#Still they both accept that because to them it's not settling. It's a sacrifice for the protection of the other.

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

Yeah that's totally fine sorry for not being more specific. Can I have jean, eren armin mikasa and bertholdt saving the reader from like a titan or something thanks. ( you can cut mikasa and/or eren if that's to many people for you)

a/n: i’m so so sorry this took so long. this has been in my inbox forever & i hope you’re still around, anon.

jean saves you

it was a warm night, tonight. you and jean had decided to take a late night stroll, enjoying the cool breeze and each others company. you were both oblivious to the gaping hole in wall maria.

you were laughing and joking with jean about something eren had said earlier. jean didn’t think it was all that funny but tolerated it for the sake of being in your company.

“you’re just a little hotheaded,” you laughed, pinching your thumb and pointer finger close enough to touch.

“did you hear that?” jean asked, his voice falling to a whisper.

“that’s not funny, jean.” you said sternly.

“seriously, Y/N. shut up for a second.” he hissed. he throws his right arm out in front of your chest, preventing you from taking one step further.

as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you saw it. the unmistakable foot of a titan.

your legs frozen in fear, you looked over at jean. a blank expression was on his face which was all drained of color.

it was quiet to the point where you could hear it’s breath. you could feel the warm humidity settle on your face.

in a fleeting moment of bravery, his hand wrapped around your wrist. and jean ran like hell, dragging you with him. your legs could barely keep up with his.

eventually, you reached the dorms where jean practically threw you inside. he alerted his comrades and they all begin to get their gear in a hurry to slay however many titans might be lurking within the walls.

he stopped you halfway through buckling your straps up. “no,” he said, “it’s too dark. i’ll be damned if i let you out there.”

jean wouldn’t hear another word from you as he ran through the door and into the darkness.

eren saves you

eren, now in possession of the attack and founding titan, waged a war in marley. through the chaos of it all, his goal seemed to be taking the war hammer titan’s power. you were stationed on the ground in marley, thanks to the call of the commander. it was a stupid plan but a sacrifice you were willing to make if it meant the safe return of eren.

levi and hange knew it was risky, sending you down there alone but you were the only one willing to die. you accepted long ago you’d die out on a mission and in terms of them, this seemed like a good one to go out on.

with your feet on the ground, you knew you had to act now. you needed to get the war hammers or the jaw’s attention so eren could proceed with his goal. you settled on the jaw, having a bit more familiarity with the titan because of ymir.

getting its attention was easy. running was the hard part. in the midst of everything, it went right over your head that the jaw would be near impossible to escape.

your odm gear could only carry you so fast. sweat dripped down your face in fear. you were so ready to die, weren’t you? why were you fighting it now?

a final attempt. you spin around, facing the titan and its’ teeth. flashy white teeth that would send you to your death. this is what you became a scout for.

you drew your blades, prepared to fight.

but you didn’t have to.

eren’s titan let out a roar that shook the earth. with a quick swoop, he grabbed the jaw in mid air as it leaped towards you. the attack titan held your gaze as you thanked eren over and over in your head. you hoped he could hear you.

armin saves you

in paradis, there were humans and there were titans. everything else was irrelevant. of humans, there were civilians and there were scouts. you, following your friends into the survey corps, were a scout. a terrified little girl but a scout, nonetheless.

the day you were pursuing the female titan, you had fallen out of rank. a few abnormals had pushed you further and further away from your comrades. but you had no choice, if you wanted to live, you had to abandon them.

your horse was fast enough to allude them until in a moment of fear, it bucked you off. your steed fled quickly, leaving you to your legs as a means of transportation.

what’s worse is you were in an open field, no trees to grapple onto. you would have to use the titan as an anchor if you were going to slay it.

zipping up, you launched a hook into it’s neck. sending you, it smacks you down. you had quick reflexes, hooking down into the ground and zipping back down instead of tumbling down.

how were you supposed to reach the nape of an abnormal?

a faint galloping sound reaches your ears, alerting you of a comrades presence. armin arlert.

armin showed up with his own horse and a spare. leaping up from his own horse, he flies by the titan, cutting the muscles in the back of the knees. the titan drops down giving you time to pull yourself up onto the mare.

riding back, you yell over at him, “you came back for me?”

“of course!”

bertholdt saves you

“shit,” bertholdt murmured from a branch as he saw you coming up over the horizon.

bertholdt and reiner had just taken ymir and eren. and you were damned if you weren’t going to do anything about it. your commanders told you to leave it alone but you just couldn’t. eren and ymir were your friends, dammit, and you were going to get them back.

you didn’t know you were riding into a death trap until it was too late.

titans gnawed and clawed at the tree the warriors were holed up on. you saw the cluster of them just as they had heard your horse’s hooves hitting the ground.

quickly losing interest in the people above them, the titans turned towards you. and eren and ymir wouldn’t be any help, knowing the condition they’re in.

could you turn back? you’d risk luring a group of ten, maybe fifteen, titans back to your squad. they’d handle it, right? you didn’t want to find out, instead, you charged forward relying on the trees to give you some relief.

“shit!” bertholdt repeated more urgently once he saw you continue heading forward. with the knowledge that the titans were learning to climb, he forgot he was a warrior.

“bert, don’t!” reiner threatened.

in this moment, he was a solider coming down to save you. he didn’t care about the details, he’d figure that out later. as long as you were safe, that’s all he cared about.

and he did save you. he used the titans as landmarks to grapple his way to you, lift you off the horse and back up into the tree tops.

you were safe, but at what cost?

mikasa saves you

it’s always been said that mikasa was an army of soldiers shoved into a teenage girl and while you never doubted it, you witnessed something that would make even the most sexist man bow down to her. with the fury of all her ancestors, she saved you from a death you had thought was inevitable.

stupidly, you had gotten yourself pinned against a tree. worse, you had gotten yourself pinned against a tree with empty gas canisters. your odm gear was useless and there were no low hanging branches to try to climb up.

three large titans loomed above you, nearly salivating at the thought of their next meal. their teeth were giant and captivating. it was all you could look at as they started to close in, and you could picture yourself stuck between their two front teeth. you would forever be a remnant of their latest snack until their greedy tongues would finish you off and swallow what’s left.

your back was pressed even more firmly against the wood. it hurt. could you run for it? were you able to run fast enough that you could dart between their legs without one of them grabbing you?

it didn’t matter anyway. fast enough or not, your legs refused to move. frozen in fear, you picked neither flight or fight.

a scream of feminine rage stopped the giants and pulled their attention away from you. you could have used the distraction to make a quick get away but still, your feet were glued to the ground.

she was quick, mikasa. she was fast enough to where the only thing you saw were silver blades reflecting the sun, zooming through the air. and as she moved further, each of the three titans dropped one after another. they fell like giant columns and the sound when they hit the ground was loud. the earth shook with their death.

it was no sweat to her. the look in her eyes told you she’d do this over and over again until she couldn’t no more. she was a cold blooded killer and she saved your life that day.

[anistarrose]

I want to talk about the way aromantic experiences can be represented in very meaningful and validating ways without characters being written as intentionally aro, and also I want to talk about aro-spec Magnus Burnsides headcanons. Luckily, I can do both those things in one post!

During the events of the podcast, Magnus is disinterested in and often straight-up uncomfortable with romance, because of the fate that befell his last relationship, with Julia. I've seen a reading (that I don't think is objectively wrong, though I do not personally share it) that interprets this trait of his as some kind of "sacrifice" he's making on Julia's behalf, being a choice to stay out of other relationships to carry on her memory better. It's a reading that seems pretty reasonable at first glance, but not especially aromantic.

(Because if anything, it almost seems at risk of turning into something like "there is no sacrifice more tragic than not having a romantic partner," right? Or worse, "this is a trauma response that needs to be healed for Magnus to have a happy ending, because being able to enjoy romance is vital to his happiness and self-fulfillment." Both of which are... varying levels of uncomfortable, to me as an aro person. Like, I'm not in the business of telling people how to interpret fictional characters, but I personally can't engage with these without a bad feeling in my stomach.)

However! Back to the various potential readings of Magnus's character! It's worth noting that so much of Magnus's arc revolves around unpacking his trauma, from the destruction of Raven's Roost and Julia's death — and that healing process doesn't change how he feels about romance! The Eleventh Hour is the turning point when he starts to seriously re-evaluate what the trauma and loss made him want, versus what Julia would want for him, and what would let him live in the moment instead of in the past... yet in the Heart Attack segment of Wonderland? Magnus still expresses disinterest in dating.

In Arms Outstretched, then Story and Song, he further internalizes and chooses to let himself be saved and ask for help, instead of punishing himself with martyrdom — and no romantic relationships come up in the epilogue! When he passes away after a long, happy life, it's Carey, — his best friend! — who holds his hand while they wait for the end!

Magnus's reasons for not wanting another relationship are obviously complex — not just a conclusion about himself that he came to lightly, regardless of whether he's on the aromantic spectrum, not on it at all, or deliberately not choosing a label. What makes his arc so unique and special to me, in contrast with almost every other story about traumatized characters finding a happy ending, is that his happy ending isn't contingent on romance! Whenever he says that he's that not into dating, no one doubts him or tries to undermine him (other than Lydia, who's literally trying to feed on his suffering) — and to me, an aro listener...

Well, the way the narrative takes Magnus's wants and lack thereof seriously is just so refreshing.

Ninety percent of characters in fiction who repeatedly stress that they don't want romance or marriage are only shown doing so to set up for the narrative later proving them wrong. It's to contrast with that later point in the story where they "find the right person," or "understand when they're older." Or "stop being so cold," or "stop acting like they're too fucked-up and 'damaged'." Or "overcome their trauma."

It has an air of "wow, isn't this character so ridiculous, for thinking they won't change their mind later?" Or occasionally, "isn't it so tragic, that they can't envision themselves being loved?"

For protagonist-y characters, for heroic characters like Magnus — for any type of character in which "happily ever after" is considered a plausible, fair-game, genre-acceptable outcome — we see the genre conventions also dictate that "settling down in a romance" and the "happy ending" are intertwined. I've seen TAZ posts from back in the era of The Suffering Game/The Stolen Century airing, expressing sentiments like "Magnus not finding someone to love again would be so tragic and mean-spirited, I hate grim and edgy endings like that." While I can appreciate people trying to subvert tropes like "you can only have one 'true love' in all your life," the incredibly non-subversive and ultra-amatonormative belief that "romance is a prerequisite for a happy ending, or even healing arc" is such a deeply unfortunate one to tag on.

I am aromantic. I don't want a romantic relationship. And I find joy in that! I refuse to accept that I need to be "fixed" or "healed" to live a long, happy life, because I'm not broken! What brings me the most joy beyond just living as an aro is seeing stories actually acknowledge that people can find this happiness without romance — like how Magnus's story does! Like how casually and matter-of-factly it subverts expectations — how Magnus says he doesn't want another relationship, and no one comes along to prove him wrong! He doesn't "find the right person" because at this particular phase of his life, and of how he wants to live, there isn't one in a romantic context!

He heals from his trauma enough to find all kinds of joy — doing things he loves, surrounded by people he loves — and not because of, or in service of pursuing, a romantic relationship!

I almost never see fantasy stories where one of the heroes gets to have an arc like that. An arc where they get to live out an ending that I would want. A happy ending that would be happy for me! For people like me!

Magnus Burnsides gives me so much Aromantic Hope. That this is a kind of happy ending that I am not the only one to idealize, and that I could attain, no matter what horrors are being thrown at me in the present. Magnus dies peacefully, after years of assuming that he wouldn't, and he does so surrounded by his dearest friends and family. Who are all so proud of the life that he lived. Magnus was true to himself, to what he felt would bring him healing and fulfillment — instead of what cliché and expectation dictated to him — and he was completely at peace in the end. Ready to rush in one final time.

I immensely doubt that Travis intended for Magnus's story to be an aromantic story in those words, if at all. But Magnus's story resonates so, so much with so many common aromantic experiences. And that means so much to me. I'm so grateful for that. In this day and age, in this world, I needed that.

I needed to have a good long cry about Magnus Burnsides. Aromantic icon, intentional or not.

...

...Of course, because this is tumblr, I want to make a clarification. This isn't some kind of claim like "shipping Magnus with people other than Julia is problematic." It is, however, a thesis statement that "no such ship becoming canon makes Magnus's arc so much more unique." It's an explanation giving full context to how I'm biased, not objective, but willing to argue that it makes his arc so much more meaningful, too.

And most of all, it's a desire to shine a light on a side of Magnus's character and growth that I think goes underdiscussed. Especially underdiscussed through an aro-spec lens. And speaking of which:

Sure, I said I don't think Magnus was intended as an aro-spec character, or that he can only be interpreted as such — but if you made it this far, you know I think this ruff boi's just chock full of aro-spec subtext! So just for fun — and because the world is always deserving of more aro-spec headcanons — let's end this post playing with some different readings of him as aro-spec!

Gray-Aro or Demiromantic Magnus who rarely falls for people to begin with. Why would it be some tragic heroic sacrifice to remain "chaste" and wait for Julia, when not being into romance is just Magnus's default state of being? He's so confused about why people think he's making some tragic sacrifice! So confused, guys! I even wrote a fic about the gray-aro HC a few months ago (link)!

Gray-Aro or Demi Magnus who thought he was just aromantic, no attraction whatsoever, for over a century — until he met Julia, and fell for her (perhaps very, very slowly). But that doesn't change those years gaining perspective as a platonically, familialy loving aro who values those bonds immensely, and always wanted them to remain a prominent part of his life.

Losing Julia devastates him, of course it does — but especially once he remembers the Stolen Century, he knows he has a long-term support system no matter what, and it won't revolve around chasing that unlikely possibility of feeling romantic love again. Why would it? Why would he need to chase something so fickle just to heal?

Aromantic Magnus who feels no romantic attraction, but in the era of Raven's Roost, doesn't not want a romantic relationship. Except, he doesn't after all. Except wait, he kinda does, it's just complicated. Maybe something queerplatonic? Well, he really likes the idea of a wedding, and that's not necessarily mutually exclusive with a QPR, but there's no guarantee his partner would feel that way too, and...

There's just these expectations that go with dating or marriage, of partners expecting him to love them in such a specific way that he knows he can't... and then he meets Julia, who's a romance-seeking aromantic too, with heavily overlapping feelings. Bonding over their similarities leads to dating, and eventually marrying, over a deep platonic love that may or may not still involve cuddles or kisses, or a desire to start a family. They don't panic too much over the labels — they're just so delighted to be with someone on the same wavelength!

When Julia dies, so much goes through Magnus's head. After a while, he can't help but start thinking again about how rare it is for people to want the same things out of a relationship that he does. Or to consider the way he feels for them to be enough. But as time passes, Magnus comes to terms with it more and more. He's happy to wait for Julia again. After all, he's longing, but not lonely. Mourning, but not incomplete.

Aromantic Magnus who is aromantic specifically because of his trauma, but no less aromantic for it. He just can't bear the thought of getting into a relationship again. Ironically, there's a point in time where he thought of himself as a romantic — back while he and Julia were courting each other — that now feels simultaneously so close and so distant. Magnus who has so much to grieve, and grieves this romantic side of him too — at first. Who thinks that there's only two options, for a folk hero in a story like his — settling down to live happily ever after, or dying in battle. And if there's nothing more upsetting, more uncomfortable, than getting married again — then living happily ever after has got to be off the table, right?

Magnus who slowly realizes that doesn't have to be the case. That no, barring seeing Julia again, he certainly doesn't have reason to believe that even time will change this new, alienating part of him — but maybe, it's not so alien after all. Maybe he knows people who won't even question it. Maybe he doesn't have to change it or overcome it to be happy again.

Why is romance some singular thing he has to chase, in order to settle down peacefully again? Why can't he do it with his friends? With his dogs?

And last, Questioning Magnus who might be aro, who might not be aro, and is maybe most likely to be something in between. But it's hard to tell; he's honestly not sure if he'll ever crack it, and.. ultimately, he's okay with that. Because all that matters to him is knowing he doesn't need a relationship to be complete, to take full advantage of his well-earned happy ending — and he's got a great grasp on that one, surrounded by people who never make him doubt it.

Aromantic Magnus Burnsides. Aro-Spec Magnus Burnsides. My aromantically beloved. Thanks, bud, for all the hope when I needed it.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.liv // Under the Gun

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next (coming soon)

The room is already small, and being huddled in the narrow valley between two beds gives Renee a sense of claustrophobia only overshadowed by the sense that he’s facing the edge of a cliff, and now the wolves are closing in.

He’d be lying if he said the thought of pulling the trigger right then and there wasn’t goddamn tempting. Ten measly pounds of force, he thinks, and his finger hugs that fucking trigger. Just ten pounds of force, and in less than a millisecond, everything from that point forward would be set right.

All his life, he’s been flirting with death, and he can’t help but find it telling that he’s never had the guts to follow through on the promise. He’s done nothing but run. Run, run, run, run. He called Davin, for fuck’s sake, chickened out at the last moment even when he knew at some level there’d be nothing to return to.

And now there’s no more running. He can jump off the cliff, or he can submit to the will of the wolves, or… well.

The honest truth is just that even if Renee could put up a fight, he’s not sure he has the right to even try.

…at least not for himself. But he’s not alone facing the fall, is he?

Unsteady, he looks up at Conrad.

He’s distraught, clearly. Back pressed to the wall, hands clutching the bedsheets next to him. The swelling in his face has gone down, but his eye, cheekbone and jaw are all discolored a dark purple, contrasted by tan skin void of much color. Lower lip wobbling, he grimaces as if anticipating he’ll need to look away at any moment.

He must be holding his breath, because the word he mouths makes no sound at all. It’s not hard to read.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t…”

Similar enough to the final words of Renee’s last chance for some sort of meaning that it makes the air seep out of his lungs.

Don’t shoot.

Chest aching, Renee winces with the effort it takes to stifle another sob.

Laz wanted to save Conrad’s life, a guy he had no relation to and couldn’t possibly care for on any deeper level. Why this was important enough for Laz to sacrifice his livelihood over should be a mystery to Renee, but the thing is, it isn’t, not really. Not if he thinks about it. Laz had about as much trust in law enforcement as Renee does, and yet he made that compromise. Wire or not, Lazarus was trying to save the both of them, each in their own ways, and even after being dealt a fatal blow, he did not want Renee to die. He did not want his own murderer to die.

He did what he did because at his core, he was good, and pissing on his intent just to maintain a sense of betrayal and unfairness is beginning to seem like a worse sin than the noose itself.

“… don’t, don’t.”

For once, it’s not rage or panic. It’s not out of his control. His hands still shake, but he feels something settle in him, a cold resolve to face it for once, to drop the excuses, to hand himself over to it.

Renee stops running.

Drawing in a sharp breath, he looks Davin in the eye, points the gun at his forehead, and draws those ten pounds back.

Tk.

Davin doesn’t flinch. Not so much as a twitch of his hands.

Renee should’ve known, really, but somehow, even the revelation of a cleared chamber doesn’t make him angry. Teeth clenched hard as he locks on those dead eyes, he keeps pulling the trigger, over and over. His aim is unsteady, but the two of them are close enough that every shot would’ve still been fatal.

Davin remains unblinking at every hollow click of the hammer. No surprise, but no smug smile either; instead there’s reservation in his expression. A look of disappointment - or acceptance.

Tk, tk, tk, tk, tk.

The point is made. The drive wavers, if only for a moment, and although he refuses to show any uncertainty in his face, the weight of the unloaded weapon drives his arm down slightly. He adjusts his hand on the cold grip.

Davin narrows his eyes, drawing in a long breath through his nose. “… yeah,” he sighs out. Low, finite.

Renee jumps him.

He pushes himself to his haunches with the cast on his arm and kicks off the wall, clashing into Davin shoulder-first, knocking him back. Although the impact isn’t hard, it disorients Renee all the same, and before he can straddle Davin’s waist, the other has wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, pinning his head to his own chest. With a grunt, Renee tries to kick off the floor to pry himself free, only to feel Davin’s legs wrap around his backside. By sheer luck, Davin’s free hand is on the opposite side of where Renee was impaled, out of reach – but when his fist connects with Renee’s naked midriff, he hunches up none the less.

Proximity is your friend when you’re prone on your back, and Davin is intent on keeping Renee from gaining the edge. It’s a mess of kicking at the floor and hits that don’t have a chance to properly land. Renee’s good arm burns as he pushes against the man’s chest, desperate to free himself, to the point that he feels it cut off his air. Another punch to his gut makes him grunt, but it's just air.

He takes the hit, and the next one with it. Owed to morphine or his recent blood loss,  he barely feels it, but there’s also a sluggishness to Renee’s movements. No matter how acidic his muscles get from exertion, Davin’s grip doesn’t falter.

Cheek pressed to the man’s sweater, Renee is blind when he reaches up. He claws at the floor, then hits skin, fingers tangled in long hair – then something markedly slick beneath tougher folds, something that breaches under his nail with the subtle sensation of a pop.

Guessing from Davin’s half-shout of pain, it’s his eye.

As Davin bucks under him, grabbing for the offending hand, there’s a split second where his hold falters just enough for Renee to duck out from under his arm and finally right himself, immediately grasping for Davin’s left hand to prevent a strike to his injuries. Blood follows the small wrinkles on the corner of Davin’s shut eye in an expression marred by disbelief and rage.

Renee draws his arm back, shaking fingers coiling in a closed fist. His knuckles split Davin’s lip.

The second punch never lands.

Davin plants a foot in his stomach and shoves, and with a firm grip on the wrist-end of the cast, prevents Renee from bracing.

Back clipping the frame of the fold-out bed, Renee crumples to the floor, pitching over.

Above the chaos, Conrad’s voice rings out in a hoarse attempt at a shout. “Somebody! Shaun—”

Beside him, Davin gets to his feet, hissing out a curse as he presses the root of his hand against his face. “You goddamn—” He paces a few steps in the small room, only to pivot and land a hard kick that clips the gauze on Renee’s stomach.

Renee’s body sinks, a ragged cry tearing from his chest. Vision dark, he clutches his abdomen in time for a second kick to knock his head back. His hand flails blindly for a source of stability as his sense of orientation is flipped on its axis.

Conrad’s voice is desperate. “Stop, just stop—”

He gasps like a fish out of water, but doesn’t wait until he’s caught his breath before planting a hand on the floor to push himself up. The room spins madly as he draws his legs under him. He doesn’t make it a step before he loses his balance and barely manages to catch himself on the corner of the other bed, stumbling on. Warmth saturates the bottom edge of the gauze, runs down his stomach in two different lines before it soaks into the elastic of his boxers. Even though he can’t feel the adrenaline, he’s relatively sure he wouldn’t be standing on his feet if it wasn’t there. His hand leaves a print on the striped wallpaper when he braces against it, .

Conrad has both hands pressed to the wall behind him, wide eyes wrought with horror.

Strands of long, black hair pulled loose from the bun is plastered to the streaks of red trickling down Davin’s face. Something dilutes the blood on his cheek, a clear, almost gel-like substance. The split skin of his lip gapes as it curls into a snarl, a bit too animated for comfort. Even if he still seems composed, he’s stopped bothering to mask the extent of his hatred. He wants Renee to see it. And when Renee’s gaze is drawn to movement at his side, a hand adjusting the grip on his pocket knife, it’s clear that he wants Renee to see that, too. A little shift in the angle lets the warm light of the overhead lamp catch in the smooth metal.

This really is it, he thinks. Absurd that he’s not remotely bothered. Winded and in pain, yes, barely keeping himself upright, destined to lose – but his head is probably as clear as it could be.

Renee shifts to face Davin more let on, resting his head against the wall, and lets out an exhausted snicker – humorless, but not by much. “You’re gonna fuckin’ lose that eye.”

Davin goes for him. It’s not a lunge, it isn’t reckless; the man closes the distance dead-set and tenacious, flipping the knife to a reverse grip a moment before he swipes, blade hissing in a wide arc.

Renee can’t retreat, but he manages to deflect the knife’s trajectory by meeting Davin’s arm mid-swing with the cast – and then Davin yanks down hard, splitting fragments of plaster to create a long groove in the cast until the tip of the blade runs over the back of Renee’s exposed hand, dragging it forward as long as it takes to slash through a tendon in his ring finger.

Renee barely has time to croak out in at the sharp flash shooting up his arm before Davin shoves him back against the wall. He can guess what comes next: an attempt to stab, or at the very least incapacitate further.

A frantic gasp whistles through his teeth as he returns the shove with as much weight as he can muster and hooks one leg behind both of Davin’s. Somehow it works, but as Davin loses his balance and keels backward, he hooks a hand around Renee’s neck and pulls him right along.

Their bodies collide with the floor, with each other. Renee can’t say for sure which part of his body hurts more in the fall; he ends up on his back, but he’s barely conscious by then, losing valuable time as he struggles to bring the world into focus.

Davin plants a knee on his stomach.

Midway through a shout, Renee’s voice gives out for good. His body bucks weakly under Davin’s knee, and the cluttered blur of movement above him is barely distinguishable – not until the ceiling’s light catches on something shiny.

Conrad screams, “No!”

Renee catches Davin’s wrist just in time to prevent the nick to his throat from going farther than skin deep. An airy hiss seeps out of him, shaky with the effort of pushing away. There’s no conscious thought in his head – his whole being is centered in that desperate, primal drive.

But his body is failing him.

It all happens in the blink of an eye.

As Davin grips the butt of the handle to lean his weight into the knife, he lets out a rough growl. “Fucking junkie.”

Instinctually, Renee shuts his eyes and turns his face away. In the same moment the blade sinks into the side of his neck, all the weight suddenly vanishes from his torso.

Reeling to the sound of bodies impacting the floor, he tries to sit up, only to discover he can’t lift his head. He rolls over and clutches his throat –

And he feels his own swift heartbeat in the spout of blood gushing against his palm.

💵

It took most of Conrad’s energy to get a running start, the pain in his leg nearly making him cry out once he crashed into Davin. He used his body’s momentum to drag them both down, and by the time he rolls across the floor, stars dance like a snowstorm across his vision.

Gasping, he shields his face, only to have his arm pushed away, pinned over his head by the wrist.

Nearby, Renee lets out a groan.

Something in his voice makes Conrad’s blood run cold. He doesn’t have time to process it before Davin hits him with the butt of the knife. It lands on his cheekbone, but he can hear the hard impact through the rest of his skull.

He doesn’t feel the second blow. Just blinks against a world that’s gone muddled, near-quiet, and considerably foggier than it was before.

He wonders when the knife will come down. He’s not entirely sure if he’s fighting it or not.

He wants to, but he can’t feel himself. Not until the pressure on his body changes rapidly – first what feels like the tripling of the weight, and then a sudden, disorienting absence.

Shifting into focus, the sight of Renee yanking Davin sideways with an arm around his throat.

It’s one violent movement, one that swings both their bodies 90, 100 degrees. Renee uses his own weight to pin Davin to the floor, and secures his neck in the headlock with the cast. The front of Davin’s throat isn’t compressed straight’ on by Renee’s forearm, but instead nestles in the crook of his elbow, where the first thing that gets cut off is blood supply.

Davin’s knuckles have lightened in his grip on the knife. He has enough leverage to drive it into Renee’s side, even pinned as he is beneath the other’s weight, and Conrad sees it in the same instant Davin tries.

Lurching forward, he claws at the man’s closed fist with both hands. Davin’s face is obscured by Renee’s arms and his own loosened hair, but he hears the choked-back grunt he lets out, feels his movements become more insistent. The sharp edge opens a gash in Conrad’s thumb. Somehow he manages to hold firm, even when his grasp threatens to slip; Davin’s arm is trapped under Renee’s body, and it prevents him from putting much force into his attempts to follow through with a stab.

Renee’s eyes are shut in a grimace of pain at the effort, teeth locked tight. Blood trickles from his neck onto Davin, filtering through his hair to mix with the blood already trailing down his face. There’s something gruesome in the silence itself. It calls attention to the smallest noises. The strangled attempts at inhaling from one, and the weary, determined hisses from the other.

It doesn’t take more than ten or fifteen seconds for Davin to stop thrashing.

Once it wanes, it wanes fast, almost without warning. One moment, the hand under both of Conrad’s struggles to drive the blade into anywhere it might hurt. The next, his fingers relax, and Conrad grabs the knife, scrambling away as he clutches its warm handle tight. Davin’s legs stop kicking. The raging snarl in his expression slacks into one of tense unconsciousness, eyes rolled back but not all the way closed – the injured one is all red under his lashes.

Conrad doesn’t yell for Renee to stop – he can’t – but the man still releases Davin’s limp body, lets his head drop to the floor, as he grabs his own throat again, panting wildly. Exhausted eyes drift around the room.

Something changes in his expression when his gaze locks on the empty gun, dropped in the middle of the floor sometime during the first half of the struggle. Wordlessly, and without looking at Conrad, he neglects putting pressure to the pulsing wound to reach for it, movements sluggish by the time it’s secure in his white-knuckled grip.

A distant thunder of footfalls on wood, floorboards creaking above them, breaks an eerie silence. They’ve already changed character by the time Renee has managed to crawl onto Davin’s back, heaving breath after breath as he looks down. Already, Davin stirs, a low sigh leaving his chest.

When Renee raises the gun high , Conrad snaps his head to the side, wide eyes locked to a spot on the wall.

He doesn’t see it, but the sound is awful, the dull thud of unyielding metal against a human skull. Just a moment later, the second hit rings out in the void. A deep, growling sort of noise is briefly interrupted by the third strike, but then comes back – like a snore or dragged-out groan. It sounds like it comes from Davin’s chest rather than his throat, sounds entirely distinct from any noise a person would make if they were actually sleeping.

The fourth time, the sound of impact is distinctly wet, and the snoring stops in the same instant.

There’s a short reprieve. Renee gasps. Conrad hears him swallow with effort. Hears him draw in a sharp inhale through his nose.

One final, hard thud.

The much more muted clatter of the gun dropping to the floor. Shifting, a pause, and the sound of Renee’s collapse, the low groan he lets out.

Conrad has to force himself to take his eyes off the wall. The knife slides from his grasp, clattering all too heavy to the floor.

Renee lies on his back, eyes glazed-over and distant. A streak runs from his jaw over the bridge of his nose, one that doesn’t look like it came from his own injuries; but the side of his throat is open, spilling red to the floor.

Without thinking, Conrad scoots over and presses his palm to the gaping wound. The feeling of warmth coating his hand makes him dizzy, but he carefully pushes down. There’s an obvious paradox here, how in order to stop the bleeding entirely, he’d need to press hard enough to choke – and Renee would die all the same. The stream doesn’t feel as strong as it looked mere moments ago. Exposed flesh vibrates with every intake of breath. Slick fingers wrap around Conrad’s wrist, but Renee doesn’t push him off. His eyelids droop, gaze struggling to focus on his face.

“’m sorry,” he murmurs.

Conrad sucks a breath through his teeth, then finds himself unable to release it.

Blood soaks the floor, smeared thin in the aftermath of the struggle, splatters and stains, and the pools that still expand, creeping forward. He doesn’t want to look to his right – he can see Davin’s arm in his periphery next to Renee’s feet, fingers slack and unmoving.

“Jesus Christ! Jesus—”

Conrad blinks up at Shaun in the doorway, clutching the handle as he takes in the scene.

He’s in a wrinkled t-shirt and loose cotton trousers, freshly awake by the looks of it. Pillow marks line the dark skin of his cheek. Grimacing in the direction of Davin’s body, he grabs a kitchen towel from a nearby counter and kneels down on the opposite side of Renee.

His eyes have slid closed by then, but his face is still contorted in a slight wince of pain.

Conrad struggles to collect himself enough to be coherent, eyes searching for a sliver of certainty in Shaun’s expression. “H-he, he… he cut—he…”

“Take your hand off, Conrad. You can take your hand off.”

Conrad nods, and he tries, but it takes too long for his body to register an intent to move. Gently, Shaun peels his fingers away and replaces them with the bunched-up towel, his other hand adjusting the angle of Renee’s head. Conrad’s hand hovers in the air where Shaun left it, dripping.

There’s another high-pitched gasp from the door. The woman, Imani, presses both hands over her mouth to stifle a cry. “What happened?”

“I need hemostats,” Shaun tells her.

“What happened? Shaun, oh my God, what h—”

“I don’t know. The clamps, love, lower right cabinet – one of the drawers in the middle. They’re labelled. I can’t stop this manually.”

“Oh my God,” Imani breathes again, but she still turns on her heel, rushing out of the room. Cabinet doors slam in the next room, the one with the black cot. When Imani comes back not more than a few moments later, she carries a grey plastic tray, the contents of which clatter with her step. She sets it down by Shaun’s side, and while she stays there, her attention is drawn to the middle of the room again. “Oh my God, Shaun, he’s...”

They’re surgical tongs, some with curved tips, some straight like scissors but with rounded rods instead of blades. Fishing for a specific size, Shaun draws back the cloth staining from Renee’s neck, and without pause, he dips the tongs into the gaping wound, searching.

Conrad looks away again.

“Are you hurt? Are you hurt, honey?”

Conrad looks up at Imani, dazed. Casts a glance down his own body. The stains don’t just cover his hand, but his clothes as well. He’s not sure where it all came from.

Hand pressed to her mouth, Imani lets out another distraught sound. There’s wet on her cheeks as she glances at the body. “Kit, oh God…”

Conrad is midway through turning his head to follow her gaze when she gasps, quickly reaching down to catch his cheek.

“Don’t look.”

Even as he flinches, she kneels down and wraps her arms around his thin frame. His instinctual drive to get away melts into its own opposite. Conrad finds himself clutching the fabric of her shirt to keep her there, to keep her from leaving. Breathing hollow in his chest, he stares at the wallpaper as she gently shushes him.

“You don’t need to see that, honey. I’m sorry. You don’t need to see it. Oh, Lord...”

He’d say something if he could, but his tongue won’t move, and he can’t feel his own face. Renee’s hoarse breathing sounds so, so shallow. It’s unnatural.

Shaun straightens up, shoulders tense. “Small nick in his carotid, but we lose more time if I clamp that, too. I’ll put a line in his other jugular, but we need to act on this now.”

Conrad feels Imani’s chest expand with a deep breath. He shuts his eyes, hugging her closer.

The couple speaks in a low, serious tone.

“Imani, I’m not a vascular surgeon.”

“You’re not,” she whispers.

“And we don’t let people die.”

“We don’t. We don’t.”

“I don’t know what happened here. I can’t…” Shaun clears his throat. They seem to agree to the unspoken, but he repeats himself anyway. “He needs a vascular surgeon.”

Like a switch suddenly flips, a sob rattles through Conrad, agonizing in his chest. The breakdown takes a distant part of his awareness by surprise, but Imani doesn’t miss a beat. She puts a cheek to his hair, swaying lightly from side to side as her thumb rubs his shoulder.

Coarse whimpers fill the empty space, shaken and confused.

In his ear, her mild, steady voice.

“I’ll call 9-1-1,” she tells her husband.

Previous / Masterlist / Next (coming soon)

[deconstructivesurgery]

I saw someone online recently discuss the reality of Wesker not killing Chris or Jill permanently in any of the RE games because

A) as per usual, long-running series hate to kill their darlings, even when it would occasionally be a believable or satisfying death (plot armor, because people would get mad and mald if their faves were killed by the Villain(tm) they're supposed to shoot dead)

and

B) "well REALISTICALLY it would be SO easy for wesker to kill them because of how strong/fast/etc. he is so point A is the only believable and acceptable answer because obviously they couldn't have killed Chris or Jill off"

and like no dude I get it totally you are right. I can't even argue that you're incorrect you 100% are. I could rightfully argue that realism doesn't matter when it's far more enjoyable to NOT have Chris or Jill dead, especially when their deaths would serve no real compelling narrative purpose except (:() HOWEVER

If you're willing to hear me out, there's an explanation for Wesker never entirely killing either of them for reasons that turn plot armor into something as simple as believable characterization.

Nostalgia. Literally. Just. Nostalgia.

He avoids killing them outright because once upon a time, these people meant something to him. He saw WORTH in them, valued them, possibly even to the extent of finding it difficult to try and sacrifice them initially (something I am going to go ON about in another long ass post soon enough). TLDR: He was attached.

Long ass post underneath if you want to hear me blather on about why I think this :)

After his initial failed attempt to have them all killed because Umbrella commanded it, I'm not surprised he simply settled for toying with them for the most part. He doesn't need to, and more importantly- doesn't want to. He can never have their allyship back, but he can still see them in action. He can best them, sure- but why would he kill them when he still savors those interactions, when they clash? Why would he destroy the last pieces of a past he's attached to to the point of bringing it up constantly up until his death?

I've always found it funny how many lines Wesker actually has referencing the past. You were my best man, your 'partner' (said snidely in reference to an era where they were in the same squad) is in danger, I should've killed you years ago, etc.

And just the line. The fucking line. From the Umbrella chronicles. I'm not even going to retype it I'm just putting it here.

I understand, by the way, that he's being sarcastic, but I do genuinely believe there's a grain of truth in this. I think he does in fact want to see them survive.

Side note: What with his appraisal of their skills and his direct use of Jill's own blood later to temper Uroboros to make it less fatal, I love to make the mental stretch here that somewhere in his little ape brain he was hoping if infected with uroboros both would be "quality" enough to become like him. I think his ideal future still has them kicking around in it, viable hosts for uroboros mutation so they could join him in his new Minecraft server for cool people.

ANYWAYS tangent aside back to the nostalgia argument, on an individual basis this time. We're starting with Jill, because even though Wesker isn't an obsessive freak over her like he is with Chris, I still firmly believe he's attached to her as well.

Why else would he do what he did to her, after her presumed death via falling-off-a-cliff? Sure, you could argue it was simply a calculated decision based on the fact that he knew her blood would be useful, but I like to think of it a bit differently.

You crash into the rocky water below a tall, tall bluff, battered beyond belief- but quickly repairing yourself- and the body of another (probably also fucked up by that impact, and not capable of immediately fixing that) next to you. I don't think even Wesker would be doing mental math in his head at that very moment, considering the precise reasons why Valentine might be valuable to him down the line. I think he just automatically assumes he needs to take her with him because it's her. She gets dragged out of the water and slapped into medical care as quickly as he can manage it simply because she's an important part of that past he refuses to move on from. A part of the team. Then, she's a useful source of antibodies to help with the transformation of uroboros- but she's also a brainwashed bodyguard, something of a sidekick. Why? He could hire someone. He could use anyone. If she was useful for samples alone, he could've kept her in a cell for years to intermittently steal a few ounces of blood. But of course he wouldn't, and he wouldn't kill her or dispose of her otherwise, either- because Jill Valentine was skilled and strong and a dedicated team member, and maybe- just maybe- it's nothing short of satisfying to have her fighting at his side again, even if it's a facsimile of their old team dynamic. Plus, you know: bonus points that it'd horrify Chris to see his best friend and beloved work partner of many years through thick and thin working for him, when they inevitably clash again.

And then, of course, there's Chris. He beats him senseless only to piss off over very mild retaliations, promising to meet him again. You've probably heard a lot about that before. I could go on about that. But what I'd rather go on about instead is the one time he clearly determines that killing Chris for good is necessary, and that's in RE5.

...And look at how he talks during that. He brings up the "should've killed you years ago" thing- and fails to explain why he didn't. It wasn't due to any failure on his part, truly. He's beat Chris in combat several times, he's had the chance before and refused to take it. He asks Chris why he can't *understand his plans*, as if somehow expecting that there'd be a chance that he WOULD understand- and then what? He wouldn't need to kill him? Could get him to be a part of this new world he has planned, even?

Going over the times he could've killed Chris and didn't is fun, but I don't think anything illustrates my point of unwilling attachment and nostalgia for the past more than his gambit of literally asking "why can't you understand this" to the man he's actively attempting to bludgeon upside the head with virus tentacles, because he'd much prefer it if he didn't feel compelled to do that.

...so yes. At the end of the day, it's plot armor that prevented Chris from getting snapped like a stick during one of their brawls, or from Jill being dead after her cliff stunt, probably. But it's always going to be more fun- to me at least- to see it as the product of Albert Wesker genuinely not knowing how to let go of those "lovely stars members" (a line I think about way more than I should).

[sepublic]

Vee has the parallels with Luz that make her reconsider the choices she made, while also foreshadowing for the Day of Unity, and so forth. And I think Vee has the additional narrative function of complicating the idea of Camila just moving to the Boiling Isles, too; As uncomfortable as she still is four years later, Camila’s a supportive mother so fans naturally figured she’d make the sacrifice of moving to the Demon Realm for Luz’s sake, so Luz wouldn’t have to worry about leaving her mom behind. But with Vee’s introduction, it’s not that simple; Because Vee is someone who really wants to stay in the human world and even has her own friends there. And Vee is family, she’s Camila’s other daughter so she can’t just leave her either.

In a way, Vee is like the extended family Camila and Luz would have in the human world, that would deepen the ties they still have with it. Though I would’ve loved to explore their Dominican heritage via their biological relatives and other aspects, to emphasize what’s connecting them to the human world… That said, with Yesterday’s Lie being written after the crew learned of the shortening, I can see how the writers settled for Vee serving that purpose, because she already pulls off the other functions I mentioned before; It keeps things concise when the show’s runtime led to established setup like the Bat Queen’s owner or half of the coven heads being left unexplored. ‘Creepy Luz’ had already been introduced in S1, so there was a prior obligation to explain something already connected to the Nocedas.

And I can see the ties to Vee adding to Luz’s guilt, because in addition to Vee’s existence suggesting to Luz that she never needed to leave in the first place (which is of course a logical fallacy, but her trauma-riddled brain understandably isn’t being rational), it also makes her feel obligated to stay in the human world. Because Camila obviously wants to look after Vee too, and Luz wants stay with her mom, which means all three Nocedas might have to stay in the human world to make that work, since they aren’t certain about there being a new, permanent portal to normalize travel.

There’s now a new layer to her conflict; Luz wouldn’t want to force Vee to lose her own family again (first her fellow basilisks, then Masha and co. when Luz reclaimed her identity), because she doesn’t feel right making that decision for somebody else who she’d tell herself has had it worse. As for Vee, I wonder if she felt obligated to find her fellow basilisks back in the Boiling Isles, and hoped to invite them to the human realm to stay together… At which point, at least Vee can have it both ways, to Luz’s relief. And after her guilt in helping Belos, for Luz her sister would’ve been almost an excuse not to go back to enjoying the Demon Realm.

Because doing so means allowing herself to try being happy, it means letting herself pursue her dreams again, whilst forgiving herself. And in her repentant state of mind, that would’ve been difficult for Luz to accept; That it’s okay for her to keep trying to be happy and consider what she wants. It means facing her guilt by moving on, and taking risks by allowing the possibility of mistakes again; She’s allowed to make mistakes, and Luz shouldn’t have to fear them because of repentance for whatever harm she might cause.

And in the end, the Collector helped to create a new portal; And because of that, everyone could be happy. Vee didn’t have to abandon her new friends and home, but she didn’t have to lose her new mom and sister either; Similarly, Luz and Camila wouldn’t have to forsake a fellow Noceda, as well as everything else about the human world they still held dear, such as their culture.

On Vee’s end, she can also be reunited with her Basilisk family, who now live at the University of Wild Magic! So Vee could still have her own ties to the Demon Realm that she’s allowed to keep, and not be the only Noceda sister interested in maintaining contact; Her siblings still seem fond of the isles, so they too have it both ways with family and their home. In that case, the entire Noceda family —Manny, Camila, Luz, Vee— really is a family of immigrants navigating two worlds at once! Luz might not have been so alone in her dilemma after all, which is another thing for her and Vee to bond over, and a reassurance for her wish because Luz is understood not just by her mother, but her sister as well… It was always available for Luz to work with Vee about what they wanted once the situation had settled.

And finally, Luz can still explore the Demon Realm and hang out with her friends there, while studying its magic; Her quincenera having both families of both worlds, mixing in aspects of her Dominican heritage with the Boiling Isles’ take on things, perfectly encapsulates all of this. None of this would’ve happened if Luz hadn’t let herself go to the Boiling Isles again to help, because she was needed to speak to the Collector, after all, and they helped reconnect the worlds. And she wouldn’t have kept visiting after returning to the human world had Camila not helped Luz forgive herself for loving the Demon Realm.

[firewolf111]

Based off of a conversation I've had with myself (though slightly changed to fit the characters and because my memory is trash)

Logan: What happened to our dreams? To our goals of success? Why did you abandon them? Why did you give up on them? I thought you were passion. What happened to our drive? We wanted to be something. Now look at where we are.

Roman: You aren't the only goals we had.

Logan: What do you mean?

Roman: Did you forget his dreams? *Gestures to an image of a younger version of Thomas and himself*

Roman: Did you forget his dreams came first. Our want to be an actor, a singer, a dancer, a writer. Did you forget that to them, success was chasing our creative dreams? Our goals of science came later.

Logan: Well, that would make sense. Kids often have foolish dreams.

Roman: Foolish?!

Patton: Now, now. Let's calm down.

Roman: No! I'm tired of listening to him tell me my dreams mean nothing.

Logan: Well, they do. They have no merit to them. We all already know that they will get us nowhere, but our logical goals of pursuing science would have brought us the success we dreamt of.

Roman: We wouldn't have been happy. He wouldn't have been happy.

Logan: He would have been fine. We would have been better than we are now.

Patton: Okay, why don't we agree to disagree? I mean, you both are making great points.

Roman: I'm just trying to pursue something that will make us happy! To figure things out!

Logan: And look where that got us.

Roman: *small and dejected* Why can't we be content with where we are?

The silence is loud. Maybe it's the fact that you could hear a pin drop, or maybe it's the flinch Thomas gave or the disappointed look Patton sent him. Maybe it was the look of hurt on Roman's face. Or maybe it was his own painful self-awareness. But suddenly, he feels guilty. The anger simmers down, and he realizes that Roman was right. He wasn't the only one who had goals for Thomas. He wasn't the only one who had to sacrifice things for the greater good for him. But it's too late to back track, and he was never good at admitting he was wrong.

Logan: Are we content? I don't see why we should have to settle for such a pitiful outcome, just because you decided to quit pursuing better options. Perhaps if you were less lazy or had let me take control, things would have worked out better.

Roman: *defeated and not making eye contact* You didn't offer any compromise. The only option was to quit. We would have been miserable if we kept on the path you wanted.

Logan: *sinking out* Like we aren't now.

And like always, he regrets what he said. And as always, he still doubled down.

Later, he'll pretend like nothing happened. Guilt will eat him up on the inside, and he'll wonder if he is the robot people say he is. Yet no apologies will be said. Later, Roman will cry himself to sleep after staring in the mirror, questioning if he is actually Thomas's hero. He'll create something from the pain and hide it in his special drawer. Later, Patton will play mediator like always. He'll act more cheerful and kind to cover the obvious tension but will not acknowledge it.

And after that, Logan will offer coffee to Roman in the morning and ask if he wants to brainstorm ideas. Roman will accept the extended Olive branch. No apologies said or offered, but accepted all the same. Roman will create a story about a scientist and will ask Logan to help make it believable. Of course, Logan will agree and pretend he doesn't know the reason behind the story. Patton will watch and finally feel relieved at the end of the tension. And the mindscape will once again breathe.

Until it happens again.

Because they are not content with where they are.

But why can't we be content with where we are?

[alshamswelnahr]

Sanemi's downfall is a blend of his selfless and self-harming nature

the distance sanemi creates between himself and genya isn't strictly about protecting genya, and it isn't by far the only way either, he even contemplates a different way in the light novels but settles on violence nonetheless because in his own eyes he's the one with the dirty hands, he is the jerk -despite his evident gentle and caring nature- the rift between the shinazugawa siblings cannot be simply amended by talking it over because it stems from his self hatred, his own belief that he is unworthy of love, care and closeness, which he rationalizes by the fact that even the strongest of the slayers are still at risk of dying which means in genya's case, who can't use a breathing style and is extremely kind, the chances of that happening are even higher.

His fake cruelty towards his brother unknowingly affirmed genya's insecurity (his weakness), meanwhile reinforcing the horrible image he garnered, it's a self-imposed punishment, doubling down on his pain by not allowing himself to enjoy the remnant of the family he assigned himself protector and provider of and failed.

A role which was also imposed on him; living an impoverished life defined by being the eldest brother of many small hungry scared children with no proper father figure, being the child of a man who inflicted verbal and physical violence on them, who was never dependable. Being the child of a hardworking, protective mother who deserved a pillar that she could lean on at least partially, all this creating a child who wished to be the opposite of his own father and a solace to his family, a child who was never allowed to be one.

To top it all, the fateful night happens and he manages to save no one, he fails them, they all die on his watch after the promise he made them. All, except for genya who becomes the symbol of his failure and dreams, he becomes the last part of his true old self and purpose, he is everything, so if genya perishes then his life is meaningless, so for genya's sake he fights, he braves years of pain and loss because if his little brother lives happily then everything he endured becomes bearable, justifiable even.

All of this weight that sanemi assigns to genya's survival, while understandable, is suffocating. He creates this ideal version of the life he desires for him disregarding his brother's wishes, refusing to adjust the plan or reshape it, he single-handedly carries the blame, all the pain and the burden, ignoring the possibility of genya's capability and desire to share it, meanwhile insisting on breaking his brother's heart to keep him as far away, hurting the both of them in a horrible fashion but in the only fashion he knows and insists suits him.

Sanemi's ways are contrasted by his foil tanjiro who chooses openness, softness and, with nezuko constant encouragement, leaning on others despite his own ups and downs and throughout all the hardships.

To summarize, sanemi punishes himself for his self-perceived fault by isolation and carrying it all on his shoulders thinking that by doing so he's sparing his gentle precious sibling, but instead he punishes him as well, thus he is punished by a narrative which constantly advocates for vulnerability and dependency by taking away genya right from his hands as a last proof that no matter what you do, controlling fate is futile so it is better to accept our mortality and be the kindest versions of ourselves while we can and while it's impossible to keep our loved ones out of danger we can still love them.

So, despite himself sanemi lives and genya and masachika's will persist, after the war when there's no longer a need to slay demons, to use violence or sacrifice himself, sanemi is asked to create his own purpose and happiness freed of the duty he took on since he was young and he is given all the opportunities in the world to live for himself like all his loved ones wanted for him.

[kit-williams]

Cuckoo Anon

Oh you bet your Chain Axe I Do! Had to stop last night because tired but I've got pretty good ideas for some other legions reactions to getting yoinked from their original timeline.

Disclaimer: Apologies if your fav legion doesn't appear here I only know enough about so many of them.

Word Bearers - Another group that's more Aware that the warp has something to do with this, though less able to actively affect it than say the Thousand Sons. Definitely in the group that Wants to establish contact with their original timeline because there's so many souls here in need of the warp's guidance. Until they're able to do that, they spend there time pouring over the various religious texts available here. Would speak up at a theology lecture to correct the speaker about the details of certain figures that they've actually met in their original timeline. Example: Nurgle. They also enjoy yoga for its meditative quality, though its less enjoyable for even the most yoga obsessed humans. The Word Bearers pair yoga with dark ritualistic chanting. Even in Gothic the humans recognize the words are...a bit unsettling.

Rating: Suddenly finding yourself running a...more intense version of a Bible camp as your Word Bearer instructs his group on the proper alignment of ritual circles with the Stars for their next venture. You just hope none of these will ever involve blood sacrifices.

War Hounds/World Eaters - Cut from the same cloth, even stitched with the same pins. Like the Iron Warriors these guys are actually Thriving (as much as they can) in this new environment. You'd think with everything being softened and pacified by the warp they'd go raving mad. But no, because that includes their nails and bloodlust. The nails still hurt, but its like a toothache most days compared to feeling like your brain is being stabbed. And they still crave battle, but there's sparring arenas and Astarte focused gyms in practically every city and marine base here. Plus the occasional chance to Really let loose on some human killer warbands. And if a Marine is sick of their nails completely they can be Removed! The instrument of their torment can be done away with (Chronic pain and migraines remain for most of them but again, far less pain than once was). This new clarity gives them room to reflect. The empire and chaos only found them useful when they were Hurting and Angry constantly. They were never allowed to be anything else. But with the humans here, especially with bonds that can sooth the nails completely, they finally can just....be.

Rating: Laying your head across your bonded humans lap with a fire crackling on a cold night. The scars from the nails twinge for a moment, causing you to hiss. Until your human coos, brushing the hair from your forehead, and at once the pain cools to nothing. You settle, not sure if you deserve this but decide you will accept it. You lean into your humans touch. You are both content.

Space Wolves - If War Hounds are the abused pups learning to love again, Space Wolves are the...Wolves learning to trust/work with humans for the first time. Space Wolves had interactions with humans in their timeline, but only those on their own planet would treat them like normal people. Everywhere else humans saw them as the Emperors Angels. Dangerous and Untouchable. So to have these humans approach them like neither of those groups kinda throws them off. They're not Afraid of them in a broad sense, but they're also not familiar enough yet. The two are finding their footing with eachother. Having a dog gets immediate points with a Space Wolf, they love pups. All shapes and kinds but they obvious lean towards more wolf like breeds. By the same token Space Wolves don't tolerate animal abuse. Any marine type Might decide to kill an animal abuser, a Space Wolf won't hesitate. If you're lucky they'll just steal neglected animals and leave the abuser with some property damage. At worst well...you get the idea.

Rating: Opening up that animal rehab shelter you've always wanted to Not because you thought you were finally  ready...but because your Space Wolf keeps bringing home strays, and neglected animals. But hey, seeing your big guy happily laying in a swarm of pups makes it all worth it. And the time you saw him literally send an abusive owner flying into your trash can for trying to take their dog back.

Death Guard - Weird idea, but they're doing okay. It's just that most of them are feral by choice rather than the Alpha legion's situation. The warp may make their haze of rot less dangerous here, but being near one is still Alot for an average human. Also the cities don't have enough Greenery. So the ferals stick to the forests and overgrown areas. Their presence boosts the cycles of life and decay, and they actually Clean!?!? Well yes, the litter and plastic trash, anything biodegradable can stay...or gets eaten. Yep I see Death Guard as the vultures or millipedes of space marines. They can eat Anything organic, and they enjoy the more fetid pieces. Many humans have been startled to find their garbage being raided after some spoiled leftovers were thrown out. And as far as personality goes they're actually pretty gentle. They see no reason to attack humans, they're natural miasma is still imparting the gifts of Nurgle occasionally so why bother? If a Death Guard bonds to a human that bond is deep and loving. The bond also helps their human resist their smell, and makes the human stronger against the illness miasma. Its not a perfect defense, energy still gets drained, but your Death Guard will always be there to lend a hand, claw, bone growth to help when you need it.

Rating: Hiking through the forest, and suddenly catching an awful smell. Your curiosity bids you follow it, lest it be a hiker that met an ill fate. As you get closer the greenery around you seems to grow larger, and more beautiful with every step. Literally bursting with life. You come to a small open area beneath the trees. The smell is strongest here, and you see a large misshapen green body. It raises its cupped hands, that hold something you can't identify, to a branch. A flower bud slowly opens to full and....a Butterfly flits to the new bloom from his palms. You stand in awe. The shape turns as you watch from behind a tree, your eyes meet through his helmet. You just...stare at eachother. And though you don't notice at the time, the scent no longer has presence in your mind.

Alpha Legion - (Only fitting that I finish off with the legion that gave me my name.) So honestly...kinda struggling. These fellas are so used to spying, and secrecy and playing games of 12D chess (even though doing that wasn't the best choice to begin with but I digress) and now they've been dropped in a place that has...none of that?? They're separated from their spy networks, no matter what side of their Timeline they were fighting on they only really have eachother now. The other legions are Very unwilling to trust them for obvious reasons. And they have a shit time making bonds with humans. Like seriously, f their lives right up. Like at least when they were just a cog in a clusterfuck of war, alliances, battles and betrayals, they didn't have to think and reflect about how Lonely they actually are. But...on the other hand, they're free to do as they please here. Sure the other marines are wary of them, but as long as they don't outright start shit things can go on tense but peaceful. Occasionally snatching some affection while disguised is okay, but still...they want something real. And when they do get that, whether the bond is truly like their fellow marines or slightly different, they Don't let go.

Rating: You came home to an Ultramarine in your house, only it didn't really...act like an ultra marine? It took no interest when you showed it your excel documents, didn't try to organize anything, and shied away from conversing with other loyalists. He Did help you out around the house, and was exceptionally affectionate. Most marines were some flavor of touch starved (except maybe Salamanders), but this seemed excessive. Then one night you woke up, and heard hushed but intense whispering. You peaked out of your bedroom to see your Ultramarine conversing with....himself!? Your eyes did not deceive, and your ears did not lie. Same voice, same armor, down to the same scratches and battle damage...but that was impossible! Your musings were interrupted by one of them getting louder.

"It is still My turn with the mortal!"

"You expanded your timetable in the schedule. That is Unfair brother, and you know it."

"This is not up for discussion, and You cannot be here right now! Do you want us to be thrown out completely!?"

"Maybe if we were simply Honest with them we wouldn't have to worry about that, but You insisted we stick to this charade. Well I'm SICK of it!" The ultra on the right lost his composure, and his form phased and shifted. Royal blue became teal and the helmet shifted to a form more resembling an octopus. An Alpha Legion marine...but that would mean...

The one you assumed to be Your marine spoke up. "Enough! I will not tolerate your insubordination! Leave now!"

The newly shifted marine stood his ground and sneered. "Why don't you Make me brother?!"

"Or you could....Both stay?" The two marines whipped their heads to face you. You stood in your pajamas, as the two armored marines stared in stunned silence.

"I...can explain." Your marine started, but you held up your hand.

"Its okay," You assured him, crossing the distance so you could look him in the eye.  "We do need to talk things over but...I think I understand why you felt you needed to do this." You turned to his brother. " Should've let me know we were having company. I think we could all use some hot chocolate."

Your second space marine perked up. "I hope you have enough supplies for us all."

"Two space marines and a human you mean?"

"Weeeeeell...." Knock, knock, knock. You turned to the door, and your space marine let his disguise shed as he reached for the handle. The door opened to reveal...1,2,3,4...yeah you were gonna need more hot chocolate.

Love these I really do you're making me blush

[ofstarsandvibranium]

To Have & To Hold: Part 11

Fandom: Marvel - Moon Knight (Mafia AU)

Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: To ensure you’re always safe even after his passing, your father, a mob boss, makes you marry his right hand, Marc Spector. You don’t necessarily hate Marc, but you don’t get along either. Therefore, this marriage of convenience may be a bit difficult for you.

Series Masterlist

Marc knew you were under a lot of stress and grief, which was why he didn't bother bringing this up to you. He wanted to, he really did want to tell you. He was going to, honest, but then the conflict with Harrow and your dad's passing...there just didn't seem to be a right time. Not to mention, you've been icing him out a bit since he kept you in the dark about your father's sacrifice. Nonetheless, he let you have your space, providing some comfort and peace when you let him close enough.

Even in those moments together, he still didn't think bringing this up was the right time. Bringing up that he was still technically married while you're mourning and planning a wedding just didn't seem right.

So he was dealing with this on his own, trying to get a hold of his estranged wife.

Yes, Marc was still married but him and Layla had been separated for years. A fight got too intense and she left and never came back. He never reached out either, his pride getting the best of him despite Steven wanting him to reach out so desperately.

Marc honestly didn't think he'd get married again, but then your father confided in him and Marc thought the arrangement wasn't that bad. He got something good out of it and he just hoped that you and he would get along.

He didn't really expect to fall for you as hard as he did. You accepted him and his alters. You found comfort in him and he did you.

That's why he felt so guilty for holding this secret from you for so long, but so much has happened and he can't tell you about it. Not yet, not until the papers are signed and the divorce is finalized. It' something you shouldn't have to deal with. It's his problem and his alone.

________________________

Wanda and Pietro hug you from both sides. The Maximoff twins both apologize for not being present for your father's funeral but you understood why they were gone. Business to do and what not.

"Not that I don't miss seeing you two, but I also know you're in the middle of a lot of business deals right now. So why did you call for lunch meeting?" you give them a cocked brow.

Pietro, ever the flirtatious one, smirks at you, "Can we not visit our favorite person?"

"You can, but I'm just curious is all."

Wanda sighs and begins playing with the stem of her mimosa glass, "I must admit that we do have something to tell you because we think it's important to know."

You sit up a little straighter, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Pietro looks at you with pity, "We received word that your husband to be met has been meeting with a private investigator on our property."

"A private investigator? For what?" your brows furrow in confusion and curiosity. What could Marc possibly need a private investigator for? And what did he keep from you?

"Wanda reaches out and holds your hand reassuringly, "He's married, Y/N."

You pull your hand back, "What?"

Pietro nods, "It's true. We didn't want to tell you right way, wanting to find out more for you first. He's been meeting with this PI for a few weeks now. Our people did some digging on what he's been investigating. He's married and he's been looking for his estranged wife for some time."

Wanda adds in, "But he's only looking for her because he's trying to finalize their divorce. Apparently he's been married all this time. Obviously, he can't marry you until his divorce is settled."

You lean back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest and brows furrowing, "Why the fuck didn't he tell me this? After all this time and he kept that from me? What else is he fucking hiding?"

Pietro shrugs, "That's all our people found out, sunshine. Do you want us to dig deeper?"

You shake your head, "No. Fuck that. I'm bringing it up to him." You're glad you ordered a mimosa as you down your entire glass. You place your glass onto the table, "Thank you for telling me."

You stand and grab your bag, pulling out your wallet. Wanda immediately shakes her head, "No. On us."

"Guys-"

"We owe you."

You pull out a few bills and place them on the table, "And I owe you. Thank you for informing me about my-about Marc."

"Will you be okay?" Pietro asks genuinely.

"I will be. Can't say the same for Marc." With that, you left your friends and immediately head home to speak with your...fiancé.

_________________________

"MARC SPECTOR!" you yell out your fiancé's as you enter your estate. Your voice bounces off the walls in echoes and you listen for a reply, but get none.

"He's out, Y/N," the caretaker of the estate, Dara, says, stepping out from her office.

"Did he mention where he'd be going?" you look back at the older woman who was practically a mother figure to you.

She shakes her head, "No. Just said he was leaving for a bit."

"Did he happen to take one of dad's cars?"

"The BMW."

You smile at her, "Perfect," you immediately pull out your phone and begin dialing a number.

Dara slowly approaches you, "Is everything okay?"

You scoff and bring the phone to your ear, hearing it dialing, "Not even the slightest, but I'll handle it. I'm a L/N. We know how to handle things."

The dialing stops with a "Yello?"

"Tony, I need you to track one of dad's cars, please."

"Sure thing, sunshine. Which one?" you hear the older man speak, the sound of typing in the background.

"The BMW."

You hear more typing, a few clicks of a mouse and, "Got it. Downtown in Barnes' territory in some coffeeshop on fifth street."

"Thank you."

"Should I be concerned?" your dad's old colleague asks.

"Not for me. For my future husband, maybe."

"Yikes. I've learned to stay out of other people's marital affairs."

You snort, "Yeah, that's probably best. But thank you, Tony."

"No problemo, kiddo. And you sure you're okay?"

You clench your jaw, "Really wish people would stop asking me that right now."

"Sorry. Well, good luck. Gimme a holler if you need anything else."

"Thanks, Tony. Bye." you end the call and turn to see Dara looking at you with concern written all over her face, "I'm fine," you grit out and she holds her hands up and slowly backs away.

You roll your neck and head back out the door.

_________________________

You spot your dad's BMW parked by the sidewalk. You park some cars behind it and practically storm into the coffeeshop.

You scan the tables and spot Marc in the back. He's sitting with a woman and their hands are intertwined. You're ready to march right over there but you pause. You see how he's looking at her, his eyes soft, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Your heart breaks a little seeing this side of Marc you don't think you've seen before. You mentally scold yourself for getting too emotional in this, in Marc, in all of it. This doesn't mean anything. The relationship you have with him is transactional. You get to keep running your charity organizations and he gets to lead your dad's business. Nothing in the contract said you had to be in love with each other.

You take a deep breath and decide turn back around and leave. You'll talk to Marc when he gets back.

[themisteriousentity]

You know, people forget that Soldier, Poet, King is a Christian song depicting different aspects of Jesus, but it sure is interesting to see that the fandom almost universally makes Dimitri the Soldier, Claude the Poet, and Edelgard the King

However, I argue a different order

*le gaspu*

Dimitri is still the soldier, but I think Claude and Edelgard should switch. I think Edelgard is the Poet and Claude is the King

Hear me out

Dimitri, we all know why he's the Soldier. I don't think we need to explain that. I don't need to get into the bible analysis, man LITERALLY tears cities down, oh lei oh lai oh lord

Edelgard is a very well spoken person. When she's actually given room to voice her ideas, despite being wrong because she's got just the tip of the iceberg of the true history, she can managed to convince almost anyone. In both games, she manages to convince most of her empire, which is FULL of very devout followers of Seiros and Sothis, to attack the Central Church and follow her lead. For a person who doesn't know much better, she's very damn convincing. She just doesn't do it very often, and she's terrible at listening when people try to counter her ideas (her argument with Dimitri and Azure Moon really highlights this when he tries to open a dialogue). But the important thing there is also that this is a role she chooses to take on in both games. If you look at the Poet, this easily relates to the start of Jesus's ministry in the bible, taking down establishments left and right on his word alone. Edelgard convinces her country to follow her on her accusations alone (as she was only 18 when she started the war and even as emperor she had to talk many ministers into following her lead or nothing would've happened without ministers like Count Bergliez and Count Hevring that she convinced), slaying the church with her tongue

Meanwhile, the King easily relates far more to Claude than the Poet. Claude doesn't really spend a lot of time convincing people of his ideals or talking them into anything aside from explaining his ambitions to Byleth and Shez, and depending on your supports in some ways to Leonie and Lorenz. Unlike Edelgard, Claude is in a situation he didn't ask for. He has a war thrust upon him and a conflict with a massive religious body that breeds prejudice to contend with. As an outsider who is deeply untrusted, he has to fight tooth and nail just to keep the Alliance whole. All the meanwhile he's constantly having insults thrust upon him by his own people, and in certain routes he's completely abandoned by one of the largest political players in his nation. The crown of thorns was not a burden Jesus chose to accept, like the burden of war Edelgard created and thrust upon the world, but was something thrusted upon him that he then had to deal with. It's easy to see that Claude never wanted to contend with this war and only stays because he HAS to, for the sake of both Almyra and Fódlan, despite knowing all he's doing is keeping things stable while not fixing the situation. But in the end he's still prepared to sacrifice everything to try and make the world better. In Houses, he even plans for his own death to protect the people of the Alliance, the people who fought against him and rejected him the most. In Hopes, he settles on working with people he fundamentally disagrees with and dislikes for the sake of protecting Fódlan. With a character progression like that, it just feels like the ruler who his brow laid in thorn, anointed in oil, that tracks to Claude much better than Edelgard

But hey, that's just my opinion. Wow, who knew being dragged to church kicking and screaming against my will would come in handy for a strategy JRPG

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 62

Chapter Highlights (but let’s be real all this chapter already is)

The Crochans did not scatter to the winds.

As one, the Thirteen and the Crochans flew to the southwest, toward the outer reaches of the Fangs. To another secret camp, since the location of the other was well and truly compromised. Farther from Terrasen, but closer to Morath, at least.

A small comfort, Dorian thought, when they found a secure place to camp for the night. The wyverns might have been able to keep going, but the Crochans on their brooms could not fly for so long. They'd flown until darkness had nearly blinded them all, landing only after the Shadows and Crochans had agreed on a secure place to stay.

Watches were set, both on the ground and in the sky. If the two surviving Matrons were to retaliate for their humiliating defeat, it would be now. The Crochans and Asterin had spent much of their time today laying misleading tracks, but only time would tell if they'd escaped.

The night was frigid enough that they took the time to erect tents, the wyverns huddling together against one of the rocky overhangs.

And though no fires would have been wiser, the cold threatened to be so lethal that Glennis had taken the sacred flame from the glass orb where it was held while traveling and ignited her fire.

Others had followed suit, and while glamours would be in place to hide the camp, the fires, from enemy eyes, Dorian couldn't entirely forget that the Ironteeth Matrons had found them regardless.

Sleep had almost dragged him under when a burst of cold slithered into the tent, then vanished. He knew who it was before she sat beside his bedroll, and when he opened his eyes, he found Manon with her knees drawn up, arms braced atop them.

She stared into the dimness of his tent, the space illumined with silvery light from the glowing stars on her brow.

"You don't have to wear it all the time," he said. "We're allowed to take them off."

Golden eyes slid toward him. "I've never seen you wear a crown."

"The past few months haven't provided much access to the royal collection." He sat up.

"And I hate wearing them anyway. They dig mercilessly into my head."

A hint of a smile. "This is not so heavy."

"Since it seems made of light itself, I'd imagine not." Though that crown would weigh heavily in other ways, he knew.

"So you're talking to me," she said, not bothering to segue gracefully.

"I talked to you before."

"Is it because I am now queen?"

"You were queen prior to today."

Her golden eyes narrowed, scanning him for the answer she sought. Dorian let her do it, and returned the favor. Her breathing was steady, her posture at ease for once.

"I thought it would be more satisfying. To see her run." Her grandmother. "When you killed your father, what did you feel?"

"Rage. Hate." He didn't balk from the truth in his words, the ugliness.

She chewed on her lower lip, no sign of those iron teeth. A rare, silent admission of doubt. "Do you think I should have killed her?"

"Some might say yes. But humiliating her like that," he said, considering, "might weaken her and the Ironteeth forces more than her death. Killing her might have rallied the Ironteeth against you."

"I killed the Yellowlegs Matron."

"You killed her, spared the Blueblood witch, and your grandmother fled. That's a demoralizing defeat. Had you killed them all, even killed just your grandmother and the Yellowlegs Matron, it could have turned their deaths into noble sacrifices on behalf of the Ironteeth Clans."

She nodded, her golden eyes settling on him again with that preternatural clarity and stillness. "I am sorry," she said. "For how I spoke when I learned of your plans to go to Morath."

He was stunned enough that he just blinked.

Stunned enough that humor was his only shield as he said, "Seems like that Crochan do-gooder behavior is rubbing off on you, Manon."

A half smile at that. "Mother help me if I ever become so dull."

But Dorian's amusement faded away. "I accept your apology." He held her gaze, letting her see the truth in it.

It seemed answer enough for her. Answer, and somehow the final clue to what she sought.

Her golden eyes guttered. "You're leaving," she breathed. "Tomorrow."

He didn't bother to lie. "Yes."

It was time. She had faced her grandmother, had challenged what she'd created. It was time for him to do the same. He didn't need Damaris's confirming warmth or the spirits of the dead to tell him that.

"How?"

"You witches have brooms and wyverns. I've learned to make my own wings."

For a few breaths, she said nothing. Then she lowered her knees, twisting to face him fully. "Morath is a death trap."

"It is."

"I—we cannot go with you."

"I know."

He could have sworn fear entered her eyes.

Yet she didn't rage at him, roar at him-didn't so much as snarl. She only asked, "You're not afraid to go alone?"

"Of course I'm afraid. Anyone in their right mind would be. But my task is more important than fear, I think."

Anger flickered over her face, her shoulders tensing.

Then it faded and was replaced by something he had seen only earlier today-that queen's face. Steady and wise, edged with sorrow and bright with clarity. Her eyes dipped to the bedroll, then lifted to meet his own. "And if I asked you to stay?"

The question also took him by surprise. He carefully thought through his answer. "I'd need a very convincing reason, I suppose.

Her fingers went to the buckles and buttons of her leathers, and began to loosen them.

"Because I don't want you to go," was all she said.

His heart thundered as she revealed inch after inch of bare, silken skin. Not a seductive removal of her clothing, but rather an offer laid bare.

Manon said softly, "We could make an alliance. Between Adarlan, and the Crochans. And any Ironteeth who might follow me."

It was her answer, he realized. To his request for a convincing reason to remain.

She took his hand, and interlaced their fingers.

It was more intimate than anything they'd shared, more vulnerable than she'd ever allowed herself to be. "An alliance," she said, throat bobbing, "between you and me."

Her golden eyes lifted to his, the offer gleaming there.

To marry. To unite their peoples in the strongest, most unbreakable of terms.

"You don't want that," he said with equal quiet. "You would never want to be shackled to any man like that."

He could see the truth there, in her beautiful face. That she agreed with him. But she shook her head, the starlight dancing on her hair. "The Crochans have not offered to fly to war. I have not yet dared ask them. But if I had the strength of Adarlan beside me, perhaps they might be convinced at last."

If they had not been convinced by today's triumph, then nothing would change their minds. Even their queen offering up the freedom she craved so badly.

That Manon would even consider it, though

...

Dorian twined a wave of her silver hair around his finger. For a heartbeat, he allowed himself to drink her in.

She would be his wife, his queen. She was already his equal, his match, his mirror in so many ways. And with their union, the world would know it.

But he could see the bars of the cage that would creep closer, tighter, every day. And either break her wholly, or turn her into something neither of them wished her to ever be.

"You would marry me, all so we could aid Terrasen in this war?"

"Aelin is willing to die to end this conflict. Why should she bear the brunt of sacrifice?"

And there it was, her answer, though he knew she didn't realize it.

Sacrifice.

Dorian's other hand went to the buttons of her pants, and freed them with a few, deft maneuvers. Revealing the long, thick scar across her abdomen.

Would he have shown the restraint that Manon did today, had he faced her grandmother?

Absolutely not.

"You were right," she said quietly. "I am afraid." Manon laid her hand over his. "I am afraid that you will go into Morath and return as something I do not know. Something I shall have to kill."

"I know." Those same fears haunted his steps.

Her fingers tightened on his, pressing harder. As if she were trying to imprint his hand upon the heart racing beneath. "Would you stay here, if we had this alliance between us?" He heard every word left unspoken.

So Dorian brushed his mouth against hers. Manon let out a small sound.

Dorian kissed her again, and her tongue met his, hungry and searching. Then her hands were plunging into his hair, both of them rising onto their knees to meet halfway.

Manon drew her hands from him to remove the glittering crown atop her head, but he halted her with a phantom touch. "Don't," he said, voice near-guttural. "Leave it on."

Her eyes turned to molten gold, going heavy-lidded, tipping her head back.

His mouth went dry at the beauty that threatened to undo him, the temptation that his every instinct roared to claim. Not the body, but what she had offered.

He almost said yes, then.

Was almost selfish enough, greedy enough for her, that he nearly said yes. Yes, he would take her as his queen. So he might never have to say farewell to this, so that this magnificent, fierce witch might remain by his side for all his days.

Manon reached for him, fingers digging into his shoulders, and Dorian rose over her, finding her mouth in a plundering kiss.

A shift of her hips, and he was buried, the heated silk of her enough to make him forget that they had a camp around them, or kingdoms to protect.

Stay. The word echoed in each breath.

Dorian gave Manon what she wanted. Gave himself what he wanted. Over and over and over.

As if this might last forever.

What was left to be said anyway?

She'd laid out what she wanted. Had spoken as much of the truth as she dared voice.

In its wake, a sated sort of clarity shone.

Such as she had not felt in a long, long time.

His sapphire eyes lingered on her face, and Manon turned toward him. Slowly removed her crown of stars and set it aside.

Then she drew up the blankets around them both.

He didn't so much as flinch as she scooted closer, into the solid muscle of his body.

No, Dorian only draped an arm over her, and pulled her tightly against him.

Manon was still listening to his breathing when she fell asleep, warm in his arms.

She awoke at dawn to a cold bed.

Manon took one look at the empty place where the king had been, at the lack of supplies and that ancient sword, and knew.

Dorian had gone to Morath. And had taken the two Wyrdkeys with him.

[xypherz]

Sun!Beomgyu x Moon!Reader

Details: Choi Beomgyu x Reader, GN!Reader, Headcanons, 0.63k words. A series in which an idol and their partner are polar opposites.

Warnings: Not proofread, a few curse words if you count acronyms

Last of my planned sun!idols; if there are any others you'd like me to write, let me know, and I'll try my best (TXT, ATZ, or SKZ).

Forget any notions you had about the sun being warm and sweet because this man is a MENACE. 

He’s the kind of sun that will melt your ice cream off the cone.

He will not apologize.

When you came into his life, he didn’t really notice.

Well he noticed, but he wasn’t super cognizant of it.

Why did it take him so long to realize?

Because you are, how do I say, a timid mf.

You’d be caught dead before you made yourself the center of attention, and you have a tendency to avoid the people who like that kind of thing.

It’s not like you hold anything against them, they're just… eccentric, and maybe a little annoying, but definitely nothing against them.

So, for a few weeks, as you integrated into Beomgyu’s life, he just didn’t seem to pay any mind to you. Not that you were complaining.

But then as the people around him began to spend more time with you, he found himself wondering why he didn’t interact with you sooner.

While, sure, you’re shy and a little bit quiet, in smaller group settings and one-on-one interactions, you and him have a very similar sense of humor.

You may be a little less upfront or energetic about it, but he thinks you’re so funny.

Though he was drawn to you and wanted to get to know you more, you were kind of… not having it.

He figured you don’t like being the center of attention since you kind of recede into the background of a lot of settings, so he was trying really hard to recede with you. He didn’t want to bring any unwanted attention with him.

Once you realized he was actually trying to make you comfortable and get to know you, you kind of warmed up a bit but were still cautious. 

You probably rejected him the first time he asked you on a date.

But it’s okay because you accepted the next time!

Beomgyu never expects you to change for him.

He understands there are certain things that make you uncomfortable, so he dials it back.

He is more than happy to settle down a bit; sometimes he gets a little exhausted putting up a funny and energetic front.

He likes that he can conserve his energy around you.

He’s obviously still himself, so still a bit of a buffoon, but you’re okay with that.

You don’t want him to change for you either, and if that means you have to deal with his shenanigans, then that’s okay.

He will never, however, draw attention to you.

In fact, he actively tries to draw it away from you.

You drop a cup that creates a sound wave equivalent to that of a building collapsing? Suddenly he’s beating up Yeonjun with a pillow he pulled out of thin air (Taehyun trained him well in the art of magic).

Bro is down bad for you.

Like BAD.

His way of thinking is that he came looking for you, so he’s the one responsible for making you comfortable.

You didn’t ask for him to suddenly weasel his way into your life.

You’re not thinking this, but that’s his logic.

When you try to convince him that you’re okay with going out with him to some place where media is a potential issue, he will straight up gaslight you.

“I swear to you, it’s not a big deal. I’m okay if we go out for a while.”

“No you’re not.”

“Bro what.”

Spare him, he’s just worried about you.

Your relationship is really about compromise. You’re both willing to make sacrifices for one another, which is what makes it all work out.

That, and the buffoonery that you both initiate when there aren’t too many people to witness it.

[quantumshade]

okay actually i rewatched potd the other day and. i have so many gripes with that episode. so many. but what really got me is how like. inconsequential 13's death feels, and not inconsequential in the right way.

honestly 13's regeneration feels a LOT like 10's, but missing all of the beats that made 10's work. let me explain:

(under a cut because HOLY SHIT this got long. don't let classicists write dr who meta)

both 10's and 13's regenerations are prophesied to them. ten gets the woman in planet of the dead, carmen, who says "he will knock four times." thirteen gets the Literal Incarnation Of Time telling her, "beware of the forces that mass against you. and their master."

both their regenerations happen after a short-ish period of time, at least for a time lord. 10 regenerates after only a handful of years, a decade at most, and 13 spends the majority of her life in prison for decades. that's nothing!! 11 and 12 both had centuries.

ten cheating regeneration with tentoo and then regenerating a few episodes later anyway 🤝 thirteen cheating regeneration after being forced into being the master and then back again and then dying almost immediately after anyway

they both almost make it out!! but they don't, and it's heartbreaking!

what's different between them, to me, is their reactions to their deaths. a lot of people who don't like rtd era/ten complain about the scene where he has a breakdown before saving wilf, complaining that he's being whiny or whatever, but in my mind, he has every right to be whiny and upset. regeneration is a death, as established earlier in the episode. it's hard, starting over again and again and again, becoming someone new, especially when he's only had this body for a couple of years AND he believes his next body is his last.

yknow why he's upset in that scene? because he could just walk away. he could just let wilf take the fall, let one, inconsequential old man die, and go off and have adventures forever. but it's not a choice for him. because he's the doctor, and the doctor would never, ever take the other choice. he was always going to save wilf. there's no world in which he didn't.

but he's scared of dying. he's scared of change. he's lost everyone he's ever loved in this body, often in horrible, unchangeable ways. and it's a sad story. but it's an incredibly narratively satisfying one, because it's a culmination of ten's entire arc. he lost his way, broke all his own rules, and was punished heavily for it, but in the end, he still does the right thing, because at their core, the doctor is a good person.

there's a running theme in just about pretty much all of doctor who from 1963 onwards that every single person is important and every life matters. 9 dies to save rose, but is also prepared to die permanently to save the human race. 10 dies to save wilf. 11, after centuries of running away from responsibilities and problems, settles down to protect one town on one planet, accepting he will die for good there. 12 dies to save a handful of people on a ship--"maybe not many, maybe not for long"--accepting all of this might be for nothing, but he does it because it's the right thing to do. because it's kind. the doctor does these things, lays down their lives one right after another because they are fundamentally a kind person.

13 lets people sacrifice themselves for her. multiple times. like. four different people she BARELY knows sacrifice themselves for her (i.e. the derry girls grandpa in "the timeless children" and the one pirate guy in "legend of the sea devils"). and she LETS them. i'm not saying this as a gripe against her, but rather, the writing that doesn't consider those lives important.

people sacrifice themselves for other doctors, of course, it happens all the time. to keep using ten as an example, river is one, and that prickish kid from the sontaran episodes, but he doesn't LET them. they don't give him that choice. and when he IS given that choice, to let someone "inconsequential" die in his place, he doesn't take it.

and then the way 13 does die just feels so... nothing. the master's angry at her, so he aims a large and slow moving Beam at her, and she basically stands there while it hits her. and that's it. honestly i would have been much happier with it if they said it was a product of the forced regeneration from earlier. that would have made a lot more sense. but the whole thing with the qorunx (is that what it's called??) just feels so... last minute. like they forgot that she needed to die at the end of the episode so they just shoved something in. it feels like an afterthought.

yaz's exit feels the same way. you're telling me she fought for four years in the past to get back to the doctor, and now she's just leaving because the doctor is regenerating? it feels like yaz and the doctor both had endings because the narrative said they needed endings, not because their character arcs had come to a satisfying close.

they deserved better. yaz deserved an exit that was fair to her as a character. the doctor deserved a death that mattered. and she deserved to be more upset about her death.

she gets a little bit, just a taste, of an emotional moment: "No. No. That's not right. I need more time. I want more time!", before immediately accepting her death and coming to terms with it. "And I have loved being me," she says. but me, as a viewer who cares about characterization and storytelling, asks, "have you?"

because 13 spent more time of this life IN PRISON than out of it. her life outside was never easy, either, she rarely got moments of true happiness. hell, in this regeneration, she found out her entire life was a lie!

...but she loved being her?

i think 13 should have gotten to be angry and upset that she wasn't given those moments of peace or happiness. she didn't get a lot of time being her, and the time she did get was fraught and difficult and painful. she should have gotten to be upset about not having more time for more than 0.2 seconds. she should have been allowed to be afraid of dying. or at least upset about dying.

i don't know. i don't know if this post is at all coherent but i'm just really disappointed in potd and my rewatch really cemented that. it didn't have the emotional resonance that i wish it did. it felt rushed, overstuffed, and, much like the rest of chibnall era, not well thought out.

[merv606]

What about a scenario where Daniel has to calm down and comfort Terry who is panicking that Daniel will leave him or he had a nightmare that Daniel wasn’t there with him anymore. Maybe Terry is so deranged that even the sex is rough and edgy and he won’t take no for an answer.

“Wait Terry ….,” he starts, even if he knows it’s pointless.

His husband is frantic, a wild look in his pale blue eyes, and Daniel knows without asking it was a nightmare.

Normally he wakes when Terry is in the throes of one, but this must have been silent.

And those ones, Daniel finds, are the worst.

Without at least the prewarning of noise, it was Terry pawing at him, trying to get his clothes off that woke Daniel.

“I need to feel you …..”

He already has Daniel’s pajama bottoms pulled off, the only thing he had bothered to put on after the quick shower he had taken before settling into a Terry’s arms for the night, just a few hours ago.

“Know you’re really here ….”

Yeah, it’s going to be one of those nights.

There is no point to tell his husband to slow down. Daniel knows this from experience. He knows exactly how this is going to go. He’s just beyond grateful that they made love before bed so he’s still a bit stretched - still a bit open. He’s sure some of his husband’s come is still inside him.

Daniel fishes under the pillow for the lube, hoping it’s there.

He remembers the first time this happened and how it had unnerved him - to see Terry like this.

Rougher than they usually go - Terry is more prone to love making than anything; something that had surprised Daniel, but once he truly thought about it, he realized it made absolute perfect sense.

Terry prefers taking Daniel slowly - savouring it almost - and who can blame him? The time wasted and then the time waiting, even if he had Daniel at that point, but not yet accepting his new life; not yet accepting Terry. All good things come to those who wait though - and now he wears Terry’s name and ring. Now they make love, and even when it’s more frantic and needful, it’s still always so full of love; Terry’s every move and action dripping in it.

This though?

This is anything but.

Because this?

This is fucking.

This is sex at its purest most animalistic.

This is basic primal need.

This is being taken and claimed.

Owned.

Without a doubt of who Daniel belongs to.

This is reaffirming.

For Terry anyway, because for Terry it is solid tangible proof that all is well in their world - that Daniel is here and his.

His to have like this.

His to love like this.

Daniel gives up trying to find the lube from earlier. Instead, grabbing some from the night stand, surprised he’s allowed enough leeway to wriggle out from under Terry to reach it.

The click of the cap, Terry taking it with shaking hands, coating two fingers which quickly disappear into Daniel.

Quick and dirty, but so good - his husband’s fingers know every spot inside him, and have Daniel ready - both his body and his now hard cock.

Terry looks into his eyes, and gets a small nod, already pushing his cock inside.

Blunt nails rake down a broad back, joining the faint scars left from the last time their coupling was like this. Hands cling to broad shoulders as his husband opens him up, starting a punishing rhythms almost right away. A rhythm he knows, even if it’s been awhile.

Nights like these are few and far between now, and Daniel realizes with a sudden clarity that he misses them sometimes.

Not Terry’s distress - he’d never miss that. It pains him to see Terry like that and he’ll gladly do whatever it helps alleviate that - including offering himself up as sacrifice - although truth be told it’s not as much a sacrifice as it pretends to be - because sometimes … he likes it when Terry holds him down and takes what he wants… sometimes he welcomes it … sometimes he craves it.

Exactly like he’s about to get it.

Being taken like this; used like this; a vessel for his husband to pour his love into. A love which gives birth to the fear that causes these nightmares - that make Terry seek this carnal reassurance.

In a way he’s responsible - he knows this - for inspiring his husband the way he does - even if Daniel isn’t trying.

“Let me ….” He tries to turn over.

“No,” a hand around his wrist pinning it above his head, a to the flat he hand hoisting Daniel’s leg up around his thigh.

Daniel forgot. More often than not Terry likes to see his face ….To feel Daniel under him … to surround him completely while he takes him.

Daniel lets his knees fall open - offering himself up without words. Terry responds more to actions like this.

Such a lovely invitation to …..

The older man’s face in his neck, breathing him in as he ruts his hips against Daniel - his cock buried deep.

Their chests are flush, pressed so tight against each other that not even air could move between them.

“Tell me.”

“I’m here.”

“No, tell me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“TELL ME.”

“Yours …. I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” Terry breathes, finally moving back so they aren’t pressed together -

Only want to be yours …..

“Make me yours,” he challenges.

Terry was never one to back down from a challenge - especially not from Daniel who may have been the biggest one he ever took on - but overcoming it has been his greatest achievement - and his greatest reward.

Hands griping his hips, fingers digging into the sparse extra flesh that cover them.

Bruises tomorrow are guaranteed and welcomed. Daniel will press in on them remembering this night - this moment.

His own cock is straining but he doesn’t take himself in hand, turning his head to kiss the arm next to his head instead.

Terry’s arms caging him in although he doesn’t feel trapped. On the contrary - he feels free.

“Right … right there,” Daniel breaths, Terry’s cock like iron as it slams into him - so fucking good his toes curled as he’s fucked hard and fast.

“Baby, please,” Daniel moans out, the only time such a name falls from Daniel’s lips, during these times; Terry the one more liberal with affectionate nicknames.

The headboard hitting the bed almost in sync to his moans.

Their grunts and groans.

“Fuck ,,, there,” he screams, Terry like a man possessed as he fucks in savagely. Grinding in right against that bundle of nerves, Daniel unable to feel anything but every solid inch of his husband’s love inside him - reforming him - forever branded as the older man’s. No one else can give him this - no one else would be allowed.

“I love you so much … so so much …. fuck you have no idea.”

The precision is gone, mindless now as Terry’s movements become sloppier - he’s close.

But, it’s Daniel who comes first, his orgasm triggering Terry - the siren song of his body as it tightens even more something Terry can’t deny.

As if he could deny Daniel anything.

Calm now. The larger body collapses on top of him, Daniel stroking a hand up his sweaty back, tangling in his hair as they kiss.

He’s going to feel this tomorrow and even if it didn’t scratch an itch he himself gets, it would be worth it anyway when he looks at Terry, breaking their kiss to ask.

“Okay?!”

A nod against his neck where the older man buries his head again, a silent thank you as the familiar scent being inf him back doe the rest of the way, Daniel feeling the air from his breathing on his skin.

“I love you,” Terry mumbles against Daniel’s skin.

“Get some sleep,” Daniel replies.

And they do, tangled up in each other’s arms.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Sooooo I am very curious about your Durge and how they are built. Do they link into the lore of the earlier games? Are they a resist or accept type? Tell us more! 👀

You mean built as in "how Bhaal made him", or as in character build, or as in characterisation? Well, I'll answer them all anyway. Here's more rambling information than anyone needed about my fucked up, socially-unacceptable mess who needs therapy!

[Be aware dead doves may be present, ymmv]

Resist, technically. He woke up with a tadpole in his head and no memories, he wasn't going to trust a presence in the back of his head that kept stealing his bodily autonomy until he understood what it was. As he grew fond of his party, he began to be pushed towards doing good things and helping people to please them (and because it honestly does feel good to see people happy, even as it makes the Urge hurt him).

Of course there were a few exceptions where nobody except Astarion was looking where he was a bit pragmatic or just plain mean, because it was funny.

Then he got his memories back in Act 3 and had a full blown nervous breakdown as he realised how badly he had failed Father and his sole reason for existence by allowing himself to fall for the delusion that he was a real person. He tried to go back to just being Bhaal's evil little puppet, but it was too late and his loyalties were torn between being what his friends wanted and being what Bhaal wanted. There was another panic attack when he couldn't bring himself to kill Minsc because it would upset Jaheria, Wyll and Karlach. Still murdered a few innocent people and a celestial being behind their backs. Also every Flaming Fist in the Lower City, but that was their own fucking fault for having stupid AI. Turns out you can't have everyone you love, but luckily he got to solve this issue by letting Father kill him as punishment for his failure! He repents for his failure and his friends get to believe that he died a heroic sacrifice and move on with their lives - win-win! Except that Jergal interfered and now he has to carry around this tainted, stolen flesh he doesn't want to claim - damn you, old man.

Post-game he's living with Astarion; both having their bad days where they have time to stop and process their trauma now, and also having good days where they adventure; grow into being fully free willed individuals; hunt and kill people for fun, blood and profit where socially acceptable; and get some research done on stuff like Bhaalspawn and vampires. He'll probably be ok in, like, a decade or twenty, once he's finished coming to terms with the idea that he was genuinely miserable and terrified living under Bhaal's control and has formed his own life and a stable identity. In the meantime - abandonment issues, identity crises, issues about autonomy, paranoia about retaliation and religious guilt!

If he had failed in his duel against Orin and been condemned to lose his autonomy (and seen his friends immediately give up on him), or had he not been given death as a choice, he probably would've forsaken the party and fulfilled his original purpose in the end game. But he would've quickly killed them in their sleep first as a mercy! He's not totally heartless! He's an absolute mess.

He doesn't have much in the way of connections to the original games.

I go back and forth on how old I want him to be and haven't settled yet. I don't think he's young. Originally I had him be born in the temples before the Time of Troubles, along with the other Bhaalspawn but then it turned out that Durge's backstory is weird.

Going off of what we're told about being carved from Bhaal's dead flesh, having no birthday and being conceived beyond mortality, I'm assuming he was created from a part of Bhaal's corpse on the Astral Plane, where there was no time. Probably shortly after the end of Throne of Bhaal, in 1369 DR - maybe Bhaal was paranoid about Amelyssan and Bhaal's failure to be resurrected triggered the failsafe and initiated plan B: the Dark Urge.

Or Vel was born after 1372 DR, when Bane was reborn and Bhaal maybe felt a little insecure.

I have contemplated having my Charname meddle with his "birth" to piss Bhaal off, adding part of her own essence into the mixture. Technically it's not incest, because it's purely by magic, but it's still enough to make her sort of his mother and make it weird. Just to make the family tree even more complicated. Also technically makes him a half-human, half-hin, sun elf, quasi-deity. Nothing in this guy's life makes sense.

He's a ranger, because hey, he's a hunter - he just hunts people. He's comfortable hunting and surviving in urban or natural environments; he learned to live off the streets while being homeless after his foster family's death (and the subsequent massacre at the Ilmatari shrine that sheltered him) and learned to live off the land after fleeing into the wilds to lie low. It's also how he's familiar with poisons and venoms. He has an interest in death as part of the natural cycle, so the nature class suits him. Also likes animals, who are significantly less judgemental and more pragmatic about killing. Scavengers tend to follow him around for the corpses he leaves, and he ended up with a few rat and corvid animal companions (though Bhaal often forced him to kill them if he got too attached). It also lets me play a divine spellcaster, although I assume in his case the power is coming from his own soul rather than a patron god.

He's a divine being and an excellent killer, he knows this and it gives him self-confidence in his actions that some have described as "insufferably arrogant" or "suicidal". His go-to tactics for dealing with a problem are: Step 1) Promise death if subject does not submit Step 2) If subject does not submit; kill them Skipping to step two is also always on the table. All problems can be solved with murder.

His dump stat is intelligence, because the poor kid who ended up alone and homeless didn't have much time or resources for education. In another life he would've been a bard, he has a knack for carrying a tune and writing prose. I like to think Orin would've enjoyed art and maybe the theatre in her own alternate Bhaal-free universe, so it's an interesting parallel for them.

He takes an approximation of elven form because Bhaal decided to reverse engineer the Blessing of Corellon, using the soul of one of his elven kids as a reference, to give Vel a physical fluidity/flexibility that would be useful to his plan to breed an army of Bhaalspawn using Durge. Also works as a threat; obey, or there are other uses I have for you, and some of them will see you locked up for nine months. (Vel goes by male pronouns and presents as a cis man, but is somewhat flexible and accepts they/them pronouns. Not she/her though.)

Vel also has a million and one hang-ups about sex because of stuff like this; namely that he won't have any kind of sex that might cause pregnancy, and he used to kill the partners he begrudgingly took so that they wouldn't be able to perceive him during the act or remember him sexually. He makes a special exception for people who he's assigned an "equal" or "higher rank" over himself - they can do what they like with him and it's their right. Those exceptions would be Bhaal (Vel's body is Bhaal's body, as far as he's concerned), sort-of Gortash (except Vel didn't fully trust him and their relationship makes Bhaal irritated, so every time they had sex Vel had to leave and have a panic attack afterwards) and Astarion (who has his own hang-ups). There might have been something kind of going on with Orin, partly due to pressure for them to have "sacrificial lambs" together, but neither want to talk about it. He considered Ketheric, but Ketheric can't die and that would ruin it because Vel would be too busy trying to kill him to actually have sex.

Originally he was going to be the son of a member of the Eldreth Veluuthra, who turned to Bhaal for divine aid because the Seldarine still won't aid the terrorist organisation in committing genocide against the human race, for some strange reason. She would've raised her little abomination into be a weapon to set on them, and enjoyed the irony of humans being slain by an abomination spawned by of one of their own gods.

Since "the Dark Urge" gets you some funny looks when you use it in public, mine concedes to being called "Vel" - a name that only gets you funny looks from the minority that speak elven, because you've just introduced yourself as "dagger/knife." It's a description of him as a tool, not a person. His foster family did give him a name, but he refuses to acknowledge it because it was intended for a person who only existed in their imagination and he'll stab you if you call him by that name. He technically got the name from Gortash, who once "jokingly" referred to him as his favourite weapon one evening, enjoying the success after one of their joint plots to exploit some noble or other and advance both their goals via assassination/politicking. Vel has identity issues and complicated relationship with real Tel'Quessir, so he chose the elven word for the irony (no real elf would accept association with a Bhaalspawn, least of all this one).

Mostly he goes by no name at all. He might pick a new one, in a few decades when he's grown, healed a bit and feels secure in having his own identity.

Vel is Lawful, and alternates between Evil and Neutral depending on his mood and situation. He will fall to pieces without a purpose to structure his life around. He doesn't care if people around him are more Chaotic though, it's purely a personal code. If he takes a mercenary or assassination contract or something, he will fulfil it to the letter and make no attempts to backstab his employer or get any more than the agreed upon payment. He makes zero promises about the actions of anyone working with him, they can do what they want and it's not his problem.

He has a hierarchy in his head: Bhaal > Himself, Gortash, Astarion > Orin, the party > everyone else

His moral compass is a twisted thing that he's cobbled together out of scraps over the course of under two months, it's not very complete or useful. On the good-evil axis, he doesn't usually have second thoughts about taking actions that are evil, and he's not keen on the concept of morality as a whole; there was never any point in developing a sense for it. He never had any real say in his actions and he kind of resents people who judge him for them.

He kind of misses Sceleritas, his "great purpose" and all the power he used to wield, and he would make a fantastic Sharran.

[sepublic]

Seeing Hunter in the human realm makes me emo… He was happy, Hunter made friends, it really felt like he’d escaped his abuse and settled into a new life, a new start, with Flapjack! He even began to change his appearance to celebrate that… Because hadn’t he gone through enough?

And then Belos shows up. And scars him one last time, all-over just so Hunter can’t possibly forget (Ha, he thought he could?!) no matter where he looks at himself, his greatest injury yet. Made Hunter prepared to sacrifice all of that happiness and future to save the others. And he killed Flapjack after Hunter got to taste a happy ending where the two of them could live together. Flapjack never got to have a full Happily Ever After with any of his witches…

It hurts knowing that those two months of bliss will end like that, that no matter what happens in fanon that explores that period, Hunter is still doomed to this and have it ruined to some degree anyway. It really felt as if Hunter got to move on, only to be dragged back by a malevolent ghost, his old trauma reminding him he can never escape no matter what. Him and Vee should talk together and bond over this type of pain, though in both cases, the reminder of the past that follows them to this human world also heralds the reveal and acceptance of a dreaded secret, and love they didn’t expect from others.

It didn’t have to be this way, but at least…