#[my man never once got res on a level up throughout the game]

[deliverred]

✧ craxis: the unease of knowing how quickly your circumstances could change on you.

Becoming used to things invited complacency, and complacency led to lazy mistakes.

Lukas had gotten used to fighting against similarly armed opponents. Soldiers with spears, pirates with axes -- physical threats that he could turn away with his own lance, shirk off with his shield and armor. Even archers, who thought they were safe at a distance, could not bring him down with their arrows before he marched his way up to end them.

Where his armor offered him superior defenses against most of their foes, it didn't give him the benefit of quick movement. He was best utilized at chokepoints, to wear down enemies for the others to sweep in, or to protect their forces from any reinforcements seeking to flank them. He was a sturdy shield, and Lukas held no qualms with operating as such.

His error was not expecting their enemy to make use of witches in this battle.

They were a little understood factor of fighting against Rigel, but there was one thing Lukas recognized about them: the strange, distorted noise that heralded one warping nearby. It was a surprisingly subtle sound, if he were to think about it outside the scope of life and death, but there was something about it that just sounded wrong to the ears.

Foolish, to think that fighting for one's life was something to get used to, to wear like a cloak and not think beyond it.

Lukas takes note of where the main force is, how far away, turns away towards where he'd heard the witch warp in. To an outsider, perhaps it would look like a mismatched fight in his favor; a man in heavy armor against a young woman with no such armaments. Just a mask and glowing pits for eyes. He wonders, briefly, if the mask is required; would their emotions still show on their face despite being a soulless husk?

Does this poor woman see a mask on him, made of flesh that smiles but eyes dark pits all the same?

She moves, and Lukas brings up his shield.

Flames explode around his defenses like a wave crashing into a seaside cliff. And, just as water finds its way into all the cracks and crevices of sturdy rock, magic seeps passed his armor as if it were were nothing more than a slight delay. Armor that could turn away even Rigel's finest weapons did little to guard him against such tortured magics.

Heat builds up quickly, unbearable in its intensity, but Lukas does not feel the burn of it and ducks his head behind his shield as he charges toward his foe.

But he does not connect.

She is there and gone again, wisps of smoke between his fingers -- and then that intense heat erupts across his back again.

He staggers to a knee, gasps against the heat; feels the lick of flames catching on padding and clothing beneath armor, skin beneath that. Smoke and char and heat cling to his throat. He forces himself to breathe, shield digging into the ground with a crack of superheated metal as he leverages it to get himself back onto his feet. Twists to swing out with his lance -- it doesn't hurt, but it feels wrong and tight -- and it catches in the witches side with a warbled cry.

But they both stubbornly cling to their thread of life, and Lukas knows that he will not strike her down before her fire consumes him. He refuses to fall here, to this, even if he has to prop himself up by his lance to accomplish it.

His willpower would make it happen, but his body could not.

His vision was spotty, his legs were buckling, his breath rattled in his chest. Lukas stared down those glowing eyes all the same. Her mouth opened but if she made a sound, he did not hear it; fire bloomed in her open palms. The world warped like heat distortion, and he slipped just as the witch's head jerked forward -- an arrow buried deep before disappearing along with the body, a writhing, screaming thing before it blipped out of existence.

Someone was patting him down desperately, trying to put out the fire that was eating at clothes and skin. Lukas swallowed, dry and ineffective, coughed. Eventually gave up on his voice and physically waved the other away from touching his armor -- it would hurt them just the same as him, it was too late for him but he could at least keep them from suffering injury on his account.

A familiar voice he couldn't quite place in the moment asked what happened, shouted back towards the direction of the main group for a healer.

Lukas forced his eyes open, tried to curl his mouth into a smile.

"I grew complacent..."

[meanbossart]

do you have any thoughts on cazador as a character? personally i really loved the parallels between him and astarion & the way that the master/spawn relationship is used as an allegory for cyclical abuse. the scene with cazador’s master’s skull where you find out that he was once victimized in the exact same way that he later victimized astarion was really a lightbulb moment for me re: what vampirism represents in this game.

BOY DO I, i don't think much of it hasn't already been said, though. He's a tragic character in his own right of course, not that that takes away from the awful man he is.

Me and my boyfriend make fun of him a lot, we call him "the best BG3 character" as a little inside joke between us and come up with ridiculous scenarios of things that might have occurred throughout those 200 miserable years the spawn had under his command lol. Maybe he had a month where he was really specific about the shoes everyone wore, maybe once every other decade he had a weird week where he tried to be "nice" only to become frustrated when his efforts weren't immediately met in kind by the rightfully-terrified spawn, maybe between all the torture and horrific-ness he just did some plain weird shit like making someone crouch by in his fainting couch and wait by open-handed for grapes that he dramatically chewed on and then spat right out since he can't actually eat them lmao

And that's hysterical but I think we also started doing that because when you meet Cazador, when you first hear his voice and see his demeanor in person your immediate reaction is probably somewhere along the lines of "THIS is the clown you were so scared of, Astarion?"

And the answer is, of course, yes. This embarrassing little man stuck in a cage of his making instills fear beyond comprehension in Astarion and all his siblings. This man who undoubtedly showed all these spawn, inadvertently, the strangest, most arguably "human" aspects of himself at some point or another during these two centuries they had together is also an absolute monster. And i really like that! I think its far more effective and fitting for his story than if he was, lets say, a Ketheric type.

(this got very long so, more under the cut)

Look at Ascended Astarion in the epilogue now, for example. Everyone agrees that he's an absolute fucking dork - and I think we all also agree that he will go on to destroy the lives of many people beyond repair, especially his own, until the day he is killed.

In the topic of vampirism as an allegory for abuse, I both agree and also don't, at least not exactly - i just think it's deeper than that. I've spoken about this in another post but i find it incredibly refreshing how, to me, it seems like Baldur's Gate 3 has no interest in painting vampirism as sexy or fun past a surface level. It's a curse that nobody asks for unless put in a situation where they feel as if they have no other way out, and it shapes and haunts you for the rest of your undead existence.

Even if you enjoy its benefits at first, that has a time limit. You will see your family and loved ones die, you will see culture evolve while you stay perpetually the same. You will experience so much hurt and pain because the only thing that makes life truly sweet is knowing that it is finite, and eventually it will wear down all of your humanity. And since you can't die unless you are scorched by the sun, staked, or dismembered, you must live with the knowledge that you will never have a peaceful death - and since you won't have a peaceful death, you better not die - and if you don't want to die, you better not be weak - and if you don't want to be weak, you must seek out power at all cost and slash things like love and friendship out of your life.

And what is funny, is that in his attempt to be more like a mortal - to eat, drink, walk the sun, such incredibly simple desires - Cazador (and Astarion, if he ascends) is accidentally only drawing further away from the person he supposedly once was, because that fear of weakness has already utterly corrupted his soul.

That's quite a grim way to look at it, of course. But I genuinely think that it is the natural conclusion of something like immortality.

That's why I quite like that, even after Astarion has found happiness, even after he finds his peace, he still doesn't exactly embrace being a vampire - because It's not something he should be expected to embrace. I think it's a very unique take on the trope.

I also want to leave here this message written by his character writer, which really got me thinking about him on a deeper level since i saw it months ago. It is specifically about the sexual aspect, but I think it branches beyond it too, when you think about it.

[wolverine-poster]

I write stories and try to put characters of different weights, shapes, and sizes in my work, and once in a while I try to re-imagine different characters from established series (especially the big two of DC and Marvel), whether as a what-if or a would-this-happen-because-of-that.

Like:

What if Cyclops were actually slim like his nickname suggested instead of being super buff (depending on the artist, timeline, etc.)? Would he be lanky as well?

Is a small toned Wonder Woman more believable than a buff one? (I personally think she should be taller and more muscular since she's a super powerful Amazon, but that's just my take.)

Would Barbara Gordon as Oracle get fat since she used to be very active and her body would've gotten used to needing many more calories? I know some athletes who get injured gain a lot of weight if they don't get back in the game for the same reason. She's also super busy helping everyone out in the Bat Fam, and probably wouldn't really have time to exercise.

Barbara got me thinking about other superheroes and superheroines being fat.

Obviously, some characters who might be more on the tech side, especially behind a computer.

We always have the scrawny nerd characters, but there would be some fat ones statistically.

Now, what about those who rely on tech?

Would Tony Stark have at least a small gut?

Depending on how busy he is as both head of Stark industries and as Iron Man, would he have the optimal time to work out?

Now, I know this would also depend upon which Tony we're talking about and the level of tech he would have (ne who's more hands on at Stark Industries and wouldn't leave it up to other people to run, and one who wouldn't have access to slimming tech), but I think it's plausible for an average Stark.

What about those who rely on powers?

I could see an average Mutant or Metahuman who's used to flying a lot or using telekinesis throughout the day as chubby or fat.

Even one with super strength. If they're not jogging/running or regularly weightlifting objects that no ordinary human can then they'd also put on weight.

Even supers like Raven may gain some weight/be fat.

I've never really read Teen Titans/Titans comics, but in the original Teen Titans cartoon, I know she was mostly flying and using her spells. I never really saw her punch, kick, or run (except maybe for plot convenience).

I would think she would be at least chubby or something.

What about characters that have impaired mobility?

Hector Hammond has a gigantic head and only gets around with telekinesis (though, there may be some other versions of him without the bobblehead).

Professor X, The Chief (Doom Patrol), and many other characters are either wheelchair bound or can't move around as well or as much as most characters can.

What about y'all? What characters do you see as muscular, fat, or skinny?

[star-archer]

Phone Tag

Summary: You keep playing phone tag with your hero-turned-fugitive lover. When you find yourself working the same mission in the same place, can your paths cross and bring you together once more?

Pairing: post-CA:CW!Steve x Agent!reader

Word Count: 3175

Warnings: brief cursing, brief mention of violence, some more melancholy (I can’t resist the angst, you guys)

A/N: This is my second submission for @pellucid-constellations love letter writing challenge. (Read my Bucky fic here.) I really hope you love it! Post Civil War, Steve’s on the run and hard to pin down. Thanks so much for reading!

⍟⍟⍟

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket, distracting you from the very exhausting briefing presented at the front of the conference table. Something about Hydra, always something about Hydra, and after the year you’ve had, you were ready for a bit of a break. You pulled your phone out to glance at the screen, and felt that warm, familiar kick of giddy excitement at the name on the Caller I.D. Him.

“Something important, Agent?” Your superior halted his presentation with a frustrated sigh, and you silenced the buzz of your phone and re-pocketed it.

“Not at all, sorry, sir.” You grinned.

You loved sending Him to voicemail. Him being Captain Steve Rogers, known hero-turned-fugitive, secret lover to yours truly. He hated being sent to voicemail, always rambled awkwardly until someone, usually Natasha, told him to hang up already, her voice a cackle from the background. But his ramblings were honest, more honest than his phone calls, even at the latest hours of the night when he had you to himself. He was softer then, almost more shy. He could be honest when he knew you’d react and respond at a later time.

So you often intentionally silenced his call, opting instead to play phone tag from across timezones. He was never in the same place twice, and neither were you anymore. Maybe if you’d bother to answer, the two of you could meet up, tag-team a Hydra mission and spend the night wrapped up in his arms like he’d always promised. But maybe that scared you more than you’d admit, so for now, phone tag was the name of the game.

You exited the conference room a half hour later with a stack of manila folders, a recon mission in the Balkans, and a lower level agent chattering your ear off. It seemed fairly self explanatory, in-and-out. Your agency was making a bigger deal of it than it probably was, and you were waltzing down winding corridors with a smug look on your face knowing what was waiting in your back pocket.

—

Your bags were already packed, and you were on a flight Eastward before you could stop for a breather, however, and it was a good few hours before you got time alone again. Throughout the flight, beyond the chatter of your teammates, you looked at the voicemail notification. And, as the you chased the sun to rise again, you unlocked a hotel door room with a keycard and collapsed onto zillion thread count sheets, finally a moment’s peace to sit and listen.

You tapped the notification with your thumb and pressed the phone to your ear, allowing your eyes to slip closed with exhaustion and jet lag as you listened to the dulcet tones of that man’s sweet voice.

“Hey, it’s me… Steve. Think I’ll ever actually talk to you on the damn phone?” He chuckled. “Anyway, I just wanted to call and let you know I’m alive, and I’m thinking about you. I miss you like crazy. How long has it been? Three months? Four? Jesus. War didn’t even feel this long.”

He let out a deep sigh, and you imagined him falling back onto the comfort of his own soft bed, somewhere safe, somewhere warm.

“Okay that’s dramatic. War sucked. But this sucks too. I just want to see you.”

Your stomach ached for him. It had been a while, five months actually, since you last lay your fingers upon that chest cut from marble, since you’d last snuck a kiss between headstones in a Cleveland cemetery. You’d found a few Russian operatives, and Natasha had made the set up. Only a handful of moments, lost like the fireflies between dancing tree limbs, but it had been worth it to feel his arms around you again, his fingertips through your hair and yours clenching the rigid kevlar of his suit.

“I’m in Greece, I think. Somewhere in the Balkans. Hydra mission. Sam said it’s worth looking into, so it’s worth looking into. Don’t worry, we’re being careful.”

You sat upright in your bed, nearly dropping your phone to the pillow below, and you scrambled. There were several seconds left of the call, several before someone eventually cut him off, but you’d listen later. Frantic, you grappled the buttons, punching in his contact to return the call.

Ring. Ring. Ring. You glanced at the bedside table. It was nearing 4AM. If he was there, now, he’d be asleep, or out on the mission.

“Hey, you’ve reached Steve. Leave a message.”

You sighed out a laugh, pushing off from the covers to pace, barbered carpet scratching your aching feet. “Hey, it’s me. I’m in the Balkans. I’m on that mission. I’m annoyed that your phone doesn’t have the option for texting, and I’m even more annoyed that you didn’t wake up to answer my call. It’s 4AM, you’re a hundred. Shouldn’t you be on your morning run? Anyway, call me back immediately. I want to see you. I’m at the…” You read off the stationery on the side table. “Room 704. I’ll be here until noon. Call me back.”

You clutched your phone into your hand and peered through the peep hole of the room, as if he’d listened and appeared like a magician outside your door. No such luck. You pushed off from the door and found the window. The curtain opened to a stunning cliffside view, the sea miles beyond, a vast stretch of nothingness. Just the heavy lids of your eyes, and the panic in your chest that this may just be another missed opportunity.

You rolled out of your travel clothes and brushed your teeth, staring at your phone on the countertop. And then you made your way back to the too-soft bedding for an expertly timed nap.

—

The hot sun fanned your cheeks, undeterred by the cabana umbrella and the ice melting in its glass atop your bistro table. You covered your eyes with a flattened hand, which provided some added shade, but your upper lip continued to bead with brine. Your targets talked a handful of feet away, at their own table, ritzy in linens and rings that clanked when they shook hands.

You’d poured over your book for hours, never reading a word, half-focused on the cell phone beside you, half on the tabletop beneath the Hydra-elite, under which you’d planted a listening device at the beginning of your dip into the pool. You maintained to face away from them, the clear in-ear bugged into your right hand side. They spoke in thick accents, in a language you’d wished you’d bothered to learn more of. You caught the occasion phrase, but knew the recording headed back to your own base in the States would be translated as necessary. You were only there to retrieve the information.

Kids played in the pool nearby, encouraged by their au pair while Mummy got a tan, and you found your focus zero in on them as the third child, a bit older, walked back outside from the restroom. He was lanky, in that awkward phase, and wet hair was beginning to dry in curls around his ears. He wore a white towel, emblazoned with the resorts’ logo, and he brought his hands to his chest to begin to sign.

You recognized it immediately as ASL, one of the few language that had stuck in your training. Your heart trilled with delight as the boy teased his siblings, and then sunk with panic as he turned to face you. He pointed to the device in your ear and you realized the men near you silenced.

“You speak ASL?” The boy signed, and you smiled and nodded, setting your book face-down on the table beside you. You could feel eyes on you from the nearby table.

The boy grinned and pointed at the doors. Then, he signed, roughly, “A big man inside paid me to tell you he’s here.”

Your heart rattled in your chest, and you tried to chuckle away the chill. “A big man?” You signed back, and the boy nodded. With a deep breath, you thanked him. The boy turned and went back to his family, and you made about gathering your things, though the adrenaline of an incoming encounter coursed through you.

Seemingly satisfied by the interaction, the men nearby started their conversation back up, softer than before, a low rumble in your ear, and you glanced their direction through your sunglasses as you stood from your table, flashing a polite smile as one of them caught your gaze and quickly looked away. You left your book, where the pages had already begun to soak in condensation from your glass, and the towel you’d been laying on.

The air conditioner instantly rocked your skin in gooseflesh, nearly freezing the bits of you pooling with sweat, and you let out an exhale the moment you rounded the corner and out of sight of the pool. The secondary lobby area was vast, high ceilings and guests moseying between pillars, and you ducked behind one and removed the throwing star that attached the bits of your sarong to each other. You tucked your knuckles around the two points and prepared for a punch.

At least, you were prepared until a dark hand came out of nowhere and wrapped itself around your wrist. You maneuvered around them, tried to headbutt, but your assailant ducked out of the way with a startled, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, tiger!”

Sam Wilson grinned back at you, all white teeth and perfect warmth. He ducked his head, waiting for another attack, but instead you put your finger to your lips to silence him.

Then, you put your hand to your in-ear and mumbled, “For the record, I’m using the restroom.” And heard the soft beep of the system shutting off.

Sam waited expectantly, eyebrows raised, and arms outstretched, and you sunk into his embrace. He smelled of coconut and sweat and Sam, and you could have sobbed at the rumble of his chuckle against your cheek. ”How you been?”

You pulled away with a nod, and you couldn’t help but scan the crowd over his shoulder. With every strange face came the twinge of heartache, the twinge of almost-was, of hope. “Good,” you relaxed your shoulders. “You?”

Sam gave you a knowing smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, you don’t care about me.”

“Shut up,” you laughed. “Of course I do.”

He nodded to his right, and you glanced to see the cracked door to a laundry room. The black plaque restricted access to anyone who wasn’t an employee, and your stomach flipped three or four times, imagining what could be just beyond.

“I’ve got eyes on the Hydra guys,” Sam smiled. “I’ll give you guys, what? 7 minutes?”

You shot Sam a look, but couldn’t help the smile that ached at the corners of your mouth. The wingman winked, and stepped aside to grant you access. The linoleum felt cold under your trembling fingers, and you raked them against the surface before pushing. The heavy door swung open just enough for you to slip inside, and you heard it latch behind you.

The room was white, sterile, full of the tumble of several washers and dryers doing their daily turn down services. Washing machines to the left, dryers to the right, and directly dead center, five machines down, leaning against a cart full of white sheets, was Captain America himself. Him.

He pushed off from the cart to stand, awkward, sheepish, hardly recognizable under a growing mop of hair and a full, dark beard.

“Have you always been that tall?” You cocked an eyebrow, the tone of your voice much braver than you felt.

He sucked in his cheeks and shook his head.

The two of you took slow steps toward one another, a scrape of rubber against tiled floors. You fought back the grin threatening to form, and he swung his arm until you were almost at arm’s length, and then he waited for you to take his grasp, and he pulled you in.

He was bigger than you’d remembered, a bear of a man that lumbered his frame around yours, all biceps and pectorals and hair. You raked at the length at his neck and the sides of his face, and he groaned into your neck, and you melted into him as though he were a sponge and you the popsicle in the hot Balkan sunlight.

“Did you get my voicemail?” He asked, knees bent to prop both of you against the only washing machine out of service.

You laughed at that, pressing your lips to his cheek, wherever you could find purchase without a mouthful of hair. The wrinkles at his eyes crinkled, and you kissed them before pulling away to look at him, really look at him, without all the pixels messing up the perfection of it all.

There were greens in his blue eyes, and you saw your admiration mirrored in his own gaze. Both of you laughed, realizing you were doing the same thing, observing one another, being present in the moment, soaking it in. His cheekbones remained high, unaging, and the fur around his lips sheltered the strength of his jaw and softened his fingers. You ran your fingers through it like the coat of a Labrador, and he pursed his lips into the affectionate gesture.

“You like it?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you pursed your own.

He chuckled, but you watched his eyes darken as his gaze found your lips. He licked his own, leaning forward to nuzzle your nose. You smiled and let you eyes flutter closed, and you sighed as he closed the distance with a kiss.

God, you’d missed that, the way he just gave in. Like every kiss might be his last. It was the gentle intensity of it all, the way he held you around the middle, a large hand reaching to cup your neck and face, thumb circling your cheekbone. It was the rise and fall of his shoulders as he leaned into it, deepened it. It was the press of the small of your back until your abdomens found one another, his carved from marble against your own soft edges.

His beard was the only thing you hadn’t remembered, bristly and soft all at once. It tickled beneath your nose and in the crevice of your lip and chin, but you didn’t mind. It smelled of him, and you couldn’t get enough. When he pulled away to breathe, you dove back in for more, hitting beard when he ducked for a laugh.

“I missed you.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, and his large fingers tucked themselves under your sarong, a graze of skin against your own that sent your back arching.

“I missed you,” you spoke through gritted teeth, clawing at the collar of his civilian shirt. You hadn’t noticed the silky fabric until now, his best attempt at a disguise.

“I don’t have any time,” he said, and you looked up from the navy fabric to see his features fall.

You released his collar and flattened the creases against his collar bone. “If I got injured on this mission, they’d give me a vacation.” You offered it as a ridiculous solution, something both of you knew wouldn’t happen. They’d be suspicious if you got hurt. They’d go looking for him.

“Soon,” he bonked his forehead to yours. “Okay? I promise we can be together soon. I’ll have Nat plan something longer than happenstance.”

You nodded against him, feeling the emotion well. Voicemails were easier. Voicemails didn’t disappoint. The pain of feeling him under your fingertips, of breathing him in, was too much. It wasn’t fair. A soft knock from the doorway beat into your skull, your clenched jaw, your tightened fists. You pushed off from Steve, and his hold on you faltered.

His hand slipped into yours, fingers intertwined, and you led him past the dryers to the door.

“Hey,” he whispered with a gentle tug. You turned to face him, and he leant in for another Earth shattering, knee-weakening kiss. This man, this fugitive, the bane of your existence and the reason you breathe, a sponge to mop you heart that had spilled all over the tile floor.

—

He left you with several mumbled promises and a sad smile. Sam offered the same look of regret, a wave goodbye from across the lobby. You went one way as they went the other. Your mission wrapped up, bad guys on their merry way, information obtained. But the rest of the day, packing your things, the long flight home, it all took a backseat to the veil of heartbreak that lay overhead, the fear sinking into your bones that you’d never be able to be with him, never be able to touch him or kiss him for longer than a moment in time.

You deplaned to more chatter, congratulations on good work. You slipped between coworkers, ordered a ride share home. You unlocked your apartment, did a routine check for intruders, heated up a bag of rice on the stove top, pretended to eat it. Too aching to care.

You showered the sunscreen from exhausted limbs, scrubbed the makeup from your face, rinsing yourself of any essence of him, anything that could have seeped into your skin, and you tiptoed into pajamas and curled yourself under your covers. Relief didn’t find you until you heard the familiar ding of a notification. You scrambled for your phone, discarded on your nightstand the moment you’d gotten home.

1 Voicemail from Him.

You clicked play and laid back against your pillow to hear the low tenor of his voice.

“Hey, it’s me. We just landed in Wakanda. Snuck off to find Buck so I thought I’d call. I’d love to show you this place some day. It reminds me of you. Warm. Beautiful.” He took a pause, his voice low, like he’d been afraid of getting caught. “It was good seeing you today. You looked amazing. Did I mention that? You did. You looked incredible.”

You smiled at his rambling. You missed his rambling.

“I love you.”

You stopped breathing. Three words. You hadn’t said them, not to each other, not yet. You felt them, of course you felt them, but saying them aloud made them real, gave them weight, made the distance hurt more.

“I do. I love you. And I was too chicken shit to say it earlier, but I’ve been thinking it for ages. Probably since the day I met you. I love you.”

You sat upright in your bed. There were several seconds left of the call, several before someone eventually cut him off, but you’d listen later. Frantic, you grappled the buttons, punching in his contact to return the call.

Ring. Ring. Ring. You glanced at the bedside table. It was nearing 4AM.

“Hey,” he answered. There was a smile in his voice.

“I caught you,” you breathed a sigh of relief.

He laughed. “Yeah, you did.”

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 9 – The Hunt

(Mando x f!reader)

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

Summary: After recovering you set off to find the man who tried to kill you. Killing him proves to be more difficult than expected when the ones you love are threatened, and on the other side of the choice, your own future.

Authors note: One more chapter to go!! Some angst at the end here! Hope y’all enjoy ❤️❤️❤️! (I also did some very average fan art if y’all haven’t seen it yet!)

Tw: sex is alluded to (not depicted), decapitation, force choke

Word count: 4.9k

Tagged list: @crazycookiecrumbles, @seninjakitey

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

The planet proved harder to find than expected, despite Anya's best efforts, something was fogging up her tracking causing your coordinates to be constantly in flux. She’d easily lead you past the outer rim, but since then it had been akin to a wild goose chase.

“Any idea who tried to kill you.” Din asks, he'd been exceptionally patient throughout the journey thus far. Never questioning your methods just typing in the new location coordinates calmly and re aligning the ship on its new course.

“Did kill me” you correct, as your hand moves absentmindedly over the healed wound. “but no, I dont. They had a lightsaber though”

“Was it a Jedi?” he asks earnestly.

“Well based on the context clues, I'd definitely say at least Jedi adjacent” you laugh, for a savvy strategist who knew multiple languages you sometimes found yourself questioning if his brain was in fact functioning.

“Why would a Jedi try and kill you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine”

“How do they decide on colors?” He asks after a somewhat awkward silence

“Hmmm” you hum out in confusion, only half paying attention to what he had said.

“The light swords? Ashoka's are blue, yours is purple and the figures, well there's was red” your heart stops.

“It was red?” you ask, sitting up in your seat giving him your undivided attention.

“Ya does that mean something?” He watches your eyes slowly piecing together what he'd just told you.

“That’s impossible, the Sith were defeated. They died with the emperor.” you affirm, your sure red was a common colour used by Jedi nowadays, sure no one had ever seen one before, but there was a first time for everything right?

“So were the Jedi.” he points out.

“Do you always have to be right?” you ask slightly irritated for a reason you couldn’t quite explain. He doesn't respond; he knows a rhetorical question when he hears one but unsure what he had done to upset you. An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air, a sensation you'd never experienced with the Mandalorian before. Not wanting to stew in the quiet you head down to the lower levels and try and calm your frazzled mind. Sitting down you cross your legs, one over the other, as you close your eyes.

On the best of days meditating was a chore, but under the current situation it had become an impossible task. It wasn’t the threat of being ambushed that had you distracted, no something else was playing heavily on your mind. It was what was causing the punctuated silences, forced conversation and overall awkwardness in the atmosphere. It was your own doing. Seriously, who kisses a man whose face they've never seen! Idiots that's who and now it was stuck on your mind. In your defense you thought you wouldn't have to deal with the fallout so quickly. You should have known he’d have insisted on going with you, but you hadn't thought that far ahead, or at all and now you had to sit with the fact that you’d possibly ruined your comfortable friendship by planting one on him. Technically it wasn’t a real kiss,or maybe it was, how did Mandalorians kiss anyways? There you were down the rabbit hole again, this is why you couldn't focus, you curse yourself. Shaking your head you remind yourself it was only done in an attempt to get around him, a strategic move to protect the group, nothing more, nothing less. Keeping that in mind you manage to focus and you feel the galaxy's pulse emitting throughout the ship, inhaling and exhaling with the undulations around you.

Din, bored and missing the usually witty banter you offered him, decided it was time for him to clear the air in regards to the kiss. He hopes by telling you that he knew it was only done to get around him, you’d become more relaxed. The last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable around him. He knew you'd never want to be with someone like him, at least in that way. As he turns around he sees you cross legged floating in the air, not wanting to interrupt he heads back up. Anya lifts her head as he re-enters, looking at him as if she knew what he was thinking. He’ll clear the air with you later, the two of you had plenty of time to talk.

You curse as your journey gets rerouted for what had to be the twelfth time in the past two days. Whoever was hunting you did not want to be found and no amount of swearing or whacking the console would change that. The closer you got to your destination the more you felt the malevolent presence grow. You found yourself wondering if it had always been with you, finding it hard to remember a time when it wasn't gnawing at your conscience. Each time you feel it scratching at your doors you remember Ashoka's words “be careful who you let into your head.” You'd made that mistake once with devastating consequences. You would not be making it again. Your energy was now primarily being spent keeping the presence at bay, not allowing it to penetrate any deeper than it already had. Sleeping only acted as an open invitation for the figure to torture you so you opted to forgo it altogether. Perhaps not the wisest decision, but what other choice did you have.

“The planet’s still a few days away.” Din says, noting the unraveled look in your eyes as you take your place next to him.

“Anything to do on this ship.” You ask, fidgeting in your seat. “like games or something” he doesn't respond “Hey beskar head! You awake under that helmet?”. You ask partially joking, partially annoyed that he wasn't talking to you.

“Yes.”

“Yes to games or yes to being awake?”

“To games” you smile, you never knew if he was actually making jokes or if you were just reading into it. The finer details of his personality artfully hidden beneath the metal exterior.

“Got Dejarik, you know how to play?” he asks, glad that you were back to yourself for the time being.

“I'm alright” you say smiling, you were better than alright, at least you think. To be fair you'd only ever played against one person and she was family and probably inclined to letting you win.

“You're cheating!” he exclaims, his annoyance apparent even through the modulator. Your skills were better than you expected especially after all those years, well either that or the Mandalorian was just that bad.

“How?” you ask, laughing at how frustrated he was getting. It was funny when you beat him the second time, but by gods it was even funnier when you beat him the seventh time.

“The force!” He says clenching his hand as he stares down at the board.

“I don't think the force bothers itself with helping me beat you at Dejarik.” you point out, as he grumbles something indistinguishable.

“Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are.” You tease pointing your finger at him eyebrows raised and a smirk plastered on your face.

“That’s not what I’ve been told,” he responds.

“About Dejarik or?” he laughs it off, but you seriously wanted to know the answer. After Cara told you he was allowed to have sex it was a question that you’d thought about a lot, more than you probably should have, but hey you were curious. Realizing the Mandalorian was now turning the game board over to see if it was rigged, you decide to change games.

“You still got that indestructible spear. The beskar one?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Yes, not something i'm planning on losing” he nods

“Fancy a match?” you offer you needed to work on your fighting skills, practicing on the air only went so far.

“Only if you promise not to slice through my ship.” He says, standing up.

“Only if you promise not to cry when I beat you.” you return causing him to scoff

“Oh im not going to be the one crying” he assures.

You stand in the ship's far corner across from Din who haphazardly twirls the spear in his hand as you open up your saber, raising it waiting for him to make the first move. He stays his ground, you and him were both defensive fighters and you knew he was far too stubborn to change his routine. Leaping forward you land in front of him, your saber making contact with the spear. After a few seconds spent testing his strength you know there's no feasible way for you to out muscle him. You'd have to out maneuver him. He’d seen you fight stronger opponents before so you’d have to think outside the box on this one. You move out from under the spear the release of your counter force causing Din to stumble forward. You turn aiming for his shin, but his arm reaches back the spear stopping your hit from connecting with his armour. You circle round him so you're once again face to face giving him enough time to stand back up. He turns quickly, swinging the spear as he does, aiming for your waist. You jump over the swipe landing behind him, hitting him in the back.

“Point to me.” you say

“No using the force” he says, turning to look down at you, his presence suddenly looming.

“I wasn't, I can just jump really high!” You lie.

“Likely story” he says brushing past you as he moves back to his starting spot

“What was that I said about crying earlier?” you question.

He's got you talking too long and he sweeps your feet out from under you knocking you on your ass and gently tapping you on the head with the spear.

“Point me” he says, offering you his hand.

“That was dirty” you say as he hoists you up.

“Who says we're playing clean sweetheart?” The term catches both of you off guard, but he's flustered himself more than you, allowing you to land the next two points.

“Hope your ego isn't too hurt darling.” you mock back at him as metal and light collide once again.

“It’s not over yet” he says, using all his strength to march you back towards the wall pinning you against it with his spear.

“You need to work on your attack, you leave a lot open” he says, breathing heavily.

“You need to work on a codpiece, it leaves a lot open” you retort, kneeing him in the groin, hard enough for him to drop you, but not so hard that it kept him down for long.

“Not enough beskar” he murmurs, hoping to get the last word in.

“Oh big brag for a man who just lost several games of Dejarik in a row and” your sentence is cut short as the spear taps the small of your back giving him the winning point

“And what?”

“Oh real classy Din, can’t win a fair fight” you say hand on your hip.

“It was fair considering I wasn't going 100%”

‘Oh you weren't” you mock, the smile telling him you were amused and not upset by his antics, the gentle slap on his arm further verifying this. The moments like this were nice, but as you continue to gain on your target they became fleeting. The Mandalorian watches as your ability to focus waivers, your frustration becoming increasingly evident in your training. Miraculously, you hadn't sliced through anything important, but the ship’s interior was constantly needing to be patched up. At least it kept him occupied and out of your hair. You looked like you were fighting a hidden battle, one he would gladly fight with you, if you'd let him. He didn’t know the full extent of your struggle, but he knew the anger he felt simmering inside you wasn't being aided by your refusal to sleep.

Your irritability, although caused by exerting tremendous energy keeping the figure at bay, was no excuse for the times you had lashed out at the Mandalorian. The most recent outburst occurred when he'd stepped on your foot after you had explicitly told him to watch out. In hindsight, threatening to melt his beskar down and turn it into a hearing aid for him so he could stop being such a nerf herder was a touch harsh. Alright, incredibly harsh especially considering he'd attempted to apologize before you went off on him.

“Sorry I threatened the beskar” you murmur sitting down next to him

“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” he asks

“Going on where” you ask

“Well it can't just be air in your head” he jokes, causing you to laugh for the first time in a few days.

“Seriously though , I'm sorry Ive been out of line, and it's not fair on you, you’ve been so understanding.”

“You know what might help with the outbursts?”

“A lecture?” you remark, your tone harsher than intended

“No, sleep, you should try it sometime”

“I'm fine without it” you say, the yawn escaping your lips contradicting your words.

“You should sleep.”

“ You don’t.” you remark hoping to catch him off guard, but he's obviously rehearsed this conversation a few times.

“ I don’t need to.”

“Neither do I.” You lie, almost a year later and you still had no idea how he slept so little, though your current working theory was that he would just take naps under the helmet when he thought he could get away with it.

“No, you can't sleep, there's a distinct difference.”

Not wanting to lash out at him for the third time that day and knowing he was right, you make a swift exit. You push the button that opens up to the tight sleeping quarters where you'd spent many hours lying awake. You were hoping that you'd reached an exhaustion point where your body would just shut down. You lay back on the bed not bothering with the covers, you weren't expecting to get comfortable. Anya had stopped trying to sleep in the same bed as you, usually getting inadvertently kicked or shoved out the bed by your constant movements. Your eyes can’t have been closed for more than a minute when they snap open. Despite their alertness your body's gone limp. What fresh hell was this? As your eyes adjust to the darkness you can only just make out the hauntingly familiar shape sitting at the edge of your bed. You go to call out for the Mandalorian, but no sound is emitted, nothing comes out at all not even air. You watch helplessly as the figure's arm extends ensnaring you in a choke hold, the yellow iris shining out beneath the hood, confirming your worst fear. A Sith. You scream yourself awake, the force causing items to fly to the ground, no doubt alerting the Mandalorian. You bring your knees to your chest grabbing at your scalp telling yourself it wasn’t real, but it didn't matter what you said. The truth was you couldn’t tell anymore all lines had blurred together. You get up off the bed looking around the room already exhausted at having to clean up yet another mess you had made. You lean over picking up the weapons that had fallen off the armoury hanging them back up when you hear the Mandalorian drop down the sound startling you.

“I'm sorry” you mutter embarrassed, not looking up as you move to grab the few dishes currently lying on the floor.

“What did I say about breaking the ship?” he says, chuckling slightly in an attempt to lighten the mood. He bends down to help you but you grab his arm stopping him.

“I made the mess. I'll clean it up.” You say gathering up the utensil and placing them back on the table absentmindedly stroking your throat as you turn to pick up the rest. As you reach for the chess board he grabs your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you back over to the bed.

“Get some rest, I'll clean up,” he says softly, sitting you down on the bed.

“Stop telling me what to do Din, besides it's not working.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I can’t and unless you can think up a way to make me then were shit out of luck.”

“I can think of a few ways.” he mumbles hoping it was loud enough for you to hear.

“Like what? Knocking me out with a blaster?” you scoff

“ A less violent way,” The words leave his mouth before he can fully assess the pros and cons of what he was offering to do.

“Reciting the entire code of conduct of the mandalore race to me?” Gods, how were you still not getting this.

“A less boring way.” He prays that you either catch on or he passes away suddenly so as to save him from any further embarrassment.

“Oh” you punctuate, lips parted slightly suddenly realizing exactly what was being offered to you “you think you can tire me out?”

“Only if you want.” he says, more confident now you hadn't outright rejected him

“Well I have been dying to see what’s under that armour”

“ You’ve seen it before”, and you couldn't wait to see it again.

“Not all of it”

“The helmet stays on,” he asserts.

“Not what I was referring to.” He stands there for a moment unsure how to proceed, not wanting to have misread the situation. “Well are you just going to stand there or are you not a man of your word?” That’s all the encouragement he needs.

“You want me to stop at any time, you just say so cyar’ika”

Once again the Mandalorian was right ; he was able to tire you out. Neither of you say anything after both at a loss for words, and not wanting to ruin the moment by saying the wrong thing. You fall asleep with his arm wrapped securely around your waist, as the other runs up and down your back. His heartbeat lulling you into a deep sleep, his presence managing to stay off any nightmares, at least for now.

He stays with you long after you’ve dozed off watching your back rise and fall in time with your breathing, he thanks the gods you were finally resting. He intently studies the faint purple markings covering your body, wondering how long they'd been there. His hand then tracing over the scars on your back, he wants to know how you got them. He wanted to know everything. Once this was all a distant memory he’d ask, if you chose to stick around that is. Knowing you won't want to find him in your bed when you wake up, he slides his arm from your waist and quietly, so as not to wake you, he puts his clothes back on. Re-donning his armour he heads back upstairs to check on the ship.

Your body shivers inadvertently at the loss of heat and your eyes slowly open. The room’s still dark, but the Mandalorian had gone. He must have left sometime in the night presumably his way of telling you it was a one off. Knowing Din to be a man of few words you knew talking about what had just happened was fully off the table. You sit up and stretch out, allowing your elbows to pop and your shoulders to crack as you roll them out, feeling a way that you hadn't felt in months. Well rested. Making your way over to the fresher you allow the water to wash over you removing any remaining scent attributed to the Mandalorian. After dressing you head up to the cockpit, slightly bow legged from the night before. You’d had your fair share of lovers and for a human, he was very well endowed and very eager to please.

“How far” you ask brushing any thoughts about last night from your head as you shoo Anya off your seat.

“You’re up sooner than I thought.” He says looking at you. He’d noticed the slight stagger in your walk causing him to smirk under the helmet, but the smile fades when you don’t look down.

“How far are we?” you ask again, picking up Anya who’s refused to move of her own volition.

“Close. About last night” he starts, wanting to make sure everything was okay, and that you weren’t regretting what had happened.

“ Look, we don’t have to talk about it. I know it wasn’t a big deal.” You say.

“It may not be a big deal for you.” you don't know why, but you take that tone as being pointed, referring specifically to your time spent in the rings.

“Why? because I've slept with half the galaxy? Something I did in order to survive an environment let’s not forget you put me in?” you spit out

“ No, I-I didn’t mean,” he starts. It's the first time you've ever heard him stumble over his words.

“ You never do.” You say, shutting him up for the remainder of the trip.

“Dropping out now.’ He says, 5 days, that's how long it had taken to get to where you were going, whoever was on the planet was committed to not being found, or at least committed to having you as sleep deprived as possible.

You step out with the Mandalorian close behind you, the planet's surface reflecting the ship's underlights back into its metal exterior. The mirrored rock had sprouted out into various forms and sharp geometric shapes, resulting in a beautiful, but sinister skyline.

“You sure this is the place? Doesn't look like any living thing could survive here.”

“Yes, I can sense a disturbance. You stay here with Anya.” you say placing a hand on his chest plate.

“No way.” Din responds

“I have to do this alone. It's too dangerous for you.”

“For me?” he says in disbelief.

“Wait here if i'm not back within the hour, leave.” You state ignoring his last question.

“ I'll give you two for good measure” he offers, holding out a blaster for you to take.

“It won't help.” You say pushing it back towards him before pulling up your hood and setting off into the unknown. Once he's sure you're out of sight, he follows you.

You close your eyes, letting your senses lead you through the sharpened planet careful not to cut yourself on the dark obsidian refelcting blurred images of the stars. A rock snaps under your foot and your eyes open. A voice calls out to you, uttering your name.

“Who are you.” you ask aloud, turning to face the cloaked figure who stands before you.

“ That is not important” he answers, lips not moving. Telepathy. So that’s how he'd gotten into your head.

“You tried to kill me I think it's at least relevant.” You return in thought.

“You came alone.” he asks, yellow eyes darting from side to side, despite the power this figure held you send a nervousness harboured deep within him, perhaps you should have brought the Mandalorian along with you.

“ Yes” you lie, hoping your force was strong enough to shield the bounty hunter.

“Good.” he snarled.

“Why did you kill me.” you ask not wanting to beat around the bush

“To see if I could. I needed to see your abilities, you’re stronger than I thought if you brought yourself back to life. The empire is rebuilding”, he offers not clearing the situation up in the least

“The empire died with Palpatine, they’re nothing but warmongering desolates now” you say shaking your head, not believing you had flown halfway across the galaxy for this.

“That’s what they have told you. We have been growing an army, led by the spirit of the emperor. We are seeking those with your abilities to help us rebuild.”

“You’ve lost your mind. The Sith were defeated long ago, the Jedi with them.” You turn to leave, no longer fearing this man, he holds no power over you.

“No” he shrieks, the sound drawing your gaze back to him, the noise frightening you slightly “You cannot leave. You cannot go. You will join us and rebuild a stronger galaxy.”

“I have no interest in joing a cult of fear and genocide.” you state calmly.

“It is more than a cult I offer you, something much better, power.” he was getting desperate, a few more days without sleep and you may have fallen for it.

“Power to what? Give you all the blood in my body so you can commit futile experiments on innocent people. You cannot create force sensitivity nor can you push it on someone who it has not chosen. Join you? No, I'll have to pass. Death and destruction will not be my path.”

“Not yet, but it will be. I see it in you, the pain, the sadness, the loneliness, that will all disappear once you join us.”

“Over my dead body” You say drawing your sabre. A violent clash of red and purple ricochet off the mirrored rock, lighting up the shadowed planets.

“Your grandmother trained you well.” He exclaims.

“ If you knew her then you should know that i'd never turn” You continue the fight. Managing to back him into a rock wall. Holding saber at his throat the light purple hue gleaning in the yellow irises beneath his hood.

“I understand why you ambushed me, not much of a fighter are you.” you snarl, pushing the saber into the robe, the scent of burning fabric filling the air. Then you feel it, the pulse of the fibers interwoven throughout the galaxy, something’s amiss. Something else appears under the glow of you saber, yellowed teeth, smiling under the light. You release him pushing yourself back, he wants you to kill him.

“ Do not fear it, I have seen this moment. It is what begins your reign”

“No” you say aloud to yourself, “No” you repeat turning off the saber and turning to leave.

“If you let me live, I kill the man with you.”

The Mandalorian whose been watching from afar hasn’t heard a word spoken in a while, watching you move towards him he thinks it must be over, whoever this person was, Sith or not, you must have come to an agreement. He almost walks out from his hiding spot when you stop dead in your tracks. He sees you look up, your eyes meeting his but only for a moment, before you pivot back to face the man.

“There’s…” you start.

“Don’t play me for a fool child, I have been playing this game long before you were even a thought in your mothers pretty little head. I know he is here. I know what you feel for him. You kill me and in time you will betray him, but you’d rather that, than lose him altogether.”

There's no thought process, no decision to make. With a flick of your wrist you throw the saber. You watch as it slices through the Siths neck before returning to your hand. You close it as his head tumbles to the ground. If Ashoka's words were a warning this, this was an omen. You had made a choice and now a path of irredeemably evil was laid before you. A path you were not prepared to drag anyone else down.

“I know you're there” you say after composing yourself. “I told you not to follow me.” You say making your way to the Mandalorians hiding spot.

“Are you alright? What did he say to you?” he asks, reaching a hand out for your arm.

“Nothing.” You say dodging him. The less he knew the safer he'd be. You weighed your options in your head on the walk back, but you knew there was only one way to avoid harming anyone. You had to hide away, become anonymous. Fall back into legend, never to be seen again. It was the only way Grogu would be safe, it was the only way Cara would be safe, it was the only way Din would be safe. As the ship takes off you say three words that would change everything.

“Take me home.”

“We're on route to Hoth now,” he says reassuringly.

“No, take me to my home. Grogu is back and safe. Our deal is done. Our alliance is over” You say, eyes plastered to the windshield.

“What did he say to you?” Din stresses, but you don’t answer. Silence was the only way to stop him from convincing you to stay.

“Don’t shut me out” he says slamming his hand on the panel. You don’t flinch, you don’t even look up. “We can figure this out together.” He says softly, if you hadn’t known any better you would have thought he was pleading with you.

“You’ve done enough. Take me home. If you don’t the force will.” He resets the GPS coordinates before standing up and dropping downstairs. Anya muzzles into you as you let out a sigh blinking back the tears you felt forming.

[thewayshedreamed]

Side Bar

An Elriel fic

This fic is set in the “This Time” Nessian AU— Starting with Elain’s birthday party from Part 3. Here’s the back story of those texts that haunted Elain, how the conversation with Azriel went, and mention of the eventual date that Nesta interrupted in Part 6 😉

You can catch up on This Time here!

A/N: It only took an eternity for me to finish this chapter. It’s the first thing I’ve posted that’s Elriel-centric, so I found myself deleting/re-writing to try and get it right. Eventually, I had to cut myself off and just put myself out there, so I hope y’all like how I’ve written them! Shoutout to @keshavomit and @acourtofmarauders whose comments inspired me to share this!!

——————————————————————————

Once Nesta dropped her off at her apartment post birthday breakfast, Elain drew herself a hot bubble bath. She hoped the warm water would ease her achy muscles and her unsteady nerves; both from the night before. It wasn’t that she had completely blacked out. She remembered the majority of the night, with only the time after her body started to succumb to exhaustion being a little fuzzy.

She lay back onto the back of the tub, taking a deep breath of eucalyptus scented bubbles and easing her eyes closed. She couldn’t help but reflect over the night, heart swelling with love for her family and friends who had truly made her 23rd birthday one to remember. It was increasingly rare that every one of them were able to get together on the same night, and she was feeling extra loved that they made it out just for her.

She had a few laughs to herself as the memories ran through her mind. She thought of her and Feyre dancing for hours, being joined by the others on and off throughout the night. Cassian grabbing her hand when Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” came through the speakers, spinning her around and singing loudly with her. Her friends keeping her drinks full and making her laugh. Being so excited that Nesta finally joined them for a couple of songs. Spinning into Azriel accidentally and hearing his deep laugh as he steadied her.

And just like that, her thoughts hanged on Azriel; like they always seemed to. She was no moron. She knew they had a natural sort of chemistry, but she always struggled to tell if he truly saw her that way or if he would ever be open to her. She was struck with a memory of him from the night before, something that hadn’t come back to her until now.

——————————————————————————

Somehow, she had ended up near the edge of the dance floor, semi-cornered near a table by Grayson. She remembered being so annoyed that he’d been there and even more annoyed that he was insisting on polite conversation. She wanted to yell at him that she knew he didn’t give a shit how she was doing and that he had no right to know after he’d wrecked her heart a couple of years prior. She wanted to swat at his hands when he would laugh and playfully touch her or reach for her. The alcohol in her system was begging her to do all of it, and she was almost completely convinced. Just one more touch or one more attempt at familiarity, and it was game over. She steeled herself, waiting, until a pair of arms wrapped gently around her waist from behind.

“There you are, love.” Azriel’s smooth, deep voice ran over her, and she relaxed immediately.

He was closer than usual, more affectionate. She realized the show they were supposed to be putting on, and she leaned into him. She rested her head back on his chest, and turned her chin way up to look into his face. He was looking down at her, mere inches away, with amusement sparkling in his hazel eyes.

“Hey,” she breathed, lamely, if she was being honest with herself. She felt the impression of cool glass in her hand and looked down.

”Sorry it took me so long to grab your drink. The bar was really backed up.”

She looked down at the half-empty glass in her hand. Definitely his existing drink. She decided to give him a little hell. Why not? They were pretending, anyway.

“Babe. It’s half-empty,” she pointed out through a laugh.

He narrowed his eyes at her playfully, telling her he knew she was being difficult. “I may or may not have gotten thirsty on my way back to find you.”

“Az, you remember Grayson.” She gestured toward her ex as she spoke. When he looked up, she noticed the tension in his jaw.

“Of course. How are you, man?” He released her waist with one hand, extending it toward Grayson. Grayson only looked at it, ignored it completely, and addressed Elain.

”Really? This guy? You’re better than that.” She felt Azriel tense behind her. Grayson gripped her upper arm, pulling her toward him. “You can’t be fucking serious, Elain. Guys like him are good for one thing. Maybe you can have a few good rolls around in the sheets, but you can’t honestly expect to settle down with a guy like him.”

All too quickly, Azriel’s large hand gripped Grayson’s wrist where he was holding Elain’s arm. There was a layer of darkness to his tone that Elain had never heard.

“Get your fucking hand off of her. Now.” He gripped Grayson harder in warning, but Grayson’s eyes stayed on Elain’s.

“Elain, come on,” Grayson said.

She was fuming. His company had been unwelcome from the beginning. He’d been far too comfortable entering her personal space. He had openly insulted Azriel on multiple levels. He was manhandling her. The words left her before she could stop them, the alcohol delighting that it finally got its way.

“Even if you’re right, he’s the best fuck I’ve ever had and has ruined me for anyone else. So allow me to indulge myself for as long as I feel like it,” she seethed.

Grayson’s eyes widened and quickly narrowed in anger. Nevertheless, his grip on her arm softened, and Azriel shoved his arm back toward his body. He shook his head and walked away, totally speechless.

“You okay, Ellie?” Azriel was in front of her now, looking down into her face. He was running the back of his fingers up and down her arms, and she cursed the goosebumps that erupted over her skin.

“Yeah. I really am. Thank you for coming over. You didn’t have to do that,” she said. She glanced up at him and watched his features soften when he realized she was serious. Shortly thereafter, he started laughing.

“Elain, you can’t just go around saying things like that about me. Word will travel, and I may not live up to people’s expectations,” he joked.

She groaned, feeling guilty that she had completed objectified him without his consent. She leaned into him, resting her forehead on his chest for a couple of seconds before looking at him again.

“I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what got into me. I just felt like humbling him a little, and I didn’t like how he was talking about you.”

Azriel laughed as he pulled her into a hug, his forearm braced around her neck.

“No apologies, Ellie. Come on. I owe you a drink; you know, a fresh one.”

——————————————————————————

Elain’s eyes popped open, and despite the heat of the bath water, she felt herself flush further at the memory. He hadn’t seemed bothered, but holy shit. Who would take it upon themselves to call someone “the best fuck they’ve ever had” when they’d never so much as hugged long enough to be considered intimate? Gods above.

She was obsessively thinking about her deleted messages again. She grabbed her phone off the side of the tub, hoping that when she opened her messages app, all of her texts would magically reappear. They didn’t, just as they hadn’t the other 15 times she’d done it that day.

She removed the plug from the bathtub, letting the water out and begging it to take all her memories along with it. She toweled off, put her lazy Sunday clothes on, and padded out of the bathroom.

She was startled by her phone ringing and dragging her back to the present. To her absolute horror, Azriel’s name flashed on her screen.

She steadied herself before she answered. She was glad to hear that her voice sounded as if she were a perfectly stable person.

“Hello?”

”Hey, Ellie. How you feeling today?” he teased.

Hungover. Fucking mortified.

”About how you would imagine,” she laughed. “What’s up?”

”I wanted to check in on you. And I wanted to see when you would have some free time to meet up. I still have your gift,” he explained.

Of course he’d gotten her a gift. Because he was wonderful. And she’d treated him like a glorified escort. She answered him before she lost her nerve.

”Oh. You didn’t have to do that, Az,” she paused. “What about now? You could come by?”

It took him a couple of seconds to respond. “Um, sure. Yeah. You know, it doesn’t have to be today, though. I didn’t mean to impose or anything.”

Shit. Was she too eager? To hell with it if she was. Waiting would kill her.

”You’re not! Really. I’m just being a bum on my couch today. I’d like the company,” she replied.

——————————————————————————

After about thirty minutes, Elain was convinced she was being stood up. Maybe he didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t wanting to see her today. She was about to draft a text to him before she heard his knock on her apartment door.

“Come in!” she called. She had unlocked her door during her fitful pacing minutes ago.

He poked his head in before opening the door and stepping inside. The sunshine flowed into the apartment behind him, and for a second, she was almost convinced that he was superhuman. His dark hair was damp and brushed haphazardly to the side, and she couldn’t help thinking about how unfairly attractive he was. He was wearing a black v-neck with black jogger sweats, and his scent of cedar and mist washed over her as he plopped on her couch.

“You look way too alive and well today. Seems a little unfair,” she pouted.

He breathed a laugh as he turned toward her. “Some of us drank water throughout the night, birthday girl,” he teased as he tapped her nose with his index finger.

“Hey!” she exclaimed in faux annoyance. “I drank water. Maybe it was today, but I did.”

He tapped her knee with his hand, and she swore she felt it throughout her entire body.

”I’ll be nice. I’m here bearing gifts, after all,” he replied.

She thought back to the night before. The memory of their bit with Grayson, her deleted texts. She thought of Nesta’s words of advice that morning to ask him about the only remaining text she had: his reply. It was now or never, she supposed.

”Before you give me my present...” She bit her lip. “...can I talk to you?”

She watched his eyes land on her lips and jump immediately to her meet her stare. His brows furrowed in concern.

“Of course, Ellie. About anything. You okay?” His words, so similar to those he asked her last night, flooded her nerves all over again.

“I woke up this morning to a really confusing text from you. Not that what you said is confusing necessarily, but apparently, I deleted all of my texts last night. I must have done it right before you responded, so I have zero context to our conversation.” She could feel the heat of her blush on her chest, her neck, her face. She wanted to be literally anywhere else. She showed him the text for frame of reference.

Azriel: 😂 Not cool. You had me worried there for a minute, Ellie. Goodnight. Hope you enjoyed your birthday.

She watched his eyes scan the text, his lips spreading into a small smile. He wasn’t speaking soon enough for her liking.

”Oh. That. We had been texting a little at the table right before you left, but at some point between you standing to leave and getting home, you sent me this.” He scrolled through his phone until he landed on her message. He turned it to her so that she could read it for herself.

Ellie: I’m v mad at you Az

Another one, several minutes later.

Ellie: Nvm talked to Nessie. We’re good. Night 😘

Cauldron, Elain. Kiss emoji, really?

The only other message was his response that she’d already shown him.

She shook her head. “I have no idea what that’s about. What was I saying before that?”

Now it was Azriel’s turn to blush, the tips of his ear turning a faint pink. “Oof. I don’t know if sober me feels as bold as the drunk me in those. I think I’ll just keep those tucked away.”

She blinked at him and his nerve to insinuate he was going to keep them from her.

“Azriel Spion. You better show me those texts.”

”Mm. Don’t think I will, Elain Archeron.” His blush spread to his cheeks.

She lunged for his phone, but he dodged her at the last second. He lifted it into the air out of her reach, her body sprawled across his lap. Elain with less adrenaline would have been mortified to find herself there, but this was critical information. She pushed herself back onto her knees, reaching for the phone in his outstretched hand. He evaded her yet again.

”Why are you so giant? For the love of the Mother, just let me see!” she exclaimed.

”No! It’s not my fault you deleted yours,” he retorted.

She knew she would never be able to overpower him, and he was too stubborn for her to talk him into giving in. She landed on torture, hoping it would work in her favor.

She stopped reaching for his phone and instead turned her hands to his torso. His position left his underarms wide open, and she took her chance, hoping he was ticklish. Otherwise, this would only be even more awkward than it already was.

To her absolute delight, Azriel yelped in surprise. He immediately snapped his arms to his sides as he tried, and failed, to hold back his loud laugh. He tried to move away or grip her hands, but doing so would mean he would have to shift his arms. His body wouldn’t allow it.

“Elain!” he bellowed. “Stop it. I said STOP.” He let out another loud belly laugh, and Elain fell a little bit harder at the sound. It was one of the most precious things she had ever seen. Azriel, who was always so reserved, so dry, letting out such a loud, deep laugh felt like an honor to witness.

”Not until you show me those texts! They’re just as much mine as there are yours!” She had to raise her voice over his laughter, the words coming out through laughter of her own.

“You didn’t keep yours,” he said through clenched teeth between laughs. “Not. My. Problem.”

She pushed her fingers in a little harder, and he yelped again, dissolving into laughter once more.

“Fine! Alright!” he yelled. “You win!”

He tossed his phone on the cushion behind her. She stopped immediately to retrieve it, leaving Azriel spent and gasping for breath next to her.

“You tiny, brutal woman,” he breathed, eyes locked on her.

She waved him off, scrolling up through his messages to the beginning of last night’s conversation. The first messages were mild enough. She thanked him for her birthday drink, for saving her from that conversation with Grayson, for humoring her with a slow dance despite the fact that he wasn’t one to dance much. His responses were polite and friendly, barely on the flirtatious side. She was about to toss his phone into his lap and call him dramatic before her eyes landed on a message that sent her pulse through the roof.

Ellie: That feels nice. Thank you 😊

A: Anything for the birthday girl.

Ellie: I mean, I can’t believe everyone hasn’t offered to play with my hair. Seems a little rude.

A: Very. I guess you’ll have to get new friends.

Ellie: Except you. You have to stay 💕

A: Like I said, anything for you.

She shot her gaze up to look at Azriel. He was watching her with the focus of a surgeon, scanning her face for any reaction. She was doing the same to him. She had a vague, fuzzy memory of sitting next to him in their booth for a portion of the night and assumed that’s when these had occurred. They had likely resorted to texting considering their friends’ nosiness. There were more messages, the time stamp about thirty minutes later.

Ellie: Stop being so nice to me. I’m going to fall in love with you.

A: Promise?

Ellie: 😅 Very funny. You’ve been warned.

The rest were the ones she’d already read about how she was mad at him, whatever that meant. She could hear her own heartbeat; feel her blood pressure in her gums. She knew her blush was at an embarrassing level, and she had to take a couple of deep breaths before she looked at him again. He was still looking at her, an almost pained expression on his face.

She cleared her throat. “So. Did you?”

”Did I what?”

”Stop being nice to me,” she murmured.

”No.”

She locked his phone and handed it back to him as she settled into the cushions. She wanted so badly to close the distance between them, but she knew she’d already pushed him beyond his comfort zone. His answer spoke volumes if she was interpreting him correctly, but she was terrified to find out. She decided to stay the course, keeping the focus on her deleted messages.

“I guess I should check in with Nes. Just to see what I was mad about,” she said quietly.

”I talked to her this morning,” he murmured.

Her eyes locked on his yet again.

”And are you going to tell me?”

”Do I have a choice? You’ll torture it out of me otherwise,” he joked. She was grateful for the laughter as a break in the tension. He cleared his throat.

“You told Nesta you were mad at her, too. When she asked why, you told her it was because she and I are such close friends,” he said. He glanced at her, giving her a chance to react.

“Why would I care about that now? I only know you because of your friendship.” She was so tired of being lost, of being the only one who didn’t know what was happening.

His voice remained quiet and even, as if speaking any louder may scare her away. “You told her it was because I would never look at you. Because you’re her little sister and I was considerate and wouldn’t want to make her mad.”

She swallowed thickly, hoping she looked more put together than she actually was. “And what did she say that made me so quick to drop it?”

That evoked a small laugh and the sound of it made her want to curl into him. “That I’m not scared of her in the slightest,” he began. “And that I was basically the only person she would find worth of you.” His blush deepened as he finished.

She nodded, processing his words. Her mouth was dry, and she was totally speechless. The distance between them was almost painful now, but she was so terrified to make him uncomfortable and potentially ruin their comfortable friendship.

He shifted on her couch, scooting a little closer to her. She was still facing him, her legs curled under her and her elbow settled on the back of the couch. She propped her head on her fist and fixed her gaze on his thigh, an inch away from her knees.

“When I told Nesta that I’d deleted my texts, she told me to talk to you. That you would be understanding.” She glanced up at him. “I basically bit her head off. But it’s because she knew without a doubt that you would understand, isn’t it?”

”She’s known for a long time how I feel, Ellie. Without me having to say a word.”

All she could do was nod. He shifted forward, turning his attention back to the reason he’d come over.

”Az, you really didn’t have to—“ he interrupted her my lifting a scarred finger.

”None of that. I wanted to, and I did.” He placed an envelope in her lap as he ran his hand through his damp hair.

She opened it, scanning small documents inside to figure out what he had gifted her. Two tickets to see the Velaris Philharmonic Orchestra. One of the first true conversations they’d had, she shared with him that she wanted to go one day. With the hustle and bustle of life and the expenses that came with it, she’d never gotten around to it.

True to her sensitive spirit, tears brimmed her lower eyelids. She was so touched that he remembered but simultaneously felt guilty that he’d spent so much on a gift for her.

“You can invite who you want to. I know Nesta has wanted to go, but you can bring a friend, too. I just wanted to make sure you had company. It didn’t feel right to give you a gift where you’d have to go alone.” Her heart melted at his rambling. Azriel never showed his nerves, and he had let that wall down for her several times today.

“Azriel.” She glanced at him, willing him to look at her again. His elbows were resting on his knees and he’d been staring straight ahead as he spoke. He finally turned his head toward her, his onyx hair brushing across his brow. She leaned forward, resting her chin on his shoulder as she took in his elegant bone structure.

“Thank you. I love it more than you know,” she whispered.

His eyes lit up at her words, and her chest squeezed at how much joy it brought him to make her happy. His eyes fell to her lips, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she watched him wet his own. He brought a scarred hand up to cup her cheek and pulled her face even closer to his, using his thumb to pull her lip from her teeth. She gasped softly, and he pressed his full lips softly to hers. She leaned into him, letting out a small whimper when his grip tightened slightly on her cheek.

Something shifted in him at hearing her whimper into his mouth, and he sat up to orient his body toward hers. He deepened the kiss, then hooked his hand behind her knee to pull her over his lap. She settled into him, moving her hips against his, and he let out a low groan as she moved.

She pulled back from his kiss to look at him, still a little in disbelief that this is where their day had taken them. She ran her fingers through his hair and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. He let out the most indecent moan, and it took everything she had not to slant her mouth over his again.

“What are you doing Thursday?” she asked.

His eyes popped open, still a little glazed over from the heat between them. His hands were under her sweater, thumbs tracing small circles over her ribs.

“No plans, why?”

”A very dear friend of mine gifted me two tickets to see the orchestra, and I’d really like to take you on a date, if that’s okay.”

He smiled at her, his eyes turning up at the corners as he looked at her. “I would say I feel bad for the guy, but there’s no way I’m missing that,” he replied, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “I’ll be sure to pull out my best suit.”

Her returning smile was so broad, it almost hurt. “Perfect. I can’t wait,” she whispered as she started to rock her hips once more. His lips crashed into hers then, their conversation over for the time being.

Before she lost herself in him completely, she had one fleeting thought as she reflected over their earlier words. “So, did you?”— “Did I what?”— “Stop being nice to me.”— “No.”

It looked like he was hell bent on keeping it that way, and she knew she was beyond screwed.

She was already in love with Azriel Spion, and even still, he was never going to stop being nice to her.

——————————————————————————

Well, there it is! A brief timeline note: Nesta’s phone call falls on that Thursday, during their post-date sleepover. I hope y’all enjoyed it!

Tags (This Time taglist + masterlist):

@polireader // @lord-douglas-the-third // @justgiu12 // @notyournymphetish // @sjm-things // @strangeenemy // @iammissstark // @keshavomit // @sjmships // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks // @dusty-lightbulb // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @julemmaes // @charincharge // @superspiritfestival // @awesomelena555 // @sleeping-and-books // @hizqueen4life // @maastrash // @bookstantrash // @rhyswhitethorn // @grace-k-sterling // @sayosdreams // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @b00kworm // @courtofjurdan // @sannelovesreading // @acourtofmarauders // @candice-dick-fit-in-your-mouth // @gisellefigue08 // @girl-who-reads-the-books

[sapphirelycoris]

𝐿𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝐿𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠

A/N: After posting “Now That You’re Gone” part 1 and 2, I came up with the idea of letters. This does take place during part 2. It has the same ending I just cut out some of the video parts and made it a lot shorter so you don’t have to re-read the whole thing. 

This is the last “Now that you’re gone” post, I swear!

I suggest listening to “Almost is Never Enough (slowed)” originally by Ariana Grande and Nathan Skyes

Synopsis: Ushijima x fem!reader (she, her)

I made the MC write a few letters to Ushijima, only three though. One for her second and third year of high school and then one as she’s dying. I regret not having these letters in the original version but here are the last few notes to Ushijima.

Warnings: Mention of death and overall sadness. I hated putting him through this much pain and it hurt to write.

Three unopened letters sat on his table. He hadn't been strong enough to even consider opening them but maybe, because of how was currently feeling, they would make him in a better mood. Ushijima carried the envelopes over to his coffee table and returned to his original position, his head lying on the arm rest. 

She had written him a handful of letters all throughout high school and even while lying in a hospital bed, she continued to put her feelings down on paper. She asked her parents to give them to him when she died, at least if she was dead, he couldn't reject her. 

Dear Wakatoshi,

You're probably never going to receive this because I wrote these when I was bored. This is our second year of high school so maybe before we graduate, you or I will confess to one another. I am so going to burn this later. Maybe not. I can be like the girl in that one book who has multiple crushes throughout her life. I can't remember the name. Now I'm just writing down my internal thoughts. Sorry. 

Love, (Name)

Seeing that this was written in high school, he didn't get his hopes up. Her affections probably changed as she grew older. He sighed heavily, laying down the piece of paper.

Dear Wakatoshi,

It's our last year of high school! On to college and responsibilities. Joy... taxes, marriage, all that good stuff. I don’t even know how to do taxes. Anyways, I’ve always loved watching your volleyball games. I can’t wait to go see you when you’re on a professional team, you can’t forget me. I stuck right by your side for a while so you got to mention my name at least once! I’m kind of running out of ideas for this… I promised myself last year that I’d write another one this year. 

Love, (Name)

Ushijima bit the inside of his lip. He hesitated to read the last letter, it was probably filled with powerful words that described their relationship. His body froze, he was trying to process everything that she had written. Not yet. He wasn't ready for it. 

The man stared at the picture he took with her at the beach with some friends. It had been a long time since he even dared to look at it. Her smile only made the pain in his chest grow deeper. He slowly reached out for his phone with a shaky hand. Number by number, he dialed her number and pressed it against his ear as the ringer went off. Ushijima knew that she wasn't picking up, but still had hope that it wouldn't go to voicemail.

"Hey, I'm currently unavailable right now, please leave a message!" Her voice was the only thing that he wanted to hear. That sweet sound that he took for granted. Even though his eyes watered, there wasn't enough for tears. Before the beep, he hung up and switched to his photo library. He desperately scrolled up, trying to find videos with her in them.

When the videos ran out, he gave in and ripped open her last letter. Instead of just one piece of paper, it was two. Ushijima noticed that her letters or written papers were a lot more poetic than the words she spoke. She used all of her vocabulary and wrote down extremely graceful lines. More so in college when she had papers to write. This was caused by all of the high reading level books she read as a child.

Dear Wakatoshi,

Lying here in a hospital bed isn't my ideal way of spending my last days. I'd much rather go to a beautiful place like the mountains, the beach, or the woods. Preferably, you'd accompany me but your volleyball schedule is so busy. Can you imagine? Watching the sun glisten on the waves during a beautiful sunset would've been the perfect way to go. Or perhaps, sitting by a blazing fire place at night and listening to the sound of nature. That'd be so romantic. I always thought romance movies were cheesy but I guess that's because they would never become a reality for me. I hope you never find this, I want you to move on with life. Not forget about me of course but I'd rather not have you be so focused on the past that you can't concentrate on the present. Whomever you should marry, I know that they'll be good to you. She'll go to all your games, support you through hard times, listen to your concerns, do all the things I wish I could have done. 

If I walked down the aisle, would you have cried? If we had children, what would you and I have named them? I love the idea of a name that has something to do with flowers. I remember the first time you ever brought me flowers. Satori gave you the idea, didn't he? They were lovely while they lasted. When the petals started dying, I got sad. I hated having to throw them away but it's the thought that counts. Even though it was just a few of our friends and us on my birthday that year,  it was a lovely dinner. You looked so handsome in a suit! Would you have worn a suit if we got married? I would have opted for a smaller wedding, surrounded by close friends and family. To take your last name would have been a dream come true. 

Speaking of which, in the event that you do marry someone else, remember the promise you made to me? I was going to at least be the godmother of your kids. You better raise them to be good little children. They should be respectful to their parents and not be lazy. If you're up to it, maybe name one of them after me. Though I don't know how appreciative your wife would be. Be good to her, okay? I know you're a quiet person but try to understand her feelings. Don't let her walk all over you either! If she does, I'll come back from the grave to haunt her. Hopefully you have the good sense to marry someone good. Though, you are the same person who thought that the world was flat. I really hope that you don't think that anymore.

Remember that? You and I were in the library and we somehow started talking about that. Even though I used all the logic I could, I'm not sure you were convinced. You're like talking to a brick wall sometimes. I bet your mind revolves around volleyball 24/7, doesn't it? I wish I could've seen you play in the Olympics! I want you to have excellent rapport with your teammates. If you want to win, you gotta be on the same page.   

During our last year in high school, I was planning to ask you out but then I realized, I'd only weigh you down. You're like a mighty eagle too wild to tame. If I kept you in a cage, you'd get restless and fly away sooner or later. I never wanted to risk the chance of losing you. You are far too precious for me to ruin. To tell you how I felt now would be too cruel. You're one in a million and nothing in this life or any other would make me give you up. You are priceless, worth more than any diamond or gem on this Earth. Don't ever forget that either. I guess it's because you don't do this often but when you smile and let kindness show through your eyes, everything seems alright. In that moment, the world is okay. Time stops and I am solely focused on you.

Something I don't have right now is time. But if I could rewind the clock, with the knowledge I know now, I would never have waited. I would have told you how much you meant to me everyday. I would have woken up next to you every morning. Ushijima, I love you. I truly do. No one else has my heart but you. You've always been the person I love, even in death my heart is yours. 

Yours truly, (Name)

Ushijima's mouth formed a bitter smile, happy yet sorrowful. Tears rolled down the side of his face from the corners of his squinted eyes. He cupped his hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his sporadic breathing pattern. He violently hit the back of his head on the arm of the couch repeatedly.

His smile faltered with each gasp for air. The constricting feeling in his throat sent a numbing effect throughout his entire body. All of his emotions were confusing him, thoughts contradicted one another, and the room seemed to be spinning. Part of him wanted to calm down and regain his composure, but he also wanted to let everything out.

He just had to cave in and dig up old memories, didn't he?

[cinematicnomad]

1, 7, 25 for the fanfic end of year ask :)

001. favorite fic you wrote this year i have a soft spot for take my hand (take my everything) which was the first fic i wrote this year! and kind of the first step back into writing creatively on something new that wasn’t the 7 year monster sterek fic. also my first foray into 9-1-1 fic and was just a lot of fun! 

007. longest completed fic you wrote this year the longest fic i wrote was my second for the year! so show me (family) wound up being around 16k+ for 9-1-1 which kind of burst out of me over the course of one 48 hour window unlike take my hand which took a few weeks to crank out. 

025. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read SO MANY FICS DUDE!!! i’m gonna rec a couple, some that i re-read this year and some that i discovered for the first time, all from a variety of fandoms. BUT heads up, you didn’t specify a fandom so it’s gonna be a little scattered. also someone else sent me this same question but specified 9-1-1, so i’m gonna reserve those recs for that ask. GET READY!!

and this, your living kiss by opal_bullets (7/7 | 84k+ | M) destiel; AU: college/university; john winchester’s A+ parenting; angst with a happy ending

only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet jack allen is just kansas mechanic dean winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen.

until, that is, a string of coincidences leads dean to auditing a poetry course with one dr. castiel novak. the professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia’s foremost expert on the poetry of jack allen.

note: i discovered this fic back in the pre-pandemic times of feb 2020 and i’ve read this fic TWICE since, leaving a lengthy comment each time. the poetry in the fic itself is stunningly gorgeous and i have a habit of reading it out loud to myself while reading bc it begs to be heard. this fic is seriously beautiful and makes me want to read all the poet!dean au’s out there in the world. unfortunately there aren’t that many so i just keep coming back to this well. i don’t think i can express enough how much i love this fic. 

lost time by ARCurren (105/105 | 350k+ | T)  bransonxsybil; AU: canon divergent; outsider POVs; original characters; slow burn

the story of a free spirit who was asked to give up the man she loved for a system she didn’t believe in and what happened next. AU after 3.04. 

note: did i think, when i stumbled across this fic years ago, that it would wind up being one of my all time favorites that i return to time and again to re-read? never. did i re-read it for like the dozenth time this year?? 110%. this fic is everything i want from fanfiction—it’s beautifully written, expands on canon, and shows me all the hidden moments the cameras never did (not to mention it’s historically accurate and delves deep into irish politics of the time). the first third or so of this fic is all about tom and sybil’s slow burn romance at downton, but the fic really bursts into its own when we follow the two to dublin and get introduced to all of the author’s deliciously detailed oc’s. heads up warning: this fic was never officially completed, though the final chapter is a beautifully written summary of the final arc of the fic. even so, it’s fucking worth it. 

misfire by mothlights & unpossible (6/6 | 28k+ | T) sterek; time travel; angst with a happy ending; alive hale family; magic; alternating POV

“the debt must be repaid,” she says, and it has the weight of a vow. the words resonate through him, ringing through his ribcage and the bones of his jaw, and stiles loses his breath and maybe his grip on reality because she draws herself upright and where there had once stood a supermodel-level MILK now there is galadriel’s much hotter older sister, a presence of unmistakable power in their ordinary, smells-vaguely-of-thai-takeout hallway. 

“oh shit,” stiles says. 

note: this fic is the first in the misfire ‘verse and i need you to understand that it literally broke me when i binge read these fics a month or so ago. i am a sucker for a solid time travel fic especially bc there are such few good ones in fandom. but this gets at the heart of it all by exploring the idea of stiles getting the chance to save derek’s family and taking it...after he and derek are romantically together in his true timeline and then actually dealing with the ramifications of how that alters everything and how stiles survives in this new present where he and derek are virtual strangers. everyone should definitely read this, but you should also know that i fucking sobbed while reading the sequel (which also has a happy ending, but really digs deep into the nitty gritty angst of the repercussions). 

map of the world by seperis (11/11 | 154k+ | M)  destiel; end!verse; alternate universe; canon divergent; original characters; slow burn

the world’s already over and they’re already dead. all they’re doing now is marking time until the end. 

note: look, if you don’t know about down to agincourt by @seperis, what are you doing with your life?? the series is over 1M+ words so far, the fic author is on book 4 out of a planned 8, and it’s fucking phenomenal. i know i’ve tagged a couple of these recs as slow burn but...this is the slowest slow burn to ever burn. canon!dean travels back into the end!verse timeline just as lucifer kills dean and somehow cas made it out alive and has to keep dean safe while he learns to become his end!verse counterpoint. the world building in this series is intense and i cannot recommend it enough. i’m still in the midst of my re-read bc it’s SUCH an endeavor but i highly recommend it to everybody. 

invictus by ellanasan (116/116 | 355+ | M) hayffie; au: alive abernathy family; pre-hunger games; canon prostitution; slow burn

“so then, before i can even think about doing something stupid like trying to stab him with his fucking golden paperknife, he gives me a choice, see?” haymitch continued, almost detached. “either i play nice like all the other victors or he’ll kill my family. i could either become his puppet—greatest punishment he could give me, according to him—or i could become the example.”

AU in which haymitch’s family lives.

note: hello, have you ever wondered what the hunger games series would be like if haymitch’s family were alive? i fucking hadn’t until 2 years ago when i stumbled across this fic and fell head over heels in love with this ship. @ellanainthetardis is my go to hunger games fic writer for anything exploring canon and i’m obsessed with anything she writes about the OG victors pre-canon (finnick, joanna, chaff, etc). this fic is just 300k+ exploring that world and all the intricate details of how cruel the games could really be. HIGHLY recommend. i definitely re-read it this fall when i needed a pick me up.

don’t know what i’m supposed to do (haunted by the ghost of you) by crazyassmurdererwall (1/1 | 30k+ | T) sterek; canon divergent; angst with a happy ending; ghosts; stiles POV

stiles sees dead people. yep. seriously.

(he’s got this. he’s totally got this. so what if one of them is derek’s mom?)

note: did you know that @crazyassmurdererwall is one of my all time favorite people? and that she’s wicked talented? and that in our spare time she’ll send me a billion fic ideas that are amazing and i get to hear all the intricate details of her plot bunnies? but i digress. this fic is one of my all time fave sterek fics i’ve re-read it sooo many times. there’s just something about the heartache and stiles’ insecurity and the way he tries to shoulder it all on his own. and then there’s alli’s brilliant writing, the way she weaves through a scene and paints a picture just so and manages to tug at your heart strings with her precise word choice. there’s some amazing world building in this fic as it explores this other facet of the supernatural that canon teen wolf never touched upon, and i’m so grateful for that bc alli is the only one who should be allowed to write about ghosts and teen wolf together. 

lagavulin and guinness by snarfle (10/10 | 163k+ | explicit) hartwin; slow burn; PTSD; suicidal thoughts; graphic depictions of violence; domestic abuse

plenty of people had looked down on eggsy throughout his life. he had gotten fairly used to it. didn’t mean it was fair, but he knew how these things worked. what really sucked was that the new arthur was worse than the old one.

“eggsy grimaced. he didn’t know how to explain to harry—who seemed like he hadn’t been discriminated against a day in his life—that the new arthur kept giving him what amounted to suicide missions, and that he was currently bleeding out in a warehouse because of the deliberately bad intel she had given him.”

also featuring: dean is harder to get rid of than eggsy thought, his mum is going off the deep end, there are way too many nefarious plots in play, and eggsy is really beginning to wish that harry would stop holding his hand and kiss him instead.

note: look, i know i recced this literally less than a week ago but i ALSO stayed up til 5AM re-reading this last night and it was a-m-a-z-i-n-g. i was on a bit of a kingsman kick earlier this year, so i’ve actually re-read this fic TWICE so far in 2020. i will give you a serious warning in that this fic delves deep into domestic abuse through the lens of a variety of different relationships. it also explores the potential for abuse in hartwin, bc this fic is one of the few that actually commits to the fact that they’re literal spies who murder people. actively. a lot. but seriously, this fic is one of my fave in the fandom and i STRONGLY recommend it. 

waste of breath by bryrosea (1/1 | 22k+ | M) loganxveronica; canon compliant; missing scenes; navy; past child abuse

logan echolls, the nine years, and the navy.

note: bryrosea has an obscene number of amazing logan and veronica fics (her canon divergent series stay with me is another i re-read this year), but i’ve found myself returning to this fic a lot over the years. i’m a sucker for canon compliant fics that explore the missing scenes in between canon and this fic hits all the right buttons by diving deep into how logan echolls went from being a trash fire at hearst college at the end of s3 to being a decorated navy pilot by the movie. it explores logan seeking out therapy and making a life for himself that he can be proud of, all while pining after the girl who got away. and bc this author is amazing, she followed it up with a sequel from veronica’s point of view in the series done by only me. 

the law of equivalent exchange by awed_frog (8/8 | 60k+ | M) destiel; POV castiel; pre-canon; post-canon; canon compliant; immortality; reincarnation

“and what’s the point of it?”

“of love? there isn’t one. loving is its own purpose.” 

note: i mean??? i don’t really know what to say except that this is one of the truly most beautiful fics i have ever read. it follows castiel through time as he meets different reincarnations of sam and dean across history and falls ever more deeply in love. it is achingly tender and so ecstatically written that i die just thinking about it. and that summary? i mean. holy fuck break my heart why don’t you? i don’t know how i missed out on this fic for so long since it was published in 2015 but i only learned about it for the first time back in july and it was. life changing?? when the fic finally reaches the canon timeline and he meets THIS dean it’s peak yearning. 10/10 will read again.

ahead in the count by elisela (17/17 | 50k+ | E) sterek; AU: sports; pitcher!stiles; teacher!derek; long distance relationship; getting together

“yankee fan,” derek says, laughing when stiles makes a disgusted face. “the bronx bombers, stiles, you can’t be a new yorker and—”

“stop talking right now,” stiles sighs, shaking his head. “i can’t believe i still want to kiss you after that,” he says, pulling derek in by his coat. “this is making me rethink everything.” 

“i’ll never watch them again,” derek promises, and stiles laughs against his mouth. 

or: stiles is a starting pitcher for the NY mets when he meets and falls in love with derek. derek doesn’t know. 

note: i read SO MANY of @elisela’s 911 fics this summer, which i loved, and then she got into teen wolf and started writing sterek and i just about died. this fic is amazing, one of my fave sterek AU’s that i’ve read in years. it’s just the right amount of drama and angst and fluff filled with all the joys of miscommunication and character relationships that makes reading sterek such a joy. reading this fic and finding out eli needed fic recs pushed me to dive back in to reading sterek fics for a bit this fall so i can say with the utmost authority that this is one of the best i’ve read in a long time. 

i used to think one day we’d tell the story of us by notequitegucci (2/2 | 32k+ | M) gendrya; alternate universe—modern setting; outsider POV; friends to lovers; friends to lovers

9 times a stark encounters gendry + 1 time he meets the starks.

note: again, this is the first in a 2 part series titled love me like you do that explores arya and gendry’s dynamics together through the point of view of her family. game of thrones ended last year with a whimper but i keep returning to the gendrya tag on ao3 to seek out new, amazing content and also to re-read some old favorites. i can’t remember if i came across this for the first time last year or this one, but i’ve read it and re-read it more times than i can count since and i love it more than i can describe. i’m a total sucker for outsider POV fics and my biggest pet peeve in canon is the fact that none of the stark’s ever found out that arya and gendry had a history together. this modern au fic almost makes up for it by giving me a gendry encounter with every family member and then the big reveal. it’s peak content. 

theeeeeeese recs got a little away from me. i wasn’t originally intending on adding lengthy notes to each entry but ... oh well!! these are all amazing so please enjoy. 

fanfic end of the year asks

[sonofjeddah]

Why Superheroes still matter in Arabia

The pop-culture segment in general and superhero segment in particular is the least considered in Saudi Business community (local and international players included). Toy companies, Entertainment houses, Media production companies and even FMCG companies still consider kids (esp. tweens) as primary audience of these properties that have inspired, excited and entertained old and young for more than eight decades

While the society has shown tremendous interest in activities organized by General Entertainment Authority since 2017, the consensus within the business community is antithetical to the wishes of this niche segment of 5 million plus. Shocking as it may seem, the level of interest, fan following isn't restricted to cosmopolitan centers (Riyadh, Jeddah and Dammam/Khobar); in fact, regions such as Hail, Qassim and Al Jouf are among the top 5 out of top 10 regions with most search queries in the country concerning these subject(s)

The Quest for Superhero Content: Saudi Arabia vs The World

Saudi Arabia:

Worldwide:

Search Queries: Marvel Cinematic Universe (Blue), Marvel Comics (Red), Shang Chi and the Legend of The Ten Rings (Yellow)

While for me this information isn't new as I've been mining data on Google and Facebook since 2013, I chose today to talk about it in the form of an article. I did so because at this moment in time, the biggest happening in the world of heroes is not being led by DC Comics flagship characters like Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman or Justice League; nor it's being led by Marvel's flagship characters like Spider-Man, The Avengers or X-Men; nor by Star Wars, Transformers or Game of Thrones for that matter. Instead, it's being led by a highly underrated superhero of Marvel who was created in the 70s thanks to the Kung Fu craze (mainly because of Bruce Lee) during that time. His name: Shang Chi, the first Asian/East Asian Superhero

Both graphs show us that audiences in Saudi Arabia show a higher level of interest than the rest of the world combined. Both MCU and Marvel Comics related queries/searches are half as much popular or more (vs Worldwide audience), the underrated superhero Shang Chi is reaching the same mark. Of course, one can't ignore the superior marketing tactics deployed by Marvel Entertainment and Disney plus the character's movie has been released yesterday. The million dollar questions here are:

Why would audiences in the Kingdom show incremental interest in a character whose animated series never existed nor broadcasted on Saudi Channel 1 or 2 in the 70s, 80s or even 90s? (Reminder: Bruce Lee VHS were available for rent and David Carridine's Kung Fu series was on air throughout the 80s on Saudi Channel 2)

Why would audiences here be interested in a character whose Arabized comics never were part of Amlaq Digests or reprinted editions of Marvel that were available in neighborhood mini-markets or imported comic books at Star Markets, Sarawat Supermarkets or Tihama Bookstores (distributed by Al Khazindar)?

Before attempting to answer my own questions, we need to understand that Shang Chi is one of those characters who may not have long-running series in the comic book world that span decades but because of their appeal and strong following, have been part of some of the best stories ever written but with the age of diversity, inclusion and online media, he is important for winning over new audiences of East Asian origin around the world, not just China!  

If this is the impact of an underrated character, imagine what happens when Spider-Man: No Way Home is released in December 

Superhero Content & the Arab

Before Content Strategy & Marketing were a thing, comic book publishers were doing it even before World War 2. Over the decades, what was being published was resonating with audiences not just in White America but across the world. In the Middle East, the 70s was the starting point for countries such as Iraq, Syria, Lebanon and Egypt but the trend made inroads into the Gulf region, especially in Saudi Arabia in the late 70s

The values shared in American superhero comics resonated with Arabs because of their own history of rich story telling as well as adaptations. Just like the Arab folklore, real historical figures of the region were presented as heroes; in fact superheroes in some cases. Another reason for this is that most of the characters produced in the Golden as well as Silver Ages of comics were created mainly by individuals who came from Abrahamic households. Their story telling borrowed heavily from the Biblical accounts of Prophets and other noblemen (who are also mentioned in Quran) regarding Good vs Evil, Light vs Darkness, the virtue of Doing the Right Thing. It was inevitable that such Western creations would resonate with Arabs

The seeds were planted and once an idea or interest takes root in the hearts and minds, it's hard to let it go

And now, the Superhero Content is being published in over-drive mode. Just check Youtube, Facebook, Instagram for starters and you'll see that the Arab content is there; driven primarily by creators in Saudi Arabia, UAE, Kuwait and Bahrain; ranging from comics to collectibles and even cosplays. This...is the Aladdin Effect

Aladdin was actually Chinese. Thanks to Abbasid Ruler Haroon Al Rasheed, he became an innate part of Arab Literature

Businesses in Saudi Arabia are losing out

Like the community of Anime fans, the superhero community has been there for decades. It came out with full force during Comic Cons that happened in Jeddah and Riyadh between 2017-2019. The first Saudi Comic Con saw a whopping attendance of 20,000 geeks during 3 days of festivity. It wasn't surprising to see a father attending Stan Lee Super Con Riyadh (2019) with his daughter and son waiting anxiously to meet Lou Ferrigno (the star of 1970s Incredible Hulk series). A Saudi Gen-X Father with his millennial daughter and his Gen-Z son (all fans of the Hulk) or Expatriates travelling to Riyadh to attend the festivity and participate in artist alleys and cosplay comeptitions. No wonder this community was referred to as 'Buried Talent' by Arab News

As they say: Data is the new Oil. Unfortunately, international brands and local businesses in Saudi Arabia haven't taken this segment seriously. The collection that's available at an international 'Megastore' in Saudi Arabia pales in comparison to its sister outlets in Dubai. Toy stores, international or locally owned, are still adamant to sell toys to kids instead of focusing on key collectible properties which are being ordered from US market by Geeks in Saudi Arabia thanks to Amazon. Gaming console companies organize impressive launches of their Superhero game in neighboring Gulf countries but nothing as such takes place here. Dairy brands are still using Superheroes for their "Got Milk" approach. What's needed is to take a look at Data that's available on Google and Facebook's Business Suites, for the very least

While young entrepreneurs with limited resources have opened up shops (online and offline) in major Saudi cities (Examples include: Jeddah's Konami licensed Gaming Lounge, a proper Comic Book Cafe in Dammam) and Riyadh having hosted the world's major Toy Fair as well as Stan Lee Super Con and Saudi Anime Expo BUT more needs to be done. The data is there. Action is needed from the Private Sector

The starting point would be with seed investors and venture capitalists who are currently obsessed with re-inventing the wheel by investing in ride hailing apps, food delivery apps, online baqalas, fintechs while a niche segment's wants mostly remain unaddressed  

[foreficfandom]

Mystic Messenger - Their Favorite Gift From MC

-- Zen: Customized Bracelet --

Zen’s sort of an excessive person so he’s almost always the one giving you gifts. He doesn’t want for much and the stuff he does - like skincare products - you used to buy for him but he eventually convinced you to buy it also for yourself so you could do sheet masks together.

When you do buy gifts for him, it can be a bit difficult. His fans send him a bunch of stuff all the time, like baked goods, or fanart, or neckties. He, of course, is a lot happier when you decide to hand him something, but it’s almost never something he’s ever gotten before.

You have to outsource. So you order a custom-stamped leather bracelet from an indie crafter, something he can wear while rehearsing without worrying about it falling off. On the outside, you have ‘I love you’, and on the inside ‘Zen x MC’. 

You give it to him for Valentine’s, his favorite holiday. Zen dedicates the entire day to you and him, and pushes aside the many packages from his fans for later. 

You hand him a little box, and he opens it to gasp dramatically at the bracelet, immediately putting it on and exploring the texture of the leather. The lightly-colored tan matches his complexion perfectly.

First, a kiss for you, then its 904709 selfies with him proudly modeling his gift. It goes on his social media to a slight ruckus, because Zen’s never shown off any gifts he’s gotten before. 

“My love is so thoughtful!!! Such a beautiful bracelet <3333″

Your name isn’t on the outside to maintain privacy, which proves to be a good idea since that picture is circulated like crazy to mixed reactions.

Zen doesn’t care, this is by far the best gift he’s ever gotten. He hugs you tightly and promises to wear it always.

-- Yoosung: Vinyl Laptop Stickers --

You like to buy knick-knacks for each other on occasion. Yoosung’s wallet isn’t packing so he can only get you stuff once and a while, and you return the favor with other little things.

And Yoosung is also kinda already surrounded by little trinkets and other stuff he’s collected on his own. Little figurines and toys from vending machines, plastic reward favors from convenience stores, character-themed pens and mugs and phone charms. 

It can get a little cluttered. His backpack alone is heavily decorated with pinback buttons and enamel pins, and you know he’s home just by the jingling of the many charms hanging off the zippers.

He’s also of a romantic and ‘cute’ mind, so when you give him practical gifts of a headset holder for his gaming desktop, he’s pleased but ... he prefers it when your gifts aren’t quite so banal.

You eventually do some deep surfing for his upcoming birthday, and find this adorable pack of laptop stickers based off of LOLOL characters. These wouldn’t take up anymore of his space, and he could still carry them with him. So during his birthday dinner, you give it to him over cake and he opens it with a gasp. 

“It’s ... oh, it’s so cute! It’s perfect, MC!” He hugs you tightly and immediately has you help him stick them on. 

He uses this laptop for school, bringing it with him on most days, so it was the perfect gift to remember you by. Whenever he opens his laptop in the student lounge, or in class, he sees all those bright colors reminding him of his favorite pastime, but also he thinks of you and how much you love each other.

-- Jaehee: Promise Ring --

You’ve gotten her spice giftboxes for her cooking, a set of cozy loungewear for the both of you, and other cute things she absolutely adores.

But her true favorite? Her engagement ring. A dainty little band that matches yours perfectly. You had proposed to her during a beautiful evening in the park, making her tear up. 

“We’re partners, now,” you said. She gave a watery smile and put her ring on proudly.

South Korea wouldn’t allow marriage between you two, so these rings promised more than a union. It promised a brighter future in the face of adversity. It promised progress in the name of love and equality. 

Jaehee struggles with societal expectations for a woman like her. This ring was like a shield against the worse thoughts, or an anchor during the more tremulous times. She had chosen to pursue you against the world’s wishes, and it was the best decision she’s ever made.

You and her wear the rings 24/7. To an onlooker, it just seemed like the two of you were separately engaged people. But she knows differently. A proud little secret. 

Customers sometimes make comments about them. She’d be ringing them up, and they’ll notice the brilliant white sapphire. “When’s the date?” some have asked. She stammered,  “It’s in the making.” The customer nodded, and wished her a happy union. 

She twists the ring around her finger, looking at you wistfully. It will be a happy union. One day!

-- Jumin: Custom-Made Cologne --

What the heck do you gift the man who could have anything he wanted? Material possessions are never a strain for him. He grew up knowing that any toy, any trinket, any new technology or experience he desired, he would get. He’d ask for ice cream and his father’d purchase an entire chain. 

His current self rarely buys indulgences. He’s had years of being fulfilled already. But he definitely buys gifts for you, almost to ridiculous levels. You can see from the diversity of gifts that he has a reach for any product or merchandise, anywhere at any time. 

When it came time to get him a gift, you had asked the RFA for advice. And everyone was as clueless as you were. Even Jihyun wasn’t sure; the two of them have almost never exchanged gifts throughout the long years of their friendship, since they knew the other was showered in generosity already. 

“You’re gonna have to go custom. Something that can’t be bought,” Zen suggested. So when Jumin announced that he had to go to Birmingham for a business meeting, you came along with him. Which you seldom do, since it’s two days of Jumin being stuck at meetings leaving you to your own devices. But you had a plan.

You looked up a luxury custom perfumery, and with the help of an expert nez you crafted a bottle that would complement him perfectly. On the bottle was a label that said “Love Forever by MC”. 

So for his birthday, he accepted his gift with grace and asked where you bought it. “This bottle doesn’t look like its from Clive Christian, is it? Maybe it’s Dior ...” 

You explained where you got it, and giggled when his mouth dropped open in surprise. He opened it, sniffed, and his smile grew bigger ‘cause it was so much more special now. It was made under your hand, something that will never be replicated. His and his only. 

He loves wearing it to work. It’s so wonderful to be surrounded by a smell that reminds him of you. 

-- Saeyoung: Fingerprint Charm --

He’s a surprisingly complicated man to gift. Like Jumin, he neither lacks nor wants for material needs. Sometimes you’ve given him cute candies or hand-knitted mittens for winter, and meanwhile he’ll give you ridiculously advanced robot cats or he’ll bust out his packing wallet and boom, you’ve got a new Gucci clutch bag.

He kinda knows that he’s hard to gift. So whenever you shyly hand over a six-pack of gag-flavored soda for Christmas or something, he makes a big show of loving it and thanking you with kisses and nuzzles. And he does love it! He’s never had gifts before, not from V or Rika or his co-workers, and definitely not from his mother. Just the thought that someone cared enough to surprise him with trinkets is so heartwarming.

But your anniversary was coming up. It marked the day that Saeyoung’s life turned around a complete 180 for the better. A very important day, one that you couldn’t mark with an exotic beef jerky bouquet or whatever.

One day, while touring a small art fair, you found an indie jeweler who offered custom fingerprint charms. You set up a date to come in and make a mold by pressing your thumb into a block of sand, which was cast into a mold and into which steel was poured. 

You gave it to him over a late-night car ride date. He took the charm out of the little bag and stared at it, you explained what it was. “That’s my very own fingerprint right there. I hope it’s something you can carry with you, and remember me by.”

He was silent for a few long seconds. You saw that his hand was shaking. So you reached over and kissed him, he embraced you tightly and said with a wavering voice, “Thank you.” A sniffle, and he was back to his cheery self. You helped him put it on his keychain, next to his car keys. 

He loves it dearly. Especially when he fingers the print and feels the groves, imagining your hand.

-- Saeran: Sweater --

For a long while, Saeran couldn’t live a proper civilian life and spent many days holed up at home, stuck in an anxious and depressive slump. Any venture outside was an ordeal for him. Bit by bit, through therapy and medication, he regained his confidence.

You found this sweater online, and you knew how much he liked wearing sweaters at home. It had this quote on it that the both of you were familiar with. It had been one of the repeated self-forgiving phrases his therapist suggested. Saeran took to that phrase particularly well. He repeats it in his mind when he feels himself on the verge of a breakdown, and it helps de-escalate. 

You knew you had to buy it. But keeping it secret from Saeran was kinda a challenge because he likes to tour around your internet history when he’s bored. Not for malicious reasons, he’s just curious and wants to know what kind of stuff you like to re-tweet, or what shops you frequent. 

So with Saeyoung’s help, you ordered the sweater under a guise Saeran wouldn’t be able to crack without some effort, and it ended up being a legit surprise when you handed Saeran his gift. 

You watched his eyes trace the quote carefully, and at his fingers tracing the screenprinted flowers. He was quiet for a long while, just exploring the sweater thoroughly.

He can’t remember the last time he’s gotten a gift. Maybe it had been never. His eyes teared up.

You hugged him close and stroked his hair like he said he enjoys. It was almost hard for him to accept this from you; he’d spent years trying to approve others under threat of violence, and he’s rarely gotten to experience true generosity. 

He wears it at least once a week. It’s his absolute favorite article of clothing forever and ever. 

-- Jihyun: Filled Scrapbook -- 

For the holidays, Jihyun had given you a beautiful set of jewelry over dinner, along with a framed photo of yourself that he had taken some time before. He rarely decides to spoil you with his riches, but sometimes the occasion calls for it. 

How can you match up with his generosity? You knew Jihyun would be charmed with whatever you gave him, but you wanted your gift to mean something. 

Once your anniversary began to creep up, you had an idea and began working on your project two weeks in advance - it was going to be a beautiful scrapbook of not just Jihyun’s photos, but also little momentos and decorations on every page, detailing particular moments of your life together up to this point. 

You scoured his instagram, printing out copies onto photo paper and cutting and pasting. You folded within old plane, bus, and boat tickets. There were sightseeing brochures from trips abroad, old restaurant menus, stamps from envelopes he had sent you. You wrote messages and captions with multicolored ink. 

Extra special were the pages dedicated to when the two of you moved into the new apartment together, and when V was officially recovered from retina surgery, and also the first RFA party he co-hosted with you. Some pages touched on more sad subjects.

Finally, you finished the scrapbook just in time for the anniversary, and it was all worth it to see Jihyun completely blown away by the effort you put into it. He spent several minutes on every page, talking them over with you and reminiscing. 

He managed to hold in his tears until the last page, which you kept empty except for a calligraphy script that said, “... and into the beyond.”

[renaerys]

So I beat RE:8

And overall I SUPER enjoyed this game. I loved how it was an homage to the series to date. Castle Dimitrescu made me feel like I was back in the OG Resident Evil stealth-crawling my way through dungeons and puzzles and hoping not to get caught by the enemies. Lady Dimitrescu stalking you as you scramble to gather pieces of a puzzle to escape harkened back to the Tyrant in RE:2 chasing you around RPD HQ. Her daughters’ blow fly entrances were sincerely spine-tingling, and I was on the edge of my seat with each new door opened wondering if they’d found me yet. This level was truly a standout of the game.

The Beneviento House may actually have been my favorite, seeing as it was such a departure from the rest of the game without the use of weapons and having to rely on running and hiding to survive. I was at my most terrified and unsettled in that level dissecting doll!Mia and running from the baby creature in a way I didn’t feel throughout the rest of the game. It was so creepy and so tense, and the juxtaposition with the rest of the game really made it shine imo. 

The Reservoir was probably my least favorite part. It felt too much like the action-y RE:6 against the boss, lots of cheap one-hit kill events that relied on timing, etc. It was the part where I died the most, whereas throughout the rest of the game I died maybe twice or three times. 

Heisenberg’s factory was pretty scary and adrenaline-inducing fighting those awful chainsaw guys. Hot take: RE:5 was a great game and a lot of this level reminded me of the better parts of that game wrt the enemies and mowing them down. The layout was super cool, the fan guy was hilariously scary stalking you, and Heisenberg was as grandiose (and verbose) as Wesker once was back in the old days. I loved the molding puzzles, how the enemies would tear down walls to open new areas to explore, and the backtracking to explore it all once you had certain items in your possession. 

Lastly, the Duke was an awesome character. Thanks for that fun call-back to RE:4′s shopkeeper, and most importantly for being an actual character whose presence was plot-relevant and even integral at times. He was charming and a thoughtful addition to the experience. All the voice acting was incredible, but I think the Duke and Lady Dimitrescu and Mia were standouts. 

What I didn’t like... This game has a woman problem like whoa. When all your women exist either as damseled plot devices with no agency whatsoever, vehicles for manpain/revenge, and their main “nuance” is related to motherhood or seeking a mother-daughter relationship (because, you know, women be mothering), then you have a problem. A second hot take: Mia should have been the protagonist. She had training way before Ethan ever did, was in the know more than him, and wasn’t dead the whole time (sidebar: what the literal fuck is this plot contrivance). This game has shown us two kinds of women: either they are good mothers/daughters who eschew all else in favor of that relationship and stay in their lane (Mia and Rose, an agency-less baby and McGuffin), or they are corruptions of that role (i.e., Miranda selfishly killing everyone to get Eve back or Donna selfishly killing everyone to get a new mother a-la RE:7′s Eveline). Even the Dimitrescu ladies were almost entirely defined by their mother/daughter status, in Lady Dimitrescu’s case both. Is there truly no other motivation or nuance available to women in this universe??? 🙃🙃🙃

Mentioned before but worth repeating: Ethan was dead the whole time?! What a shitty contrivance. I mean, fine, but I didn’t like it at all. Another nit-picky thing that broke my suspension of disbelief: Alcina cuts his hand off and the magic herb chemicals that act as health in the game can reattach it... But they can’t regrow his fucking fingers??? What is consistency. 🙃

Heisenberg’s boss fight was dumb. There was no terror, very low stakes, and it felt like the worst of RE:6 action. It even had a gimmicky cinematic final shot that reminded me of those awful quick-time events. He was laughably easy to kill and held none of the dread of, say, Lady Dimitrescu’s daughers or the entirety of the Beneviento House. I don’t knock it as much because the rest of the Factory level was fabulous. The boss fight with the Fan Man was superb, scary, and tough, as well as “good” gimmicky. Unfortunately, Heisenberg’s final boss fight was the beginning of the end. 

Chris finally tells us the truth through some truly excruciating exposition scenes, and like the NPCs who question his choices, I too was questioning him. Because his logic was super dumb. Why not tell Ethan to begin with? More on this below. 

Mother Miranda was incredibly underwhelming as a boss. Chris’s part in the story was more over the top action, which is cool and fun if you like that (not really my thing, personally, but I can see why it could work for others). But Mother Miranda herself was a disappointment. I think the main reason was because we had almost no relationship with her. She was just a name who maybe is responsible for our McGuffin daughter being taken, but it never felt personal. Yeah, she can shape shift and we met her as the hag, but since we didn’t know that, the relationship aspect was never there/built upon. She felt like a random final boss with little skin in the game compared to, say, Heisenberg, who we actually did get to know more as we went along and maybe felt more complicated feelings toward in killing him. 

This game could have been better if a few changes had been made. 

1. Mia should have been the protagonist/deuteragonist. If we are truly supposed to be convinced by Chris’ stupid logic that Ethan cannot handle the truth, then why not make Mia the protagonist or even a secondary protagonist? Ethan and Mia could have both been working toward their goals with different information, similar to the situation in RE:7 toward the end of that game. Chris wouldn’t know Mia is alive, but she could be working against Mother Miranda directly while being experimented on/held captive. Ethan could do the main story that we got, while Mia sees a different side of the world digging deeper into Mother Miranda’s backstory and motivations, which would serve to flesh out her character (beyond the lazy corrupted motherhood narrative), touch on the relationship to Spencer and Umbrella Corp, etc. Ethan facing Miranda at the end, thus, would have felt super personal and significant having that emotional development through Mia. And Mia herself could be fleshed out more as a character beyond her role as wife and mother. 

2. Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra deserved more, and Castle Dimitrescu should have been a longer arc. The daughters were killed pretty fast. I couldn’t name a single differentiating characteristic between them, which is a problem. And I wanted to know more! We got a little info about the experiments they endured. I wanted to feel like killing at least one of them was very personal and meant something (if we only got one of them really fleshed out, I mean. That would still be one more than we got.). This section could have been longer and benefited from it. Exploring that castle was so fun and I wanted more time there. Also, I’m gonna say it: the Reservoir could have been cut entirely and that time given to Castle Dimitrescu for three sub-bosses before Mother Miranda. Problem solved.

3. Chis could have had a more story-related role. Why not more cutscenes with Chris investigating/chasing Miranda to give us a buildup of breadcrumbs and foreshadowing to the final reveal in the end? Rather than an exposition dump?? This would be related to my point #1 in making Miranda feel more connected to the story as the big bad. We wouldn’t even have to play as Chris if we just got some cutscenes showing his team’s progress hunting Miranda, learning more about her, etc. Imagine if we got secondary protagonist Mia’s story with Chris in there alongside her, unknowing that she’s alive and yet affecting her progress or vice versa as they both hunt Miranda? So much potential there. Where is the fanfiction???

4. Sheva??? I know it’s just me but I mean... The BSAA coming in to help/fuck everything up could have been a great opportunity for a cameo from Sheva to reunite very briefly with Chris (and set up the next one??? When though.). Yeah, I’m RE:5 trash, okay. But she was a great character and I wish we could see her at ALL in any other games even as a cameo.

My final takeaway here is that I enjoyed this game immensely as a total experience. I’m already doing a New Game Plus on the Village of Shadows difficulty, so pray for me. I love the exploration and puzzling aspect, the combat is intense but not overwhelmingly action-y like RE:6 was, and I love the atmosphere of this game. I recommend it to anyone who likes survival horror. It’s not without its faults, and I really wish the RE team would hire some women for their writers’ room, but I’m still very happy with the end result overall. 

[angelbabylu]

Man or Beast // LH

pairing: witch!oc x vampire!luke

word count: 7.5k

warnings: smut, fluff, magical stuff, angst if you squint 

notes: so last week i posted something wicked, an introduction to this universe where 5sos are vampires. as stated in my note for that fic, the idea comes from this book series. whereas that fic dealt with a lot of witch lore, this will deal with vampire lore. basically digging into luke’s family and backstory and such. this has the barest of allusions to dracula. i hope you enjoy! 

title: from this dracula quote: “[S]omething dark stood behind the seat where the white figure shone and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell.”

Part 1: Something Wicked

-- 

The first year in front of her had turned bright red in embarrassment. They were in the greenhouse discussing the life cycle of plants and how magic could be used to speed up that process. Margo, the TA for this freshman herbology class, had grown quite used to her students being intimidated by her. Especially those like the young witch in front of her who’s magic had gone haywire and caused several plants in the vicinity to die. The good news was that Margo was somewhat of a prodigy when it came to herbology. It was one of the few things she could do without incantations.

She ran her hands over the flowering plants as she spoke to the girl. “Like with all magic, it is about manipulating something on a molecular level. With raw power, all you have to do is send your magic into the universe and manipulate it to do your bidding. Like creating water.” Margo whispered a quick spell that had an orb of water forming between her fingertips. She tossed it into the air, and it disappeared into steam.

“Or,” Margo continued, “telekinesis.” After a wink from Margo, the large, round, wire-rimmed glasses that the first year wore wiggled up and down on her face.

“The water and your glasses are both inanimate objects, so I only had to worry about manipulating them to my own will. With plants, you can’t just shove energy at it and hope for the best as they have a will of their own. Listen to the plant and learn what it wants. If you just try to bend it to your will, it will resist, which could lead to. . . ” Margo trailed off.

The young witch had already experienced the consequences of such actions. “This takes a level of practiced magical manipulation.” As if in a show of agreement, the plants began to come back alive around her, sprouting flowers as red as the witch’s face had turned earlier.

Margo was so engulfed in trying to teach her young student how to control horticultural magic, she didn’t notice the slight prickling in her thumb.

She missed the whispering and giggling too. It was not until the young witch interrupted her with a small, yet constrained smile and said, shyly, “Miss Crowley, I think your boyfriend is here,” that she looked up and out towards the doorway. Sure enough, leaning against the door frame to the greenhouse was Luke, arms crossed, a smile on his face.

Margo pursed her lips in mild annoyance, hands coming to rest on her hips. Luke knew that when he showed up to her lectures, it distracted the class. Most vampires didn’t hang out with the Horticultural Magic students–they tended to prefer biological sciences, history, literature, and other such pursuits. And, vampires were also the least prevalent of the magical beings. Chances were many of the first years had never seen a vampire before meeting Luke.

Some of the bolder witches had already made their way over to him, taking his attention away from Margo.

“I suppose class is over?” asked the young witch Margo had been helping. She looked at her students whose focus was no longer on the plants in front of them, but on the tall, looming vampire in the doorway.

“I suppose,” Margo said solemnly.

She went to the front of the greenhouse and called out for attention. “Class dismissed. Please remember that I expect all of you to be able to draw the life cycle of an angiosperm by next Tuesday! There will be a quiz.”

As always, there was a collective groan throughout the room. Margo ignored it as she went to about packing her things. Luke stayed at the door for a couple of seconds saying goodbye to the few students that were friendly with him before walking over to her. When she had rammed all that could fit in the small laptop bag, she slung it over her shoulder, picking up the spellbook and the biology textbook she couldn’t quite fit.

Reaching out, Luke stole the books and a kiss. “Good afternoon, mon cœur,” he said, his native language rolling smoothly off his tongue. “I take it you had a good class.”

Margo refused to smile at him, no matter how charming he was.

When she didn’t return his smile, he turned indignant. “What did I do?” He asked, voice raising an octave.

“Half my class is like in love with you. Every time you show up, they forget I exist.”

Luke laughed at her revelation, placing one arm around her and ushering her out of the greenhouse. “Half your class is in love with you,” he shot back. “That girl you were talking to when I walked in? She has such a huge crush on you, I could hear her heart hammering from halfway down the hall.”

“What?” Margo’s mouth hung open. “No way. Poor thing. It’s too bad for her that I don’t date my students.”

“And that you’re dating me,” Luke reminded, squeezing her shoulder possessively.

Margo laughed; she had known that would get a reaction out of him.

They walked in relative silence, basking in the golden hue of the late afternoon sun. Glancing up at Luke, she watched as the light brushed against his angular features, causing the contours of his face to seem more prominent. She remembered the days she thought vampires would burn in the sunlight. Turns out that, while they preferred nighttime, the sun did little more than irritate their sensitive eyes. Growing up in her small town in Massachusetts, she didn’t have much contact with other supernatural creatures that weren’t witches. It was part of the reason she loved the University of the Arcana as much as she did. The different kinds of people she got to meet were refreshing.

Luke’s Tesla was parked a few feet outside the Horticultural Sciences Complex. The research lab where he mapped the vampire genome and studied evolutionary biology was just a few blocks from Margo’s greenhouse. Their evening routine used to include enjoying a leisurely 5-minute stroll from said greenhouse to the biology complexes. Recently, however, that had not been the case.  

“Why’s your car here?” She asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“I went to a few theology seminars today,” Luke said in response.

Along with being an evolutionary biologist, Luke was getting a degree in the history of theism, and, when he was feeling particularly nostalgic, he also attended classes on Romantic-era literature. The thing about vampires was that they had all the time in the world, so getting two or three degrees at once was nothing to them. It didn’t escape her notice, however, that he had been attending these classes more frequently.

Margo tramped down her budding need for confrontation and asked instead, “Do we have any plans for tonight?” In the privacy of Luke’s car, she kicked off her trainers and took her hair from its top knot. Saying goodbye to the day, she relaxed back into to cool leather of the interior, facing Luke only once her legs were tucked firmly underneath her.

Splitting his attention expertly between her and the road, Luke asked, “Would the house be mad if I stole you away for one more night?”

Her house, or rather the Gamma Nu Sorority House, had a habit of misbehaving when it was feeling cheated. Once, a few weeks before, she had spent 6 blissful days sleeping on Luke’s memory foam mattress only to return home to find her room missing. After hours of begging and cajoling, there was still no sign of her scratched up wooden door. Finally, it had taken her promising not to spend more than three days at a time at Luke’s for the house to re-materialize the room in its former spot.

“We’ve got one more day,” Margo informed him, thinking about their Game of Thrones marathon that had lasted two nights in a row. “I can’t watch Game of Thrones tonight though. Your girl’s gotta study.”

“I could cook while you study?” Luke suggested. “Then, we can do dinner and go to bed early.”

“Good food and an early bedtime?” Margo released an exaggerated moan. “Talk dirty to me.”

:: ::

It was 9 PM when Luke entered the study that, over months of dating, had become more hers than his. He was holding a pasta dish, two glasses of wine, and some freshly baked bread. Margo was more excited to see the food than she was to see him.

Luke’s diet consisted mostly of blood, animal’s or hers, and wine. Since becoming a vampire, he had lost his taste for human food, but not his love of the culinary arts. Dating her gave him an excuse to get back into the kitchen where he liked to get experimental with his dishes.

She closed the potions textbook in front of her and held her hand out for the plate as soon as he got close enough. “Carbs!” she cried happily. “You do love me.”

He chuckled and kissed her before handing her the plate. Leaning against the edge of the desk, he watched intently as she took the first bite.

“Any good?” Luke’s culinary inventions didn’t often leave her wanting, and this time was no different. The fork had no sooner left her mouth than she was groaning.

Laughing, Luke said, “I’ll take that as an affirmative.” Perched on the desk, he sipped wine casually and gave her a moment to savor her food. Then, he asked, “How’s potions going?”

“It’s kicking my ass,” was her grumble of a reply. “There are hundreds of potion bases, and I have to memorize them all by next Friday.”

“Do you want me to quiz you while you eat?” He was already reaching for the book she had set aside earlier.

Grabbing his hand, Margo stopped him. “If I see or hear anything about potions for the next 12 hours I might actually die.”

“At least we haven’t resorted to dramatics,” he retorted dryly. After he studied her for a minute, then announced, “Alright, finish eating and meet me in the bathroom.”

Reluctance must have shown on her face because he exclaimed, “Oh my god, just do it!” Then, he disappeared through the office door.

Fifteen minutes later, Margo left the study for the bathroom, which she found with its door slightly ajar, soothing piano music drifting out. She pushed inside to reveal a prepared bath and a few candles burning, tossing soft light off the porcelain of the tub. A small speaker sat on the counter, the source of the sounds that had drawn her in earlier. Luke was noticeably absent.

He appeared behind her in the next second, a couple of large towels in hand. “Ah, there you are.” He said nonchalantly, as if unaware of how romantic this simple gesture was in her eyes. He had seen how strung out she was and had known exactly what she needed. “C’mon, get in the tub.”

Margo was eager to follow his order, but first, she leaned over the stack of towels to press a chaste kiss to Luke’s lips. “You’re getting in with me, right?” She asked while unbuttoning the powder blue shirt she’d been wearing for over 14 hours then.

“If you want me to.”

Margo scoffed, then moved to unclasp her bra. Next went her pants and underwear. While wrapping her hair up into a bun atop her head, she slunk into the tub. She didn’t recline against the porcelain back just yet, leaving space for Luke. He was still standing by the doorway where he had been intently watching her movements.

“You coming?” She asked impatiently.

Those words snapped him out of whatever reverie her naked form had pulled him into. Shaking his head, he deposited the towels next to the tub, then undressed and slotted himself behind her. She relaxed, at last, leaning against the broad span of his chest.

“Thank you so much for doing this for me,” she whispered. Luke’s response was to place three small kisses on the route from her shoulder to her neck. She melted even further into his arms. “Who are we listening to?”

Luke, being as old as he was, preferred classical music to her top 40 pop. Having only taken a recorder class in elementary school, Margo knowledge of music was limited. Luke was determined to change that. Every chance he got, he played his favorite songs for her.

“Chopin,” was his answer, mouth still grazing the skin of her throat. “Nocturne Number 2 in E-Flat Major.”

“Did you know him?” She couldn’t help the slight hitch in her voice when he nibbled gently on the skin of her throat.

“We may have met once or twice.” In Luke terms, that was a yes. In 1795, the vampire who sired him had been wealthy with connections all around the globe. This meant that, for the first hundred years after his rebirth, Luke easily became acquaintances with any one of interest. As little as Margo knew about history, she enjoyed hearing the stories of past historical figures.

But tonight, Luke wasn’t interested in telling her a story. “Luke,” she whined as his bites got rougher, and his hand trailed down past her belly button.

“Is that a ‘Luke, please continue’ or a ‘Luke, stop.’” He asked, pausing all motions.

“It’s an ‘I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep immediately after I come,’” she retorted. A yawn slipped from her in that exact moment as if to prove her point.

“That’s okay.” This time he bit her ear. “You coming is all that matters anyhow.”

Unhindered, his hand slipped between her thighs. It started out gentle, with two fingers pushing against her clit. Almost reluctantly, she pushed her hips up to greet them. Then, as he started to explore her folds a bit more, she ground up against him in earnest. The hand that wasn’t toying with her folds squeezed gently on her breast and toyed with her nipple. She gripped his bicep in response.

Then, he slipped one finger inside her, sinusoidally dipping in and out, setting her whole body alight.

He another added another. Margo’s hips ground against him as she searched for more leverage. When he touched something inside her that filled her with ecstasy and the ravenous need for more, she cried out, and threw one leg over the side of the tub, displacing water in the process.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, God. Luke.” The cries of pleasure rang out throughout the room.

Luke began to finger her in earnest then, index and middle finger slipping in and out of her. He kissed up and down her neck until he was taken by the heat of the moment too. The hand that had been toying with her nipples slid down to her stomach, holding her flush against him as he rocked up against her. His dick was obviously hard between their slick bodies.

It wasn’t until he growled, low and guttural, that she realized just how far gone he was. He rearranged her, so she was seated fully on his lap, dick now positioned between her cheeks. All the tiredness was swept from her mind as she ground down against it.

Then, raising off his lap a bit and reaching back, she wrapped a hand around him. It was an awkward angle, but she made it work. Pumping him a few times made his hips go wild as he bucked uncontrollably.

She said, “I’m gonna–“

The words didn’t quite get out, lost in the haze of lust that made it impossible to think straight. Margo lined herself up with him and sank down. They weren’t going to last very long. The water in the bathtub continued to splash to the floors as one of Luke’s arms wrapped around her body, holding her slave to his motions. He had her pressed up against his chest, fucking up into her and toying with her clit. It was slippery and messy, and Luke had to reposition himself a few times, but neither made any attempts to stave off their lust so they could move to a bed. 

Chopin could barely be heard over his growls, her cries of pleasure, and the distinct sound of water sloshing over the edges of the tub. His lips continued their path up and down her neck, bites deeper than before. They were painful, but in a way that made her toes curl.

She knew what he wanted before he said anything. “Please, can I–” He began, but cut himself off and threw his head back, fighting an instinct.

They weren’t face to face, and with the way they were moving, inches from orgasm, neither would want to take a moment to reposition. So, he would have to bite her neck. It was of no consequence to her; it was nothing she couldn’t hide without makeup.

Without really thinking about, Margo responded to his silent plea. “Yes,” she gasped out. “God, yes.”

The next second, she felt the sharp pain of the skin of her neck being pierced, followed immediately by intense euphoria. She buried one hand in his hair, holding him there; the other went down to encourage his motions as he continued to rub against her clit. They came, one right after the other, their hips stuttering to a halt.

“Fuck,” Luke grunted when he pulled away from her neck, head falling against the plaster wall behind them with a thud. As always, it took him a few minutes to get his wits about him after drinking her blood. Margo took that time to pull off of him and catch her breath.

Later, when they were both tucked underneath Luke’s black silk sheets, Luke ran his fingers gently over the deep teeth marks on her neck. Another lore Luke had taught her: Vampires didn’t have retractable fangs, but their teeth were more than sharp enough to pierce skin.

She had marks, like the ones now on her neck, almost ingrained in the skin of her chest. That is where he most often drank from her, as was the vampiric custom when it came to lovers.

“I shouldn’t have done this.” He said, fingers still tracing the indents of his teeth.

Margo couldn’t figure out why he sounded so pained. The healing properties of his saliva would ensure it didn’t leave a mark. Unless he bit her there again, after a day or two of covering it with makeup, neither of them would remember it even existed.

“It’s fine. No one’s going to see it.” Margo insisted.

Luke didn’t respond.

Margo fell asleep with his thumb still tracing the outline of the marks.

:: ::

She woke up to a sharp prickling in her thumb. Shooting to a seated position, she looked at her hands, disoriented and confused by the sudden onslaught of pain. Luke, who had been awake in bed next to her, sat up as well.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice noticeably laden with worry.

Margo shook her head.

“Something is looking for me.” She tried to shake the drowsiness from her mind. Her senses were dulled by it. Whenever a powerful creature came looking for her, a small prickling would alert her to their intent. But this was more powerful than anything she had ever experienced before.

“Three somethings,” she continued as she began to make sense of what she was feeling. “They’re big, and they’re powerful. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

She saw the exact moment understanding dawned on Luke. He sniffed the air once, then muttered, “Shit.” He was out of bed and at the door to the room in a blink.

“What’s happening?” She asked frantically, trying to figure out what she might have missed. There was some information Luke’s supernatural senses had picked up that hers could not provide. In moments like these, she envied how he was preternaturally attuned to his senses. 

“If I asked you to stay in the room, would you?” He asked.

But, she was already getting out of bed and slipping into her slippers and his robe. Even rushing through these motions, she was no match for vampire speeds. By the time reached the front door, Luke was standing there blocking the way of three large, imposing vampires she had never seen before.

They were all dressed in all black. One stood in front of all the rest, his dyed red hair slicked back. He wore a t-shirt tucked into jeans with a leather jacket thrown over it. Margo could see he wore two rings on each hand and his nails were painted black. The man on the left looked much more laid back. His black jeans were distressed, and he wore an ACDC t-shirt. While Luke traded jabs in French with the frontman, this one simply stood back with an easy smile on his face. Finally, there was the man with a slightly deeper skin tone than the others leaning against the door frame. His arms were crossed and the fabric of the plain black t-shirt he wore struggled to cover the entirety of his bicep. If this was some kind of vampire shakedown, he was definitely the muscle.

The frontman noticed her first. He scoffed in disgust and began gesturing to her as they spoke. The other two remained relatively quiet but did spare her a few wary glances. What little French she knew was unhelpful, as they spoke too fast for her to catch any words.

She attempted patience first, trying not to look too indignant as they conversed about her as if she wasn’t there. But that was one of her pet peeves, and, to her displeasure, the conversation did not seem to be letting up any time soon.

Next, she tried speaking up, but not even Luke turned his head at her, “Excuse me.” If anything, they seemed to talk louder. She began reciting the spell before she could think better of it.

Their mouths snapped shut the next instant, and all was quiet for a moment. When they realized something magical was preventing them from speaking, all eyes turned to her. Luke’s baby blues looked more frustrated than she had ever seen them. She released him from the spell.

“What’s going on?” She asked, now that his attention was back on her.

For a moment, he glanced between her and the three men standing at the door. Then, he said, “Let’s go inside.”

:: ::

Ashton, Michael, and Calum.

Those were their names, respectively.

It wasn’t a vampire shakedown; it was a family reunion. They relocated into the uncomfortable chairs Luke had purchased for his dining room in hopes of dissuading guests from overstaying their welcome. It was still relatively early in the morning, so Margo made herself tea. The other four vampires had wine.

She knew a bit about Luke’s brothers from the stories about France and the French revolution that Luke liked to tell. From what she knew, Ashton was the leader of their little clan. He was the one who had sired Luke in the first place. It explained why at some angles they looked similar, when he replaced all the blood in Luke’s body with his own, some of Luke’s features changed.

Ashton had an assuming presence that seemed almost too large for Luke’s dining room. Were Margo more mild-mannered, she might have retreated to the background to let the vampires talk. But that was not her.

“You don’t like witches?” Margo presumed aloud once she was seated across the table from Ashton with her tea. She still hadn’t made sense of the argument at the door. Her witches senses did not lie, they had shown up at Luke’s looking for her. When they found her, it obviously became a point of contention.

Ashton scoffed with a hint of condescension. “Please. We are not prejudiced.”

“Do not scoff at me,” Margo shot back. “Not when you refuse to tell me why you’re here. Looking for me might I add.”

The one in the distressed jeans, Michael, grinned at her and whistled low. “Oh, she’s feisty. Finally, someone that’s a match for Ashton.”

Ashton did not dignify that with a response. Instead, to Margo, he bared his teeth and hissed, “This is not about you, it is about Luke. You need to stay out of it.”

“Well, come on now, Ashton.” Calum, like Luke, had decided to remain standing while the other two vampires sat. Well, Michael lounged, and Ashton perched as if poised to jump off the edge of his seat. From his position behind Ashton, Calum placed a large hand on his shoulder. “It’s a little about her. Luke should decide if he wants to tell her or not.”

At that, every eye turned to look at Luke. He was looming over Margo protectively, but not in a way that suggested he expected his family members to attack. He was obviously not afraid for her safety. It was rather like he wanted her out of the conversation more than anything else.

For what seemed like a full minute, Margo believed Luke wouldn’t share this secret. She feared that months of sharing everything with each other had culminated to this one moment, this one Big Thing that she wasn’t allowed to know.

Thankfully, he sighed and sunk into a seat next to her. “My brothers think you and I have mated.”

Admittedly, Margo’s knowledge of vampire mating was basal. She knew, of course, that Luke had every intention of mating her. You’re it for me, he had told her a few months before. It had terrified her, but she couldn’t deny that her feelings for him, their feelings for each other, ran deep. To her knowledge, however, they hadn’t taken that step yet. Even if they had, she wasn’t sure that was something they needed to discuss with his brothers.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Margo began slowly, keeping her eyes leveled with Ashton’s. “But isn’t whether or not we’ve mated between the two of us?”

“No,” Ashton replied with a bitter chuckle. “No matter what you and my idealistic brother like to think. This is a matter for a clan. Luke cannot handle taking his mate by himself.”

Seeing the look of confusion on Margo’s face, Michael took pity on her and began to explain. “Luke is still very young. He has only witnessed one vampire mating in his lifetime, and even then he wasn’t privy to our procedures. Mating when you aren’t familiar with the methods–well that could have dangerous consequences.”

Michael’s eyes drifted pointedly towards her neck where Luke’s bite marks from the previous night were on full display. With the excitement of the morning, she had forgotten to cover them. She slapped a hand over them; then, her color deepened in embarrassment.

She turned to Luke, expecting him to respond, but he was lost somewhere deep in his own thoughts. When he didn’t, she spoke for him. “It was an accident,” She insisted, even though she had a feeling she didn’t quite understand the repercussions of Luke biting her neck.

Michael leaned forward, voice dripping with a dangerous edge. “When it comes to predators, darling, one small accident is all it takes to kill you.”

Finally, Luke spoke, words coming out in a snarl. “I would never kill her.” Shock and anger registered on his face. He was obviously taken aback by Michael’s suggestion.

“Not purposely,” Michael amended. “But your carelessness could get her killed nonetheless.”

“It’s a good thing then that Margo and I aren’t mating.” Luke snarled. He was out of his chair in an instant, glaring down at his brothers.

“Luke–“ this time it was Calum popping in with an argument.

Luke cut him off. “I’m fine, Calum. Now, if you guys want to do something other than have this conversation while you’re in town, let me know. If not, I’ll see the next time I’m at home.”

Michael threw his hands up in frustration. “This is what you get for siring a vampire amid the French Revolution, Ashton,” he grumbled. But he made no more protest as he walked towards the door.

Calum turned to follow him.

Ashton was the last to leave. “I just want you to be safe,” he said, eyeing Margo. What she had mistaken for disgust earlier was now clearly weariness and reluctance. It was as if he wanted to trust her, but was afraid to.

Luke gripped her shoulder and squeezed. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. As is Margo.”

They held eye contact for a minute, having a silent conversation Margo couldn’t follow. Finally, Ashton conceded and followed his brothers out of the house.

:: ::

It happened in herbology.

That morning, Margo had woken up in her own bed feeling a little dizzy and disoriented. These spells had been happening more frequently, but she chalked it up to stress and dismissed it. She should have told Luke, but he was prone to worrying over the smallest of things. Plus, it had only been a week and a half since his brothers had shown up at his door unannounced, and, no matter how “good” he claimed to be doing, she could still see something bothered him.

So, she didn’t think twice about chugging her weight in tea and going to work. The dizziness plagued her throughout the day. Two hours into her three-hour herbology lab, she was standing in front of the class explaining how gymnosperms grew and reproduced. It was imperative for her students to understand plant life on a cellular level if they were ever to successfully manipulate plant growth.

The funny thing was - she felt it coming on. She felt herself grow dizzier and heard her words begin to slur. She chose to fight through it. Then, one minute she was talking about fertilization and pollen cones, the next, her feet give way below her, and the world went dark.

. . . . . .

When she opened her eyes the first time, the world was hazy. She clearly made out an IV drip bag and an oddly familiar man standing at the edge of her bed. His arms were crossed, and he looked like he was there as some sort of protection detail. Margo had the distinct feeling he was there for her. Whether it was to protect her from someone or to protect someone from her, she did not know.

“Hey. Look who’s awake,” came an oddly chipper voice from somewhere outside of her line of sight. Margo almost turned to search for it, but there was a pressure on her left hand. She turned to that instead.

Luke. He was staring at her with worry in his baby blues, gripping her hand tightly.

“What,” she opened her mouth to ask what had happened. Then, a cool hand she knew had to be vampiric brushed her curls from her face and shushed her.

“Try to sleep if you can,” it said. “We'll explain everything later.”

She knew that voice, much like she knew the man standing at the edge of her bed. Before she could search her mind for their identity, something pulled her under, and the world went black again.

. . . . . .

The next time she came to, the man was still at her bedside, arms crossed, watching her intently. Her brain felt less foggy this time, and she instantly recognized the man as, “Calum.”

With the tiniest of motions, Calum quirked his lips upwards in the ghost of a smirk. She wondered if he was comfortable standing ramrod straight like that. He looked like he hadn’t moved since she last opened her eyes.

It took him snickering for her to realize she had said that last thought aloud. “I like this position.” He said. “I’ve got clear eyes on everything in the room.”

“Not the door,” Margo pointed out obviously, gesturing to the large door looming behind him. That was what it took for Margo to realize that, despite the drip IV, she was not in a hospital room. This was someone’s house.

Calum shrugged. “That’s what Mikey’s for.”

She noticed Michael then, sitting in a loveseat underneath a large window. It was nighttime, and heavy blackout curtains were pushed aside to reveal what looked like deep woods. He had a Nintendo DS in his hand and was obviously more focused on the game than the other two people in the room.

“Don’t let Calum fool you,” he said, fingers still moving furiously on the buttons of the game. “I do not give a rats ass about security and espionage. At least, not as much Calum and Ashton do.”

He said all this without ever looking up from the small device in her hand.

“Espionage?” She croaked out.

Michael nodded, blissfully unaware of Calum’s glare. “Calum’s the family spy.”

Margo eyed Calum. When she had first seen him, she had believed him to be the muscle of the group. The way he exuded danger made Michael’s words seem less like a joke–as if Calum really was some vampire spy. She didn’t have time to think on this, however, because the dark mahogany door swung open to reveal Luke with Ashton flanking him.

Luke rushed immediately to her side. She didn’t miss how haggard he looked. Briefly, she wondered how long she had been in this bed. However long that was had obviously taken a toll on Luke. Vampires, as far as she knew, did not get tired, but there were unmistakable bags under his eyes, and his pale skin seemed lighter under the harsh overhead lights. She reached out to him, and he knelt at her bedside and slotted his hand into hers.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked as his thumb gently rubbed circles on the back of her hand.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She tried to shit up, but a palm came to rest on her shoulder, stopping her. “Don’t try to do too much too quickly,” Ashton warned, gently pushing her back down.

She obeyed, hoping that it would make them more agreeable with what she was about to ask next. The question had been on her mind since she awoke the first time. She had to know, “What happened?”

She remembered feeling dizzy in her herbology class, but not much else.

Furtive glances were exchanged around the room as everyone, even Michael, turned their attention to Luke. Luke’s focus was on her. He looked as if those were the last words he’d wanted to hear from her. The longer everyone took to acknowledge her question, the more she wondered if she should have waited. Perhaps this was something Luke was uncomfortable talking about around his brothers.

She slipped her hand out of his so she could brush his hair out of his face.

“It’s okay.” Despite how weak her voice was, she tried to convey all the love she had for him in those two words. Whatever it was, they would work through it.

He leaned into her palm. “You tell her Calum,” He eventually said, shifting all attention to the 6 ft vampire looming over her.

Calum uncrossed his arms and braced them against the foot of the bed. Dark brown eyes told her the story would be emotionally exhausting.

“I came to UoA a month ago to visit Luke.”

Margo’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t heard anything about this visit.

“He didn’t know I was coming. I got into town then tracked his scent.”

“It’s a kink of his,” Michael interrupted with an easy grin. He had abandoned his DS in favor of paying attention to the story. With everyone in the room on the wrong side of somber, she welcomed his quips. “He likes to pop up out of nowhere and scare the holy hell out of people.”

Calum ignored him and continued on. “I followed his scent straight to the Gamma Nu house. When I got there, I assumed that perhaps he was just inside with some witch. We’re all aware of Luke’s. . .”

He trailed off as if afraid of offending her, and she laughed. “Propensity to be a hoe?” She finished for him. When she had first met Luke, he was slipping out of her housemate's room with no shirt on. She was no stranger to his promiscuous behavior.

Calum smiled, amused at her choice of words. “Propensity to be a hoe yes. But, when I listened in, he didn’t seem to be anywhere inside. Instead, I found you. You were sitting at your desk buried in some book about potions and muttering to yourself. I watched you for hours trying to figure out how Luke’s scent was so intermingled with yours. I couldn’t find where your scent ended, and his began. I knew, of course, but I didn’t want to accept it. I didn’t think Luke would be stupid enough to take a mate without contacting one of us first.”

At that, he shot a look at Luke. Luke grimaced, ashamed. Margo ran her hand through his hair again in a gesture of assurance, then looked to Calum to continue.

Ashton did instead. He was still at her shoulder, looking down at her as he spoke, “Margo, what do you know about vampire mating?”

“I know that it’s instigated with a mark, like the one on my chest.” The hand that was not in Luke’s hair came up to rest on her chest, touching the mark through her shirt. “That’s the physical aspect of it. There is a mental and emotional aspect to it as well.” Margo trailed off. She didn’t know much about said mental and emotional aspects. She figured Luke would explain those to her when they decided to take the next step.

Michael spoke next, now at the edge of his seat. She remembered Luke’s mention of his bond with someone named Crystal. Perhaps he was their resident expert on bonding. “This is how a bond works. If a vampire has the intention of mating someone, and that person has the intention of accepting said bond, when he bites that person, he’ll be able to feel the bond form from inside him. If he lets it, the bond will wash over both parties like a wave. Then, it is up to the bitten to accept the bond. This act deepens the mental and emotional connection of a couple. In rare instances, the couple will be compatible enough to hear each other's thoughts and feel each other’s emotions. Even when they aren’t as compatible, these bonds are nearly impossible to break. That’s why bonds can never be between strangers and can never be nonconsensual. It’s kind of like your magic in the way that it senses what both parties want, and creates that for them.”

“Luke,” Calum picked up, “has wanted to mate you for a very long time now. And judging by the way his biology is behaving, I’m guessing you wanted to mate him as well. Yet, every time he bit you and that bond began forming, he would suppress it.”

Margo glanced over to Luke, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Which ended up confusing his biology.” Calum continued. “Driving him to want to be near you, to be in you, to bite you, to complete the bond by any means necessary. It’s why he was drinking from you every time you had sex. It’s why you fainted. He took too much blood too quickly, and your system couldn’t handle it. Instances like this are rare, and usually lead to obsessive behavior on the part of the vampire.”

“But Luke wasn’t obsessive,” Margo pointed out. She had dated wizards more obsessive than him.

“Not where you could see,” Calum said.

Luke dropped his forehead to the bed, perhaps to avoid feeling the eyes on him. He was ashamed of whatever Calum had to say next.

“I followed you both for days before calling in Ashton and Michael as reinforcement. On the nights you spent apart, Luke spent them standing outside your window. He started making up theology classes because he didn’t want you to know he had spent your entire TA period sitting in a car outside of the greenhouse, straining to hear your heartbeat. Worst of all, he stopped hunting and started getting all his blood from you.”

“What?” Margo croaked out. Luke looked up then, and she couldn’t miss the welling of tears in his eyes.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” He said solemnly. “We have only been dating for what, almost a  year now? It is way too early for us to mate. I was hoping that if I ignored it, maybe it would go away.”

“The bond can be suppressed, Luke. But not as long as you keep drinking from her.” Ashton grumbled. Then, with a pointed look at Margo, he added, “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Luke answered for her. “She’s young. She hasn’t even finished her degree yet. I can’t just shackle her to me forever.”

“Let her speak, Luke,” Calum ordered.

With every eye on Margo, she wasn’t sure what to say. Luke was the love of her life, and she wanted more than anything to be mated to him. She tried to tell herself that it didn’t make a difference if it happened that moment or in a year when she had her degree.

You are but mortal woman. Time is now to be dreaded - since once he put that mark upon your throat.

She bitterly remembered the words of Bram Stoker. Time moved differently for her and Luke, she had always known that. Where she wanted to rush, he took his time. This was no different.

She tried to remind herself that, as Luke said, it was forever. Repeated exposure to his venom through a mating mark would expose her to super-powered vampiric proteins, probiotics, and antibodies that would stop her aging and make her impossible to kill. She wouldn’t be a vampire per se, but something else. A hybrid between what she was now and what he was. These were rare, she knew, as vampires and witches were not used to coming together for more than politics and sex. Perhaps an extra year of normalcy was what it would take to give Luke the peace of mind about changing her.

“It’s fine,” she finally said. “We can wait.”

She brought her hand down to where Luke’s rested on the bed and squeezed gently. “What about Luke, though? What’s going to happen if we don’t bond?”

“Nothing,” responded Calum with an easy shrug. “So long as he starts hunting again and stops drinking from you.”

“Like forever?” Margo asked, then blush at how dejected she sounded.

Michael laughed, but said, “Until he’s ready to mate you, yeah.”

That made her stomach sink. It was fine. As much as she liked the biting, she could go a year without it. “Is that going to be hard for you?” She relayed the question to Luke this time.

“It’s fine. The boys will take me hunting. It will help.”

“How long are you guys staying?” As she asked this question, Margo took note of how the air in the room lightened. Ashton left her side to stand by Michael’s loveseat under the window, Michael picked up his game, and Calum’s shoulders relaxed just a little. (She was beginning to think that relaxed shoulders were all she would get from him.)

Ashton answered her question, still staring out into the darkness outside the window. “Not sure. I’ve accepted a position teaching classic Greek literature, so quite a while I think.”

“What?” Margo asked, surprised. Ashton didn’t look like the scholarly type. “Are you qualified to teach that?”

Ashton scoffed in response. “I sure hope so. I was there.”

Margo’s mouth dropped. “Wait, how old-”

Luke cut her off. “Don’t ask a vampire how old they are, babe. They’re not fond of that.”

Margo gave Luke a look that let him know she would definitely be asking that question again, but she would at least do Ashton the courtesy of asking at a later date.

She was almost all caught up now, but there was one question still on her mind.

“Where am I?”

All four vampires laughed.

“Oh!” exclaimed Calum, remembering that he left out that little detail. “It’s our house. It’s in the woods behind UoA. Hospitals kind of cause sensory overload for vampires, so when you fainted, health services allowed Ashton to bring you here.”

“What, just like that?” asked Margo, confused.

“Well, Ashton has a medical degree, so it’s not like you weren’t in good hands.”

Of course. Vampires were fond of their multiple degrees.

“So y’all thought ‘lemme buy a house, so we don’t have to go to a hospital.”

Calum snickered at that, but Ashton was the one who answered. “I’ve owned this house for years. Since a little after the school was built. I thought it would be nice to have if I ever decided to come and get another degree. For all intents and purposes, it belongs to the clan now.”

“It belongs to you too,” Michael added. “You’re family now, whether you like it or not.”

Margo matched his grin. Raised in a household that was always just her and her mother, she dreamed of having a big family. As far as family went, Calum, Ashton, and Michael seemed more than perfect.

--

end notes: i can’t believe how obsessed i am with this series lmao! i’ve already started writing part 3!! anyway, i hope you like cal, mikey & ashton in this one. let me know what you think! 

tag list: @5sosnsfw / @bloodmoonashton / @lukescaboose / @5sex-of-summa / @deviantnines / @halcyonnhood / @gh0st-0f-y0u-95 / @aspiringwildfire / @cal-pal-cuddles / @sweetcherrymike / @hereforlukescruff / @softforcal / @ohhmuke / @fratcalum / @calumamongmen / @ashtonandcalslefthand / @asht0ns-world / @colorful-queen-of-the-roses / @heavenlydrarry / @slowlyelectronictragedy / @myemptywallets / @pagesuponstpages / @fallfrxmgrace / @thefireisgone / @michaelorwhat / @dammitbands / @sugarcoated-pain / @sublimehood / @cal-puddies / @singt0mecalum / @irwinkitten / @myloverboyash / @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles

[big-meows]

Borderlands 3 final thoughts

disclaimers:

Fuck randy pitchford. I mean, obviously i feel like that goes without saying, yes I bought the game, i like the series and sometimes a bitch just wants to sink 70+ hours into a hyper-violent but ultimately goofy, non-threatening video game in a stressful time, sue me.

to that end, yes I played on easy. I also played solo. 

i play for fun and i dont fuck with build culture or w/e. i picked moze because i know her VA personally, and that was my only deciding factor.

I play on the ps4 so frankly i have no horse in the epic/steam debacle. I dont really care.

i didnt play bl1 but ive played the others.

spoilers. all the spoilers.

Anthony burch deserved better. I cant believe i have to see “at least im not anthony burch” in the year of our lord 2019 but its still happening out there. He deserved better, and this game is proof. maybe bl2 was “memey,” but it had a solid foundation and a great villain. TPS was also good, i think, honestly i only played it once and I dont remember it super well. Tales is the best in the franchise, and yes it counts, shut up. Burch’s absence is felt here. the story is weak, the villains are flat, and everything is written with the energy of a man who thinks everything that comes out of his mouth is fucking hysterical. like, im not even mad at “big dock energy” or the other stupid, already dated goofs, Im mad that every NPC was painful to listen to, or that rhys, arguably one of the most developed characters in the BL universe by virtue of the game he came from, was 90% mustache jokes. All these characters are like the versions that come out of fandom a year later, flanderized and already boiled down to their one token joke and repeated forever and eternity. You just met Lorelei and she seems cool, but man she REALLY NEEDS HER COFFEE AND IT IS HER ONLY DEFINING PERSONALITY TRAIT LOL!!!

Vaughn is The WORST, BRO

i dont think anyone really grows imo. Im particularly irritated by ava, who i very much want to like! but she has like three stock phrases she uses throughout the entire game, so after maya gets evaporated, you go talk to her and shes like “WOW this ship is cool, so much shit to steal!” like, you couldnt program her to sulk or not want to see anyone for a while? come on.

influencers as villains could have been really powerful if it had been introduced gradually, but mostly it was just obnoxious and too on the nose. troy and tyreen were very hollow. you get brief glimpses of humanity in them, but they’re so rare it almost feel like an accident. You get one(?) mention of their childhood before you finally stumble fully into the plot in the last few hours of the game. troy’s “betrayal” could be spotted a mile away despite it being hardly developed. I honestly dont even know if they loved each other or not? Was tyreen hurt by troy’s betrayal and subsequent demise? did troy look up to her and want to be her equal, or did he want out from under her shadow? i dont know. did i miss those echo logs? should the majority of the lore in a game be MISSABLE?

jack tracked well as a villain because you, over time, learned exactly how awful he was beyond “cocky corporate asshole who wants you dead” re: angel being his daughter. the twins are just....flatline obnoxious the whole way through.

sucks to be leda, apparently extremely badass but ultimately an afterthought who lives and dies offscreen only in recollections of the past.

sucks even worse to be fiona. i can tell you right now i wont be fucking with DLC unless it brings back fiona.

hammerlock saved this fucking game, he brings a certain dignity to the table that really helped level the tone after the rhys-katagawa stuff. Eden-6 was actually my favorite section of the game. loved hammerlock, loved jakobs, loved clay, and LOVED the jakobs estate. dunno why?? maybe because that level had me thinking “i could almost pretend im playing bioshock rn”

my GF absolutely hates the new claptrap. she’s right though. a claptrap that experiences emotions outside of “delusional exuberance” isnt actually claptrap

can my boy mordecai catch one single fucking break

is the vault hunter ever actually there? its really distracting how they’re never actually involved in cut scenes.

zer0 was too chatty. kind of kills the air of mystery.

gripes aside, i DID clock like 76 hours as moze, and i will probably continue to fuck around in it post game to clean up some extra stuff. might even start a zane of fl4k. the reviews promised it would be “more borderlands, nothing special” and thats what we got. it came at a time when i needed to remove myself from social media for a few weeks and lose myself in something mindless and violent, and it provided me with exactly that. its not elevated from BL2/TPS at all. the only improvement i can think of off the top of my head is being able to change quest objectives without entering a menu (thank god). it falls short in a series that always kind of had a low bar to begin with. disappointed but not surprised. i knew burch and eddings were both gone and that their absence would be felt. but i wanted to be gay and do crime anyway. so. you know. whatever. i got approximately what i paid for.