#<- The true heroes of this entry

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

October 1st

Happy spooky season (for real this time)! 🎃

Let’s stab some vampires!

4 a. m.—Just as we were about to leave the house, an urgent message was brought to me from Renfield to know if I would see him at once, as he had something of the utmost importance to say to me.

It’s the Mina Effect. No one can resist her Cool Secretarial Skills and Knowledge of the Train Schedule.

"Take me with you, friend John," said the Professor. "His case in your diary interest me much, and it had bearing, too, now and again on our case. I should much like to see him, and especial when his mind is disturbed."

"May I come also?" asked Lord Godalming.

"Me too?" said Quincey Morris. "May I come?" said Harker. I nodded, and we all went down the passage together.

GUYS this is not a picnic

"I appeal to your friends," he said, "they will, perhaps, not mind sitting in judgment on my case. By the way, you have not introduced me."

Renfield I love you

"Lord Godalming, I had the honour of seconding your father at the Windham; I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no more. He was a man loved and honoured by all who knew him; and in his youth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much patronised on Derby night. Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may hold alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true place as a political fable. What shall any man say of his pleasure at meeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for dropping all forms of conventional prefix. When an individual has revolutionised therapeutics by his discovery of the continuous evolution of brain-matter, conventional forms are unfitting, since they would seem to limit him to one of a class. You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts, are fitted to hold your respective places in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as sane as at least the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties. And I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as well as scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be considered as under exceptional circumstances." He made this last appeal with a courtly air of conviction which was not without its own charm.

I am, indeed, charmed

Van Helsing was gazing at him with a look of utmost intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting with the fixed concentration of his look. He said to Renfield in a tone which did not surprise me at the time, but only when I thought of it afterwards—for it was as of one addressing an equal:—

YES!!!!! VICTORY!!!!!

"Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you, to let me out of this house at once. Send me away how you will and where you will; send keepers with me with whips and chains; let them take me in a strait-waistcoat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to a gaol; but let me go out of this. You don't know what you do by keeping me here. I am speaking from the depths of my heart—of my very soul. You don't know whom you wrong, or how; and I may not tell. Woe is me! I may not tell. By all you hold sacred—by all you hold dear—by your love that is lost—by your hope that lives—for the sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt! Can't you hear me, man? Can't you understand? Will you never learn? Don't you know that I am sane and earnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fighting for his soul? Oh, hear me! hear me! Let me go! let me go! let me go!"

OH MY GOD YES he truly is Van Helsing’s equal!!! Not only does he suffer from I Cannot Tell You Shit Syndrome, he also uses what I will now officially refer to as the Dracula Loop™ to evoke his own imprisonment!!!

"You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, later on, that I did what I could to convince you to-night."

Well that sounds ominous. Hopefully no one immediately gets mentioned in a way that strongly parallels a character we’ve just lost in atrocious circumstances —

I went with the party to the search with an easy mind, for I think I never saw Mina so absolutely strong and well.

[Demonic screeches]

"You know this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps of it, and you know it at least more than we do. Which is the way to the chapel?" I had an idea of its direction, though on my former visit I had not been able to get admission to it; so I led the way, and after a few wrong turnings found myself opposite a low, arched oaken door, ribbed with iron bands. "This is the spot," said the Professor as he turned his lamp on a small map of the house, copied from the file of my original correspondence regarding the purchase.

Now is not the time to be facetious Abraham

The whole place was becoming alive with rats.

For a moment or two we stood appalled, all save Lord Godalming, who was seemingly prepared for such an emergency. Rushing over to the great iron-bound oaken door, which Dr. Seward had described from the outside, and which I had seen myself, he turned the key in the lock, drew the huge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking his little silver whistle from his pocket, he blew a low, shrill call. It was answered from behind Dr. Seward's house by the yelping of dogs, and after about a minute three terriers came dashing round the corner of the house.

As someone who grew up with a Yorkshire Terrier, this makes me indescribably happy. Good boys 🖤🩶🧡💛

The house was silent when we got back, save for some poor creature who was screaming away in one of the distant wards, and a low, moaning sound from Renfield's room. The poor wretch was doubtless torturing himself, after the manner of the insane, with needless thoughts of pain.

I came tiptoe into our own room, and found Mina asleep, breathing so softly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. She looks paler than usual.

I have no words.

"Don't you know me?" I asked. His answer was not reassuring: "I know you well enough; you are the old fool Van Helsing. I wish you would take yourself and your idiotic brain theories somewhere else. Damn all thick-headed Dutchmen!"

Renfield on the other hand has many words.

"Mrs. Harker is better out of it. Things are quite bad enough for us, all men of the world, and who have been in many tight places in our time; but it is no place for a woman, and if she had remained in touch with the affair, it would in time infallibly have wrecked her."

[Slams head on desk]

If then the Count meant to scatter these ghastly refuges of his over London, these places were chosen as the first of delivery, so that later he might distribute more fully. The systematic manner in which this was done made me think that he could not mean to confine himself to two sides of London. He was now fixed on the far east of the northern shore, on the east of the southern shore, and on the south. The north and west were surely never meant to be left out of his diabolical scheme—let alone the City itself and the very heart of fashionable London in the south-west and west.

JONATHAN HOW CAN YOU BE SO SMART YET SO DUMB

"To hell with you and your souls!" he shouted. "Why do you plague me about souls? Haven't I got enough to worry, and pain, and distract me already, without thinking of souls!"

🥺

Will not mention "drinking."

Fears the thought of being burdened with the "soul" of anything.

Has no dread of wanting "life" in the future.

Despises the meaner forms of life altogether, though he dreads being haunted by their souls.

Logically all these things point one way! he has assurance of some kind that he will acquire some higher life. He dreads the consequence—the burden of a soul. Then it is a human life he looks to!

And the assurance—?

Merciful God! the Count has been to him, and there is some new scheme of terror afoot!

AN UNEXPECTED BREAKTHROUGH

[Renfield] had got a scrap of paper and was folding it into a note-book.

Oh gods are we going to hear from Renfield himself??? Please say yes

The purchaser is a foreign nobleman, Count de Ville,

Count de Ville

Outside of the obvious pun I am being French-baited again… This novel truly is a Professor Layton game.

< Prev 🦇 Next >

[szynkaaa]

His travel companion asked him if it really was necessary to kill every single enemy they encounter, so he decided to push the yaoguai back into the ground

based on the One Piece scene with Luffy and a zombie

[multiverseofmisfits]

(◕‿◕✿) + Speeding!

From Hanaka to Bronya... Who's bike might be lifted from the ground by Hanaka herself

Send (◕‿◕✿) + A Crime To Accuse My Muse Of Committing It!

"Bronya believes she didn't go beyond the speed limit." There might be a slight confusion here. Like, is it supposed to be miles or kilometers per hour?

[trans-emet-selch]

I have always found it interesting that the WoL refers to Emet-Selch as not Emet-Selch but as Hades.

Sure, the journal entry is named Emet-Selch. But the first thing written there is that his true name was Hades. You also see this when you describe him to the Minstrel for his extreme trial.

Additionally, the description of the trial alludes to this as well. As when we talk about those we have faced in the First. We talk and refer to him as Hades. Which is also written similarly to the journal. Both of which were described/written by the WoL.

"Hearken unto a requiem for a hero fallen. A man who lived a thousand thousand of our lives clinging desperately to faint hope, never shirking his sworn duty to his long-lost brethren. A man who stood proud and did avow his true name on the threshold of the battle that would see him fall to his rival—the light to quench his shadow. Borrowing liberally from the funereal rites of the Night's Blessed, the minstreling wanderer weaves an elegy in that hero's honor—the tragic-yet-triumphant tale of a man and a battle that ne'er shall be forgotten."

You can also see this in the quest dialogue and while we cannot know the exact words the WoL used (as it is your own intrepretation of it) it is still clear that the WoL didn't refer to Emet-Selch as Emet-Selch they call him Hades.

For the WoL, this is about honoring the man who held steadfast to his ideas. Who fought for his loved ones just as much as the WoL does. Not the Ascian Emet-Selch. To honor and remember Hades as he once lived.

There is however, the matter brought up by the Minstrel: Why did Emet-Selch reveal his name to the Wol?

We do have a simple meta reason why: Hades is a recurring Summon across the Final Fantasy games. Using the name Hades is just natural to do so.

However, let's look at this from an in-lore perspective as well. For which we can look to what he says and speculate.

In the quest, Return to Eulmore, before leaving to Wright you can question Emet-Selch over the information he gives in the cutscene before. Revealing to us that Emet-Selch, along with the rest of the ascians encountered, is merely a title inherited. Their true names are hidden to take up the name and position of their seat.

You can, upon hearing this, ask him for his true name:

His reply to this is rather interesting:

There are a couple of things to note from his response. Firstly, he doesn't outright dismiss telling you his name, only says that eventually he'll reveal it. Of course, this hinges upon you living through your trials in putting down the Lightwardens and containing the light within, or simply dying from other matters.

But this would be disappointing for him. This dialogue ties into what he proposes to you later in The View From Above. To stand with him as allies. He doesn't propose this to the rest of the Scions, just the WoL. He dangles these threads because he wants them to reach back as Azem would. The WoL dying would be disappointing, and he would have to begin his search anew for Azem's soul.

We don't know if Emet-Selch has encountered Azem's shards before the WoL. Maybe he had or maybe he didn't. But it wouldn't change the fact that the WoL's death would have him searching again.

Even as he hurls insults upon the WoL for once more disappointing him, that is still Azem's soul in there. After all, his invitation to seek him out in the Tempest allows you to die with dignity. Everything he ever does is not let himself be alone and reach out to an old friend.

He wants someone else to remember it all. Who is more worthy of remembering it all than Azem?

Emet-Selch is a man of many masks. It is true, and his emotions are ever cloaked, but there are ever glimpses of them throughout Shadowbringers. Especially if it's Azem's soul prodding at him to reveal the layers underneath.

So in his final confrontation, when either the WoL dies or he, wouldn't it not be disappointing to leave the question of who the man underneath is all truly is? Perhaps even this even the last-ditch attempt to have the bearer of Azem's soul remember before either of you dies.

Emet-Selch yearns for his old friend to come back to him and remember. Just as much as he wishes shoulder the burden of remembering all of those that lived before. The WoL bears that last wish and remembers the man who fought for it all underneath as Hades. A man who once lived.

[ohhiimweird]

Lengths We Go For Love [Phainon]

Character: Phainon Reader's Gender: Neutral Additional Tags: Fluff, poetic, sleeping beauty based, Angsty ending, Phainon is the flame reaver here, definitely lore inaccurate

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

Your limbs were tangled with his when the Entry Hour greeted you both. The Deliverer had a rare moment of free time and decided to spend it with you in his arms. His head rested on your chest while you ran your fingers through his snowy white hair. He let out a heavy sigh like a dog would.

Phainon shifted to where he was practically on top of you. If he had the audacity and the lack of moral compass to hold you hostage, he would have a long time ago. You were sure of it. He might be the most clingy man you've ever met. It wasn't like you were complaining, not when you got to see sides of the Great Hero of Amphoerus no one else could.

"Honey?" Phainon asked. "Can you tell me one of your stories?" His morning voice was groggy but still laced with honey. If you thought he couldn't get sweeter, he continued to surprise you.

"Like the ones I tell the children?" you chuckled. "You live those kinds of epics every day."

"I know, but--" Phainon said.

"I tell those stories better than you ever could?" you leaned on your palm.

"See? You agree with me. Now come on."

Phainon batted his eyelashes at you while giving you the most agregious puppy-dog-eyes. You were already going to say yes. This was just an added touch.

"Alright," you smiled. You immediately thought of the perfect story. The children you taught love it, so you have it memorized at this point. "Once upon a time, there were two lovers. One was a lovely princess and the other was a commoner boy. They both knew that their love couldn't be, so the princess prayed to Mnestia, asking for a way to be with her true love and was given a tonic that would make her fall into eternal slumber. Then, she was given the antidote. The princess gave the antidote to her lover and told him to give it to her when her father declared her dead. The commoner agreed and the princess took the tonic and fell asleep that night. She stayed like this for several months before the king declared her as dead, as the princess predicted. The commoner boy broke into the princess's room and fed her the antidote through mouth-to-mouth. Finally reunited, the lovers confronted the king, saying that the Romance Titan blessed their love and that it was the commoner's kiss that broke the spell. The king was not willing to argue with a Titan and allowed the princess to marry the commoner boy, unaware that it was according to his clever daughter's plan."

Phainon listened intently to the story, despite hearing this one at least five times. He looked at you like you were wiser than Lady Tribbie.

"That one is more light hearted than your other stories," he commented.

"My mother loved tragedies. I didn't understand why when I was little," you said. "But now I think it's because we can't have a happy ending without sadness."

"I would drive away all of that suffering for you," Phainon said. "You deserve nothing but happiness."

"You've said that phrase a million different ways."

"Do you not believe me?" Phainon asked, his brows furrowed in worry.

"No, it's not that," you answered. "But you do realize that you're saying all of this to a simple teacher, right?"

"You're doubting yourself again, love."

"I'm not."

"You are, and I won't stand for it. You're the most beautiful and selfless person I've ever met. I'd rather die than call anyone else the love of my life."

"Okay, I get it," you said.

"I don't think you do." Phainon had that mischievous look his eyes. His hands went down to your sides and started tickling.

You squirmed under his touch, laughing while trying in vain to kick him away. "Hey, quit it!" you squealed.

"Not until you admit you're good enough," Phainon said in a sing-song tone.

You pulled yourself away from him, only for Phainon to pin you back to the bed. Even while teasing you, his touch was gentle.

"Alright, I yield," you breathed. "I'm good enough."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Phainon laid next to you. He gazed into your eyes with such a serious look as if he wasn't tickling you earlier. "No matter what happens, I'd find a way for us to be together. I love you."

"I love you too," you gave him a quick kiss on the lips. He returned the kiss with yearning and even a bit of desperation behind it.

___________________

The Flame Reaver knelt next to your sleeping body. Getting something to put you to sleep for so long was the most difficult thing he's ever done. But, it was well worth it.

You must've thought his words that day were an exaggeration. But, the Flame Reaver was serious. He would do anything if it meant you could be together when the new dawn rushes in. Until then, he would do whatever it took to keep you safe.

The antidote was somewhere. The Flame Reaver didn't know where he put it, but he knows that he has it. That's all that matters.

Perhaps he was inspired by that story about the princess and her commoner lover you told. The lengths they both went for love stuck to him every time he heard it. This is no fairytale world, yet the Flame Reaver relied on one to save you. How ironic.

The skies in Okhema were turning red. The cycle would reset once again and the Flame Reaver would get another chance to save you. He just hoped he would do it right.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Loveuary Challenge! - I Think I Love You

Worst! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: Here's my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt and @lubdubology's Loveuary Challenge! I picked Worst Logan cause he's my boo rn <3, also I sorta but not really based it off the song "I Think I love You" by the Partridge Family! It just been stuck in my head!

Plot: Logan has a crush on the florist in the neighborhood...

Warnings: SMUT, and fluff :), MDNI, PiV sex, Logan being an anxious baby girl, Wade being a nuisance, a lil angst cause of Logan self-loathing

Word Count: 5650

Logan stared at the door of the apartment building, his hands felt shaky, and his stomach turned. He felt like all the adamantium that had merged into his bones had melted and pooled into his feet, keeping him from stepping outside. 

The Wolverine, the toughest son of a bitch out there

Frozen in place because he’s nervous to talk to a woman.

Pathetic.

He swears he could hear Wade right now, taunting him, calling him names. 

“Whiskey dick, whiskey dick, whiskey dick-OW!”

He turned his head, annoyance clear on his face, shoving his hand in Wade's face which had become annoyingly close to his, and pushed him away. Apparently, he zoned out in his anxiety-ridden panic so much he didn’t notice Wade stalking him. “Shut the hell up.” He growled, shaking his head, turning back to the door. He took a deep breath, pushed the handle of the door and stepped outside in the cold February air. 

He didn’t like the cold, but at least the fresh air seemed to help clear his head, as he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way down the street, to you. He knew where you would be, as you are almost every day. He has your routine remembered down to the second - though hopefully you haven’t noticed that. 

The colorful florist shop came into view quickly, seeing it was only right down the street from the apartment Logan was hopefully temporarily residing in. He caught sight of you, wonderful, lovely, gorgeous you, and his heart started beating faster. 

He met you pretty quickly after he regrettably agreed to live with Wade until he could get on his feet. He’d been walking the block, the streets of the neighborhood every day to get familiar with them, and hopefully find a job. He bumped into you- well actually, he caught you. 

You were up on a ladder, fixing the marquee sign of your shop, changing out the words of the previous promotion you were offering for your flowers, and putting up the new sale. Logan was watching you- you immediately caught his eye from the way the sunlight glowed around you. One misstep down the ladder and you nearly took a tumble to the concrete- but he stepped in and caught you in his arms, bridal-like in how he held you- like a true hero. 

God, you were so sweet, so flustered. You thanked him a million times, and gave him some flowers as appreciation. A bouquet of Hyacinths. He felt silly as man to be taking flowers from someone…But he couldn’t say no to you, not with how you made over him, how your hand touched his arm, how you fixed the collar of his flannel and pressed your hand to his chest. That pretty smile, those gorgeous eyes….

He was smitten from then on. 

Something drew him to you, every day. An urge to see your smile, to hear your voice. A strange comfort in a world that was similar to his but not-quite-his and it had put him on edge. 

He came home that day he met you and Wade immediately knew what was up. 

“Oh, I see you ran into a flower girl.” He grins, eyeing the bouquet in Logan's hand. Logan frowned, quaking a brow. “The lovely lady at the florist shop down the street, yes? She’s a good friend of mine. You recognize her in the picture?” Wade nods to the polaroid that was sitting in a frame, burnt and torn from the incident with the TVA, now carefully preserved. Logan glanced at it and recognized your smiling face. 

“I just helped her out. “ Logan mutters, a shake of his head as he glances down at the pretty flowers you gave him. 

“And she appreciated it so much that she gave you flowers?” Wade stood up. “So…I’m only going to ask this once and whatever you say, I’ll believe you! But…”

Logan waited in confusion, his irritation growing as silence went on. 

“Whose ass do you prefer? Me or hers?” 

That was about 6 months ago. Since then, he’s gotten to know you on his walks, running into you nearly every day- purely by coincidence of course - not because he had the pull to see you ever since he met you. Wade invites you to his parties, occasional dinners, and movie nights- sometimes you stop by with a homemade meal to drop off for them. He’s learned your favorite drink, your favorite snack, your favorite song, your favorite flower. Your favorite things. Ever since he’s been on these walks, your shop being on the path that he takes to his job, the dining room table of Wade and Althea’s apartment always has a vase of fresh flowers.  

Logan felt for you a feeling he thought he didn’t have the capability to feel anymore.

Today was Valentine's day, and Logan was working the nerve up to finally ask you out. Wade had been pushing him to for months, always getting hit with a “shut the fuck up” from Logan, pretending as if he wasn’t interested, even though it was far from the truth. 

Logan was terrified. Not just of asking you out, but of you saying yes.

Logan didn’t think highly of himself. He was dragged into this universe, forced to start over, in some ways a blessing but also a curse. While the Wolverine in this universe is regarded as a hero, he still remembers his old life, where he was regarded as a killer, a monster, a disgusting mutant. He knows of the blood on his hand, the mistakes he’s made, the people- people he loved- that he turned his back on. 

You didn’t know this. 

You were just such a lovely creature. You had a figure that made Logan want to drool like a dog, fisting himself nearly every night in the shower to the image of you. You were smart, open and welcoming, and extremely compassionate - and likely the only person truly patient enough to put up with Wades antics. 

Logan didn’t feel like he deserved to have someone like you in his arms, in his life. Yet, with the constant nagging from Wade, and the flutters he gets from your smiles - he found himself giving in. He was going to attempt to ask you out today, Valentine's day, and hope that this doesn’t end in hellfire, like most things in his life.

He spotted you, outside your shop, preparing bouquets of roses, lilies, and other flowers he hadn’t really learned the name of yet. The sight of you took his breath away. You had on a pink t-shirt, tied in the front that hugged your waist, and high-waisted jeans- they fit around your tummy and thighs snuggly. When you turned around he had to gulp. Two large heart prints on the fabric of your jeans, over your butt.  

He couldn’t help but hold a small smirk as he admired your ass from afar. It wasn’t till he got glared at by an old lady walking past that he realized he probably looked like a pervert. He cleared his throat, giving the lady a courteous yet awkward nod as he made his way over to you. 

He reached you, and could barely make a word to you, you turned around, looking up in surprise at Logan. 

“Oh! Hey Lo!” You smiled, eyes bright. “Happy Valentine’s day!”

He thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest. “Hey doll,” He greeted back. “Sell a lot of flowers already?”

“Yes, actually.” You smiled bigger. “It’s so cute, these people coming in here, buying flowers. I had this teenage boy come in a little bit ago, he was SO nervous, he was buying flowers for his first girlfriend.” You clasped your hands together, shaking your head, your hair bouncing with your movements. “So cute, young love. You remember your first crush?” 

Not really, it was almost 150 years ago.

“Sure do.” Logan lies. 

“Do you have any Valentine's plans? I heard Wade and Ness’ are going on a date!” 

“Yeah,” Logan nodded. “I mean, no- no I don’t have any plans.” He stammers, “I just know about them going on a date. Wades all nervous about it.”

“He’s so cute.” You laugh, turning back to the bouquets and fixing them up a little bit. “So, you don’t have any plans?”

“No, not at the moment.” He says. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment, your expression looked like you wanted to say something, but then you bit your lip, and nodded, turning back to the roses. 

Flowers, you need to give her flowers before you ask her out.

“I actually wanted to buy some flowers, bub.” He says finally, almost monotone- lacking any excitement in his voice.

“Really? What are you looking for?” 

“Uh…” He glanced at the bouquets in the front. “I’ll look around.” He nodded to the shop, and you smiled a nod. He turned to go inside, but you called his name.

“You okay Lo?” 

“Fine.” He forced a thin-lipped smile, before heading inside your shop, and you watched him with a suspicious squint. This was not the usual Logan you knew. He looked nervous as hell, he’s never acted like that before. An anxious thought hit you. He’s never bought flowers before- you gave him bouquets for free, it was your discreet way of flirting. What if he’s buying them for some other girl? 

You tried to shake the thought out of your head, as you ended up going inside- the cold was biting your skin, and now you were nervous at the thought that some girl out there had caught Logan's attention before you could muster the courage to say something to him. 

The inside of your shop was an absolute wonderland of plants. Not only did you sell flowers, but you sold houseplants, gardening tools, gardening decorations, and more. Seeing that it was Valentines, you had the place decorated with red and pink hearts, and bouquets were scattered all over- alongside decorative cards someone could pick up and hand write to their loved one. 

He was staring at the cooler of flowers, that you could create individual bouquets with. He had several flowers picked out already, as he stared at them with concentration, completely focused on the task at hand. 

You tried to busy yourself with your usual tasks as you leaned against the counter, but your eyes kept wandering to where he stood. You glanced up to his face and felt yourself swoon for a moment. He’s just so handsome.

When Wade first told you about the new roommate, whom he described as “Hugh Jackman is he was an alcoholic and had emotional constipation”, you just rolled your eyes and laughed- figuring he was up to his shenanigans. Then you met said roommate- the man literally caught you when you fell off a ladder the first time you met. How could you not form a crush on him? 

He did strangely look like Hugh Jackman too...

Then you got to know him. You got to know of his temper, his smart mouth, and you saw how hard he tries every day, despite his past. He doesn’t know that you know about it, and that you know he’s a mutant. Wade spilt the beans accidentally over a few drinks where he ended up crying in your lap about Vanessa, and somehow ended up talking about Logan's problems too.  

It didn’t change your view of him at all. Of course not. Sure it sounds a bit...violent. Logan wasn’t a perfect man, but neither were you. You were the kind of person who believed that everyone deserves second chances, and you fully believed this was Logan's second chance…

Logan huffed, staring at the flowers he picked out. Hyacinths, roses, something leafy that he doesn’t know the name of but smells incredibly good. He walked over to your register, catching sight of the bare skin of your midsection as your shirt rode up your body from leaning over. 

“Pick something out?”

“Yeah..This looks alright?” 

“It looks great.” You smiled, you took the bouquet, and began preparing them. “You want them wrapped, or in a vase?”

“Wrapping is fine.”

“Color?” 

“Um…Pink.” 

You nodded, and moved to start wrapping the bouquet, snipping the stems, and pulling some leaves off so the flowers would remain fresh. You hummed along to a song that played over the speakers in your shop - something Logan knew was your own personally crafted playlist. He faintly recognized the song, something he likely heard years and years ago. 

This morning I woke up with this feeling

   I didn't know how to deal with and so I just decided to myself

    I'd hide it to myself and never talk about it

          And did not go and shout it when you walked into the room

I think I love you (I think I love you)

      I think I love you so what am I so afraid of

          I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for

                     I think I love you isn't that what life is made of

                              Though it worries me to say that I never felt this way

His eyes trailed over the curve of your face, as he thought about what it might feel like to press his lips along your jaw, leaving behind soft kisses and purple bruises as he showed you how he felt about you. 

You finished wrapping the bouquet, and presented it to him proudly. 

“There you go! Looks good?”

“Looks perfect.” He nods, flashing you a genuine smile that makes you blush. You moved to type the price into the registers. You informed him of the price and he pulled his wallet out, pulling out some cash and handed it to you. 

“Thanks Lo…” You put the cash away, completing the sale. “So…Who’s the lucky one getting that bouquet? Or are you getting it for yourself?” You tease as you lean forward against the counter towards him. He looked at you blankly, then looked at the flowers.

You fucking idiot.

“Well,” He glanced at the bouquet, “It’s actually for you.” He says, handing it back to you over the counter. You stood up, surprise on your face. He felt himself flush, you have to think he was the biggest dumbass on Earth. Walking in here and buying flowers from you just to hand them back over? He wasn’t even thinking. That’s what you do to him, his brain goes fuzzy when you’re around. It’s not as if he wasn’t over 200 years old, and has done flirting and relationships more times than he can remember.  

You slowly took the flowers, and he waited, but a huge grin grew on your face. You looked up at him through your lashes. “Logan?”

“Yeah bub?”

“You want to have dinner with me tonight?”  

His mouth hung open, and he closed it, a thin-lipped smile, and he nodded. “Yeah..That’d be nice.” 

You bit your lip, as you resisted the urge to wiggle your hips and dance from excitement. “Okay, how about 7 pm?” 

“That’s good for me.”

“Okay, just buzz in when you’re here.” You smiled. Your apartment was upstairs, a very convenient location for you when you were looking for a place to open your shop a few years ago. He nodded, turning to leave, “And Lo? Thank you.” You add, cradling the flowers to your chest. 

He smiled at you, before leaving the shop. You took a deep breath. 

God he is so cute…

The next few hours were hell for Logan. He sat on the couch panicking over every possible situation that could happen tonight. Ranging everything from you laughing him out of your apartment to him somehow accidentally maiming you with his claws. 

He reached out for the bottle of whiskey he pulled out the second he came back into the apartment, and then another horrifying thought came to his head. 

Whiskey dick

He set the whiskey bottle down. It’s not like he was expecting anything to happen tonight, it was just dinner. It’s not the first time you had dinner together, but..If something were to happen, he couldn’t risk the idea that he wouldn’t be able to perform. Fuck, nothing would be more embarrassing then the idea of being able to get into your pants and he couldn’t even do anything. In fact, he hasn’t done anything in years and he really rather not think about that. 

You were not much better. After you closed the shop at 4 o'clock- it had been an extremely busy day. Customers rushing in and out, men, women, mothers with children, a father with a newborn, an old man, a man in a business suit who had no idea what he was looking for, a group of teenagers, people who tugged you left and right for a custom bouquet, advice for flowers, even asking you to write love notes to their loved ones. Some of them are cute, others baffling you at how they managed to get a lover if this is the effort they only put in towards it.

Despite the chaos of the day, Logan lingered in your mind. Nerves shot through you as you realized that you had nothing planned when you asked Logan to come over for dinner. 

You rushed upstairs to your apartment, rushing to shower, shave, moisturize- and figure out what the hell you were going to make Logan. Oh- and clean your apartment. Put on makeup. Figure out an outfit. 

Didn’t think this through.

You check the time, 5:45. It’s okay. You have time.

You looked at the bouquet Logan had gotten you, and you smiled softly, carefully taking one of the flowers in your hand as you felt the petals. How adorable was he, the way he scrutinized every flower he picked out, and you were so worried that he was picking them out for someone else, and it was meant for you the entire time. The way he looked like a deer caught in headlights when he handed them back to you. 

You've never seen him act like this before. Logan was always so…calm, if that’s the way to put it. He acted with a certain nonchalant grumpiness that didn’t make him an asshole but more like someone you could be comfortable with because he didn’t mind the silence and didn’t force the awkwardness. He’d get pissed at Wade- that was the worst you saw of his temper, albeit you’ve heard a few amusing stories from Wade over it. The Logan you saw today seemed like a schoolboy approaching his crush to ask to dance. Did you really make him that nervous?

You took forever picking out the dress, the perfect makeup, deciding how to style your hair, and you started cooking a tad late, and before you knew it you heard the familiar buzzing at your front door. 

You walked up to your door, pressing the intercom button, 

“Hello?”

“It’s Logan.”

“Come on in, apart 4-”

You hit the unlock button, hearing a clicking across the intercom, as you let go and go back to the kitchen to check on your food for the moment. A knock at your door and you quickly ran over to open it. 

Logan stood there, adorning a nice t-shirt, flannel, and jeans. He held a bottle of wine in one hand, a hand in his pockets. He blinked as his eyes raked over your figure. 

“Wow.” He breathed out, a small smirk appeared on his face. “All this for me?”

You blushed, biting your lips, “Come in.” You moved out of the doorway to allow him space. He stepped in, brushed past you, not taking his eyes off you. 

“I brought some wine- It’s the kind you like, right?” He held up the bottle and you smiled, taking it and nodded for confirmation.

“It is! Thank you.” You say, “Dinners running a little late by the way…Hope you’re not too hungry yet.” 

“Need help?” 

You eyed him cautiously, “Didn’t Wade say you almost set the apartment on fire trying to cook?”

“No. That was him, asshole just blamed it on me.” Logan scoffed, shaking his head. You chuckled, leading him to the kitchen. He was greeted by the fresh aroma of seasoned veggies, and steak simmering in a pan. “Smells great.” He says warmly, his eyes taking over your back. 

God you looked good.

He had been so nervous, but then you opened the door. Standing there, all gussied up and it felt like he could breathe. A stroke of confidence ran through him, and suddenly he didn’t know why he had been so…Nervous.

It was you. Sweet, wonderful you. Who always knew how to calm him down with a simple touch of your hand, how you always asked how he was doing but never pushed him to talk about anything he didn’t want to. You, who greeted him happily every single day as if you didn’t know he was going to show up, with that sparkle in your eyes that made him think you saw something in him he didn’t know existed. 

How’d that song go again? 

   I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of

          I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for

                     I think I love you isn't that what life is made of

                              Though it worries me to say that I never felt this way

His eyes landed on your thighs, where the hem of your dress ended just above your mid-thigh. Your skin just looked plush and soft and fuck he wanted to bite you. 

“Thanks! Could you wash those potatoes and cut them up for me?” You asked, turning your head to glance at him. You saw his eyes snap up to yours at the last second. 

“Sure bub.” He nods, moving to the counter next to you, he grabs the sack of potatoes already lying out, pulling a few out and bringing them to the second where he washed them under the faucet, before placing them on the cutting board already set out. He reached out and grabbed a knife from the placeholder and set to dice them. You watched him for a moment and it slipped out.

“Do you ever use the claws to do that?”

He stopped, completely frozen, before his eyes turned to look at you and you realize you messed up. 

“Cause..I…Figured that…Would be…more…convenient…” Your voice got quieter under his stare. “Wade…Told me. A while ago. To be honest though I assumed, even if you guys didn’t say anything, you both acted weird about how you came here and stuff.” 

He sighs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head turning back to start dicing the potatoes again, anger evident in the way the knife slammed into the cutting board.

“It doesn’t bother me.” You say softly. His face relaxed, and he looked at you again. You brought a hand up to his bicep. “I think you’re great Logan.” 

You saw his shoulders relax. He put down the knife, and he turned to face you. “You sure?” He asked, and you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. “There’s still things you don’t know about me.”

“I actually think I do.” You squeezed his shoulder, stepping closer. “I’m sorry, for everything that happened to you.” 

He pursed his lips together. “I’m not a good guy bub.” 

“You’re trying though.” You say. “That’s the only thing that matters.” 

He let out a small breath, as he leaned forward and quickly captured your lips in a kiss. He was soft, gentle about the way he kissed you- trying to give you space to pull away, but your hands slid into his hair, and pulled him closer. He placed his hands on your hips, pulling you against him. 

Parting with a harsh gasp, slowly opening your eyes, to still him in a similar state as you. Flushed, panting, with swollen lips. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He says. 

You shook your head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I found out.” 

“How long?”

You bit your lip, “Few months.”

He let out a sigh. “You really knew all that time…And didn’t think less of me?” 

“Of course not.” You reassure, your eyes glancing down at his lips. You looked back up at him. “I like you…A lot Logan.” 

He smiled, tugging your closer, lowering his head against yours. “Yeah bub? Think I like you a lot too.” 

Your hands moved down to the collar of his shirt. “Why don’t you show me?” You whisper. 

“Really?” He chuckled. “What about dinner?”

“That can wait. Show me.” 

He wasted no time in capturing your lips in a searing kiss, your arms rested on his shoulders, as his hands gripped your hips and tugged you closer, leaning into you. Your lips moved together with a fervent passion, and he licked across your bottom lip, as you allowed him inside, moaning the moment you felt his tongue lick into your mouth. 

His hands moved down your hips, over the curve of your ass, and he squeezed- letting out a soft breath at the feeling of you and the way his hands covered you. He leaned down, encouraging you to jump as his hands went to your thighs and he picked you up, carrying you into the living room. 

He placed you gently over the couch, one hand braced by your head, the other still resting on your hip, as he kept himself located between your thighs. He pecked your lips a few times before moving down to kiss your neck, his lips brushing over your pulse point, you sighed contently at his touch. 

He brought his hand down, realizing that he’d become a tad shaky as he pushed it underneath the skirt of your dress, and began moving up your thigh. 

“This okay?” He mutters as he kisses along your collarbone. 

“Mhm.” He felt you nod, and his fingertips made contact with your panties- they were lacey, he could feel as he brushed over them and he let out a shaky breath. “You’re so beautiful darling-” He mutters, nuzzling into your neck and sucking at your pulse point. 

You let out a soft moan, which spurred him on as his fingers flit under the hem of your panties, reaching your soaking wet core. Your hands came to his shoulders, gripping his flannel tightly. 

“You alright?”

“Mhm.” You nodded again, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lip. He lifted his head up, watching your reaction as he delved his fingers into your warm wet folds. “Oh-” You breathed. He had to swallow back his moan at the feeling of you- so wet for him already. Have you been needy for him for a long? He’d have to make it up to you. 

His fingers stroked back and forth in your folds, before he found your clit, softly pressing against it, making your hips jump. He nuzzled against your face, hearing the sound of your heart pounding. He understood, his heart was pounding too. He began running circles over your bud, listening and watching for your reaction that showed him what you liked. 

“Logan-” You whined. 

“Yeah bub?” 

“I need you.” 

Oh fuck.

“Please?”

He let out a shaky breath as he lifted his head to look down at you. “You sure?”

You opened your eyes and nodded. Biting your lip and you look up at him pleadingly. 

Normally, he’d like to take his time. Open you up, get a taste, and hear those sweet moans escape your lips. He’s not sure if he’s going to last long- the way you’re looking at him right now made him want to cum right then and there. 

He captured you in another heated kiss, adjusting himself, his hands came to your panties and pulled them off you. The sweet smell of your arousal haunting his senses and making his mind go blank. His hands came up and quickly undid his belt and pants, pushing his jeans down, his hard cock popping out- thick and swollen, pre cum oozing at the tip and making your mouth water. He was huge, bigger than any man you’ve seen. You’re wondering if maybe you should have let him finger your- but then again, the idea of him fucking you open created a fresh gush of wetness between your legs. 

He started to adjust himself, then stopped.

“I don’t have a condom.” He says blinking up at you. 

“That’s okay. I’m on the pill.” You say shyly with a shrug. 

He groaned. “I think I love you, bub.”

You giggled at that, not realizing how much honesty was behind his words. 

He leaned down and pecked your lips again, before leaning his forehead against yours and angling himself against your wet pussy, finding your hole and circling his tip around it, lubing you with his pre-cum.

You gasped the moment you felt his tip push inside, and your legs shook from the pressure of him stretching you open. He waited a moment, before moving deeper inside you, inching slowly and carefully, watching for any sign of your discomfort. 

You on the other hand? Was on cloud 9. You tipped your head back, mouth hanging open, eyes rolled back. You would often use your fingers to fuck yourself, imagining it was him- but your fingers were nothing compared to him. 

He bottomed out inside you, resting there, as he felt your walls constrict around him.

Don’tcumdon’tcumdon’tcumdon’tcum

He begged his mind as he went into a haze over how good you felt with you spread on his cock. He should have made a move sooner, fuck he should have asked you out the second he caught you off that ladder. He knows one thing for sure, that he wasn’t letting you go at all. You’ll be lucky if he even lets you out of his sight at this point- much less this apartment. Already making plans in all the ways he’s going to fuck you.

“Logan-” You whined. “I- I need you to move.”

He took a deep breath, and he slowly pulled out, before thrusting back inside. A small hiccup escaped you, and he did it again. He pressed his hands onto the cushions of the couch. One leg braced against the floor, the other bent and resting against the cushion. He thrusted his hips again, as he felt you begin to open up, and moved his pace to go faster. 

He fucked into you at a steady pace, his lips finding purchase on your neck again as he sucked bruises onto your skin, giving him something to focus on because he thought he was going to blow any second, your whines and cries filling his ears. 

He sat up, looking down over you, his mouth hung open and eyes heavy-lidded as he panted, maintaining his pace. He moved to grab the hem of your dress and pushed it up your belly. 

Fuck fuck fuck!

He watched himself fuck into your, the way you pussy sucked him in greedily with each thrust, your arousal coating his cock and your thighs. 

“You feel so fucking good doll-” He moaned, he started getting faster, his fingers finding your clit again, and began rubbing. “I’m gonna need you to cum baby.” 

“Logan-” You whined, grabbing his arms, your nails digging into the skin of his forearms as you stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes and parted lips. 

“C’mon, I know you can do it sweetheart. Cum for me.”

Your body trembled, as his fingers moved faster against your clit, he angled himself to thrust upwards into you, and that thin thread finally snapped. You stared into his eyes as your cunt clenched and tightened over him. Relief washed over you as wave after wave of your orgasm passed, Logan fucking you through it and finally cumming himself.

He slammed into you, his body falling over yours, with a shout of your name, as he filled you up with ropes of his cum. He was panting harshly, and your arms wrapped around him, as you turned your head to seek out his lips. He pressed an eager kiss back to you, bringing his arms to carefully hold onto you while you both laid there in post-orgasmic haze. His head resting next to yours, your hand softly scratching his back. 

“Lo?”

“Hm?”

“Can I see the claws?” 

There was a moment of silence, and he brought his fist up, safely away from your face as he let his claws out.

Snikt!

You gasped, eyes wide in delight as you observed the metal appendages that came out of his fist, the way they shined against the light of your living room. “Wow!” You exclaimed. “You know that would be nice for pruning.” 

Logan chuckled, “Really? You think?”

“Yeah!” You grinned looking at him, admiring his smile, and the flush of his cheeks. 

“Are you hiring?” 

You giggled, moving to kiss him again, you moved to wrap your arms around him and you heard the claws retract as his arms wrapped back around you, his arms pulling you into a warm embrace that felt nothing but safe in his arms. 

Logan thought back to that song again, as he felt your lips against his, your hands tugging him closer. 

I think I love you isn't that what life is made of

    Though it worries me to say I never felt this way

              Believe me you really don't have to worry

        I only wanna make you happy and if you say "hey go away" I will

                 But I think better still I'd better stay around and love you

                         Do you think I have a case let me ask you to your face

 Do you think you love me?

[anthurak]

So as a bit of a more in-depth followup to this post:

You know that trope we see weirdly regularly in ‘next generation’ sequels where the kid/teen heroes of the original series for some reason routinely become fairly shitty/dysfunctional parents to their own kids? Even to the point of sometimes repeating the same mistakes of their own parents.

I can’t help but feel like this is something that RWBY is doing a fair bit of subtle commentary on, especially with Team STRQ gradually being more and more revealed to a be an almost hilariously dysfunctional hot fucking mess of a family who somehow ALL massively fucked up raising Yang and Ruby.

I’ve brought this up a few times now in other posts, but I think it’s very easy to read Team STRQ as having been the heroic protagonists of their own fantasy adventure story back during their time at Beacon and afterwards as a professional hunter team.

Specifically, a much more standard, trope-y, ‘played straight’ fantasy adventure story in contrast to RWBY’s much more subversive, deconstructionist interrogation of its fantasy tropes and archetypes.

Or put another way; Team STRQ’s story was ‘played straight’ right up until the final proverbial credits rolled and all the underlying issues and character baggage that were always glossed over and pushed to the side because a ‘typical fantasy adventure’ story with its simplistic morality doesn’t want to deal with it. And neither do the characters.

Which of course leads to such things as Summer’s ever-growing martyr complex, Raven’s and Qrow’s self-esteem issues, Tai’s potential repression of abandonment issues via abrasive behavior, and of course EVERYTHING with Ozpin and his followers being ignored.

Team STRQ may have beaten the bad guys and saved the day, but they never addressed any of the real underlying problems. With others, or themselves.

Which leads to, among other things, the now STRQ family being a case of the aforementioned ‘fantasy adventure hero(s) growing up into dysfunctional parents to the next generation’ trope dialed up to eleven.

We pick up twenty or so years after all of Team STRQ’s big, exciting adventures to find that everything has gone to shit for them. Taiyang the (I’m assuming) previously boisterous, fun-loving jokester of the team has become a jaded, withdrawn, nearly broken man and an abusively neglectful father. Qrow the (again assuming) the recovering social recluse who learned true familial affection and connection from his team now fully believes that his semblance makes him a danger to his loved ones and in large part tried to distance himself. Raven the former edgy rival turned fiercely loyal defender of her new family has completely vanished, cutting all ties with her new family. And Summer the unfailingly optimistic and driven heroic leader, heroine and core of her team has also completely vanished and is presumed DEAD.

And the two daughters of our team of heroes have an upbringing the more resembles that of a couple of orphans, being forced to effectively raise themselves with all four of their parents/parent-figures being entirely consumed by all of their respective unresolved baggage and trauma.

Oh and it turns out there was a way, way BIGGER villain than any that Team STRQ dealt with and the seemingly wise mentor to all of them is a way bigger fuckup than anyone could have ever thought.

And the aforementioned daughters and their friends and the rest of their generation are the ones who have to actually deal with it, and all the fuckups of their parents.

Again, RWBY is a story that essentially skips the standard, trope-y, ‘by the books’ first entry in a fantasy series and goes right to the super subversive, deconstructionist sequel.

[thedexcat]

Caged Bluebirds with Broken Wings

A Deltarune Chapter 2 Retrospective

So I'm not one to watch theory videos and whatnot, but I do passively hear what people have to say. And I think that not enough people are going back to re-analyze the older chapters. So here's some thoughts I have on Chapter 2, but with the hindsight of Chapter 3/4 information. So while this post revolves around Chapter 2, there will be references to the events of Chapters 3 and 4. Be warned!

(I might add images later, if I can remember to. ADHD will probably have other plans.) Over time, I've begun to notice some thematic parallels between Kris and Berdly. In Chapters 3/4, it becomes increasingly evident that Kris has wavering loyalties. They're torn between helping their new friends and fulfilling some unknown obligation to The Voice on the Phone. They're working against the interests of their friends, yet can't stand to see them come to harm. Looking back on Chapter 2, Berdly seems... similarly flippant. Working with Queen to achieve some inscrutable end, his actual alliance constantly shifts throughout the chapter. An obstacle, but only occasionally so. A friend to the heroes, even if he's working against them. If we interpret Berdly's arc as being a parallel to Kris's... things get interesting.

Let's start with Queen. Much of the chapter revolves around the relationship between the overbearing and controlling Queen and Noelle. One interpretation I've heard several times back when Chapter 2 was new was that it's meant to be a parallel to the relationship between Carol and Noelle. So if Queen is meant to represent Carol, then what does that make Berdly...?

In Chapter 4, it's very heavily implied (but not outright confirmed, don't forget!) that Carol is The Voice on the Phone. Carol seems to want to use Kris and Noelle for some nebulous purpose, possibly to cover the world in Darkness like Queen intended to. This implication is a bit stronger in the Chapter 4 Weird Route ending. I'd guess that her motives are December-related. Controlling others to achieve an end that's satisfying to her. There's... a lot of meta-narrative to unpack there, but let's step back to Chapter 2 for now. In terms of Chapter 2 outcomes, most people are familiar with the Pacifist Ending and the Weird Ending. But I want to focus on a lesser-seen outcome: the one you get when you use violence to resolve the Queen&Berdly fight.

As we all know, in this fight Queen has taken control of Berdly, using his body to fight not unlike some unwanted puppet on a string. Trying to take down the 'puppeteer' without aiding the 'puppet' leads to a rather unfortunate outcome. Berdly tries to wrest Queen's hold over him on his own. Ripping the intrusive outside force from his body, he ends up seriously injured, losing the use of his hand. A result that would be absolutely miserable for a gamer... or a pianist. Cut to the latest chapters. Many people have noticed a troubling amount of references to lost hands, specifically Kris losing a hand. "You thought you saw through your hand." -Using 'Glass' in the Light World "You couldn't find your hand." -Ch. 3 Gatcha Maze "As long as Kris has a hand to help me up..." -Ch. 3 Knight Battle "The protagonist wakes up without a hand..." -Ch. 4 "Blood Crushers 2" ...and so on. So what does this mean? Let's review Berdly's possible fates. A: Because of the MERCY of his friends (Berdly seems to place a strange emphasis on this), Berdly is able to wrest control from Queen unharmed.

B: Neglected by his friends that are busy trying to strike down their foe, Berdly tries to free himself on his own and is permanently wounded. C: Fully succumbing to manipulative forces, Noelle is compelled to use lethal force on Berdly. "But wait!" I hear you say, "Didn't Chapter 4 reveal that Berdly survived Snowgrave?" Well... there's a certain detail that comes to mind. Let's go back further. To the True Lab of Undertale. ENTRY NUMBER 6 ASGORE asked everyone outside the city for monsters that had "fallen down." Their bodies came in today. They're still comatose... And soon, they'll all turn into dust.

In Chapter 4's Weird Route, Berdly is comatose and unresponsive. Now, consider the fates of the Amalgamates in the Deltarune timeline. In the absence of the Determination experiments, the comatose monsters all withered and died, their dust buried in the graveyard. While he wasn't immediately killed by the spell, Berdly is not long for this world. This leads me to believe that in the future chapters, three possible fates await Kris. I speculate that they'd look something like this: A: The compassionate actions of the player somehow cause Kris's friends to learn of Kris's "promise", and they help them break free of their binding obligation to The Voice (and/or control of the SOUL). B: Left to their own devices, Kris resorts to desperate measures to break free from the control of others, ultimately losing a hand in the process. C: The player commands Noelle to kill Kris, allowing for full control over a new vessel: Noelle, who is more powerful and more compliant than Kris.

...Of course, this is all just my personal interpretation, subject to being proven hilariously wrong in future chapters. But I had to get these thoughts out the moment I connected the "Kris loses a hand" implications to the Chapter 2 endings. Naturally, if Berdly is meant to be a parallel to Kris, then I'm sure that many of the scenes in Chapter 2 will have narrative implications beyond just the 'endings'. I'm interested to hear about other Chapter 1/2 content that may have been recontextualized by the latest chapters!

[save-the-villainous-cat]

So! I know you did inexperienced villain with a hero that's been there for a long time but what if it was the opposite? The hero is new (could possibly be thrown a lot of work without knowledge on how to do them, pretty naive and just wanted to save everyone) and they found the villain but they're nervous and pretty awkward. You're singlehandedly saving the heroxvillain prompt tumblr and I've been reading every single one godbless

-I,A

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed.” The villain cocked their head and observed the hero calmly. They didn’t have their suit on, had barely anything on and yet, the hero was terrified of that seemingly normal person staring at them.

“I…sorry, this must be the wrong address,” the hero muttered. It shouldn’t have been that terrifying — after all, the villain didn’t have any weapons (the hero knew of) on them and altogether, they seemed to be getting ready for bed.

But, hell, the things the villain was able to do were beyond horrifying. The hero had done their research, had educated themselves on everything the data system had to offer. No matter how many times they updated the system, every time they read the same thing.

Weaknesses: Unknown.

It wasn’t necessarily the violence. It was the intimidation and the blackmail. It was their choice of words and how they looked at people. The villain was so incredibly careful with everything they did, it even surprised the hero how they’d come this far.

“No, you have the right address,” the villain said. The hero felt quite stupid where they stood in the living room. The window was still open from their rough entry and they considered just jumping out of it. That would have probably been the first smart decision of theirs today. “You’re that newbie.”

“I—” Their face started to heat up. The villain knew about them? The hero had made one public appearance and that had been a month ago. One. One.

“Wow. You’re impressive, detective.” The villain crossed their arms in front of their chest and smiled. They had dimples. “How many graveyard shifts did you work through to figure this out?”

“I…I’m arresting you.”

“Technically, you can’t arrest me and heroes aren’t supposed to say that.” The villain shook their head and tutted. “You could get into big legal trouble for that.”

The hero’s eyes widened. That sounded plausible but they couldn’t remember if it was true. They couldn’t tell if the villain was lying to them or not.

“Crap,” the hero whispered. They looked down at the ground just for a split second and then, suddenly, the villain pushed them into their armchair and got on top. Somehow, they were pressing a knife against the hero’s ribcage.

“Nononono— wait, please—” the hero begged, putting their hands on the villain’s sturdy shoulders to push them away. It didn’t really change anything, though.

Their heartbeat skyrocketed and they started to panic.

They felt so stupid. Of course they hadn’t called for backup. Of course they hadn’t told anyone about their current location. Of course they were totally gonna die on this chair.

“Mmm,” the villain hummed, satisfied by the hero’s reactions. “How did you find me?”

“Ahh— analysing your routes and mapping and please don’t kill me—” The villain chuckled softly but the hero didn’t feel any more comfortable. They were so close that the hero didn’t even dare to let out a breath.

Their enemy’s eyes were on them, studying them relentlessly. The hero could feel the warmth of their skin under their fingertips, right there where they touched the villain’s bare shoulders.

“Gosh, you’re adorable.” The villain let out an honest laugh and leaned in. They seemed to be very invested in this. “Did you put up any cameras?”

“…no, I reckoned you’d find them—”

“You’re damn right about that. How’d you do it, then?” They moved the knife and finally, the hero allowed themselves to breathe again. The villain let the knife disappear and the hero prayed it wouldn’t show up between their ribs next.

“I asked for the footage from stores or cafés…and I, uh, sometimes I spent a few hours on rooftops.”

“Mmm. Dedicated. I like that. What did you do then?” the villain asked. Their hand was still on the hero’s shoulder and their other one on the armrest of the chair. It was quite impossible to break free, especially with the villain being merciful enough to put away the knife.

The hero didn’t want to risk anything.

Besides, the hero was clearly no match for them.

“I documented everything. And then I took a map of the city and started to draw your routes…I considered the sewer system, too. I got twenty-eight different locations where you come from and disappear to regularly.”

“Why’d you choose this one?”

“There’s a supermarket across the street. I figured you wouldn’t have much time for grocery shopping. So, after a fight or something you could still get some food.”

“Is that so?” The villain’s mouth curled into a smile again. “You’re actually wrong about that but the rest is thoroughly impressive. I guess you’re very lucky. Good job.”

“Oh, I—”

“I hope the agency gives you a promotion,” they said. With their hand, they pushed loose strands of their own hair out of their eyes. “And I’m sorry we have to meet under…these conditions.”

They looked down at their own half-naked body and the hero followed their gaze. Which they regretted quickly. Their entire head must’ve been red.

“Listen, I really don’t want any trouble, well, I mean I am obviously here to catch villains, but technically you’re not…you’re technically not at work right now...right?” The villain grinned again, showing their dimples once anew.

“Are you on patrol, yet?”

“…in two months,” the hero said.

“Two months? C’mon, I can’t wait that long. How can I contact you?”

The hero blinked. Their mouth was dry. “What?”

“I can leave you a note at the library’s front desk.” They leaned in, tickling the hero’s neck with their breath. The hero’s heartbeat spiked. “Does that sound good?”

“Oh— sure?”

“Great!” The villain took the hero’s hand and pulled them out of the chair. They bumped against each other clumsily and the hero felt, once again, incredibly stupid. “Oh, give this to your boss, will you?”

They gave them the knife they had threatened the hero with. They led them towards the door and pushed them gently into the hallway.

“Wait, before I throw you out completely—” their gaze darkened only a little “—don’t put your nose into any villain’s business like that ever again. Especially when you do not have the experience yet. Got it?”

The hero looked at the knife in their hands and then at the villain.

They nodded. The villain winked.

And then the door closed.

At least they didn’t have to climb out of the window.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

EPISODE EIGHT. fasten your seat belts, get ready for some turbulence, nobody panic. things are going to become fucking sad, but you're going to be okay. yay?

for a fleeting moment at the beginning of the episode you get the mad hope that alice survived - that rio is going to spare her, somehow

but the camera keeps spinning, keeps spinning, and we're upside down. this show is so good at evoking uncanny vibes with simple practical effects. not to mention the great callback to lilia flipping the room at the end of last episode. we are on the other side now, we're not in kansas anymore.

and this is of course rio collecting alice's soul, and it's where she disappeared to at the end of episode 5. I find rio's choices here so brilliant, because we know that she chooses the way she appears to souls. she is not being mean per se, she's woken alice up so gently and she's talking in a soft voice. but she looks fucking scary too, there is no questioning who she is or what she's doing here. indeed alice doesn't question her former companion being the grim reaper. it's like, rio is willing to go slow, but alice still needs to know right away that there is no escape.

alice's quiet devastation as she sees her own dead body. as much as I would have liked to see lilia walk away with her Death, I'm so glad we got alice instead. lilia died on her own terms and on such a high note. alice's story needed to take one last breath. literally.

this whole scene to me perfectly encapsulates the message of the show. beautiful, strong alice, alive one moment and gone the next, just like that. how can one come to terms with that?

words that sound mocking, but aren't. it's like accusing the ocean or the stars of being cruel. nature doesn't carry any ill intent, it simply exists.

but look what happens next. rio's smile fades at alice's despair. because rio is a willing agent of nature and balance, but also - and that's the brilliancy and tragedy of this character - rio is capable of love. she has an impossible job and she's damn good at it, but it takes a toll. she bent the rules of nature once, for the one person she loves more than the universe itself. she won't go that far for anybody else, but she has gotten to know alice, she felt true companionship with her - alice's loss is hurting on a personal level.

I've seen so many 'alice's death doesn't sit right with me' takes. YEAH, YOU THINK?!! alice's death is AWFUL. she lived all her life under this horrible curse and died one moment after liberating herself. all her hopes, all her goodness, all her potential, gone. it's MONSTROUS. it's UNFAIR.

it is monstrous that people (and children, dear god, children!) die all the time of disease, or wars, accidents, calamities. go scream at the sky about it. see if it answers back.

you died protecting someone. it's so matter-of-factly.

have you ever watched blade runner 2049? (if you haven't major spoilers ahead). ryan gosling's character, a replicant, believes he might be special, a chosen one, but turns out he was just a cog in the machine. he dies protecting harrison ford who is of course the real hero of the story. the bittersweet implication being that he didn't die in vain, that no matter how small his role in the overarching story, his life mattered and is worth remembering. but he still died alone and bleeding under the snow. it's a much bleaker message than the sweeping hero tales of old, but is not completely devoid of hope.

rio wishes to give alice's brief existence some closure, some meaning. alice died selflessly, doing something she truly believed in: isn't that worth something?

and yet. alice is still dead, all of rio's good intentions won't spare her. we do need to be kind to each other and uphold our humanity in the face of tragedy, even if it hurts like a bitch, even if it won't change a thing. be kind, if you find the strength for it. create meaning where there isn't. it's all we have in common. it's all we can do.

alice visibly recoils at rio's words. they're not enough, nothing is ever going to be enough.

and that's why I think rio had to look so damn scary in this scene, even if she's being patient and so gentle under the circumstances. her role as Death has to come before her personal feelings, that is her job and her choice.

oh, alice. my sweet alice.

lilia saw Death coming and went willingly. alice said no and cried as she stepped through the threshold. again, I am SO glad we were shown this. she wasn't as brave as lilia, but I dare you to call her a coward or to love her any less.

GOD jen's ear-piercing SCREAM. what did I just say about lilia's death being better? screw that. death is an equalizer. nobody is spared.

jen has held it together so far. eyes on the prize, no pity for anyone else involved. look at her crumble.

billy is speechless. this is the third time he has known grief in however many hours, and each time worse than the previous one. he has lost all of his innocence. and the light, the light. everything is green, it's rio, rio, rio.

remember when agatha was so afraid of Death in episode 3 that she tried to break a glass window, and everybody laughed? so funny, wasn't it?

and here she is, fucking terrified, running through green light.

and then she sees her.

your coven is shrinkiiiiiiing. oh it's so nice to finally see her with her crown. I pray and hope to see agatha wearing a crown some day.

first alice, now lilia. I love that it's so heavy, I love all the implications. it was never only about agatha trying to avoid an ex. it's what rio represents, it's what rio did to alice and lilia.

it's what she did to nicky.

except it wasn't her! she's just the ferryman! and if anyone, agatha killed alice and lilia! we just saw rio's heart ache for alice as she collected her soul! they're both lashing out at each other because they can't handle this impossible heaviness between them. agatha is being cruel because she's in pain. rio is being cruel because she's in pain. it's such a mess.

this is all I have in me tonight, fuck this show is too much. and we've just started the episode! there is a lot to unpack, the closer I look at things the sadder it gets.

go to episode 8 part 2

[felassan]

Hayes Madsen for Inverse - Game Changers: 'Corinne Busche Is the Ruler of RPGs, Conqueror of Haters'

The director of Dragon Age brings her personal journey to life in her games with a rich, messy tapestry of love, life, and romance.

[source]

"If there’s a single Dragon Age character that ever made their way to Super Smash Bros, it should be the lovable dwarf Varric Tethras – at least that’s what Dragon Age: The Veilguard director Corinne Busche thinks. “Can you imagine, in a game like Smash Bros, seeing him whip around the battlefield,” Busche tells Inverse, “You could smash someone back off the ledge by giving Bianca a good old toss, and don’t worry, it’ll ricochet, he’ll catch it. It writes itself.” Varric, always with his beloved crossbow Bianca, has been something of a poster dwarf for the franchise — a constant in a series that drastically changes between each entry. But Varric himself is also a perfect representation of Dragon Age at large. An emotionally complex character, Varric openly deals with deep trauma, but can still manage to be whimsical and uplifting. That holistic sense of character is a big part of what’s made Dragon Age so successful, and lasting. Its influence is clear to see, especially in the 2023 Game of the Year, Baldur’s Gate 3 – which heavily borrows from the world and party member design of Dragon Age games. It’s a connection that’s been pointed out by countless fans and critics — but what’s fascinating is how Baldur’s Gate 3 and Veilguard feel like they’re advancing different aspects of Dragon Age’s identity. “It’s not lost on me, and it’s not lost on the team, how important these games are in people’s lives,” Busche says, “Coming into this game, that’s a tremendous feeling of accountability and of needing to be true and authentic to what these games mean to people.” When it comes to authenticity in games, plenty of directors and developers talk the talk, but Busche is the rare game maker who delivers. From her time with The Sims to Dragon Age, Busche has always brought a deep sense of humanity to the game, putting characters first and never shying away from nuance or complexity in identity, relationships, and existential crises. It’s what makes Busche a leader in the industry, and why BioWare tried so hard to carry on the Dragon Age series’ legacy with Veilguard. But Busche isn’t finished yet. She’s come a long way in the industry and has wisdom to impart — and more projects to come."

"Varric himself is also a perfect representation of Dragon Age at large. An emotionally complex character, Varric openly deals with deep trauma, but can still manage to be whimsical and uplifting"

"The Days Before Fantasy Like many developers, Busche got her start from humble beginnings, working on a series that’s a far cry from a fantasy epic — Tiger Woods PGA Tour. In fact, Busche hadn’t planned on working video games at all, but using her digital animation degree she landed work on Tiger Woods as an environmental artist, and the desire to keep making games stuck like glue. But her love of RPGs started long before that, with some deep-cut classics like Heroes of Might and Magic 3 and Final Fantasy XII – which she argues is the best one in the series. An even bigger influence on her personal philosophy as a developer, however, was the Square Enix cult classic Xenogears. “That was the first RPG that really touched my heart, that made me cry, where I feel in love with the characters, and realize these games have something to say,” says Busche “They touch on deep socially relevant narratives through these fantasy setting and the complexity of characters.”"

"Xenogears was an incredibly influential game to developers like Busche. Its creator, Tetsuya Takahashi, went on to make the wildly popular Xenoblade franchise."

"Those specific RPGs have a lot to say about identity and personality, and that’s a topic that Busche has constantly wanted to explore in her work – how games can explore autonomy and choice. Busche has been open in the past about transitioning while at BioWare, and how much the studio helped her feel seen and supported. But there’s another vital piece of her career that directly played into Busche’s expertise with Dragon Age, and it might not be what you think. Before leading the charge on Veilguard, Busche honed her skills working on an even bigger mega-hit franchise, The Sims. For over five years she worked in designer and creative director roles. “Working at Maxis and on a game like The Sims, is an incredibly fortunate environment for a designer to really hone their craft, and the reason I say that is they’re deeply complex games,” says Busche, “You’re really exploring underlying systems that drive character behaviors, skill progression, game economies, all allowing for emergent gameplay.”"

"Busche cut her teeth on the Sims 3: Into the Future expansion."

"To Busche, games like The Sims, or even Animal Crossing, continue to flourish because of human nature, the inherent need we have to be social creatures and form connections. They’re deeply relatable games that reflect our real lives, but in a way, that same idea can apply to a complex RPG like Dragon Age — and Busche’s time with The Sims gave her a unique advantage going into Veilguard. “I love that marriage of simulation and these fantasy worlds full of rich, deep characters that feel lived in. I believe that as RPGs continue to evolve, what you’ll see is an increasing focus on that marriage between simulation and a fantasy storytelling layer,” says Busche “After all, it’s about immersion, it’s about autonomy and relatedness. These are deep common aspects between these two seemingly different styles of games.”"

"An Origins Story Dragon Age has been a lot of things over the years, an open world game, a mobile hero-collecting title, dozens of comics and books, and even a Netflix series. Fan-created works have flourished for nearly two decades – the fan fiction archive website Archive of Our Own even has over 13,000 entries for Dragon Age: Origins alone. That idea of player agency and identity is the very bedrock of what Dragon Age is built on. As such, Dragon Age has always been incredibly progressive. Origins liberally featured queer romances, and Inquisition, the third game in the series, has a whole plotline about a major side character being transgender. This allows the series to explore themes of identity and belonging in ways other RPGs can’t, and Veilguard certainly sticks to that idea. “I’m an openly queer, trans woman,” Busche says. “It shaped everything about who I am, and it’s been the source of a lot of joy, a lot of difficulty, and perspective. For me personally, one of the greatest gifts about being trans is the amount of introspection it forces upon you. You spend a lot of time deeply examining who you are, and why that matters.”"

"Zevran from Dragon Age: Origins was an accomplished assassin, but, more notably in 2009, a bisexual character."

"For Busche, great games offer a mirror that allows you to reflect on your own identity, preferences, and choices. When developing a game, Busche says she is “thinking about the role introspection plays on people in general, and how each of us go through our lives having these moments of crises, epiphanies, and those quiet moments when you’re alone. These are questions that are ripe for personalized experiences like RPGs, especially when you consider our biggest creative pillar: Be who you want to be.” To Busche and the team it “felt like the right time” to really take Dragon Age’s exploration of identity further, especially with a character like Rook that’s so molded by the player’s personal feelings and thoughts. But one of the more interesting strides Veilguard makes is allowing you to share experiences, including romances, with a compelling cast of party members — easily some of the most memorable characters BioWare has ever created."

"The Fight For Progress And Fate For Dragon Age Questions about BioWare’s future abound, especially with the team now pivoting to focus work on Mass Effect 5 — a similarly long-awaited comeback for a beloved franchise. But in the immediate future the studio has faced a different problem, a hate campaign that’s put Veilguard at the center of a kind of culture war on social media, along with plenty of hateful comments toward developers and review bombing on sites like Metacritic. “I think we should talk about it,” Busche says. “It’s hard. I grew up in a time when it really felt like we’re there to celebrate the games and to have these shared experiences, and that drive is still there. I think the discourse we see is the result of highly polarized times, and perhaps it’s a little naive. I know it’s hard when you have to ask the question, is this game for me? Do I belong here? And games are better for it when we can say yes, you do belong here.” Dragon Age is far from the only game that’s come under fire recently, particularly for inclusions of diversity, or diverse storytelling. For most of this year, Assassin’s Creed Shadows has been the constant target of a hate campaign, with Ubisoft’s art director recently condemning the backlash and harassment the studio and team has faced. The creator of the indie game Tales of Kenzera: ZAU, Abubakar Salim, has also been vocal about the “fever pitch” of racism the game and its team have received. These kinds of events seem to be happening more and more, but for BioWare and Busche, the focus is on celebrating what the team has created. “I know, and something that’s very important to me, is that games are inherently diverse when you think about the size of these teams and the specializations you have within them. When you have diverse, complex, large groups of people coming together to make something, of course, the game is going to be a reflection of those teams,” says Busche “I think we need to consider that we can make the most authentic, best experiences when we’re tying into what makes us as the developers, and you as the fans, when we can tie into those elements that make us distinctly human, and that means differences.” In Busche’s mind, not embracing the lived experiences of the development team would result in stories and worlds that feel less relatable, less alive. Game developers also need to feel safe in what they do, which ultimately means being able to see themselves reflected in their work. “We have an incredibly diverse player base, and what I mean by that is their motivations and expectations,” Busche says. “This becomes the biggest opportunity to continue that tradition of reinvention.” At the end of the day, gamers Busche believes gamers have so much in common, starting with a love for the game. “What I long for is just that opportunity for us as gamers to step back and get in touch with why we fell in love with games in the first place, and recognize how difficult and complicated and messy it is to make games,” says Busche, “To share these vulnerable experience and just approach it with a little greater sense of kindness and curiosity.”"

[source]

[tmntxthings]

一∑Moth to a Flame・゜・。

author’s notes: this is my entry for @dancingdonatello ‘s competition :D this has been sm fun and I can’t wait to read everyone else’s stories!!!

prompt: "You like them...more? Is that it? Am I the second choice?" "That's not true..." "Then choose me. Choose us."

warnings: angst, situation-ship, aged-up characters, college au, alcohol consumption, jealousy, yandere tendencies? cliffhanger

—————————————————————————

Donnie didn’t know how much more he could take. His mind was simultaneously all over the place and singularly focused on one thing. You.

~

Mutants and yokai kind alike have been out for years. So in the ‘town’ he and his brothers grew up in, they finally came to be free from the shadows. As free as heroes can be at least. They still needed to be a bit secretive on where they lived, in case of revenge-seeking villains.

But with mutants out on the surface, New York had grown accustom to them. Well, as accustom as they can be…

Donnie has met many people. He’s been able to attend college. Mostly online. But he finds the time to attend some evening classes in person. He met you. A floundering classmate in need of assistance.

Usually Donnie can find an excuse to get out of helping every poor soul that crosses his path. That’s what the professors are for. The librarians. Hell the student mentors! But with you… he just couldn’t resist.

The study sessions were long. But in the end you were able to pass, “All thanks to you Dee!!” You had cheered shoving your research paper into his face for him to appraise your passing grade. Barely passing, but it showed your improvement nonetheless.

He had been about to tease you of this. Three months of his help and you hardly grazed by?! But the thought was cut short as you pulled the papers away from his face and up you jumped.

Arms going around his neck and squealing your joy. He was frozen for a millisecond before his arms twitched into motion. His hands going around your back, holding you. That was the first time you had initiated such skin-ship.

Sure there had been the occasional touching of hands, passing laptops, books and the like back and forth. There had even been moments of playful touch, nudging his arm with your elbow for his odd choice in coffee. A tap above his glasses when he got too focused on his own work to answer your sporadic questions.

The hug didn’t last very long in terms of time. Seconds merely. But it made a lasting impression on Donnie. With the class over, you had no other reason to see him again. The prospect had Donnie fumbling to invite you out, to do anything to prolong such an ending to this blooming relationship.

“What classes are you taking next semester?” He had asked. You promised to text him the list, already having to dash off for one last exam.

He worried that would be the end.

Thankfully it wasn’t. You texted him later that evening, telling him all about the rest of your day as well as the list per his request. Unfortunately the two of you didn’t share any other classes. And it seemed unlikely for the future as well, the two of you were on diverging paths. Donnie despaired.

But you found reasons to message him. By the time the next semester rolled around the two of you were study partners, no matter the subject. Donnie would help if he could, and usually he was able. But there was a shift in the relationship. Outings to the library and other study areas changed to coffee shops. Then to your place. It only felt natural to invite you over to his.

Preparations were put in place. As were warnings “Yes, I do live in a sewer with my brothers and dad.” And “No it doesn’t reek of waste or garbage.” And “Yes there is one rat actually, my dear Papa.”

You took it all in stride. The introductions to his family went as well as they ever did. Friends. The two of you were officially friends. Donnie couldn’t be happier. With such a title he took more initiative with online contact. His messages would ramble on, sprinkled with pictures and videos.

Semesters continued to pass by and the bond between the two of you only grew. In turn, with more trips to his home, you became friends with his brothers. With April. It was just natural.

And then there was graduation. A celebration was in order. Four years, you had been in his life for four years and he couldn’t imagine it without you. The plan was to dress to the nines, and go out on the ‘town’! Drinking and dancing.

Of course, his brothers were invited as well as a few of your other friends. Donnie was no stranger to clubbing. The bar scene had become somewhat of a regular occurrence once his friendship with you was solidified.

You liked to go out. You liked music. He obliged on a few occasions to be your dancing partner and thus every time after it was his official label. Donnie was adverse to the huge crowds. It didn’t offer much room for dancing, but he’d endure it for you. With you in his arms it all seemed bearable. The music that was so loud it thumped in his plastron. The heat in the room percolating from the sheer number of bodies. Even the taste of alcohol, on the very, very rare occasion you got him to drink.

It always tasted horrible. No matter the different shots or mixed cocktails. God forbid a beer. You had pushed all sorts of these beverages on him, eyes crinkling up at him with amusement as his beak wrinkled from disgust.

Those nights with alcohol involved always ended strangely. Your touch would light him up from the inside. He’d want to hold you closer, lean in as far as you’d let him. Pull at your waist, dig his fingers into your hips during the last dance before the two of you had to part for the night. Those nights ended with kisses.

And by the next day you would never talk about them. So he didn’t either. Even as his murky memory of all other events seemed to part with clarity for how you had panted heat into his mouth. He’d flush dark green at just the thought and have to swallow the spit that pooled in his mouth.

This had happened a handful of times. The kissing. And with no communication whatsoever afterwards it put Donnie on edge. He wondered why it happened at all if you didn’t want to acknowledge the deed once it was done. He wondered about what it said on account of his own self worth for him to continue to let it happen.

To look forward to nights out. To nights you pushed a shot glass his way. To want your lips on his by the end of it all.

So with this big celebration, Donnie was expecting the same routine if only highlighted by the fact that both of you were now graduates. He’d be your dance partner. The two of you would spin for an hour or two, or however long you wanted. And he’d order himself a drink this time. One that he found slightly bearable than the rest.

Only, that wasn’t what was happening. Drink in hand? Sure. Your hand in his other? No. He was grumbling over at the bar shooting hateful daggers where you resided on the dance floor. You were dancing with Leo.

Donnie grimaced as he took a long hard sip. It was like acid in his mouth. Donnie didn’t know how much more he could take. His mind was simultaneously all over the place and singularly focused on one thing. You.

You laughing as Leo twirled you around. How wrong it felt to watch your arms go up and around his brother’s neck. Donnie was a better dancer. He knew in his soul that he could beat Leo in any category. Waltz, disco, salsa, you name it, Donnie could dance it. But his prowess didn’t seem to matter. Which only further incensed him. Why were you doing this? How could you possibly allow Nardo to take his place? His rightful role. Donnie was supposed to be your dance partner. And the only time you were allowed to dance with another was whenever he deigned to skip such an outing.

He was here. Dressed in an aubergine suit. Jacket button undone. And his black dress shirt was unbuttoned as well. Three buttons plucked, showing off too much skin in his opinion for such a crowd. But he had been feeling flirty. Flirty for someone who wasn’t even glancing his way.

Donnie fumed once more. Cursing in his mind as he lifted his drink and threw his head back. Maybe the taste would kill him. His eyes squeezed shut as the liquid poured down his throat and he tried not to gag. Bad decision.

When his eyes reopened it couldn’t have been at a worse moment. Leo was dipping you, his face leaning dangerously close to yours, his hand snug on your waist. Leo said something in your ear.

Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the heat. But when Donnie saw your darkened cheeks, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He stormed to the dance floor. Yanking Leo’s hand away from your body once you were upright.

“What’s up hermano?” Leo’s smile was grating. Donnie had to force himself not to snarl. He took your hand and pulled you after him. Leaving Leo. Leaving this place. He had to get out of here now.

“Donnie?!” You called out over the music. But you didn’t pull away. You let him lead you out of the club. Out on the sidewalk, then off to the alleyway.

“Is everything okay?” You asked once he finally stopped. When he turned to look down at you, your eyebrows were creased with worry. Lips pulled into a line. Donnie was cracking. He couldn’t do this any longer. Did you like Leo? Did you want a ‘face man’? Was he not enough anymore? Was he being replaced? The thoughts were suffocating him and he pulled you to his plastron, backing you into the building wall simultaneously.

“I’m here, but Dee you’ve gotta say something, I’m getting worried..” You mumbled into his clothes. Your arms going around Donnie’s shell, petting over his jacket. Offering him comfort. It wasn’t enough. He huffed his frustration.

“Should I go get your brother?”

It was the wrong thing to say. And this time he did snarl.

“No.”

Your hands froze. Falling back down to your sides. You’d never heard him so angry before. He couldn’t find it within himself to care at the moment. His displeasure written all over his face as you looked up at him.

“What’s going on?”

And Donnie remembered himself thinking that so many times with you. As you had took his breath away. And then again when you pretended like you couldn’t recall ever doing so.

“Don-“

He leaned down. Capturing your lips. Kissing you like you did to him. Only where you had made him breathless, this seemed to have the opposite effect. You puffed up. Bristling in his arms as you tried shoving him away.

It hurt.

He was much stronger than you. He could overpower you easily. But your push was like a blow to the plastron. He staggered back, all anger leaving him. A husk as he squeezed his fists shut, head hanging down as you berated him.

“What the hell was that?! Are you drunk?? Donnie what is going on? If you don’t fucking say something right now, I swear to god,”

“I don’t know!” He shouted back and it was enough to quiet you.

From there it was as if his mouth couldn’t be stopped. “I don’t know! I thought this was what we did. I didn’t hallucinate those three times you kissed me. Don’t deny it any longer!” He was heaving, face coming up to stare accusingly at you.

Your lips pressed together in a thin line once more.

“You kissed me! Drunkenly, but it was still there. And I can’t forget. I can’t pretend they never happened. I don’t know how you can.” His hands were in motion as he ranted. Throwing them out with the building of emotion.

“So I thought tonight would be no different. We’d get drunk. We’d dance. And we’d kiss! I want all of that. Even though I’d do it without the alcohol.” His voice cracked towards the end. But he continued to push on.

“But you danced with him. So I went and got drunk enough for the both of us.” He felt pathetic admitting this out loud. He staggered forward, unable to remain so far apart. Despite you having pushed him away. He was just a moth to your flame. He’d let himself be burnt.

“You like him more?” He asked in a voice so low it practically went unheard. His hand came up, a finger tracing down the side of your cheek.

“Is that it? Am I the second choice?” His lids lowered in time as he ran out of skin to skim. His hand fell away from your face but he had crowded you close to the wall again. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“That’s not true.” You exasperated. But that hardly cleared up anything for him. If that was the case then what were you doing dancing with his brother and not him? Why couldn’t he kiss you? Why were the both of you still pretending to be friends?

“Then pick me. Choose me.” Donnie pleaded. He didn’t care how needy it sounded. He’d do whatever it took. Get down on his knees if he had to. Because you had become a part of his life four years ago. Four years of a presence he didn’t know he needed. Up until it was far too late. And now there was no turning back. He’d be damned if he let you get away.

[myownwholewildworld]

WHEN THE GRIEF HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot (pt.2)

main masterlist | read part 1 | read on ao3 pairing: javier peña x f!reader (same couple as "when the moon howls"). can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him. a/n: hiya! i OBVIOUSLY do not know what "oneshot" means??? bahhaha. this is another entry for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge because i'm just so inspired by it all and javi has me on a chokehold. i promise this is my last entry. also thanks to sweet jo because she kinda sowed the seed and here we are! any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated are most welcomed c: take care lovelies <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). very mild/veiled allusions to intimacy. post season 3 of narcos, canon-deviating as javi is not hailed a hero upon his return to laredo, but quite the opposite. fluff - they are madly in love y'all. domestic bliss. angst. a smidgen of hurt, loads of comfort. description of a panic attack and vivid nightmares. mentions of ptsd and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. nightmare before christmas is mentioned because duh. both javi's and reader's povs (that's more like it). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 4.7k divider by @saradika-graphics

Sunday, 1st November 1998.

2:53 AM.

The bodies just kept piling up in front of his eyes.

Every person whose death he had witnessed.

Every body who had been hung off bridges.

Every person who had died because of a decision he had made.

Every soul he himself had extinguished.

The innocent bystanders, other governmental agents, politicians who had tried to fight the drug lords.

The 1989 Avianca flight that was brought down by a bomb planted by the Medellín cartel. Flight 203 had reaped the lives of one hundred and seven blameless lives ―one hundred and ten, he corrected himself― just because Escobar had wanted to eliminate his political opponent, César Gaviria Trujillo, who, by a fateful twist of the universe, never ended up boarding the flight.

The pictures of such tragedy still stuck with him, burnt into his retinas like a photo negative ― every time he blinked, the colours would pour into the frame, the vision grotesque and gut-turning.

Every single one of them was a failure Javier could not elude, could no longer bury in the most godforsaken drawer of his brain. A failure that would haunt him, would become corporeal in his vivid nightmares.

With the eyes of his dreaming imagination, he could see every one of them souls in front of him ― judging him, blaming him, eyes full of hatred. Accusatory fingers pointing at him, as if it was his Day of Reckoning.

All this piteous death, all this mindless suffering ― for naught.

He had made no true, tangible difference. He had fallen short.

And he was failing all over again in his lucid dream. Unable to stop them from dying, he saw each one of them perish in front of him until a heap of foul death surrounded him.

Javier finally felt it, even welcomed it ― the Grim Reaper’s noose loosely wrapping around his neck. Then taut and firm, a tight caress ghosting his skin. There was no going back, but there was no more guilt either. A bittersweet yet soothing balance, one that could only be served by the Ghoul’s scythe.

And then Death lifted him up, the hanging rope coiling on the tree branch ― suffocating him as his averted eyes watched the scene unfurl underneath him. A snarled mess of bodies, some hands reaching up to him. He would ―should― join them, after all.

A purposeful man would have struck back ― kick his feet, unfettered from his restrain.

But he didn’t fight back. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He got exactly what he deserved.

Javier startled awake, panting and sweating from such terrible nightmare. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his breathing accelerated causing him a painful stitch. He felt his chest caving in with all the panic that had slowly but steadily built up inside him.

His reaction was so severe, he had sprung up and sat up on the mattress. All he could hear was his blood heavily flowing through his eardrums; all he could see was darkness; all he could smell was the lingering stench of death; all he could taste was his remorse; all he could touch were dead, cold bodies.

Javier bent his knees, soles against the bedsheets, and leaned forward with his head buried between his knees. Eyes closed, he had to concentrate on his breathing and slowing down his racing heart. Otherwise, the panic would only grow and grow and grow until madness took over him.

Then a soothing, grounding hand slithered under the back of his tee shirt, a warm touch against his cold, damp skin. Only at that point did he remembered he wasn’t at his dad’s place, wasn’t alone either. His strained muscles visibly relaxed without him even trying.

“Javi,” your sleepy voice prevailed over his drowning anxiety. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

He still didn’t know what he had done to deserve you, to have you by his side, strong and unyielding ― ready to fight his demons for him if necessary. You loved so fiercely, so deeply, at first he tried to fight it. To spare you.

But how could he? You were the moon that imposed the perfect cadence on his tide, calling him home at night. The moment he had landed his eyes on you and your orbits had crashed, he was a lost man ― lost to you, to your smile, to your unquivering positivity, your calmness, your ease to listen, to give advice, to help without asking for anything in return.

But how could you? Even when his grief was howling loud and clear, you loved him. Despite all his flaws and faults, his obvious defects, you saw past it all ― even past the rumours that flew around in Laredo about him. He knew you had heard all the gossip, how people talked about his fictional shenanigans with the drug lords, a willing participant in their endeavours. How he did drugs on the job and sold some of it back to the narcos. Javier had been deaf to all of it ― he didn’t care for what people were saying. Didn’t even bother to put a stop to it, because he had enough open fronts to fight as it was.

Even his childhood friends had turned their backs on him. But not you. Never you. Not even when he had shared his darkest secrets with you over a pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake. Instead of withdrawing from him, you held his hand as he had talked with a heavy heart and short of breath. The flashes coming back to him, you soothed by the mere caress of your fingertips.

You had touched his core ―just as you were touching him now―, kneaded it until it softened like clay on the hands of an expert ceramist. Javier didn’t think himself worthy of love, not after everything he had done and seen. Colombia had shattered him ― Javier had lost all hope in humanity.

The life he had sustained in Colombia had finally caught up with him, destroyed the person he had been prior to all of it. Once a womanizer, he had no longer found respite in laying with his informers. Had even quit smoking, only to go back to it a few weeks later ― the crushing anxiety pushing him back to the stale taste of tobacco. He had cut down on the black coffee too.

In spite of that, he was far from being a reformed man. He even doubted he could ever be a normal civilian. The trauma that haunted him had a tight grip on him, hefty shackles wrapping around his wrists. And his heavy breathing and sweating were a testament to his struggles.

“Javi?” You called again, your tone delicate and heartening.

Slowly Javier came out of his sluggish haze ― your palm rubbing his spine, beckoning him to come back to reality.

Lifting his head up, elbows on knees, he looked at you over his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, pequeña (little one).” His hoarse voice felt unlike him, so he cleared his throat.

You sat back up on the bed, your hand wrapping around his waist until the palm flushed against his tummy under his tee. You kissed his shoulder and then his lips.

“You should have woken me up earlier, Javi. I want to be by your side when your nightmares startle you. I wanna help you, I wanna be there for you. Always.” Your words tugged at his heart, knowing full well you truly meant them.

A weak, crooked smile took over the muscles of his mouth. How easy you uprooted a grin from him ― you were so effortless to love, to care for, it felt as natural as breathing.

“Old habits die hard.” Javi muttered, bowing forward a bit seeking your warm, welcoming lips.

He had bottled all his suffering up for months now, years. It was hard to let go ― one of the main reasons he had signed up for therapy.

You smiled into the kiss, your fingertips lightly stroking the sensitive skin around his belly button.

“Baby steps.” You pressed a few consecutive pecks on his lips.

Javier sighed, visibly relaxing now as his body released the tension under your attention. He then laid flat on his back again, dragging you with him until your cheek was pressed against the centre of his chest. After, you buried your face in the crook of his neck while your left hand wiped the pearly drops of sweat off his forehead before raking his untamed hair back. That same hand quickly burrowed under his tee shirt, rubbing his clammy skin ― you didn’t seem bothered by his perspiration.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your lips brushing his jawline.

“It’s just the same nightmare I always have. I was being hung off a tree, dead bodies piling up beneath me.” He struggled to say out loud, unconsciously reaching for his neck where the imaginary noose had tightened.

Your fingers forced his to move to one side so you could kiss his Adam’s apple ― the feeling of the rope around his neck replaced by the calming flick of your mouth.

Javier closed his eyes, his bad dream gradually fading away.

“Did you fight back?” He had told you that was what the therapist had recommended he tried if the nightmare was vivid enough ― that he attempted to regain control.

“No, I couldn’t. Not yet.” He murmured; a tad ashamed of himself.

“That’s okay, Javi.” You reassured him, feeling his vulnerability, as your hand caressed his tummy. “Baby steps”, you repeated.

Javier nodded, turning his face to you so he could press a kiss to your forehead. You snuggled a bit more into his side.

“Go back to sleep, pequeña.”

“Only if you do.” You challenged him with a smile.

Javi let go of a snort, unsurprised by your stubbornness.

“Alright, let’s go back to sleep then, both of us.”

6:14 AM.

The thumping rhythm under your fingertips alerted you to Javi’s awakening. Or perhaps he had been subtle enough this time not to wake you up. His heart pumped so hard, you could count his every heartbeat. With your hand still under his tee shirt, lazily resting on the middle of his chest, your thumb traced his sternum a few times.

“I thought you said both of us?” You muttered light-heartedly, your lips brushing his earlobe.

Javi inhaled and then steadily exhaled, his pulse slowing down.

“I just woke up a couple of minutes ago.”

You didn’t know if he was lying or not, but you believed him. Every word he said, you knew to trust. The last few weeks you had unearthed the real Javi, had dusted off so many secrets and emotions, you just knew he had no need to lie to you. There was really no point.

It was weird to think that yesterday you believed this impossible. Your friendship with Javi had developed so fast, you didn’t even have a chance at confessing your true feelings for him. You thought you concealed them well, afraid of losing him ― because you rather had him as a close friend, than not having him at all. A coward maybe, but a coward with him by your side.

You had not planned to fall in love again, not after your last breakup. However, Javier was so different, so down to earth and as broken as you were, you had fallen for him before you even gave yourself a chance at love again. Perhaps you had been putting his pieces back together and thrown yours in the puzzle too ― to the point that your stitches ended where his began.

Unbeknownst to you, Javi had been harbouring feelings for you too. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have thought he would be the one to take the risk. You had melted at the first touch of his lips, as if that was exactly where you belonged. As if all experiences up to that point had led you to his arms. You were meant to be ― two broken soul pieces that fit together perfectly.

Last night had been the best one of your life, no doubt in your mind. Hidden under the linen, you had silently played a new version of “trick or treat” together ― where there were no tricks, but many treats. With the language of your hands, you had read the braille on every groove of his skin. He had mapped you out in return too ― hungry, needy hands making you shiver.

You could still feel the warmth, the love, his scarce yet reassuring words.

‘There are no better toasts than those made by your eyelashes’, he had told you in whispered bliss.

You smiled at the memory ― a heavy, comforting sensation wrapping around your heart, blanketing your whole being.

“What’s on your mind, cariño (honey)?”

You didn’t want to press him, just wanted him to open up if he felt the need to. Javier stirred to lay down on his side ― his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses nuzzling. The intimacy of his closeness made you swoon, but his words wore you down ever so slightly.

“Judy Moncada. Los Pepes. The CIA. The newspaper. All of it, really.” You felt the pain in his voice as your own.

You knew how hard he had worked, for all of it to be taken away so quickly, so dismissively. He had been the scapegoat, and it almost ruined him. No wonder why he took a step back and returned to Laredo.

It still made your blood boil how the town had received him, how they treated him like a pariah. But it was their fucking loss. If they were too blind to see Javier Peña for who he really was, then Javi had not really lost much. You were just glad you had not listened to Alejandra the first day you met him ― otherwise it would have been a great loss to you.

You kissed his forehead, his closed eyes ― his eyelashes tickling the fragile skin of your lips. Then you pressed a chaste peck on his mouth while he enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“Life’s so unfair, I wish I could make them see. See who you really are, Javi. But some people are too stubborn. It’s easier to believe lies rather than the truth. It’s their loss.” You spoke softly, understanding where his train of thought was going.

Javi didn’t reply ― he just kissed your neck in silent gratitude, the hairs of his kempt moustache making you feel ticklish.

“Since last night we were― uhm, busy,” to put it mildly, “I was thinking that today we can do what I had planned for last night.” You suddenly said to distract him.

You couldn’t see, the darkness enveloping you both, but you knew his brows were knitting in confusion.

“What had you planned?” He asked, curiosity staining his question.

You smiled.

“Well… Since you don’t know, it’ll be a surprise.”

7:46 AM.

“Is it really broken?” You pouted from the other side of the counter, walking around to meet Javi.

He had a handheld mixer and was insistently pressing on the button to turn it on to no avail. He clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, it ain’t working. Gonna have to mix all of this by hand, ain’t I?” You laughed at his frustration, as you took the device from him to inspect it.

Yes, it was broken alright. Damn.

“I’m afraid so.” You removed the whisks and handed them to him. “Unless you’re not up to the task?” You cocked a challenging brow.

Javi scoffed, rolling his eyes and snatching the tools off your fingers.

“Please. I think I can handle a pumpkin cake.”

His offence was faked, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He quickly followed as he started battering everything by hand.

“I’m already done with the cheese frosting. So once you’re finished, we’ll leave it to bake for forty minutes.” You explained, leaning against the counter to watch what he was doing.

“And after?”

“Don’t be so impatient. You finish off here while I go look for… something.”

Javi squinted his chocolate eyes and pouted, shaking his head. He was not going to get you to talk.

“Stay here, and don’t come looking for me!” You threatened, burying a finger in his chest, before running away, smirking.

Two minutes later you were deep down in your closet, searching for the boxes labelled “Halloween decorations”. You had only planned to be in Laredo for a year, but that did not stop you from bringing with you all your seasonal décor. And All Hallow’s Eve, being the peak of your favourite season, had to be celebrated properly.

So, you dragged the two boxes out and then dived back in. On your tiptoes, your fingers brushed the rectangular box you were trying to reach for on the top shelf. But as much as you tried, you were not tall enough to get to it.

“Need a hand there?”

You quickly turned around ― Javier had sneaked behind you and scared the shit out of you.

You slapped his shoulder, and he cackled.

“Don’t do that! Almost had a heart attack!” You joked, although your heart was really pounding against your ribcage.

“Let me help with that.” He offered.

Javi easily reached for the box and took it down.

His brows touched each other when he saw what the box was. Then looked back at you with question marks dancing in his pupils.

“I think I got the wrong box.”

You shook your head no, suppressing a laugh.

“No, that’s the right one.” You curled your fingers, your palm extended towards him, asking for the box.

Javier reluctantly gave it to you.

“I don’t get it. You’re like almost two months off?”

You chuckled again, pushing the tall box to your chest as if hugging it. “Can you carry those two boxes to the living room for me, please?”

He obliged, albeit the confusion was still painted on his gorgeous face. You led the way with Javi on your heels. Once you both settled everything on the floor, you spun around to glance at him with puppy eyes and hands laced in a prayer.

“Don’t judge me, okay?” You started off, fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s what my family call a Hallotreen―”

“A Hallo-what?” He interrupted you, a grin fighting its way to the outside.

“Hallotreen. It’s a Halloween tree! Like a Christmas tree, but with spooky decorations! I usually put it up on Halloween night, so it’s ready for All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day.”

You extended your arms at your revelation, as if to say, “Isn’t it obvious?!”.

Javi first looked at you blankly, and then erupted in laughter. You couldn’t help yourself but join him as he took a step forward to drape his arms around you, his comforting hands landing on the small of your back.

“God, you’re so full of surprises. I love it, I love you.” You could tell it had slipped from his tongue by mistake, because his fun expression quickly darkened.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden confession. You leaned back a bit, studying his beautiful face, and tilted your head to one side while you considered his words.

“Do you mean it?” You cooed in a hush, feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

Javi’s eyes locked on yours for a never-ending minute. Then they slowly drifted down to your parted lips and nodded as he, unhurriedly, bowed down towards you.

“Yes, I do. I do mean it, pequeña.” He purred, no joking timbre in his words.

Your heart contracted and then expanded in an outburst, your lungs filling up with his minty breath as you tiptoed to meet his mouth before you hummed, “I love you too.”

When your lips crashed, the tenderness pouring from his mouth into yours soothed any lingering doubt. Although sudden, your love was true. You were not imagining it ― Javi felt the same way. You never believed in the tales of love at first sight, but now that you were the protagonist of such story, you definitely did.

The kiss naturally came to an end and Javi pressed his lips against your forehead, holding you still in his hug for a sweet moment. How you wished you could stay between his arms forever.

‘Maybe we do have forever.’ That thought made you slightly emotional. You could see Javi by your side until the end of days. With a family of your own. It just felt natural.

“Alright, let’s do this then. So we put the tree up first?” Javi asked, amused.

You laughed as you took a step back and knelt down to open the box the Christmas tree was in.

“Yeah, and let me tell you. It’s a big one. Seven feet of pure bliss!” You laughed while unpacking it, Javi soon on his knees helping you out, chuckling too.

Ten minutes later, the tree was up, and you both had started to sort out all the Halloween decorations that came in the plastic boxes. There was a big assortment of different bits and bobs, and you directed Javi to get all pumpkin-shaped trinkets sorted first.

Once you had a healthy pile, you both hung all the decorations on the tree with no real pattern. You peppered some pumpkins here and there; some autumnal, plastic leaves to make the tree look fuller and fluffier. You also had some Halloween-themed baubles ― one with a witch inside, other with a pumpkin patch, another one with a murder of crows floating inside. You also dotted some stringed pinecones around the tree.

You had been curating your collection for so long now, you had way too much stuff, and Javi quickly picked up on it.

“What are we going to do with the rest? There’s so much here, I’m starting to think you have a problem?” He joked, sinking a finger on your side, tickling you.

You chortled, trying to avoid his tickling attack. Javi grabbed you by the elbow and forced you to slam against his chest.

“Well… I must confess. If you think this is a lot, it’s because you have not seen my Christmas collection.”

His eyes widened in feigned horror, and then laughed.

“Can’t wait for Christmas then.”

You smiled at him before gently kissing his collarbone. Then you faced the Hallotreen, holding his hand in yours.

It was a masterpiece. The perfect balance of different hues ― oranges, browns, reds, dark greens and some black dotted around. It looked perfect with all the trinkets filling it.

It made you so happy, you clapped your hands before turning to look at an enlivened Javi.

“It’s just missing the final touch.” You announced as you rummaged through one of the boxes and took out the best piece of them all, presenting it to Javi as if it was the Holy Grail. “Ta-dah!”

It was a figurine of Jack Skellington, from one of your favourite movies ― The Nightmare before Christmas. Jack was on a sitting-down position, perfect to crown the tree.

“It’s a Jack tree-topper. I almost fainted when I first saw it a few years ago. It cost me $100, but it was worth every. single. penny”, you punctuated ― you would smack him if he said otherwise.

Luckily, Javi agreed with you with a pleasant hum and a crooked smirk.

“Let’s put it up then, the King of the Pumpkin Patch needs to have a good panoramic view of his kingdom.” He jested and you were so happy with the reference, you could only love him a bit more ― if that was even possible.

Out of nowhere, Javi knelt down in front of you, his back towards you. He looked over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed, when you didn’t move. Javi lightly patted his shoulder.

“C’mon, up.”

“What? You want to carry me on your shoulders?” You asked, confused.

“Yeah, how are you gonna reach the top if not? That’s seven feet.”

You took a step back, gripping the tree-topper tight between your hands and let go of a guffaw.

“Nope, not happening. I’m gonna crush you! I’ll get a―”

A perfect eyebrow raised into his forehead, and he scrunched his lips, his moustache moving from side to side with disapproval.

“I said up.” His tone was commanding ― Javi would not accept no for an answer. “Come on, don’t make me make you.”

With a sigh, you let go of your insecurities and ended up sitting on his shoulders. Javi’s firm hands rested on your knees as he slowly stood up, keeping a perfect balance.

You chuckled nervously as he walked to the tree. Trying to find your own balance, you planted your left hand of Javi’s forehead. Or what you thought was his forehead, because he then complained.

“Hey, I can’t see!”

You looked down ― you had covered his eyes by mistake, so you quickly lifted your hand up and placed it on his forehead.

“Sorry!”

Javi laughed in reply. Reaching up with the hand holding the figure, you were finally able to set it down without breaking it.

“Yay! Done!”

He knelt down again, releasing your knees from the prison of his hands, and your feet finally rested against the wooden floor. When Javi got up, you both took a step back to admire such work of art.

“Dare I say myself? This looks amazing, the best Hallotreen I have ever had!” You screeched with excitement, almost jumping in place.

When Javi didn’t respond, you glanced up at him. His eyes, darkened with something deep and warm, were intently studying your face. His expression was so relaxed, so at peace, you knew the nightmares were now a forgotten memory ― at least until tonight.

Knowing you could be a balm to his emotional wounds made your heart twist with longing. You wished you could take it all away, that you could take his place and suffer it all for him, so he didn’t need to. You loved him so dearly, you promised yourself that Javi would never have to go through such trauma ever again.

He lifted one hand up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear ― such a loving gesture, your heart melted for him.

“What?” You asked, timid, with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing.” He buzzed, hugging you close to his torso.

The kiss started off soft and tender, a mere graze of his lips against yours. And before it became sultry and demanding, the oven’s clock started beeping.

Javi grunted and you grinned. Grabbing his hand, you dragged him to the kitchen.

9:22 PM.

“Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there far from my home. A longing that I've never known…” Jack was lamenting on the background.

Javier couldn’t help but look at you over his mug of hot chocolate. You were laying down on the couch with your back against his chest, tightly gripping your mug and buried under a fleece blanket. The living room was dark, only two sources of light: one was the TV playing Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas, and the other was the string of lights wrapping around the Hallotreen.

He could grow used to this, to you. Jack’s Lament somewhat resonated with him ― there was a longing in his heart he had never known before. And that longing now had a name ― yours.

Javi had to suppress a lopsided smirk when you kept on mumbling the lyrics of the song. You knew all the dialogue, all the songs, every single scene. And he let you talk throughout the movie, because he loved listening to all the comments you needed to let out. You were far too excited ― and so was he.

Yes, he could definitely get used to this. To you.

If you didn’t mind, he’d like to join you by your side.

Where you both could gaze into the stars and sit together, now and forever.

For it was plain, as anyone could see, you simply were meant to be…

[pokemonblack3white3]

feed us your gen 4 headcanons

Dawn is the protagonist of Plantinum. By the time he becomes the protagonist of Legends Arceus he's started his female to male transition and is going by Rei.

Rei's ace in Sinnoh is a bibarel, the first pokemon he ever caught. Barry told Rei that bidoof are kind of lame and Rei became dead set on proving them wrong. Rei's ace in Hisui is the alpha kricketune that was bothering Lord Wyrdeer, who Rei began training to prove that pokemon aren't so scary.

Barry is nonbinary and uses she/they/fae pronouns.

Rei has clinical depression but unlike some people he never tried to destroy the world over it.

Lord Avalugg was the original hero's companion and is still alive in modern Sinnoh, slumbering under Snowpoint City.

Rei died in 1942 at 85 years old of natural causes.

Cynthia is a direct descendant of Rei via an orphaned Celestic child he adopted.

Cynthia's spiritomb is Vessa, who has stayed close to the family since Rei helped her. The Azure Flute is also a family heirloom.

Cynthia lost her eye to an infection after her garchomp scratched it as a gible. She has a prosthetic eye under her bangs and likes to tell people her garchomp once clawed a person's eye out.

After Rei dissappeared, Cynthia was reinstated as Sinnoh champion and hasn't been beaten since.

Giratina thinks they can fix Cyrus let's see how that goes for them.

Giratina was Rei's pokemon (he called them Tina), and since his dissappearence has been a companion of Cynthia.

Cyrus is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns.

Cyrus had an interest in pokemon contests until a bad experience led them to dropping them.

Mars studied history once but it led to her to have a very pessimistic view of the world.

Lucas is dyslexic.

Professor Rowan has a pretty severe allergy to feline pokemon.

Professor Rowan wants to strangle Professor Oak with a coat hanger, a sentiment he is completely oblivious to.

Barry eventually starts working at the Battle Tower with his dad.

Maylene, Candice, and Cyrus are no contact with their families.

Candice and Maylene like to hike together.

Fantina's father is from Kalos but she has never actually been there herself.

Crasher Wake is Fantina's pokemon contest rival.

Some time after Rei disappears, Johanna goes back to doing pokemon contests full time. She's close with Fantina and Crasher Wake.

It's tradition for Roark and Byron to spend the day together in the Sinnoh underground on Roark's birthday.

Gardenia is a secret base master.

Roark and Gardenia have made a game of hunting down each others' secret bases and setting up traps for each other.

Bertha and Aaron are actually really good friends, which everybody is surprised to learn. They often walk along Victory Road together and talk.

Lucian is schizophrenic.

Of the elite four, Lucian was the closest with Rei.

Ingo is Flint's great-something grandmother.

Shortly post-Plantinum Volkner and Flint got engaged.

Barry and Rei were dating before he disappeared.

Barry and Nate are exes.

Cynthia and Cyrus are both aroace and completely uninterested in romantic or sexual relationships of any kind.

Dialga, Palkia, and Giratina all have at least some resentment over Arceus they've been stewing over for at least a couple thousand years. These eldritch dragons have daddy issues. Giratina especially has not forgiven Arceus for what it did to Rei, but has given up on revenge.

After Cogita was released from her curse and eventually died, Enamorus went to Galar with Professor Laventon where she cycles through human disguises. She's currently living as Opal.

Uxie periodically erases Darkrai's memories at their request, despite Cresselia's protests.

Yeah idk what to say Darkrai and Cresselia are kind of doomed yuri coded.... 🤔

Regigigas' true form is a lot bigger than their pokedex entry states, the body they appear in is something they crafted to better work on new creations.

When phione and manphy migrate by Sinnoh waters, they create a beautiful lightshow underwater that people travel from all over to watch.

Shaymin migration is also an incredible spectacle. Sinnoh is one of the only regions where so many mythical pokemon can be so freely observed.

The lake trio are carnivorous and love eating fish. Their fangs are razor sharp.

Heatran is there. I guess.

[thewertsearch]

TT: You mentioned immortality. TT: Godhood makes one immortal? […] One will live forever, unless killed. The death must be either heroic or just. TT: How are those terms defined? Broadly, mysteriously, and according to the case of the individual. One may be killed by opposing a corrupt adversary and die for a just cause, as through martyrdom, for instance. This would be heroic. Or one may be subject to corruption, and slain by a hero. This would be just.

Heroic Players can die fighting 'corrupt adversaries', whereas Just Players can be 'corrupted', and 'slain by a hero'. There's a clear dichotomy here, wherein 'corrupt' God Tiers are particularly vulnerable to self-sacrificing God Tiers, and vice-versa.

I like it. It's a very mythological way for immortality to work, and it gels well with Sburb's fantasy narrative. Rose's alliance with the Horrorterrors probably marks her as corrupted, so God Tier ascension probably wouldn't grant her true immortality.

The concept is fascinatingly ambiguous, too. Morality is a controversial subject at the best of times, and allowing Sburb to judge the ethics of a Player's actions could get very tricky, very fast. There's no doubt in my mind that Sburb and I disagree vehemently about what constitutes a just cause, and I'm sure I'm not the only one.

TT: Which sort of death will you have when I destroy the sun? Neither. I'm not a god. I'm a guardian, a servant, and a weapon. I have power and knowledge far surpassing a god. But I am not one.

First Guardians are considered far more powerful than God Tiers, then. Aradia was able to get the drop on Jack, but Jack's really just a Kernelsprite imitation of a First Guardian. Scratch is far more threatening, especially since his brain isn't scrambled by dog memories.

...that said, his brain might be a little scrambled by whatever was in that HONK code. Who knows what Alt-Gamzee was cooking there.

My master can't enter this universe until I am killed. […] TT: That almost sounds like martyrdom. Are you sure it won't be a hero's death? Quite sure. My master is a very evil man. TT: Who is he? I won't tell you his name. But he goes by the title, Lord English.

About bloody time. This guy’s been sneaking around the back of the story for over two thousand pages, and it sounds like we're finally going to shed some light on this mysterious adversary.

But you must decide which objective is more important. You may decide to attempt to destroy the sun and end my life. This will neutralize Jack, who is also much more powerful and dangerous than myself by virtue of the ring he wears in addition to drawing energy from the same sun as I. He poses a significant threat to reality.

I'm still skeptical about this assertion. What could Jack's other kernels possibly offer that his First Guardian powers don't render obsolete?

Anyway - even if Jack does have better numbers, Scratch is still far more dangerous by virtue of the mind he wields.

TT: But in the process of killing him and you, I release your master, who is just as deadly? He's more deadly. But the danger he poses is sanctioned by paradox space. It is a known quantity. His very existence in a universe will mean it will inevitably be torn apart. But there are rules to his entry, and his grim procession through paradox space is rather orderly. The present equilibrium has accounted for him, and will continue to.

I did wonder if English was part of Paradox Space's natural ecosystem, charged with destroying old universes in much the same way Sburb destroys planets.

Even if he is part of Skaia's ineffable plan, I don't think that should stop us from ending his sorry ass. We might not understand English's motivations, but we do know that his plans destroy anyone unfortunate enough share his plane of reality, and countless lives have already been ruined in Scratch’s quest to bring him out. I don't really care if Paradox Space sanctions his actions - he needs to be taken down, and if that upsets the natural order, then it's time for a new natural order.

Besides, we probably don't even need to destroy the Sun to stop Jack. We have plenty of other angles to work, from exploiting his psychological weaknesses to negotiating with his slightly more reasonable deputy. Additionally, Jadesprite won't be out of action forever, and Jack can't even harm Jadesprite, due to the aforementioned psychological weaknesses. Even if she's inherited Bec's 'don't fight Agents' programing, that doesn't stop her from simply stealing his Ring. She's done it before.

Jack however is a loose cannon. He will not stop until he destroys everything he encounters.

Yeah - to be honest, Scratch, I'm starting to think you're laying it on a little thick, here. Is Jack really the omniversal 'threat to reality' that you're making him out to be?

Let's not get it twisted - I have no trouble believing that he's dangerous to individual sessions. But does he really have the juice to wreak cosmic destruction on the scale of Lord English? His battery is only as strong as a couple of universes, and he has to share it with every other First Guardian in the cosmos.

Plus, the kids can't be the only Players in the multiverse to accidently prototype a First Guardian. I'm sure it's rare, but it can't be once-in-all-the-worlds rare. There should be plenty of other rogue First Guardians floating around Paradox Space - and if they're all enormous threats to reality, then reality should already have been destroyed.

In conclusion: No, Doc. I don't think Jack Noir is an English-tier threat. And for the record, I think there's a much more dangerous First Guardian in this equation than the Sovereign Slayer.

[necrodette]

TomeWeave art by the absolutely incredible @nikoadmeliora! Go check out their art!

While I'm currently working on the fanfiction of Odette's story pre-BG3 (which leads into the game's events), I had some brainworms that I wanted to sprinkle to my fellow Galemancers out there.

Brace thyselves for a very long, very random assortment of lore and romance between my Tav, Odette Tavelyen, and Gale Dekarios (lovingly referred to as TomeWeave).

Spoilers & personal headcanons for BG3 romance with Gale below!

◇ While Odette was attracted to Gale initially, she misunderstood his attempts to prove his worth/value to the party as him being another pompous wizard, and worried that he may be too fond of his own voice without the true mastery of the Weave to validate his claims (since his magic was a bit unpredictable at times with the orb acting up).

◇ Due to this ignorant misconception, Odette was sometimes annoyed by Gale's remarks (like when he's publicly describing his previous relationship with Mystra or when he's unintentionally, overly thorough in explaining his magical prowess). She was never mean or cruel because that isn't in her nature, but she would certainly be on edge around him or would reply with a witty retort or two.

◇This changes during the Act 1 romance scene. In my headcanon, it happens the night that the party frees the Emerald Grove, and there is a celebration in camp all night. After Odette gives an awkward speech to the group (she's a librarian, not accustomed to being the motivational hero of the day) and makes her rounds through the party, Gale gives her a gift: one of a pair of identical blue journals (picked up from the vendor in the Grove). Gale and Odette bespell the journals to communicate with one another, channeling their magics together and connecting through the Weave. It is intimate, honest, unsuspecting. She feels the warmth of his affections for her and she realizes that she had been misjudging his actions.

And yes, the other party members will write in the journals from time to time, and yesssss I spent too much time picking handwriting style fonts for every party member

◇ Before Gale reveals his surname in Act 3, Odette makes a game out of trying to guess it. She'll think of some random noble family or one she'd guessed based on historical names in the region and ask him - sometimes in the most inopportune of times, such as mid-combat or when they're trying to go to sleep.

◇ Odette actually met Tara well before Act 3. She didn't understand the connection to Gale at the time and wouldn't for a while, but...this requires context, so bear with me:

◇ As an Avowed Adjutant in Candlekeep Library (pre-BG3 game events), Odette was often working with Seekers of knowledge who came to the library offering their price of admission: an original work that doesn't already exist within Candlekeep's walls. If their submitted work was not accepted, they could not gain entry within the library and would be turned away.

◇ For years, Gale had requested entry to Candlekeep through submissions of his own poetry and journals, thinking that his experiences as Mystra's Chosen would elevate his works and would certainly be accepted. But they weren't, because works of Elminster's personal accounts already existed in the library that were too similar to Gale's, and so Gale was turned away multiple times (mostly via letters, since it is quite the long trip from Waterdeep to Candlekeep).

◇ But after he was cast out of Mystra's favor and corrupted by the Netherese Orb, Tara took matters into her own paws. She was determined to find a solution to Gale's predicament with the orb, so she took a collection of the recent works he'd made in his grief and regret - mournful musings of a man utterly abandoned by his former lover, his goddess, and the knowledge of his impending doom as penalty for his hubris. Finally, his (unknowing) acceptance to the library (through Tara) was obtained.

◇ It's a temporary acceptance into the library (five days instead of the normal tenday) by offering Gale's journals anonymously and also with the condition that the original work could not be submitted: the Scribes of Candlekeep would need to copy the journals contents while she was there, but had to take it back with her. This condition was accepted!

◇ Odette was elected to assist Tara with her research, which included many sleepless nights of intense research and several early morning teas together. During the five days that Tara was allowed entry, Tara only ever referred to Gale as her esteemed friend or dearest colleague, so Odette never knew who Gale was before meeting him post-tadpoling.

◇ And it was during Tara's last day that she discovered how to temporarily appease the orb via intermittent Weave consumption. She hurriedly said her goodbyes and left the library to tend to personal matters. Odette was a little sad to see her go as Tara's company was quite comfortable and very entertaining.

◇ In Act 1, when Gale (gets on one knee like a gentlemen omg??) opens his mind to Odette to show her truth about the Netherese Orb in his chest, she realizes that the "cat" he's mistakenly mentioned (he's also said 'tressym' before, too, so Odette actually spends a while thinking he had both) before must have been Tara.

◇ Odette doesn't tell him that she knew out of fear that he would be upset that Tara had taken his most personal thoughts and feelings (in the journals she used to gain entry to the library) without his consent (plus, it helped him in the end anyway, right?) And, as a follower of Deneir, once she's confided in, she is sworn to uphold the secrecy to avoid her God's wrath.

◇ So in Act 3, when the party happens upon Tara on the roof of the Temple of Ilmater, not only does Tara already know and has a warm relationship with her, but she also makes Odette lose "the game" of guessing Gale's surname!