of her life, she just doesn't want to. She is not selfish, she would never put her desires or her integrity over that of others, but she hates it because she could not have him in her life without compromising their friendship, the level of confidence they have and that feeling of home when they are going through difficult times.

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

Now it had taken on a new meaning. There are people who went through her life, were transitory, arrived at a specific moment and continued on, like nomads who left a lost object, and those who stay and fight by her side, accept her without expecting anything in return, they are important, they are family. However, there are others that transcend to the next level, they are like home, places shout their names and even everyday aspects seem valuable.

Raven does not want to despise this, but she is not going to ruin it by confessing her feelings, she felt like a schoolgirl who jumped when she saw the boy and hid in the corners.

Someone knocks on the door and opens it, she discovers Damian's serious face, frowning and holding two coffees. The first rays of the sun illuminate his face, as if blessing his soul and highlighting his tanned skin, and for a few seconds it seems that he knows.

"Good Morning. "

She steps aside, letting him pass. Her voice is monotonous, tired and she considers for a few seconds not to let him in, but it is too late.

Everything seems to be pulling towards him, as if he possessed a magnetic field and was a magnet. This morning he was not wearing his uniform, but a simple plain t-shirt in pastel blue and dark jeans and Nike sneakers, he squares his eyes like when preparing for battle or listening to something or someone who he does not like.

From here she perceives that he is having an internal struggle.

He leaves the coffee glasses on a small piece of furniture and stands in front of the window with his arms crossed behind his back.

"Is Something wrong? "

Hearing a bark and opening the door, Titus enters the room going upstairs to his house licking the pillows and spinning on the mattress. With Damian he was disciplined, obedient, surprisingly submissive, but when Raven is around, she allows him to be playful and mischievous, as if he had never become an adult animal.

Damian had scolded her for being permissive, but in her mind, he was never going to stop being that puppy she gave away inside that box. The animal had been scared, lost and away from his brothers, he trembled when a person approached, and she seemed to see her friend in the animal in a strange way.

Titus was shy and fearful when he arrived. Little by little he emerged from his cocoon to become a loyal and courageous Great Dane.

He didn't challenge him for messing up the bed like he normally would, so she started to worry. She didn't feel anything and that was frustrating, it was easy for Raven to understand people through her magic, although she didn't like what was underneath, but he only let her see what he allowed.

"What wrong? " She asked again.

"People have spoken again. "

Raven grimaced "Is it because of the actress? "

He turned his back on her and the young woman sat on the ground, partly so as not to disturb Titus, to have a better view, partly because she felt closer.

He was still flat, like a soft wave on a lake, and that is not all; it's just the outside.

"A little." He paused. "People hate Robin, people love what Damian Wayne stands for" His face is reflected in the window glass, he is impartial, and he keeps that scowl that characterizes him. "I do not care. My father says that the press is like vultures, but sometimes they are noisy. "

She cannot relate to that.

Raven enjoyed anonymity, she may be a consecrated heroine, and has a couple of victories on her record; people do not stop to talk about her private life, but are interested in the source of her power, her dark and quiet nature, they build and destroy theories, but nothing else.

She was a favorite on YouTube and blog channels focused on mysteries, conspiracy theories, and the paranormal.

She can't imagine what media persecution is, online harassment and what it means to have so many people eager to know about your life, that drove celebrities crazy all the time, some fell into addictions to flee their problems, those who survived cruelly understood the boundary between professional and personal, marked the line and took refuge in their homes, as if they lived in a fortress. Robin was a global trend in social networks, it required many people to achieve this.

Damian had stayed away, holding on to his training and lifting his chin as high as possible, but she knew him; with him not everything is said, it is not what is shown.

"Damian" she calls him because she knows his thoughts are strong right now. She reached for the coffee. She appreciated the warmth of the drink in her hands, it feels real. "It´s okay" she smiled.

He looks at her.

She had never seen that shade of green before. He may not realize his own charm; his face reflected the golden rays, and his dark hair shone in a lighter shade.

Titus now sleeps in bed and his snoring is deep.

He sits next to her in the lotus position and they watch the sunrise together. They do not say anything, they do not speak much, both are people who were touched by tragedy, who face battles while forging their way to adulthood and are not used to expressing their feelings, interpreting silences and supporting each other from a distance with small gestures.

She wants to have better words, be more forthcoming, and offer advice, so they could talk more about his breakdowns. Raven would cleanse his heart if that helps his heartbeat, a word and it would be his.

Damian takes her hand.

His fingers are barely touching, his skin is hard, and that scar that ran like a thick rope over his knuckles is soft to the touch; his fingers are long and shiver, as if cold, but he remains in place; she compares it to a burn and is surprised.

Raven wants to hold onto him, because he doesn't deserve all the hatred, they chase him with torches and spears. She wants to tell him that she regrets him for his past, for all the manipulation, because there was no one to show him love and treat him like a child, who sees him as a person during his childhood and she wants to smooth his wrinkles that were beyond the ones visible. She wants to show the affection that was denied him all his life and tell him that she does not care what they call him on the internet- Either as Robin or Damian Wayne- Deep down, he is only a kind and generous soul, and she is fortunate to see it, even if he is insufferable.

She squeezed his hand. Words are not necessary.

He keeps his gaze on the dawn. His eyebrows tremble and he showed his emotions for the first time, it is like the caress of the wind of a summer night.

Silence.

They are like little children who take too much importance on their clasped hands. There is no lust, nor the typical approach to achieve something, they are two people who are used to being alone, pushing everyone away, seeing the worst in people and being disappointed, betrayed and disheartened, clinging to the other; it is so simple and complex.

He leans his head against hers and leaves it.

At first, she is surprised, but she thinks he is like a scared animal that would walk away in the face of any foreign sound or reaction. It is beautiful, vulnerable and serene, like a new dawn.

Aware of his exhaustion and frustration, this simple action reflects the fatigue of all these months of witch hunting, keeping quiet and holding on his own, she can feel him letting go of his burdens and that mask of indifference is shattered.

Her hair is soft, and his shoulder bumps into hers; He is taller, and his muscles are worked by constant exercise and his breath tastes like coffee.

The scent of shaving lotion reaches her nose, she was aware of that smell and it was masculine, it had a woody touch and she was relaxing.

Can they stay like this forever? In the silence and secrecy of her room with their hands clasped and leaning on the other drinking coffee from plastic cups ...

... And suddenly, this is enough.

***

Raven bought a dress.

That night is hot, and they visit an open bar on the seashore. The music is relaxed, the musicians play bass drums and ukuleles, giving the place a tropical atmosphere; decorated by lights and all the tables and chairs are made of wood, with small floral decorations as centers.

The sound of ocean waves and salty-smelling air was sleepy, almost as if slowly inducing her to sleep.

Kory forced them into a night of mandatory fun, booked a table in a corner under a palm tree, would give them a little privacy, and they wouldn't get as much attention. She sensed that in the place photographs were not allowed was a factor for her to choose it.

The tradition of compulsory fun was installed with the arrival of Damian, she was left justifying small getaways or celebrations of birthdays, anniversaries, certain days of the year.

Raven thanked the team leader- who she considers to be an older sister- since the bar is not very crowded nor does it allow crowds with all those people sweating under the influence of alcohol, but the place is familiar, spacious and quiet. Her powers would not overwhelm her.

"Honey, will you bring us our drinks?"

Dick nods walking towards the bar. The man was wearing a simple T-shirt and shorts, on the other hand, his fiancée looked glamorous in the purple dress with large openings revealing her shapely legs and a plunging neckline.

Garfield, Conner, and Jaime share a conversation with Donna about the dance, but the young woman only frowns when she looks at the musicians.

"It's Latin music. "

Jaime snorts "Don't look at me, dude. Just because I'm Latino does not mean I know how to dance. "

"I'm not the best dancer anymore." Garfield looks with a grudge at Damian, who grimaces looking away.

"I just beat you."

"You break codes and all that, surely you did it with the dance machine. "

Raven snorts, but she's amused.

"That was a long time ago." He looked at everyone. "Can we get over it? "

When Dick arrived he announced that he asked for drinks for each one, but they had a limit of two, because some recently stopped being minors, also in the tower they had rules and arriving drunk is on the prohibited list; for those who are minors there are unlimited juices.

The night is progressing normally, although she sees certain people who are surprised by her colorful group, nobody really cares. They are just a group of friends enjoying an evening by the ocean.

Damian rolls his eyes when Dick starts Kory dancing with a slow song.

"They've been dating for years."

Raven raises her eyebrows, not at all surprised. She already knew.

"I mean long before they became teammates." He gives his whisky a small sip. "When he was a boy, he kept having suggestive calls with her." He shrugs.

"No way! " Conner leans in and opens his mouth.

Jaime contains a laugh.

"Are you seriously surprised?" She didn’t need to be empathetic to know that.

They look at her, but it's Garfield who speaks first.

"Did you know?! " He shakes his head. "Of course, you knew, why didn't you tell me?! "

"I did not mean that. "

"Traci arrived!" Jaime gets up from the table and disappears.

After two years together he is still excited to see her enter the room, Raven got along with the girl, she is pleasant and has a pink aura, used to loving and showing it, she also has Jaime around her fingers.

Raven drinks her gin and tonic, the drink is incredibly sweet and fruity. Her friends raised an eyebrow at seeing her bite into the lemon wedge that decorates the drink, but it's not that she cares, it's probably because she's going for her second fruit drink and sweet alcoholic drinks are misleading.

A boy appears pushed by his group of friends, who laugh giving him sidelong glances and extends one of his hands to dance, he is tall, and his face is youthful, perhaps just after finishing high school. His emotions are strong too, but the one that predominates is lust, she has a moment when images of herself come of kissing him in the dark.

He has too much imagination.

"Would you like to dance? "

She shakes his head, absorbing the lemon juice to the last drop. The scene almost seems funny to her, this boy asking her to dance in front of her friends, among them her ex-partner is present, along with the young man who answered the name of her best friend, who also has feelings. It is funny.

A smile glides across her lips.

The boy stirs uncomfortably without knowing how to interpret her smile, but she continues to shake her head, so he leaves.

"You have low tolerance, Roth."

Raven grimaces "It will pass soon. Alcohol will be in my system for exactly forty minutes and then I'll be like new. "

She calls a waiter asking for a Cuban mojito with that sugar-covered rim she likes so much.

When the drink is put in front of her, it is just as promised and she almost sighs when she sees it. Damian drops his drink, gives her a disapproving look with those green eyes, and she could cry right now because she thinks it's cruel and insane to be around him.

Conner invites his friends to dance wanting to flee from the discomfort. The others continue to join the small group that formed in the middle of the dance floor, Kory and Dick get all eyes, they move well.

Raven sips the drink through the straw. The little umbrella is a hindrance, so she pushes it aside noticing how her fingers tremble, the sugar and the drink mix is not a good match.

Damian approaches, but she moves away.

She should think twice before entering his space.

Raven looks him in the eye. Noting that his expression reflects concern, just as he was ready to scold her, she knows that scowl and he has that plain short-sleeved shirt with the designer's name she can't pronounce and some worn jeans; For someone with so much money, he have not invested too much in his clothing.

His eyes are green as a drink, and he raises an eyebrow. His features are a mix between the Middle East and the West, his Arabic accent is light, as if he had always spoken English and he moves his fingers on the wooden table; remember that morning when their hands touched.

She wants to cry.

"It's not fair."

It's not fair that he so perfect, while she was melting away for keeping her secret just to keep him within her life. It's not fair!

She doesn't want him as her best friend.

He is a magnetic force in the form of a man.

She is attracted to him. It is not a fairy tale, it is not idolatry, just esteem it, the past seems to have been erased by a rubber when they were together, and she is dying to have him.

Random, she's so angry.

Damian grimaces "are you okay? "

"I'm fine. "

That’s a lie.

"Let's go," he says, taking her by the forearm before she finished her drink and takes her to the parking lot without asking. He opens the door of his car, sitting her in the back seat. "Try to get comfortable" He sits down on the pilot's seat and starts the car.

She really wanted to stay.

She rests her head against the headboard and looks out. The highway is fast and distinguishes trees and pieces of the ocean illuminated by a moon.

The lights are off, and there is no music.

She lies down in the back seat.

It smells of leather and that forest fragrance, just like his lotion.

Suddenly the tears slide down her eyes, they are thin. She is angry with herself for being weak, with him and for the life that kept hitting her, a few weeks ago she had been convinced that she is much better alone, lives well and recovers from a breakup, she is not missing anything, then he entered little by little to her life and she wants to push him away, now she just wants him to stay a little longer. A little bit closer.

Raven wants to see what's underneath that bad boy attitude.

He sees her in the rearview mirror "what's wrong with you? "

"Nothing," she says in a broken voice.

Damian raises an eyebrow. Maybe he doesn't care, maybe he's worried she will throw up in his expensive car or she pretends that she cares just so he doesn't make her feel bad.

What doesn't kill her makes her want him more.

He tilts his head she and sees that sharp scar in the corner of his chin catch the silver glow of the moon. This is horrible.

"It's not important what you're upset about."

What?

Damian, the worst adviser in the world.

Yes it is important because it would destroy everything, they would end the reading of books on the roof, visits to Riva street where they would chat in the book store, the shared cafes in their room when they feel too lazy to go up or the weather is not favorable for them and the way he smiles marking that dimple on his cheek, how he held her hand and leaned his head against her. She thinks that if she lost him, she wouldn't do those things again.

Her heart breaks.

She would never walk down Riva Street again.

It is her fault.

It is his fault.

She imagines reading Robert Frost alone knowing he didn't love her, she would visit Riva Street trying to meet again, she would finish the cafes on the floor of her room because she is dumb enough to confess. Damian wouldn't worry about love affairs, he has a purpose and it would be a distraction, a stone in his shoe, he had better judgment, therefore he would walk away first.

He would not give her second glances; in fact, he would despise her for ruining their friendship.

It terrifies her too much.

She cries like a baby in the back of the car.

When they park in front of the tower of the Titans, she does not think twice and opens the door running into the forest that surrounds the home of the young heroes, entering it as if he were chasing her. She can hear the car's engine go off, as well as his desperate call, then the footsteps.

Raven takes off her shoes.

Thanks for the lightness of her dress. She thinks about going through the back door of the tower and locking herself in her room, tomorrow she could say that she was drunk and was not thinking clearly, but now she needs to be alone.

Maybe she deserves it.

She is running barefoot through the woods with her dress catching leaves and branches, just as her hair is now a wind-tossed mess. The moon is a fuzzy point between the treetops and the warm weather does not help.

She runs a hand down her face, ridding herself of the tears that were running down her cheeks.

"Raven!"

She is not a runner, so she is caught by arms before she could open a portal to her room, another country or dimension, she really doesn't know for sure. There are three uncertain options.

Damian pushes her away, looking her in the eye.

"What's wrong? You ran away, the car was moving, Raven."

His hands go up and down her shoulders to her arms, giving her warmth. Then she realizes that she is trembling, like a scared puppy and she is a total disaster.

She wanted to escape to close her fate, because she deserves to be alone and having him close is her own personal torture.

Damian had come to her in moments of vulnerability, when no one was looking, he trusted her more than anyone, he was harassed and hated by people. Damian Wayne was easily associated with actresses, models and celebrities, they took his privacy without his consent, everyone hated or loved a version of him.

He showed her his true self and she paid him by falling in love with him.

He had driven her crazy, begging him to knock on her door or end it all.

It would destroy years of friendship and companionship.

Raven got out of a relationship, that's not how it was supposed to go, she hadn't looked for it.

He looks her in the eye, as if waiting for her to tell him the devastating ending of a novel. He is so close that his mint breath almost makes the tide, his hands are warm as the desert and she has to look away so as not to be consumed.

Her heart beats painfully in her chest.

She ruined her life for not being his.

She wants so much and that is hurting her.

"Tell me."

She digs her feet into the ground, her toes touch the ground and the dry leaves. This is real.

Suddenly, she is angry with everyone and everything.

Tell him! A voice rolled her, almost crying. You're going to ruin everything, says another with resignation.

However, something inside her asks for more, she wants to have him closer and her hands tremble wanting to interlock their fingers; it is as if a spirit had possessed her body and made her ambitious and selfish.

She feels her heart breaking.

Wanting it is bad. Damian doesn't deserve this, but ...

Now or never.

She shouts: "I love you! Ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

Time is frozen, like dead. Everything stops.

Damian is silent.

She swallows and clenches her jaw.

She wants to cry.

She has ruined everything.

But he looks up and smiles like a devil.

***

The lights are off when they reach her room, Titus is playing with her sheets and there is disorder.

She stands still, not knowing what to do.

The moonlight is bluish, almost blinding them and everything is silent. The door to her room is open, the kitchen light is dim and she listens to a tune in the distance, she thinks it's the radio that Kory always leaves on.

The tension could be cut by a knife, but it is different.

Raven has passed the effect of alcohol and knows that she has done something that is irreparable, but she couldn't care less, because he smiled and held her hand gently; Damian dropped the costumes a bit, sheltering his feelings and emotions as heshe had been taught all his life, just for her. Nobody else.

He is standing at the door.

He looks her in the eye and there is an unspoken agreement between the two.

Close the door.

Raven is an awkward mess, it will take days for her emotions to normalize, but this time she allows her stomach to spin, her hands to stay inert at the sides of her torso without knowing which position to adapt, and her brain short-circuiting.

All roads had led her to this moment.

Feeling their fear and how confused they are, none are used to showing affection unless someone loves them, but they try. She stands firm.

Damian says nothing when he approaches, he takes her hand gently interlacing his fingers, it is like fire and ice, two forces that collide. It is something so every day, but with him it is as if he left a mark that she cannot erase.

He presses their foreheads and she sigh.

She had been a hawthorn tree for a long time, but now she may be a rose.

He caresses her face, the pads of his fingers running down her forehead, her cheeks up to her neck. It is pure, there is longing and affection, he will not tell her that he loves her too, but the gentleness and innocence of the act is enough to let her breathe out, because they do not need to speak, nor do they require speeches. Love can be declared to anyone, castles are built on the sand with ease only from confessions based on nothing, but demonstrating it is something else.

Raven kisses him on the cheek, presses her lips against the skin, and the fingers he keeps on her neck tremble. His breathing is ragged, as if he was agitated; they were both so lonely, apprehensive, and fearful that this bubble was an illusion.

They cannot make promises now because this is running a thread.

Darkness surrounds them, like a blanket on this summer night. There is no one in the tower, everyone stayed at the bar and they only heard Titus's playful grunts.

Her hands go up his chest and go to the nape. They take it easy, adapting to being this close, and trying not to get the blow too strong to leave them in shock.

She presses her forehead against his cheek.

Her father's voice is strong and threatening, but she contains a smile because it is so ridiculous and funny.

"What does he say? " He whispers.

She looked him in the eyes "My father wants to kill you. "

Damian frowns "And me to him. "

Raven laughs, a loud, clear laugh; she shares his feelings about her father.

"I will have a good relationship with your father," he says sarcastically. His voice is light and attracts her, like bees to honey. "It would be a shame if you spend time with me. "

"It would be," she whispers.

He brushes back a lock of her hair, pressing both hands to her cheeks. He kisses her cheek lightly with the touch of a butterfly and sighs, almost instinctively closes his eyes and kisses her on the corner of her lips, they are like school children experiencing romance.

When they finally kiss, it is soft and delicate.

She has to lean on him not to slip, and her heart trembles with joy, because she has what she wanted for so long. She doesn't know when they crossed the line, when she started having feelings for him, it felt like a thousand years ago.

She in a safe place, she feels like she been waiting a long time to find something like that. This is the kind of love that time does not heal, that makes you sigh and beg for more.

She would ask him to please stay.

In the past she believed that love is painful, that it steals things from you and runs away, like a criminal, but it is more than that.

Kissing in the dark, limbs trembling and hearts pounding, praying this doesn't end. They are a blank page on a desk, which is filled as they go.

Raven strokes his hair, and feels his breath catch.

They stay there and Titus jumps around her, barking and expressing enthusiasm; he is the only thing in the room that is moving.

He kisses her again. This time it is safe, the kiss is slow, and he seems to want to savor this moment and her legs tremble.

His breath is slightly bitter, like whisky, and her lips are ice cold in the drink. It is an interesting contrast to his warm skin to the touch and she realizes how much she wanted to feel each of his scars, she wanted to perceive what his skin is like and the lights change the color of his green eyes, she wants to know what is under his clothes, count his freckles, moles, wounds and scars.

One of the straps of her dress falls from her shoulder.

Her body is new to him, and she is more than willing to get used to it.

Let him have everything; her heart, her body and soul.

***

Damian and Raven talk and agree to have their relationship private.

In front of the titans they are companions, they get along well, but it is not that they revolve around each other, in fact, they hardly speak if it is not for the missions. They try to separate the professional from the personal, they would have nothing in front of the others, but they look in private corners. No one knows what is between them.

They do well.

Damian has already been exposed to the media, they had gotten into his life and he was hated by everyone for his attitudes like Robin, but when they are together that does not matter. All the drama queens and the noisy ones muffle their voices and the statements of celebrities approaching him lose their meaning.

He doesn't care what is said in the tabloids.

He thinks the Titans are suspicious, but not that there was enough evidence, and none are willing to answer the questions or pay attention to suspicious glances. Nobody asks Damian, but his brothers are an exception, after all, they didn't learn from the best detective in the world for nothing and sometimes he thinks it's a curse to surround himself with his family.

He thinks Alfred and his father know but ignores them.

They are not a sentimental couple, nor do they go out too much, only on missions or compulsory fun dates, to walk in the park with Titus, although they rarely go together, since they fear finding the photos on the internet; they prefer to be in the room, have breakfast on the roof of the tower, lie next to each other without speaking, they could read together or hold hands and Damian prefers to enjoy her company when no one is around, She is surprised when she feels light waking up by his side in the morning or by entering her room after a mission.

Damian walks to her room with Titus following in his footsteps.

He goes through the room where the group watches a movie, Raven is not there, so she assumes that she must be in her room probably because they are watching a horror movie and it is not that the girl is a fan of horror movies that include Blood and uncensored deaths, the group barely notices as they are thrilled by the butter knife murder scene.

He opens the door and is surprised.

She is reading in his bed, wearing a shirt that she stole from his closet and never returned, and shorts made from gray fabric. Now she wears a plain Dolce and Gabanna shirt for sleep, as if the designer's brand was nothing.

Her short hair is strewn across the pillow and she is focused on the letters in that book.

Titus jumps onto the bed, licking the girl's face, she suppresses a smile, and looks up to see him lock the door securely.

She pet the dog "Hi. "

He quietly walks over to his computer, pulling a document Drake had sent him out of the recycle bin that contained a report with a couple of errors. His father instructed him to correct the mistakes since his brother had overdosed on coffee or something.

she is probably feeling his apprehension.

From his bag where she carries his pet's leash, water bottles, the muzzle and a part of towels, she extracts a cotton candy wrapped in a plastic bag, it looks like a pink cloud.

When he saw the vendor in the park, he remembered how she had that insane obsession with sweets and his mind began to associate her with caramel, soft and extremely sugary flavors. Sometimes he doesn't understand how she can tolerate eating a whole cotton candy.

She smiles at him and takes it in her hands. He sits on the bed, and she spreads her feet using his lap to support them; Damian looks down as if asking why he did that, but he just lets it go.

Raven eats the cotton candy, while smiling as she tries to push the dog away. Finally, the animal licks her fingers absorbing the sweetness, and she laughs.

He tries to focus on correcting the report, but her laugh distracts him.

"I'm trying to finish," he declares, but his gaze is no longer focused on the screen.

She puts a piece of cotton candy in her mouth and smiles. She doesn't answer him, but she looks sorry for interrupting him, heshe knows it's not her fault, but she didn't impose rules on Titus and around Raven he behaves like a spoiled brat.

"Sorry, it's just ..." The dog jumps on top of her and licks her fingers. Damian decides that enough is enough and with just a sign Titus settles near his feet. The girl grimaces picks up the book and opens a page. "Is that the report they called you so much for? "

He nodded.

Gotham City.

The Penguin robbed the city bank, between the streets ...

Raven shakes her hand and opens her palm. Now heshe is sitting next to her, she bumps her shoulders against his, she is small and their palms touch, she thinks she wants to interlace her fingers, but she puts a piece of cotton candy in his hand.

"Eat a little."

He is transported to the first night of mandatory fun when he hated being with the Titans, he did not belong because he knew everything there was to know, he was the most intelligent, disciplined and the most brutal fighter in the world, but nothing else and that is precisely what he lacked. He did not have any social skills, it was never clearer than in that amusement park, he had thought that his mistakes were great, he did not deserve that any of these people accepted him.

Raven had gotten closer; he didn't even know why. She offered him cotton candy ...

Just like now.

Shit. His father would kill him.

He closed the computer and set it aside. Damian eats the cotton candy, he still doesn't like it, it melts in his mouth and it is pure sugar, it is gooey, and his throat warms up, as if he had ingested a liquid at high temperatures.

He draws her in and sits her on his legs.

Raven is slim and diminutive, not muscular like Kory or Donna, but possesses the body of a runner, although both know she is not exceptional in sports, she prefers her magic. He surrounds her waist, and she rests her head against his cheek, as she likes to do when they hug.

She keeps her gaze on her book and turns the pages.

Read:

With his back to the sun, another day ends in this abandoned town.

You have a wish list:

-Know the city.

-Build an aviary for those little birds that roam your yard looking for food.

-Risking for someone and that it turns out well.

…

Damian laughs wryly.

"What? " She asked, looking him in the eye.

Raven pulls back a little but adjusts the position so that both legs rest to one side.

"You were drunk when you confessed. You took a chance. "

She buries her head in his shoulder "Don't remind me. "

She is embarrassed. He Finds this charming.

"It went right."

Raven stiffens, and looks him in the eye, but Damian is smiling because he can't help it and he likes to see how certain answers surprise her. She puts those eyes that he only sees when he smiles at her, it's like she's melting inside, struggling to hold back a sigh; He has seen her do it before they started dating because Damian Wayne is not a fool, he is still the son and heir of the best detective in the world, and he was taught from a young age to measure personal body language; It is adorable.

Maybe he still slips.

He strokes her hair, tucking one of her locks behind her right ear.

They looked into each other's eyes.

"Yes." She kisses him, sighs against his mouth, and Damian interlocks his fingers giving her a soft squeeze. "I did something right. "

His grandfather and mother would be scolding him, an Al Ghul did not hold his partner as a delicate thing and allowed himself to be kissed without a purpose, even his father who had lost the ground to the Gotham cat would give him a disapproving look, it is dangerous to establish a personal connection with your teammates, but none knew and to be honest, they were not interested.

In fact, no one knows for sure.

The diamond sparkles on her forehead.

"My father still wants to kill you."

Of course, yes.

She changes position now sitting face to face, strokes his chest until she stops at his heart and stays there. He really doesn't understand how he came to this, he didn’t expect to find love, nor in a million years would he think about being in this position, but he won't run from this. All the voices from his past scream in his head, but Damian stays.

It is so unexpected.

Damian hates when something doesn't go according to plan, because he usually has it all coldly calculated, if it doesn't work then he would have a backup. As the future leader of an organization, his life was designed, as Robin, he has to be prepared for everything and being a Titan, he took on the hard work, the aspects that others would not take care of, everything was perfected. This is out of his hands.

"I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this"

Raven smiles and they kiss.

All the murders, all his past, all the pain and confusion, the hatred and the persecutions are nothing compared to her.

End.

#damirae #fanfiction #damian wayne #raven #damian x raven

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