#You know the kind of feelings that an orphan was bound to feel

[ell-arts]

Legacy

-

We were supposed to make history

Our family was meant to set people free

And triumph to be our legacy

So why did you leave me?

-

[jessamine-rose]

˖⋆˚♱ଘ Angel’s Tears ଓ♱˚⋆˖

*cries* I thought I was done with Church AU after Priest! Dottore yet here I am with more unholy ideas. Welp, Guardian Angel! Capitano x Nonbeliever! Darling, here we go (；ω；)

Tw:: yandere, psychological trauma, blood, violence, death, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 3.8k words under the cut ♡

♡ From the moment of their creation, angels are classified into the Nine Orders. This hierarchy determines their roles in Heaven and Earth, with higher ranks assigned greater levels of power and authority. A special exception is The Strongest Angel, an individual who is neither a Seraph nor an angel from the First Sphere. Rather, the moniker belongs to Il Capitano, the leader of the Powers.

♡ The legitimacy of his title has never been questioned. As a warrior angel, Capitano’s purpose is to vanquish evil. He is the chivalrous knight in bloodstained armor, the nigh-invincible being who strikes fear into the hearts of demons, the ever-righteous angel bound by a paradoxical duty to partake in violence for the sake of everlasting peace.

♡ It is in a small town in Mondstadt, following his victory over a legion of demons, that Capitano encounters you. It is the hour of mass yet you are nowhere near the Church; rather, you have taken sanctuary in a secluded meadow. A book sits on your lap, not a religious text but a tale of dark fantasy. There is a saintlike quality to your countenance, an air of melancholy as delicate as the flowers which surround you.

✿ ⚘

The moment Capitano appears before you, all peace leaves the meadow.

No, this isn’t right. It is normal for humans to feel fear in the divine presence of angels, yet he is donning his human guise. Nonetheless, as soon as his shadow touches your form, you look up and suppress a shriek, your face losing its veil of apathy.

So what exactly did he do wrong?

For your benefit, he remains rooted to his spot. Clarity comes in the form of your gaze flitting to your book, its title printed on the cover in conspicuous letters, the whispers which leave trembling lips.

“I…I can explain! This book—it’s just fiction! There are no real curses or spells inscribed in the text; it doesn’t promote any form of blasphemy!”

Ah, now he understands. You weren’t afraid of him.

Carefully, Capitano takes a step forward and raises his hand in a calming gesture. A gentle expression adorns his false face.

“Be not afraid.”

✿ ⚘

♡ It doesn’t take long for him to understand your wariness. A glimpse into your soul, paired with your quiet explanation, tells the story of an orphan raised by the Church. Only, your Church is one of many founded on distorted beliefs, of violence preached in the name of a cruel god. As a result, your upbringing was marked by strict rules, corporal punishments, and sermons which painted the image of a hopeless child with a weakness for temptation.

♡ Knowing this, Capitano can’t fault you for forsaking God and your Church. Still in his human guise, he promises his silence and leaves the meadow. But once he returns to Heaven, his first course of action is to apply for a position as your guardian angel. It is an easy process—while that role is typically reserved for the lower ranks, there is no shortage of humans in need of spiritual guidance and protection. He only questions why an angel wasn’t assigned to you when you were in greatest need of one.

♡ Henceforth, Capitano becomes a recurring character in your life. Every week, he visits you in the meadow. When you ask for his identity, he claims to be a progressive believer from another town. But rather than enlighten you with the true Word of God, he simply keeps you company and indulges your “vices,” leading to hours spent reading together. Beyond those meetings, he also watches over you to ward off any demons or humans seeking to harm you.

♡ From your end, you slowly warm up to your mysterious companion. He is a man of few words, but his actions always convey a sense of kindness. And despite his faith, he genuinely respects your beliefs and accepts you as you are. At one point, he even gives you a special gift, a quill pen of exceptional quality. The feather, pure white with a soft radiance, must have been sourced from a rare bird of prey.

♡ Over time, however, something changes. Capitano can’t deny that the faults lies with him. His visits, his constant thoughts of you, the ever-blurring line between want and duty…nothing of his behavior can be attributed to an angel’s inherent love for humanity. If that were the case, his love wouldn’t beget heartache. His love wouldn’t beget the temptation to harm others, rooted not in the name of justice but for your own safety. His love wouldn’t beget lust, guilt, dishonor, desires so sinfully evocative of his own fallibility.

♡ The truth is, you were never in need of spiritual salvation. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, what Capitano saw was a pure soul—a good person unlikely to commit evil nor fall into true temptation. Moreover, he knows that your sin of disbelief is forgivable unlike your Church’s sins of violence. That so long as you remain as you are, your soul will not be denied paradise, albeit in a realm of Heaven beyond Capitano’s jurisdiction. So why is he incapable of leaving your side?

✿ ⚘

“I had a long, long dream. I dreamed that you and I met again in the pure white world that we created.”

As you read the final line, your gaze leaves the book and returns to Capitano.

“What did you think of the story?”

Your shoulder brushes against his own, a tempting sensation. It is all he can do to remain still, to think against seeking out more of your touch, to remind himself that your close proximity is a mere necessity for your current activity.

The left side of the book, bearing the story’s ending, rests in your left hand. The other side is held in Capitano’s right hand, a blank page devoid of hope for a happy ending. When he turns the page, you seamlessly catch it under your thumb to show the next page.

Who knew of the casual intimacies imbued in the act of reading together?

“It was a well-written novel,” he says simply. “Though her sins tarnished her honor, Rosalyne’s sacrifice was an act of love. Her loss did not hinder her faithfulness to Rostam.”

“I feel the same way,” you muse. “Now I understand why this book was banned centuries ago. Forbidden love between angels and humans…it certainly goes against what the Church taught us about angels. I have to give the author credit for their imagination.”

It’s just the two of you again, this time in the library. At the start of winter, you invited Capitano to your workplace. There, in your greatest show of trust, you brought him to a secret room dedicated to texts banned by the Church for promoting “blasphemy.” Fantasy, erotica, anti-Church publications, first editions of censored books, stories which merely deviated from the Church’s popular depictions of spiritual beings.

Molten Moment belongs to the last category. Little do you know that it was based on a true story, that the author had really formed a pact with a demon called La Signora. Capitano himself is mentioned in the story under his true name.

He was one of the few angels who noticed the changes in Rosalyne’s behavior. She used to be a Throne, an angel with no connection to Earth nor humanity. Yet by some twist of fate, she laid eyes on a brave knight from Mondstadt and began to meet him in her human guise.

He was the first to hear of Rosalyne’s sin, that being she saved Rostam’s life during a battle. It was a direct violation of God’s orders: Angels and demons may influence humans, but they are forbidden from directly altering a human’s lifespan.

He was a silent witness to Rosalyne’s descent. She fell from Heaven, burned by her own flames, yet she had never appeared more ecstatic. In the following years, she married Rostam and lived a happy life with him on Earth.

He was the last to recognize Rostam’s soul at the pearly gates, forever separated from his fallen lover. Such had been Rosalyne’s divine punishment, worsened by her knowledge of this possibility. But what else was she to do? To let Rostam know of her true nature? To drag his soul down to Hell, where he’d be subjected to an eternity of undeserved suffering?

Capitano is no fool. As he read Molten Moment, he began to understand Rosalyne’s sin in a new light. Half the time, he couldn’t even concentrate on the text, his human eyes repeatedly drifting to your intense reading expression.

He closes the book, leaving it in your sole grasp. But before he can stand up from the sofa, you scoot closer and lean your weight on him. The book is placed on a nearby table, forgotten.

“Do you mind?” you whisper. Your right hand, empty since the prologue, traces his left hand.

A moment of silence precedes his response. “You may.”

Wordlessly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. A gesture of intimacy, an unspoken confession. Yet as he savors your touch, Capitano wonders if you would harbor the same level of comfort around his true form.

He doubts it. As a Power, he bears an inhuman appearance on par with that of his superiors. It is his true image which has earned him the title of monster by witnessing humans.

Still, he allows himself to indulge in the blessing that is your oblivion. When you look into his two human eyes, there is a soft light in your gaze wholly free of fear.

“Spring is coming soon,” you mutter. “I can’t wait to see the flowers again. Come to think of it, there’s a variety of narcissus which grows only in late spring. It’s very pretty.”

Against his better judgment, Capitano strengthens his grip on your hand. “Shall I take it as an invitation to resume our meetings in the meadow?”

“Sure.” That is when you look up, a small smile adorning your face. “And if you can’t visit for whatever reason, I’ll pick a bouquet and preserve it for you.”

For once, Capitano is rendered speechless.

Rarely do you ever smile. Even to him, you retain your listless disposition—whether it is out of habit or lingering distance, he has yet to discern your reasons. But that is what makes it all the more special, those few instances when he is beholden to your expressions.

He wonders if this is what humans feel in the divine presence of angels, when they are borne witness to all things holy and beautiful.

Your smile is a phenomenon reserved only for the worthiest of souls. And in your grace, he has never felt more undeserving.

✿ ⚘

♡ At the end of winter, a religious war is authorized by the Church of Mondstadt. Shortly after the news reaches your town, Capitano informs you that he will be busy with “work.” He says it during another reading date, featuring Heart of Clear Springs. Before leaving, he kisses your hand and gives you a kind smile. There is a sad look in his eyes, but you don’t inquire further.

♡ In late spring, your town is attacked. With the entire area under fire, from your home to the meadow, you find yourself running back to the sacred building which you’d avoided for years. After all, though the enemy soldiers belong to a different denomination, they still worship the same god as you. In the present, the church is the only place on Earth where you can claim asylum and pray for your survival.

♡ Except every entrance is locked, including the doors to the orphanage. As the army reaches the town square, all you can do is bang on the front doors and beg to be let in. From inside, you can hear the voices of the people that luckily attended mass before the invasion. Some tell you to hide elsewhere, others beg you for forgiveness, a few sound like the nuns and caretakers who tormented you in the past.

♡ Before you can think of another sanctuary, a soldier strikes you. Pain…it has never felt more intense. Through your fading consciousness, you register your body falling and your head hitting the concrete. Blood pools from your forehead and trickles down the steps of the church, tainting it red.

♡ Life flashes before your eyes in a blurry sequence. The static images of God, sermons and bruises, unanswered prayers, people who never believed you or simply didn’t care. A birthday celebrated with your departure from the Church. Sanctuary found in the library followed by the meadow. Yet the numbness remained, each day bleeding into the next in a gloomy haze. In all those years, did you ever feel God’s love?

♡ It doesn’t matter at this point. A small part of you wonders if you should have retained your faith, continued your prayers, sought out salvation in the safety of your solitude. At least then, at the hour of your death, you wouldn’t be confronted with the fact of your humanity. The primal fear of death, the spiritual fear of ending up in Hell no matter Capitano’s reassurances.

♡ Capitano…where is he? Weakly, you call out to him but he doesn’t appear. Of course, why would he? You should feel thankful; it means he is probably safe, wherever he is. Still, you can’t help but wish he were here—if not to save you, as he has done by simply keeping you company, but to comfort you one last time. And those are the thoughts which plague you in your final moments, an unheard prayer on the tip of your tongue.

“I pray that we meet again, myself and the first person who truly loved me.”

♡ ______ died on a cloudy day, one of many people persecuted in the name of God. After the Church was destroyed and its followers slaughtered, their body was buried in a mass grave that once flourished with nature. There was a poignant quality to their countenance, an air of distress as transient as the flowers planted above them.

♡ At least, that is how your story ends from the perspectives of the survivors. But to the angels and demons who witnessed the destruction of your town, your death was only the end of a chapter in your life. In their eyes, Capitano had been present all throughout, an invisible witness to your death, absolute in his refusal to perform an unauthorized miracle.

♡ He remained by your side until the light faded from your eyes. That was when he took notice of the bouquet of narcissus clutched in your hand, tainted with blood despite your feeble efforts to save his gift. A soldier approached your corpse, intending to drag it down the steps for burial; but before they could touch you, Capitano appeared before them.

♡ It was only for a brief second, but the soldier drew back and cowered in fear. In the following days, they were haunted by the memory of the angelic figure who appeared outside the Church of Mondstadt. Or more precisely, the monster who prayed over a bloodstained corpse and took a bouquet of ruined flowers out of their grasp.

✿ ⚘

From the moment you wake up, all peace leaves the meadow.

What happened? Your memory comes back in hazy fragments—death, darkness, blinding light, pearly gates, ethereal figures. Most vivid is the sensation of strong arms and soft feathers, a familiar warmth which accompanied you throughout your journey.

As for your current surroundings, you are in a meadow so beautiful that it brings to mind the Garden of Eden. Flowers of every variety bloom across the scenery, some out of season. The sky is bright, sunless, a canvas of multiple colors. There are no other signs of life.

Internally, too, something feels off. A nearby pond provides a glimpse of your reflection—white garments, gold scars in place of your fatal injuries, your disoriented countenance. If this place is what you think it is…shouldn’t you feel at peace, happy even? And why are you alone?

Your gaze lands on a patch of flowers. Pure white, perianth petals, cup-shaped coronas…the same type of narcissus which grew in your favorite meadow. The flowers point in different directions, as though searching for a sun that does not exist.

“You are awake.”

A shadow touches your form, engulfing you in darkness. It bears a large, unrecognizable shape but such details evade you as you recognize the voice behind you.

“Capitano!” Immediately, you turn around, only to gasp and suppress a scream.

The person before you…can you even call him human? He is incredibly tall, to the point that you must crane your neck to see his face—assuming there is one beneath his iron mask. His body is clad in silver armor, stained blood in some places. A halo, shaped like a crown of thorns, shines behind his head.

But what shocks you are his wings. A single pair covered in radiant white feathers and eerily dark blue eyes. Each eye seems to glow with an uncanny aura.

Dark blue eyes with a striking resemblance to Capitano’s. What more for his long black hair and his solemn manner of speaking?

It doesn’t make your revelation any less unsettling.

“Capitano.” Your voice comes out in a nervous whisper. “Is it really you? You’re a…”

“An angel,” he confesses. He takes a step back, widening the distance between your bodies. “I ask that you pardon my appearance. Such was my sacrifice—for my true form, in all of its monstrosity, to be my sole image.”

His human face comes to mind, along with the kind gaze you fell in love with.

You feel the weight of multiple gazes on you. “What do you mean?”

“Is this realm to your satisfaction?” he asks. “I beseeched God to create a special paradise for you, cut off from the rest of Heaven. The price is that your capacity to feel negative emotions remains in this realm…though that is preferable.”

Preferable? How so? Right now, you can barely process what he is telling you. You are dead. Your companion is an angel. Your soul is in paradise, but not exactly.

After everything you’ve been through, you were still deemed worthy of a place in Heaven.

“I am sorry.”

Capitano’s voice brings you back to reality. He has never sounded more serious, emotional, repentant. And when you look up…

Is he crying?

Most of his eyes remain open, focusing on you with a fervent stare. But others are downcast, as if unable to face you. And a few appear glossy, blinking back iridescent tears.

“I am truly sorry.” He bows his head in shame, wings folded. “What I did to you was cruel, an absolute injustice.”

You don’t know which eyes to make contact with. “You—”

“It must have been painful,” he continues. “Even if I were to justify my actions, the truth lies in the fact that I tolerated your suffering for my own selfish desires. And that is why I ask not for your forgiveness, knowing I am the one at fault.”

Silence. In light of Capitano’s confession, all you can do is stare at him and comprehend the weight of your situation. What exactly are you supposed to feel, knowing his betrayal? Knowing that regardless of your feelings, you have nowhere else to go in the afterlife?

Yet despite it all, your prayer came true. The two of you were able to meet again.

And that is what compels you to take a step forward, to come closer until you are standing in front of him. “Hey, it’s…don’t cry.”

A delicate sensation blesses his wings—your hands carefully tracing his feathers to wipe away his tears. Several eyes widen in surprise, but all he can see in your gaze is sympathy.

“I’ll admit, it was painful,” you tell him. “Dying alone. But maybe it’s…better this way. If I survived, I’d have to deal with the loss of my home. And who knows what kind of living hell the other Church would’ve put me through?”

Above all, Capitano is the only person whose love you can believe in.

Hesitantly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. The next words to leave your lips are spoken with certainty, bringing fresh tears to his eyes.

“I’m sure it was an act of love on your part.”

His reaction is sudden, incurring your surprise. But all you can do is surrender to Capitano’s embrace, allow his free arm to hold your waist and pull you closer to him. His wings wrap around you, caging you in soft feathers and eerie blue orbs.

“Capitano?” You can only look up at him, peering into the contents of his mask.

…It’s like staring into an abyss, a night sky dotted with twinkling blue stars. But in the absence of a human likeness, his words express what a face cannot.

“Never again,” he vows, “shall I allow harm to befall you. That is a promise.”

The hand on your waist moves upwards to caress your face. His touch is light, more hesitant than his previous gestures.

“You need not serve God nor partake in fruitful labor like the other souls in Heaven. All I ask is that you rest, indulge yourself, enjoy this paradise to the fullest.”

A flower is pinned to his armor, right above his heart. You recognize it instantly—a narcissus in full bloom, stained with your blood.

“If you desire a flower, it shall grow at once. If there are any books you would like to read, they shall be brought to you shortly.”

What was the name of that variety again? Narcissus triandrus. Angel’s tears.

“If you are in need of my presence, I shall appear before you, so long as I am not in the midst of battle. And should you ever desire the opposite, I can promise my distance.”

When Capitano looks into your eyes, all he can see is his own reflection. Whatever emotion colors your gaze, it casts his true image in a compassionate light.

“I shall do everything in my power to bring you joy for all of eternity. Such will be my penance.”

“...All right.” With that, you close your eyes and lean into his touch. He feels warm, comfortingly familiar. “I’ll trust you on that.”

Rest in peace, ______.

Think not of your mortal body in the beginning stages of decay.

Think not of your tormentors who are paying for their sins in Hell.

Think only of eternity with your beloved savior.

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

Aahhhh it's done....this idea turned out much heavier than expected, but I'm glad that I was able to write this!! I hope you all cried over enjoyed the story of Angel! Capitano and his damsel. They were truly a delight to write for~

Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @diodellet @navxry @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @harmonysanreads @mochinon-yah @oofasleep @micchikari @whispereons @thescribeoflostmemories

[redrose10]

Hii your fics are great!!

I want prompt #26 and prompt #35 with yoongi :)

Aw thank you! I hope this is okay!

#26 It was you the whole time

#35 Do you regret it

Warnings: Minor violence, reader called a whore

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You laughed watching your husband curse at the wood fired oven as he looked over the charred loaf of bread. “I told you that it was too hot.”, you chuckled. He shook his head before tossing the loaf out the window for the birds to pick at. The early morning sunlight hit him in a way that made him look perfectly angelic. You stared at him while taking in the moment thinking back to the events that lead you here.

You and Yoongi had practically grown up together. You were close in age and similar in personalities. The only difference being that he was born a prince destined to be a king that ruled the kingdom and you were born a servant girl orphaned at a young age therefore bound to spend your life at the beck and call of the Min Family.

One day you tripped while carrying a load of laundry down the stairs and Yoongi quickly dropped everything and rushed over to check on you much to the dismay of his parents. He flashed you a gummy smile as he helped you up and it was love at first sight for you.

By the time the two of you were young adults, the king and queen were quite wary about how close you and Yoongi had become. Whenever Yoongi turned the other way they would be quick to remind you of your place in their family and that you would never carry the Min name. If they only knew about the Min family ring you secretly carried in your pocket at all times, a gift from Yoongi on your 16th birthday.

One evening you were in Yoongi’s room tidying it up while waiting for him to return from a dinner with his parents. You’d just finished changing the bedding when you heard the large oak door slam shut so you turned around to see Yoongi pacing back and forth with his hair disheveled and his fists clenched. His face a dark shade of red.

“What’s wrong?”, you asked concerned never having seen him so upset before.

“They’re forcing me to get married.”

“What? To who?”

He scoffed, “I don’t know. Some princess from another kingdom. I didn’t care to listen. They said I don’t have a choice.”

You had figured this day would come. Arranged marriages especially for royalty were very common. You just didn’t expect it to happen so soon and without warning.

“Okay well it’ll all be okay. You need to do whatever is expected of you.”

Quickly Yoongi was standing in front of you shaking his head, “No Y/N. I won’t let them separate us like this. It’s bad enough we’ve had to sneak around all these years. I’ll figure something out. I’m not giving up on us.”

You smiled to try and calm him but deep down you knew it wasn’t that easy.

Over the next couple of weeks the king and queen introduced everyone to Princess Ina. She was beautiful and kind. You couldn’t help but feel a little jealous every time you saw her with Yoongi even though he only saw you.

The night before the wedding there was a grand ball. All of the guests were invited to the palace to celebrate the upcoming nuptials.

You were busy walking around providing drinks or appetizers to the guests. Yoongi was never more than a few feet away even though you kept scolding him that you were both going to get in trouble. After the hundredth time of you telling him to stop and leave you alone he’d had enough and quickly pulled you outside to the balcony.

“Yoongi what are you doing? We could get caught and then they’ll have both our heads.”, you giggled feeling his fingers grip tightly on your hips.

“I don’t care. I hope they find us and call off this whole stupid thing.”, he smiled before chasing after your lips for a kiss.

You rolled your eyes but agreed. The kiss between you felt like home. You both had been so busy that you forgot how good it felt to have his lips on yours. You tried to pull away before you got caught but that only made Yoongi grip you tighter.

“Min Yoongi! What do you think you’re doing?”, a woman screeched from the doorway.

Quickly pulling apart your face turned red with embarrassment and fear finding the king and queen standing there.

“I told you to stay away from that servant girl.”, his mother spoke.

“”I won’t. I’m not staying away from her and I’m not marrying Ina either. I’m going to marry Y/N whether you like it or not.”, Yoongi said. His father stepped forward making you flinch in fear. Yoongi noticed quickly pushing you behind him.

His father grabbed his wrist pulling him forward, “I will not have the future king married to some lowly servant girl. You will marry the princess and that is final!”

“No! I’m not your pawn to use for political and financial gains. You marry the princess if it’s so important to you.”

The king slapped Yoongi bringing him to his knees from the impact. As Yoongi kneeled on the ground trying to regain his composure the king grabbed him by the collar pulling him up, “You will not disobey me Min Yoongi. I will lock your little whore away if I have to. Now go to bed and be ready for the wedding tomorrow morning.”, the king spat before throwing him back down to the ground.

After they left you quickly helped Yoongi up and walked him to his room before saying goodnight.

You didn’t expect to be able to fall asleep but somehow you managed. Only being woken up by someone gently shaking you.

“Yoongi what are you doing?”, you whispered.

“Come on. We’re running away.”, he said handing you some clothes.

“No you can’t give up everything for me. You need to marry the princess as requested so that you can rule the kingdom one day.”

He leaned over and gave you a kiss, “Y/N, you’re the only princess for me.”

That’s how you both ended up here, in a small village on the other side of the world with your own little bakery that you worked very hard to achieve. Yoongi’s parents knew he had run away with you that night. They weren’t that stupid. They never bothered to look for either of you instead telling the kingdom that he had attempted to run away from the marriage but was killed by wolves in the forest, his body too mangled for any kind of public funeral. They thought that was less embarrassing than admitting their son loved a servant.

Yoongi had given up on the bread and was now working on the blueberry pies. “I hate blueberries. They stain everything.”, he said showing you his hands.

When you didn’t respond he walked over to stand in front of you, “Y/N are you okay?”

You looked him over. He had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. His pants were covered in patches to hold them together until you could afford a new pair. He had burns on his arms from the hot oven. His wedding ring slipping down his finger since it was slightly too big but it was the cheapest one you could find. He gave up a life of wealth and luxury for you and suddenly you felt guilty.

“Do you regret it?”, you asked fidgeting with the Min family ring you wore now as a wedding band.

“Regret what?”

“Giving up everything to marry me. You could be married to princess living a life of luxury in a palace but now you live above a bakery while working hours and hours a day. You should’ve stayed there and married her and your life would be so much better.”, you said feeling the tears begin to break.

Yoongi stopped your ramble with a kiss, “Y/N, it was you the whole time. From the minute I saw your embarrassed face as I helped you up after you fell down the stairs I knew I wanted to marry you. I’d live in a tent in the woods if it means I’ll have you by my side. The only thing I regret is not running away with you sooner.”

You leaned into his embrace feeling better after hearing his words.

“Come on Mrs. Min, the strawberry tarts aren’t going to bake themselves as nice as that would be.”, he chuckled pulling you along with him. His hand ever leaving yours.

[joanquill]

If you’re requests are open(feel free to ignore this if not) HEAR ME OUT, headcanons/imagine/whatever you wanna do really with the moriarty bros liking a childhood friend(separately or they can all like the. Friend that’s up to you) like maybe it was the kid that one duchess adopted(yknow the one that made Earl Moriarty feel like he had to adopt a kid) cause like the duchess was like an actual nice person who wanted to help the poor an all that so maybe she raised the orphan the same way?(im so heckin sorry if none of this makes sense my dude, I’m horrible at this rip)

Being Childhood Friends with the Moriarty Brothers

Albert, William, and Louis James Moriarty

A/N: It's okay my guy! It was clear and it was really fun writing this one :) I may have forgotten the romance part last minute asjkas so it's longer than normal :') Tag/s: Long (1.7k words)

Growing up in the orphanage since you were a baby, you have half given up on the idea of being adopted.

So the fact that a kind woman-- a duchess no less, adopted you was a surprise you never saw coming.

But you were grateful for your new life and the woman you now call your mother for this second chance.

Coming from rock bottom yourself, you and the duchess worked hard with foundations and charities for the poor and unfortunate, even if it meant scandals and rumors circling around you and your new family.

However, your new title didn't mean anything to other noble kids.

You were scrutinized and avoided like a plague by other noble families.

This didn't come as a surprise, but it was still uncomfortable attending balls and having everyone stay five feet away from you, spreading rumors about you being riddled with disease.

The duchess defended you, saying despite not being bound by blood, you were her child through and through and a noble.

Unfortunately, her words only fell on deaf ears.

Not that you mind, knowing firsthand how the rich treat the poor on the streets.

Worried about you feeling lonely, your mother tried to make friends with other fellow mothers and set up a playdate or tea parties, rich or poor.

Even when you tried to play nice with other nobles, as suggested by the duchess, the noble kids didn't give you a chance.

It also didn't help with their mothers calling your mother a hedge creeper, wagtail, or their husband's mistress.

To say you were banned from a couple of tea parties was an understatement.

However, hearing Lord Moriarty also adopted kids, the duchess wasted no time setting up a playdate for you.

Albert James Moriarty

You two have actually met before during a party.

Granted, scaring the kids who threw rocks at you to run into a thorny rose bush was not the best first impression, but it did make quite an impact on him.

He found you in the gardens, admiring the flowers, when a group of kids thought it would be funny to throw rocks at you.

He was about to tell off the kids until one threw a rock especially hard, making you fall on your face.

Snapping, you decided to play along with their accusations of you being diseased.

A limp in your step, hoarse voice, reaching out your arms to them as you chased them through the gardens and made them run through a thorny bush, making you smile in triumph.

Albert saw the whole thing, hiding a smile behind his hand as he watched you dust yourself off.

He was about to introduce himself to you until he saw your forehead bleeding and led you back inside to treat your wound.

It may not have been the best way, but hey! You made a friend!

Ever since that day, you would always look for Albert and follow him around for the rest of the gathering.

You knew his mother hated you, and his brother saw you as an insect. But you just completely ignore them and talk to Albert, making the two furious.

He taught you the etiquette needed to see in nobles and even the dances for different music.

If you two weren't outside avoiding the party, you two were talking and eating in the corner off in your own world.

Because of this, some noble kids started trying to get close to you to reach Albert or just hate your complete existence.

Despite all this, you kept hanging out with Albert unapologetically, seeing he was as lonely as you were in this rich man's world.

NOW while he only saw you as a good friend, Albert knew he wanted to stay by your side as long as he could.

Sneaking out of parties, knowing looks, and inside jokes the two of you only knew were some of his treasured memories.

However, he also knew the judging stares of other nobles, saying you weren't supposed to be here.

He tried to step away, hoping you would be safer if you had some distance, but he would always find you within arm's reach.

You kept smiling and being yourself despite everyone around you waiting for one mistake to drag you down.

You were the only one who was a genuine friend to him, wanting nothing in return but his company.

While you were rough around the edges as a noble, you were a gem as a person, always lending a helping hand to those in need.

You were also the only one who would accompany him during his trips to the orphanages or outreach programs.

He would even catch you volunteering, hosting charities, or helping others with your own pocket money.

So when he saw you jumping into traffic to save a child, tattering your outfit in the process but smiling in relief to see the child was safe, he knew he couldn't let you go.

William James Moriarty

The first time you heard about William was from Albert about how he met a genius orphan who knew how to read advanced books at a young age and even gave advice to adults despite being a child.

And now, here you were on a playdate with him and his younger brother.

You tried getting close to the two, seeing how Albert praised them and wanted to get to know them better.

But you couldn't help but notice an invisible wall around the two brothers. Especially William.

While William was friendly from the start, you noticed something lurking behind his smile.

This didn't stop you from trying to be friends with them, though.

Relying on Albert's stories (and Albert himself), you tried getting close to William through his intellect.

Reading books together, visiting museums and art galleries, going to the public library, even showing him your own textbooks from your school.

His teasing you for your wrong answers was not welcomed, though.

Whenever you would ask him something, no matter how absurd, he always entertained you and gave you an answer.

During your talks, you would always have tea and snacks ready, considering how some of them would last for hours.

Slowly, William started to make the first move and approach you.

Offering to teach you lessons you found difficult, offering a tea party, or suggesting somewhere new for you four to visit.

Despite noticing the distance between you two getting smaller, you could still feel the invisible wall between you.

However, this didn't stop you from befriending the boy and treating him like the kid he was.

When he first met you, he thought you were only interesting, seeing as you were the reason he and Louis got adopted in the first place.

When he would approach you, it was only to feed your curiosity, seeing as you had a lot of questions about different things.

He would always give you an answer, watching your expression change as you listen to him.

Slowly, he started enjoying talking to you, amused at how you would find interest in the most bizarre things, ranging from random trivia to high-level knowledge.

That was until he found out you were asking for advice on how to put on successful charities and programs to help people.

When you revealed to him your plans to make a hospital for the impaired, you were proud of yourself for surprising the boy.

Even more when you told him you'd make sure to give him the recognition he deserved.

Considering how his intellect was only used for simple things such as growing flowers or for schemes like robbing a bank, you were a refreshing change of pace.

Now whenever you would ask him something, he would try to guess what you had planned through your questions, sometimes even teasing you when he got it right (which was all the time).

It became a little game between you two, one which he would look forward to and catch himself smiling at the sight of you.

Louis James Moriarty

Louis was the hardest one to become friends with.

He never left William's side and would keep his eyes on you.

Whenever you tried to talk to Louis, he only gave you short answers.

However, this didn't faze you as you kept trying to find a middle ground.

Not surprisingly, he would liven up whenever you would mention or compliment William.

Much to the boy's dismay, who is usually no farther than three feet away from you both.

Considering he had heart surgery, you tried to be considerate and only hang out at the Moriarty manor to spend time with him.

This was how you found out how he was treated by the staff.

While the butler treated you better for being a guest, you didn't excuse his treatment of Louis.

Now, you always help Louis with his chores and glare at the butler whenever Louis mentions the things he made him do.

One day, you offhanded mentioned how strong Louis must have been, going through everything he had.

Surprised by the sudden compliment, he mutters how untrue it was and what a burden he was to his brother.

This made you shower him with praise, saying he should be more confident in himself.

After that, Louis started warming up to you. Even greeting you as soon as you arrive with a smile on his face.

You may have bragged to Albert about being the first one to befriend Louis out of you two. 

At first, he was wary of you. Despite knowing you were also adopted, he didn't trust you.

But you would always make an effort to get to know Louis, even doing chores with him and defending him whenever you visit.

You never looked at him with pity and treated him just like another kid.

Whenever you and his brothers would play, you would always invite Louis and even pull him along, whether it was just hanging out in the manor or visiting some exotic spot in the city.

You would always listen and pay attention to him, making sure he was heard and seen by others whenever he spoke up.

And whenever he spoke ill of himself, you try to boost his confidence and point out his good points with clear eyes.

So when you called him strong and said how much he meant to you and his brothers, he knew you weren't lying.

Slowly, Louis started warming up to you and even clinging to you, which didn't go unnoticed by you three.

You may have cried tears of joy while William and Albert clapped for you.

Now, he considers you one of his trusted confidants and was always the first to greet you, even preparing your favorite tea and snacks in advance for your visits.

[cattlemons]

When The Tide Returns Lost Memories

| Wriothesley awakens in a foreign land with fragmented memories and a desperate need to return to someone he can't quite remember.

TW: Memory loss, unspecified violence, not proofread, 4k words of hurt and comfort

a.n. saw this post by @cyb-rdva about this fic idea. I just got a buzz and felt like writing it! I don't really know how permissions work on here but I hope I did it justice!

Wriothesley’s eyes find the crippling light as he squints away the last remaining darkness, pushing it to the back of his mind once more. Finally feeling himself take a breath, he hears himself grunt awake; much like a machine starting up after months of disuse. Creaking and clanking to a sitting position, he feels the cracks of his bones and the bruises of his injuries sting him.

Where am I?

Disoriented beyond belief, he let his eyes collect a view of his surroundings. The gears of his brain churned and turned but, to no avail, he’s completely lost on where he is. Panic seized him as his parched throat let out a hoarse yell– he doesn’t know who exactly he was trying to reach out to but, dear archons, let them be nice.

The door opened just as he finally found enough strength to stand. Training his eyes onto the green-headed figure by the door, his focus was sharp despite the delirium he had experienced not long ago; the tendons of his feet ready to leap like a coiled spring waiting for the undoing. 

The green-haired man placed his two palms out, ducking ever so slightly to make himself look as small and harmless as possible. Wriothesley assessed the situation with the sense of a trained warrior, looking the man up and down before releasing his tightly clenched fists, letting the white fade to a warm red. 

Wait a second!

Wriothesley pounced at the tall man and knocked him over to the ground, the thud of their fall resounding throughout the room. His knuckles which are covered with hidden bruises and healed cuts saw the light of day after a long time being hidden. Choking the man, Wriothesley sneered and gruffed, “Where’s my gauntlet, NOW! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?”

The man flailed helplessly beneath him as he clawed at his bound neck, searching for escape. Before anything else could unfold, both men were pulled apart; the lanky man by a man in Liyuean garment and Wriothesley by a purple child.

What the fuck is going on?? SHIT, WHERE IS SHE? I NEED TO FIND HER! I NEED TO TELL HER...!

Huh? Who? Tell her what?

The child made some sort of listless remark but Wriothesley was not aware of what she said. His ears rang deafeningly as his vision wavered. His consciousness was escaping him and his panic and fight whittled down and numbed itself, leaving a sense of nothing in its wake. He can’t help but mourn if this is to be his last moment of living. What kind of defeat was this? Surely, he deserved a better battle to die on. 

His mind winds down slowly, unfinished strings of thoughts urging him along from what topic to the next before gently placing him right on the edge of consciousness. Dreary and barely awake, he wonders if anyone can hear his last words and wishes. If he could, he would’ve chuckled dryly, even now on his deathbed (or rather death-floor) he is still nothing but an orphaned boy with no one to mourn for him. Dust returns to dust, he supposes.

As he feels his eyes wane to a close, the only thing on his mind is a name with a face left unplaced and undecided, oh how he loved her.

WAIT! WHO? HOLD ON!

He was out cold, now. 

—

The second time he awoke, Wriothesley was ready for a fight. Whatever foul play, or trickery used on him that first time, won’t get him twice. Raring to go, Wriothesley opened his eyes wide and ready to jump into a fighting stance, only to be stopped by a pair of cuffs chaining him to the bed.

Something! He needs to find SOMETHING?!

Controlling his uneven breaths, he forced and willed the adrenaline pumping in his veins to subside; there’s no use for it if he’s bound and alone, anyway. For now, he chose to focus on locating where he was and (more importantly) where his gauntlets were. Sure, the normal man can’t hope to survive a fight against him but something within him is anxious to be away from it. He almost feels physically ill without it. 

Damned wrist decorator causing me separation anxiety. Just like a damned dog.

At the sound of a creak, he snapped his neck towards the open door. Behind the heavy timber, stood the green-haired man he has yet to learn the name of (but rest assured if he’s come for a round two, Wriothesley is ready to choke him; this time to sleep). Fortunately for everyone in the vicinity, the man had no ill will. With the patience of a saint, the man stepped into the room, carrying with him a bruised neck and a handful of medication supplies. 

Setting his things down on a table, he watched Wriothesley with calm eyes. The same cannot be said for Wriothesley whose sharp steel irises were pointed at him. Muscles rippling in tandem, Wriothesley pulled at the cuffs that kept him in place. Truth be told, the steel keeping him bound to the bed may just snap in a few more strong pulls had the child from “yesterday” not stepped in, this time clearly brandishing a syringe swirling with translucent liquid. 

That shut him up quickly. 

Relatively calm now (and sedated), the thin man slowly inched closer to Wriothesley, pushing back his glasses from his nose while at it. With a slightly quicker heart pace, he explained in a rushed tone, “I am Baizhu, a local physician of Liyue and owner of The Bubu Pharmacy. We’re located in Liyue Harbor. We found you unconscious outside our pharmacy so we decided to take you in.”

This “Baizhu” figure looked to his side at the small purple child as if to see whether or not he’d forgotten something. The two seem to be close because without missing a beat, the child showed him a page of her book. This seemed to jog the man’s memory as he continued, “Ah, yes. Your weapons and, ahem, gauntlets are in our safekeeping. They were badly damaged so we were worried the bones hidden underneath weren’t fairing all too well, either, please don’t misunderstand.”

Taking his words in, Wriothesley felt a slight bit of guilt for almost beating the guy up. The man, however, doesn’t seem to be waiting for an apology, rather, his eyes gleamed in a sort of curiosity. Wriothesley supposes he would be the same way if the situation had been flipped and this Baizhu man showed up half-dead at the doors of Meropide.

Wait, Meropide! Shit, MEROPIDE!

“Sir, how long have I been here?! Please, answer me!”

Baizhu’s eyebrows scrunched in slight perplexity and hesitation, he wasn’t too keen on agitating the man again. 

“Well, we found you on the sixth and today’s the nineteenth, so, about two weeks. Yes,” he answered, stepping away, in case the mild sedation was, indeed, too mild a dose. 

Shit! That’s way too long for me to be away! I won’t be surprised if the place is in shambles by now. Fuck, I need to get back! I NEED TO GET BACK! IS SHE OKAY? I NEED TO APOLOGIZE!

To whom?

Fighting against the effects of the syringe, Wriothesley tensed his forearms and willed them to move. Against his better judgment, Baizhu saw this and went to undo the locks of his cuffs. He supposes, that if he’s going to break through the chains, might as well take it off him to prevent any further injury. 

“Though I am uncuffing you, sir, I suggest you take it easy in the meantime. You have a long list of blunt traumas all over you and from the looks of it, your memory isn’t too intact. I don’t know what happened to you or where you want to rush off to with your weapons but I would be an unfit physician if I allowed you to go anywhere outside my supervision for the time being. At least, let me help you remember so I can send you off with a clear mind on your shoulders.”

“Please, just calm down, when I release you, alright�� there...”

Arms now freed, Wriothesley calmed down significantly; somewhere in his mind, he felt safer knowing he could beat someone to a pulp if need be. Finally feeling safe enough to be civil, he decided he’d stay long enough to get some answers and his weapon and memory back. Wriothesley knew it’d be best to stay. He can’t be so sure he’ll find a physician who knows enough of their field of study to claim they can help bring back his foggy memories. That said, he won’t be wasting any time. 

“Mr. Baizhu, please tell me what you know about my… umm… predicament. I don’t quite enjoy being puzzled this way. Also, the gauntlets, I want them back,” he said, before quickly pasting a ‘please’ behind his sentence. 

Yes, she always liked it better when I’m civil; like a proper duke. She?

Wriothesley wasn’t sure what was going on with him at the moment. Everything’s in disarray and he can’t help but want to rip the tufts of gray out of his head. Nothing is making sense to him. The memories and facts that should be concretely sealed within the wrinkles of his brain are now fluttering in front of him. Try as he may, they flit just out of his reach. He only hopes his memories come back to him quickly so he can somehow get back to wherever he needs to be to get to whoever she is to do whatever it is he needs to do.

This is truly shit.

—

Meanwhile, you were running up and down the underground prison and makeshift factory to make sure it, ironically, stayed afloat. In all honesty, all you wanted to do was cry and wail at your husband’s disappearance. Yes, disappearance. Though you’ve heard many relegate their condolences to you, you accepted none of it. You were sure he was alive somewhere out there; he just needed to come back home. 

Some may say it’s denial but acceptance simply wasn’t the answer right now. Not when the livelihood of thousands of people rely on your emotional stability to ensure proper functions of this prison they call home. Meropide is counting on you to keep yourself together so acceptance truly isn’t needed right now; not when acceptance would mean falling to your knees as you plan funeral arrangements. No, as long as hope is free, the man you call your husband is alive.

Today’s to-do list is a mile and a half long but it all needs doing so that’s exactly what you’re going to spend your time and elbow grease on. You started your day at the break of dawn when the waters were still moving in compliance with the moon’s pull. The dull thud of the waves against the steel prison walls keeps you grounded as you check off your lover’s duties one by one. Noon soon takes hold as the water calms down relatively, now giving way to the clanks of machinery. The resounding clicks and clacks of tools and shoes signify that all was still in order. Night finally came and the mile-long list has been taken care of, well mostly. Last but not least, you’ll have to surface and meet with someone very important. 

After throwing on whatever clean and acceptable outfit you find within your closet in the duke’s Meropide residence, you are off to Poisson to meet with Navia. You sure hope she’s found something useful. 

At moments like this, you’re grateful for your long-standing friendship with the ever-kind and well-connected President of The Spina di Rosula. Navia has been spearheading the search for your husband for the past few weeks. She turned the whole of Fontaine upside down last week but it yielded no results. Though Spina di Rosula is an organization built to help with Fontanian problems, you’re glad she spared no effort to search beyond the borders of Fontaine for you.

“I just don’t know where he could have gone, Navia. One minute we fought and before you know it the clock strikes midnight and it’s the second day he’s gone,” you let out as your chest starts heaving, a poor effort to hold back the sorrow and fear you felt. 

“Navia, I can’t let that be the last interaction we have, I just… I can’t live not knowing if he’s done with me or, worse, if something bad happened to him. I just want to know he’s alright and then, if he so wishes, we can part ways.”

Navia pats your back gently as your breathing grows heavier, “I don’t know the duke all that much but I know enough to say that he’s mad for you. He’d kill for you just as quickly as he’d die for you, my dear. Give him credit that he’ll return, if only to see and make amends with you, hmm?”

Your throat is raw from keeping the dam of your rising emotions from spilling. You turned to your sole companion in all this, “Are you sure, we’ll find him, Navia?”

“All the signs we’ve found so far indicate him being alive. As long as that duke of yours is on Teyvat, we’ll find him, my dear partner, I am sure of it,” she cheered softly, conviction intertwined with a strong dose of compassion. 

With that, tears soak your face as you cry softly. Your shoulders shook as rivulets of sorrow trickle past your lashes onto your cheeks. You couldn’t possibly let them out in Meropide so you let them out here. Within the confines of the four walls of Poisson, you let your walls crumble if only for a bit. 

You hope he comes back to you soon. You don’t know what you’d do without him. 

— 

“Do you recall anything at all before your waking,” Baizhu asked Wriothesley for the umpteenth time since his wake from the sedation-induced stupor. 

The two figures, Wriothesley and Baizhu, were sitting outside the pharmacy doing a routine inspection. For the past week, Wriothesley has been fairly cooperative in working with Baizhu to further his recuperation; if only to get his gauntlet back and return quicker to Meropide and to the missing woman his heart claims to love so much.

Wriothesley still has no clue as to what his sense of urgency is based on. Of course, the meropide needs him but in the event of his absence, he’s set aside some protocols and second-in-commands that can take up the mantle for a bit before his return. This is something he recalled a few days ago and it’s helped him ease up and stay put for the time being. The exercises Baizhu has given him are certainly giving promising results on jogging his memory back but, much to his dismay, none about the mystery woman. It’s eating his heart up like a worm on an apple, plaguing his heart and making him feel rotten for forgetting her. 

Who are you, damn it.

Damn, even cursing at her feels wrong. 

Alright, let him fix that-

FIX… FIX!

Just like that, the memories of the weeks prior come crashing onto him like the waves of the midnight tides. All that he’s been through, getting knocked out, the fight, everything filters through his mind like an hourglass finally filling up. Despite all of those moments being mostly shit, he’s overjoyed of remembering what he thought he lost, of remembering you.

By Archons, it’s you!

“Baizhu! That’s it! I need to see her, I need to see my girl! Oh, for the life of me, Baizhu, I need to apologize to MY GIRL,” Wriothesley yelled, joyous. 

He does not recall ever being so excited to apologize but he’d be damned if anything wipes the smile off of his face. How can he not? Imagine falling in love all over again with the woman that’s captured your very being. Imagine seeing her in the fresh light of a stranger only wishing to be within her gravity then realizing you were the moon pulling her tides of love all along. Imagine, oh archons, that can fucking wait. 

He’s leaving now!

Baizhu smiles at the breakthrough, both of his patient’s memory and of a new memory recovery technique. Calling for Qiqi, Baizhu asks her to get the man’s big boy hands because, yes, we’re finally letting him go home. No, without the sedation. 

—

On the ferry ride back, the duke sat painfully still as he stared at the gauntlets that he now wore. The gauntlets that symbolizes his power in Meropide, the ones you've basically created with him now that he remembers your significance in his life. No wonder he can't bear to part with it.

Suddenly, the vast blue separating Liyue and Fontaine seems not enough time now that his thoughts finally catch up to him.

Of course, he was beyond ecstatic to see the love of his life again but thinking back to how he left things off… he shudders at the thought. He’s downright shit for leaving this mess for you to shoulder on your own, not to mention, the fight that went down before he disappeared. 

If the roles were reversed, he doesn't know if he’ll ever function properly again. He left you after saying some nasty things and did not return. Not even after two weeks, in fact, it took him three. He wonders if you’re mad at him still or if you’ve fully given up on him. He wonders if you think he left you for good on his own accord. He hopes your heart hasn’t been damaged beyond repair. He knows he’ll do a lot worse to himself if it is. 

He just hopes you haven’t completely locked him out of your heart forever because if you haven’t fully closed the doors on him, if he even sees a sliver of forgiveness in your eyes, he’ll lay his everything down in hopes of winning you back.

Wait for me, please, my love.

—

The ocean’s gentle rhythm is the only lullaby strong enough to lure your restless heart and mind to sleep. You can’t imagine being able to rest if you were anywhere else. At least not after the stagnation of your search for your husband. It would’ve been one thing if it were slow progress but there’s nothing else to be found now. Last you heard, there were sightings of a seemingly Fontanian man in Liyue but before anyone could get ahold of him, he disappeared again. You suppose it makes full sense that a man with his extensive knowledge of the underground world and wide connections would slip away easily, after all this is well within his expertise. That’s what you chose to believe, anyway.

The murmurs of the sea continue drumming constant beats as your eyes flutter shut. You hope that this time they bring you to a distant land where all is well; where your husband is still beside you and he still looks at you like you hung the stars just for him. 

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, heavy clunking and ruckus were heard outside by the registrar of the Meropide. Soon, a crowd began to form as doors were opened and gates were unlocked, in came the man of the hour. 

The duke is back.

—

Doors were flung open as the duke marched in, passing by the stunned prisoners of the Meropide. There were rumors abuzz that the duke had fled, of course, his sentence was served to fulfillment so, technically, he did not flee. The spicy part of this scandal was that his wife was left stranded and alone to deal with the mess he’s left. Truth be told, this wasn’t so far from the truth in Wriothesley’s heart. 

Opening the massive steel doors to his residence, Wriothesley whispered prayers. With every step he climbed, he murmured a small prayer and promise of devotion to whichever Celestia deity would grant him your patience and forgiveness. Perhaps, however, he should’ve been whispering his promises of devotion to you instead. 

Like seeing a mirage in a barren desert of swirling guilt and longing, you lay there asleep but so very beautiful. The rise and fall of your chest fills him with ease as the scent of your perfume grows stronger with each step he takes toward you. His eyes begin to water as his feet grow heavy, it seems his heart grew to immense proportions just at seeing you within touching distance. 

He reaches your side and kneels to be at level with your sleeping face. He studies you, slowly memorizing all the things he wishes to never forget. He engraves into his mind, the dips of your cupid’s bow and the flick at the end of your nose. He etches into the crevices of his brain the way your eyelashes flutter just so slightly at whatever it is you sense. Finally, he allows himself to fully sink into your hypnotic gaze as your eyelids lift ever so slightly to reveal his favorite colors. He wishes to have those exact shades enshroud him forever.

The moment you open your eyes, you can’t help but smile, though you remain unmoving. 

How lovely! They did bring you good dreams. 

“My… after so long of not seeing you, I must’ve forgotten how many scars you have,” you giggled lightly as your eyes counted his scars one by one, hoping to update your foggy memory.

You smile as you continue, “two new ones over your left eyebrow and one down your neck. Even in my dreams, you’re still as rugged as ever. I guess it’s my fault for falling in love with a man so magnetized by fights. I love you that way, though. Don’t change.”

Wriothesley could only sit in pious silence as he followed your gaze, he never wanted to part from it.

“My love, why don’t you take me to where you are? I never want to wake up if this is what sleeping is like. I don’t mind remembering new scars that never happened if only to stay with you like this,” you whispered lowly as your hands went out to reach for his cheeks. 

It’s impulsive and you knew the moment his form revealed its corporeal quality, he’d fade away from even your dreams and you’d be left alone again but you just… you just had to. He compels you in a way that no one ever has and ever could. Even if only in this second, you wish to believe he’s just within reach. 

Just like you remember him to be.

Wriothesley closed his eyes as he awaited your warmth. He can’t possibly move an inch or say a word when the atmosphere is filled and doused with your affection and love. He just can’t. If anything, he leans in almost antsy with anticipation. 

But your touch never came. 

Wriothesley opens his eyes to see tears falling down your face and your hands just a hair's breadth away from his cheeks. The droplets stained the carpet beneath him along with his heart.

Breaking piece by piece, his heart shatters as more tears fall from the corner of your eyes; even more when you begin to speak.

“Wriothesley, if I don’t touch you, will you stay? Even as a memory, will you continue to be mine? Or will my mind take that away from me too?”

His heart sank as he watched his love break before him. Not standing for this anymore, he pulled your face closer to his and sealed your lips onto his, claiming this moment as real. 

You cried into the kiss letting every single feeling and emotion you’ve pent up run free. Wriothesley pulled you into him and held you as close as he physically could. He wants to absorb every piece of you into his heart to make sure he never has to part from you ever again. He’s selfish and he keeps ahold of you even after your lips part from his. 

He kisses every inch of your skin to make sure you know he’s here, to make sure he knows you’re here.

Pure, unadulterated love encapsulates his mind as he holds you close, afraid he might lose you again if he lets go. 

As the minutes faded into hours, Wriothesley murmured into your ears the undying poetry of his love for you, unyielding and true. Even if you don’t believe him right now, that’s alright. He’ll keep reminding you of it.

Every second of every minute.

Every minute of every hour.

And every hour of every damned day.

All until you remember it. 

a.n. This is a long one and I just kinda word vomit onto my laptop for a few hours and then bam it's right there. Please be gentle, I don't think I was all that awake for this banger!

Hope it's a good read!

[hobiebrownismygod]

StreetKid!Hobie x Fem!Reader - Short Fic

Synopsis: As a child, Hobie lived on the streets. One day, he met a girl who's kindness knew no bounds and who re-instilled his faith in humanity. Years later, he still wishes he could see her again.

TW: Homelessness, Angst, Lowkey the idea is pretty depressing if you think about it

part 2

___________________________________________________________

"Get out of here y'little punk!"

10 year old Hobie Brown found himself being chased out of yet another store, the icy wind smashing against his face as the owner shut the door behind him, muttering curses about "delinquents" and "street rats". He hadn't been trying to steal anything, all Hobie wanted was some shelter from the horrible cold of the evening. It was well below freezing outside and all he had to protect himself was a thin coat that did little to keep the snow from soaking him right down to the bone.

He shivered as he walked along the trash-ridden sidewalk, the tip of his nose turning a shade of dark blue with the beginning of frostbite. He clutched his pitiful layers tightly around himself, closing his eyes as yet another draft shoved him back. He took to one of the many Camden alleyways and sat down with his back against the wall, watching timidly as the passerby regarded him with disgust, their noses held high as they walked by him, hands full with Christmas shopping bags. To them he was nothing more than a street rat.

It wasn't Hobie's fault that he lived like this, shuffling from one street to another, digging through trash cans for just one loaf of bread or something to keep him warm. His parents had died a while back, leaving him in the care of his older brother, Abraham. Abe had done a great job raising Hobie for the past year, working hard to give them both shelter and keep Hobie fed. But one horrifically violent protest later, Hobie found himself a true orphan, his older brother no longer around to protect him.

Hobie had always looked up to Abe. He was a true punk and had taught Hobie his first few guitar strings. It had been a quiet night when Abe had gotten his hands on a discarded guitar and brought it back to the shelter to show his little brother. He'd handed it to Hobie with a big grin plastered across his face, and the two of them spent the rest of the night teaching themselves different notes, playing and fighting with each other over turns the way siblings did.

But now, Abe was gone and so was the guitar. All Hobie had left was his jacket, a few sizes too big for him and too thin to keep him from getting a cold. As he huddled up in that alleyway, he felt tears begin to prickle the corners of his eyes. He was scared. Not only was he homeless, but he was lost. He didn't know where the shelter was and he didn't know if he'd survive the night. He could feel it start to snow as well, the soft little flakes hitting his bare face and moistening his hair. Abe loved the snow.

And then it was like he'd heard the voice of an angel.

"Hey, are you okay?"

He looked up and saw something so beautiful, he could barely believe his own eyes. A young girl, probably around his age, with long flowy hair, perfect skin and the most gorgeous eyes he'd ever beheld was standing in front of him, a sweet smile on her face and her hand outstretched towards him. He watched in shock for a moment, thinking he was hallucinating. He stayed silent as he took her hand and she pulled him up.

Another young boy arrived behind her, a nervous expression on his face as he watched Hobie and the girl, eyes darting between them. "Y/N, come on! We're gonna get in trouble!" He said in a whiny voice, grabbing onto the girl's arm desperately.

"Calm down, Harry! My father won't even realize we're gone" the girl replied, shaking him off. She looked back at Hobie, her voice turning soft again. "Are you alright? You look starved, you poor thing" She reached out towards his face and caressed his cheek gently, looking him up and down.

He was in awe. He leaned into her touch, his eyes never leaving her face. "Y/N, don't do that! You don't know where he's been!" the boy, Harry, said quickly. The girl smacked him on the arm before looking back at Hobie with a curious expression on her face.

Hobie watched as she pulled her jacket off her back and pushed it into his arms. "Here. Take this. It'll keep you warm." Hobie was in shock. He shook his head no and tried to return the jacket to her, pleading for her to take it back. "I can't take this..." he whispered, his big watery eyes wide with surprise. "Its all right! Its too big for me anyway, it'll fit you perfectly" she said with a smile, forcing the jacket towards him.

"You're crazy" the boy named Harry whined to her, looking between the girl and Hobie, that same nervous expression still on his face. The girl continued to ignore him, not taking her eyes off of Hobie's. "Look. F.E.A.S.T. shelter is right down the street. Keep going down Main and take a right onto Hamilton and you'll see it in the distance." She pointed across the road.

Hobie nodded at her words, still in disbelief at the fact that she was helping him. Who even was she? When she finished giving him directions, she looked up at him and nodded. "You understand?"

"Thank you" he replied quietly, his eyes darting in between hers, his voice barely a croaked out whisper as he blinked tears back. "Thank you so much."

"You can thank me by keeping safe and warm." she replied, tilting her head up at him slightly. Suddenly, she turned her head as if she heard her name being called. "Oh no, we're in trouble now!" Harry squeaked out. "Oh calm down, no we're not!" she looked back up at Hobie and patted his shoulder. "Remember the directions. Get to F.E.A.S.T. and they'll take care of you."

Hobie nodded again, unsure of how else to respond besides whispering out another thank you. And then, she leaned in and gave him a friendly peck on the cheek before she and the boy, Harry, ran back towards their family. Hobie touched the part of his cheek that she'd kissed, watching her in astonishment before he began to head down the street, the jacket she'd given him filling him with a warmth he hadn't felt in ages. He could still just barely hear her talking in the distance.

"Y/N? Where's your jacket?"

"I lost it."

"Silly girl, how could you lose a jacket? We'll have to get you another one, tsktsk"

Hobie eventually arrived at F.E.A.S.T. and it was there he stayed for a few years before he was old enough to start squatting with other teenagers his age. Even after he left F.E.A.S.T., he still returned often, volunteering and donating what he could, getting to know all the new admittees and more.

He was 19 now, and it had been 9 years since he'd encountered that girl, but to this day, he couldn't forget her. That hair, that skin, those eyes. That perfect smile. The way she'd looked at him like he was all that mattered in that moment. He wished every single day that he'd find her. Whenever he went outside, especially near the richer neighborhoods, he would find himself subconsciously searching the crowds to see if he could recognize her. If he could see her face.

And even after he'd outgrown the jacket she'd given him, and it was a really nice, expensive jacket at that, he'd patched pieces of it onto his vest. Whenever he touched them, he would get that warm feeling in his chest again, that feeling that let him know he mattered.

Even if he was just some delinquent punk to everyone else. Even though he was a street kid. He mattered to her. And that was all that mattered.

He hoped one day he would see her again.

____________________________________________________________

A/N: Thought this was a cute AU and I got the idea from the StreetKid!Hobie post @the-cat-and-the-birdie made, I'll link it if I find it again. If enough people are interested I might make a part 2 where he actually meets the girl and they fall in love or something cuz I think it would make a cute story <3

If I do continue this story I'll prob do it on wattpad cuz its a lot easier for me so you can access that here:

Hobie brown x Reader - Full Fanfiction

I'll try to update it regularly

Tags under the cut:

@s6onder @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @@vileviale @bubble787635 @hows-my-handwriting

[madcapberry]

i would love to know ur dickhelena thoughts that might be controversial actually… i recently finished a bunch of huntress reading so she’s been on my mind a lot

Idk maybe the most controversial thing is how much I care about the two of them as a pair. I think their friendship is more compelling than Dick and Babs as a relationship or Helena and Babs (whatever tf you’d call what they have going on). And I just wish that we’d gotten more of Dick and Helena together, I feel like their dynamic had so much meat to it. There was so much to dig into that was never full explored. And I think leaning into it would have been good for the development of BOTH of them as characters.

I’m not saying I think they should be a couple, but it makes me sad that nobody seems to care about them as a pair. There are so many Dick Grayson fans and I feel like a large portion of them barely know who Helena is. And Helena fans generally don’t seem to give a fuck about Dick (correct me if I’m wrong, that’s just based on my observations… also fair enough). But they make such interesting foils and you could do so many different stories with the two of them and their opposing viewpoints. And it’s always more interesting than pairing Helena up with Batman because Dick and Helena actually seem to care about each other on a human level and they have this unnamable tension between them that I think works so so so well.

The dynamic I’m talking about is pretty contained to the 90s through to 2011. Dick and Helena’s dynamic in Grayson is fun but it also feels like both of them (but especially Helena) are completely different characters there. And to be completely honest I don’t know a lot about what their relationship looks like since Rebirth.

What I wanted from them was for their relationship/friendship/working partnership to get the breathing room to stretch and grow. I wanted it to be painful and sweet and difficult. I wanted their chemistry, their similarities, and their camaraderie to MEAN SOMETHING!! And it was pushed aside by people like Chuck Dixon who were very very keen on pushing Dick and Barbara as a power couple (Nothing against Babs, I absolutely adore her. Really don’t like DickBabs tho) I also think a lot of writers at the time disliked Helena so they did their best to make it seem like she meant nothing to their precious Nightwing.

I think they work better as friends than as a couple. They’re both quite uncompromising characters with core values that don’t line up. It could be interesting to explore a romantic relationship between them, but anytime that’s been done it just feels… off to me. I don’t mind the sometimes sexual aspect of their relationship, it works for me sometimes, but at other times I do think it feels a little bit forced (Devin Grayson why is Helena randomly shoving her tongue down his throat). Anyway.

Dick can’t love certain parts of her, (her willingness to kill bad people). Helena can’t love certain parts of him (his rigidity, to put it lightly). And I think what they both need is a kind of freedom they’ll never be able to find in each other. It’s crazy because both of these characters have a sort of wild and free personality at times but neither of them are free. Helena is bound by the memory of the slaughter of her family, her old mob ties, her guilt, her compassion and hatred in equal measures, her religion, Batman and Gotham. Dick is bound by his love for Bruce, the shoes he has to fill, the version of himself he needs to live up to, the version of himself Bruce imagines is real, the weight of all the people who rely on him etc.

There’s this dedication and commitment and fervor at the core of both of them and they’re both orphans and they’ve both experienced so much violence and they both have a chip on their shoulder about Batman and yet they have so much to argue over it’s GREAT!!!!

Anyways love them a lot ok byeee!

[engie-ivy]

(Wolfstar Meet-Cute with Fancy Guest Sirius and Waiter Remus!)

Read Part Two here

1697 words

When the best thing about a party is the waiter, it's either a very lame party, or a very appealing waiter. Or, as in this case, both.

There's Bound To Be Talk Tomorrow

Baby, it's Cold Outside - Frank Loesser

Sirius has to resist the urge to just lay his head down on the table and groan when Rabastan walks away for a moment to chat to the prime minister. The main course hasn't even been served yet and the evening already feels much, much too long.

“He's an asshole.”

Sirius looks up to see his table’s waiter having sat down on the chair next to him. Calloused hands, scars peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, floppy hair and a somewhat challenging look in his amber-coloured eyes.

Around them, people are milling about, dressed to the nines, seeing and being seen, exchanging polite conversation with existing connections and trying to make new connections, at the annual Christmas benefit gala dinner for high society's rich and powerful. Sirius can already see curious, and some scandalized, looks being thrown in their direction for an employee sitting down at one of the tables and talking to one of the guests. The waiter must also notice, but he doesn't seem to care, or even might enjoy causing a little controversy.

Sirius is intrigued.

He has been exchanging looks with the waiter all evening, it's actually the only thing that has made the evening bearable so far.

“I know things are unequally distributed,” Rabastan said. “Of course I have achieved everything by working very hard, but sometimes I think it's just so unfair that I'm also highly intelligent, well-spoken, and a naturally gifted businessman. I feel bad for those who don't have my skills and talent, but giving money to the poor will not solve anything. They will just squander it.” He shook his head. “No, I believe I'll help most by leading by example and giving advice based on my own successes.”

“Mmm,” Sirius hummed. “I don't think ‘let your dad make you CEO of his company’ is very useful advice to many.”

Sirius heard someone snort, and when he looked up, he saw the waiter quickly covering his mouth with his hand. They exchanged an amused look.

“Why would I have to pay for other people's health care?” Rabastan asked loudly, wine almost splashing out of his glass. “I take good care of myself! I spend precious time working with a personal trainer, I only let my personal chef prepare healthy meals, and I only eat at restaurants serving the finest organic foods.”

One of the women at their table looked at Rabastan with admiration.

Rabastan sat back in his chair, smirking. “If other people want to stuff themselves with fast food, it's their problem if they get sick. I'm not going to pay the prize.”

The waiter glanced at Sirius in a ‘is this guy for real?’ kind of way, and Sirius had just shrugged helplessly.

Rabastan lifted his glass. “I'd like to propose a toast! But not to myself, no. The excellent year I had, all my personal achievements, all my impressive financial gains, it all means nothing in light of the good cause for which we are gathered here tonight; the orphaned children.”

“Orphaned children,” Sirius repeated with a raised eyebrow. “You do know tonight is to raise money for children fighting cancer?”

Rabastan gave him an annoyed look. “Of course,” he said pointedly. “That's what I meant. When you give so much to so many charities all the time, you sometimes lose track.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I'm just such a giving person. It's my biggest flaw.”

Sirius almost automatically searched the waiter's gaze, and when their gazes met, they rolled their eyes at the same time.

Yet, Sirius hadn't expected the waiter to be so bold as to sit down in the vacant chair next to him the moment Rabastan’s back was turned, and talk to him like that.

“Your date, I mean,” the waiter says, as if Sirius might not have understood. “Your date’s an asshole.”

His refreshing straightforwardness, his ‘I don't care’-attitude, the challenge hidden in those eyes, it's… Well, it's damn hot, is what it is.

“I know,” Sirius agrees, taking a sip from his drink.

The waiter smirks. “So, is that your type then? Egocentric pricks?”

Sirius chuckles. “Not quite, no. It was my mother who insisted on this match.”

The waiter arches an eyebrow. “Does your mother always pick your dates?”

“This was a special case,” Sirius replies. “Her brother's daughter just got engaged to a Lestrange, so of course one of her children simply had to attend tonight's event with a Lestrange as well.” He rolls his eyes.

“You do know that you are allowed to say no to your mother, right?” The waiter asks.

“Oh, believe me, I do,” Sirius replies. “Going against my family's wishes is actually one of my specialties, but in this case I decided to oblige.”

“How so?”

Sirius nods towards a couple a few tables to the right and the waiter turns to look.

A young man with features similar to Sirius’, but shorter and slightly thinner, with also shorter hair, styled in an old-fashioned haircut, is talking to another young man, with blond curly hair and a face that seems permanently flushed. They seem not to notice anything else in the room, leaning towards each other with similar smiles on their faces, talking animatedly.

“Cute,” the waiter states.

“My younger brother, Regulus,” Sirius says. “He got asked by Evan Rosier to attend tonight's event together, and he was just over the moon. I knew that our mother wasn't going to let go of the idea of one of her children attending with a Lestrange, and that if I would say no, she would ask Reg, and he has never been as good as I am in telling our parents no. He definitely would've agreed for some stupid reason as ‘placing the family's interest above his own’ or something like that, even though it would've killed him to turn down Rosier.” Sirius shakes his head. “I decided to give Reg this one night with Rosier that he had been so looking forward to, and the only way I could, was by agreeing to attend with Rabastan Lestrange myself.”

“And here I was thinking you just had awful taste in men,” the waiter says. “But there's actually some noble, self-sacrificing reason behind it.”

“It's just one night of sitting in a chair eating fancy food,” Sirius says. “Not much sacrifice.”

“Well, I couldn't do it,” the waiter says, glancing at the many rows of cutlery on the table. “Sitting next to him with so many knives within hand's reach. I would've stabbed him by now.”

Sirius chuckles. “I admit I came close to jabbing a fork in his hand at one point, but I feared I would hit my own leg, as his hand happened to be positioned on my thigh at that moment.”

The waiter makes a face. “I'm sorry.” Then he looks at Sirius with a sincere expression. “Listen,” he begins a tad awkwardly. “You definitely don't strike me as some damsel in distress and I'm sure you can take good care of yourself and don't need to hear this from me, but I hope you're not letting him bring you home? I know it's none of my business, but I don't like the way he's looking at you, and he seems like the type of person who's not used to being told no. I don't like the idea of you being alone with him.”

“Don't worry,” Sirius says, tapping his glass of water. “I made sure I have my own ride. I drove here on my motorcycle.”

“Motorcycle?” The waiter groans, placing a hand over his heart. “God, just when I thought you couldn't get any hotter.”

Sirius barks a laugh.

The waiter tilts his head and smiles while looking at Sirius. “I like your laugh. I didn't hear you laugh like that before.”

Sirius, who can't even recall the last time he blushed, feels his face flush. “That's because it's my real laugh. And Rabastan told me not to laugh like that in public. He says I'll embarrass him, and that it makes me sound like a barking dog.”

The waiter frowns. “Like… that's a bad thing? I mean, can you imagine a better sound than a barking dog?”

Sirius barks another laugh.

“That's two,” the waiter says. “Two times I made you laugh your real laugh. Take that, Rabastan. You know,” he leans forward smiling at Sirius. “I think, given the chance, I can increase that number.”

“What do you mean?” Sirius asks.

“How about we just get out of here together?” The waiter asks.

“Really?” Sirius asks, and then he smirks. “Didn't you just warn me against being alone with a man who might have an ulterior motive?”

“Ah,” the waiter says, holding up a finger. “I said a man who isn't used to being told no. I, however, am very much used to being told no!” Then he cringes at himself. “Good god, did I really just try to flirt with a cute guy by emphasizing how used I am to being rejected?”

Sirius barks a laugh again.

The waiter says nothing, just holds up three fingers.

Sirius shakes his head, but he can't suppress the smile on his face. “You'll lose your job.”

The waiter shrugs. “It's a shite job, with shite pay.”

“Still,” Sirius says. “You'll give it up for someone you know nothing about?”

“I know that I want to hear that laugh more often,” the waiter says. “As for the rest? I'm willing to take a risk.” He holds out his hand. “So, what do you say? Is it too much of a cliché for me to sit on the back of your motorcycle with my arms wrapped around you, while we drive off into the night together?”

It will undoubtedly be stupid. The waiter will lose his job, Sirius will get in all sorts of trouble with his family, and they don't even know each other's name. Yet, there's something about the man that Sirius finds himself unable to resist. “It is a terrible cliché,” Sirius agrees, while still reaching out to take the man's offered hand. “But I guess I can appreciate a good classic.”

Now with a Part Two!

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Dazai truly has become Oda in every way imaginable now. :’ ) the final words he gives to Sigma are the exact same words Oda gives to Dazai in the original scene Asagiri wrote for the end of the Dark Era stage play, 後は頼んだよ, “I will leave the rest to you.”

And I really love the progression of the way his eyes look in this chapter, and how Sigma is allowed to have this moment of questioning and rebelling against all the faith Dazai had naturally been leading him to place in him up to this point, which is what I hoped would happen. He’s been confused ever since Dazai first chose him, and everything he’s ever known about how everyone sees/treats him turned upside down by Dazai’s words and actions, and just when he’s finally started to feel like he’s found some hope and lowered his guard, Dazai pulls him back underwater, instantly reinforcing all of Sigma’s trust issues and reinforcing that he should never believe in anyone, because (he thinks) everyone lives to manipulate other people. Dazai’s dark eyes here reinforce that, too, and the other panels around this point where they look white and hollow and demonic, all like Fyodor’s. He appears like an evil, looming force pulling him back under, trying to kill him, when Sigma is so close to the freedom of the air he desperately wants (aka free from pain, which is what he’s been seeking his whole life).

But then Dazai makes this face, and the first one I posted above, and Sigma understands, even without words, that Dazai doesn’t have evil intent: on the contrary, he actually is bound and determined to save his life -- and the light in his eyes comes out through this determination and kindness, arguably the most light we’ve ever seen his eyes have in the entire manga (in the “I leave the rest to you” panel too). The “No” could be Dazai wordlessly telling him to not leave the water, but my first assumption was that it was Sigma telling himself no, stopping his own train of thought about Dazai being the same as Fyodor and someone he shouldn’t have trusted -- he soon realizes why Dazai stopped him, and that he’s still going to try to save him, that he wasn’t wrong about him, and it’s all because Dazai’s earnest expressions get through to him.

And it’s just so heartwarming to see how far Dazai has come. :’ ) He tried so hard to save Sigma (doing the most physical action we’ve ever seen him do, really), did his best to be reassuring and comforting to him afterwards, and then reaffirmed his promise to ensure he escaped Meursault alive, his final words to Sigma echoing Oda’s and his last action being to save an orphan, just like Oda did in his last moments. Obviously Dazai isn’t actually going to die, he’ll be saved somehow, but I do think as of right now he really does think this is the end for him, and that he didn’t foresee the elevator dropping -- he was examining the wires a few chapters ago because he thought he might need to know how to open the doors in case Fyodor pulled an uno reverse, hence why he looks more annoyed than shocked when the water starts, but here, when the drop collision sequence is initiated, he looks genuinely shook in comparison. There’d be no reason for him to give the thumbs up if he knew more danger was on the way, either; that’d just be cruel. No, I don’t think he saw this coming, and it’s important that that turns out to be the case: it’s important that he spent what he believes to have been his last moments saving someone like Oda wanted for him, and doing what Oda would have done in the same situation. That doesn’t mean that it’s okay that Dazai throws his life away so easily, and cares so little for his own safety; he still has a long way to go in that regard. But it’s still so beautiful to see how much he’s changed, and how much he’s truly begun to embody Oda and his legacy; the fact that he messed up and miscalculated, because Dazai isn’t infallible, but in turn didn’t hesitate to use his last moments to save Sigma. Oda would be so proud for everything he did here. :’ ) 💖

There are a lot of options for how Dazai will be saved, and by who, but personally I hope (and I kind of expect) that Sigma chooses to not give up on him and ultimately plays a role in saving his life, to return the favor and repay him for his kindness. Not only would it be a beautiful way to initiate Sigma’s ADA entrance exam as people have said, but it would bring the Dazai > Atsushi > Sigma chain full circle: Dazai saved Atsushi at the start of the series, allowing him to (spiritually) save Sigma at sky casino thanks to the growth fostered in him by Dazai, and now finally, Sigma could potentially save Dazai thanks to Atsushi kickstarting his own growth (and Dazai continuing it). Fyodor is overly cocky right now and so tunnel-visioned on killing Dazai, it’s possible that he has no idea that Sigma managed to escape the elevator and is now a wild card; even if Sigma doesn’t go as far as killing Fyodor himself (which I don’t want, tbh; that’s endgame stuff arcs down the line and imo Nikolai and Dazai should be the ones involved with that), he could throw a wrench in the jailbreak duel, and help Dazai and Chuuya get out alive. It would be poetic, and only fitting, for Fyodor to underestimate and be outdone by the kind of person Dazai told him is the strongest in chapter 77 -- a self-proclaimed “ordinary man” -- who could only have the strength to take such action thanks to the chain of kindness that Oda originally started. 💖

[lavender-romancer]

Crosses on my body 

Part One Tommy Shelby x Reader 

You were a nun in Dublin but when you decided to take action against those in powerful positions in the church you had to escape. When you turn up in Birmingham and begin a relationship with Tommy Shelby will he be able to protect you from your past? 

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

All you could do was run, as fast as your legs would allow you. Fear drove you forward, it was the only thing that could motivate you to escape. As you got closer to the docks you felt every fibre of your body being lifted up to the heavens into freedom. You could feel your heart beating out of your body as you stepped onto the boat bound for Liverpool. Clutching your crucifix tight in your right hand, you stared out at the sea and let tears of shame roll down your face. 

"Where are you coming from?" The British officer asked you as you handed over your identification in the Liverpool dock. 

"Dublin," you mustered a fake smile. 

"A lot of your lot coming here these days," he sighed and you had to resist rolling your eyes. 

"All the more of us to help with the workforce then, as a woman of faith I have to hope we're all treated as God's children." You tightened your scarf around your neck and he looked at you through his eyelashes. 

"Have you got any work set up for when you're here?" He asked. 

"Yes, employment in Birmingham, this was just the easiest route to take." You handed over the advertisement and the correspondence you had with the Garrison Pub. 

"Birmingham hmm, a lot of trouble in that city miss. Stay safe, you're free to enter." He handed you back your documents and you smiled before walking past him. 

The journey to Birmingham wasn't too bad, the bruising on your neck made it worse- the swelling was bearable but the fact you had to wear a scratchy scarf everywhere was unimaginably uncomfortable. You took a cab to Garrison Lane and were surprised to hear yet another person warn you about 'the dangers of this city' as the driver put it. Was the evil you escaped present here too? 

Tommy wasn't intending to go to the Garrison but when he saw you standing outside, clutching your crucifix he couldn't help himself. After Grace his inquisitive nature didn't usually get the best of him, but what could someone like you doing walking in there? Finding out you were Irish as well felt like too much of a coincidence but still Tommy observed you as you spoke to Harry and poured a pint. 

"You don't look like someone who would know how to pour a pint," Arthur commented as you pushed his whisky towards him. 

"I worked in a bar before being the the convent in Dublin," you smiled at him and he laughed. 

"What were you? A fucking nun?" He asked. 

"Yes, a fucking nun." You leaned on the bar and looked into his eyes. 

"I like this one. Got a lot going on," Arthur yelled and Tommy approached the bar, sitting next to his brother "Tommy! Meet, Y/n. Our newest employee " 

"I take it you're my employer?" You asked as you stuck out your hand towards him. 

"Thomas Shelby, pleasure." He shook your hand and noted your soft hands but strong grip. 

"He's all formality, Y/n. Tommy does not allow himself to have fun so forgive his lack of a friendly smile." Arthur's voice booked through the mostly empty pub and you laughed looking at Tommy's annoyed face. 

"I'm used to the stoic type, so working somewhere like this allows me to actually see some kind of joy in people's eyes." You placed a glass of whisky in front of Thomas and he nodded in thanks. 

"Where did you work before?" Tommy asked. 

"A  school. I taught orphaned children. But it was just too…" you paused. "There weren't any challenges. So I thought, maybe a new city." You could feel Tommys eyes on you, he knew you were lying.

"Working with children in those situations must give you challenges?" Tommy commented and you nodded. 

"I suppose I wanted a new type of challenge for myself," you said quietly as you dried glasses and placed them under the bar. 

"You can come with me to the church after your shift." Tommy said as he stood up and straightened his blazer. 

"Do you need to be taught how to pray by someone who has a connection with our Lord?" You asked playfully. 

"Perhaps." Tommy looked at the scarf around your neck before turning toward the door and leaving. 

He knew you were hiding something, he'd never met someone of faith who didn't have some skeletons in their wardrobe. But what could someone like you hide? The scarf around your neck indicated to him that maybe you'd be strangled or hurt but that didn't exactly seem like a secret worth keeping. After the events with Grace he'd promised himself to not fall back into an arrangement full of lies but he couldn't help but think about your eyes. The darkness that he could see inside them mixed with sadness instantly drew him towards you. 

It was approaching the end of your shift as the pub began to quieten down hour by hour when Thomas walked in and sat at the bar. 

"Hope they haven't been too rowdy," he nodded to the private room where his brother and some other Shelby associates were. 

"Not at all," you lied. "I'm used to it either way," 

"How is that? Going from barmaid to nun? Sounds too strange to lie about." Tommy picked up the glass of whisky you placed in front of him.

"Well, as they all say, I felt the calling of a higher power," you pointed up to the ceiling with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not exactly a complete success story but I still have a strong belief in God." 

"Then why did you leave? This must be a backwater in comparison to what you came from." He commented looking over his glass at you. 

"I love God. I don't necessarily love the way that love is expressed by others." You placed two pint glasses back under the bar. 

"I don't believe in a higher power but I do agree with that. Some people use their religion to fund their own corruption," Tommy placed his left hand down on the bar, it was characteristically sticky. "You should get a barmaid to clean all this," he said with a smirk as he wiped his hand on his trouser leg. 

"Ugh, tell me about it. Just can't get the staff." You walked towards the back with a handful of glasses before turning. "Still desiring a spiritual journey with me?" You asked him. 

"Oh yes. Take those through and then you can leave for the night," He downed the rest of his whisky and you raised an eyebrow before placing down the glasses in the sink behind the bar. 

As you left with Tommy walking towards the church the moon was at half wane, it reminded you of the night it had all happened- the night of the unforgivable act you'd committed. 

"You're in your own head a lot huh?" Tommy remarked as he put his hands into the pocket of his overcoat. 

"And you're not?" You retorted sharply. 

"Fair point. I'll stand down." He smirked to himself. 

"Have you ever prayed?" You asked. 

"When I was younger, sometimes during the war. But that sort of thing beats down any hope of religion." His face was stoic once more. 

"I can't imagine. But I know for some poor souls it was their only belief that they would get out alive. Were you infantry?" You turned your head towards him as you fidgeted with your sleeve. 

"I was a tunneler. Along with Arthur, my other brother and some other men from here." Tommy looked up at the stars, the moon shining on the puddles pooled on the cobblestones. 

"I'm sorry you had to suffer with that responsibility." You said with a genuine look of concern on your face.

"Well, all over now." Tommy said and a pregnant silence fell between the two that felt uncomfortable for you. You felt a need to fill it. 

"I wish I could hear a church choir again or church bells" You reminisced as you saw the church up ahead. 

"I think the only time I heard proper church bells and a choir was at my wedding, even then I didn't see the point of it." Tommy lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke. You held out your hand for one and he handed you one with a scoff. 

"You're married?" You asked as you lit your cigarette and looked forward. 

"Widowed now, anyways." 

“I’m sorry for your loss, how did she die if you don’t mind me asking?” you tapped the ash off the end of your cigarette.

“She was killed a few months ago, I have no idea why I’m being so open with you. Might be the be the whole nun thing.” Tommy chuckled and you smiled.

“I get that a lot if you can believe. I’ve taken in a lot of secrets in my time regardless of how low level they were all important to me.” you looked toward Tommy.

“Are you going to save me from myself?” Tommy asked with a devilish look in his eyes.

“Only if you haven’t accepted Satan into your soul, Thomas.” You looked down at the pavement and didn’t notice Tommy looking at you. “If you are the Devil,” you paused.

“And I believe I might be.” Tommy interjected.

“Unless you find God, you’ll burn for eternity in Hell.” You smirked and Tommy sighed.

“Your God hasn’t given me much of a sign recently where i would express penance.” Tommy added and you shrugged.

“Sometimes we are not listening to his message,” You dropped your cigarette and stubbed it out. 

“Here we are,” Tommy stopped and looked at the church before him. You stood by his side and took a deep breath, closing your eyes and allowing the wind to travel through your body. 

As the two of you walked down the centre of the pews you took in the beauty of the Mother Mary statue at the centre feeling the warm ripple across your body as you approached the statue. Before sitting on the second pew from the front you made the sign of the cross on your chest, Tommy sat next to you. Bringing out your rosary Tommy raised an eyebrow.

“Have you ever prayed the rosary?” you asked holding the crucifix. 

“Possibly with Polly when I was younger, but not with any knowledge of what I was doing,” Tommy looked down at your hands clutching the crucifix. “It’s sacred to you isn’t it?”

“Regardless of what has happened in the last 15 years of my life as a sister I always had the Lord and our Mother Mary. Prayer calms me and makes me feel like I’m uplifting myself. I suppose this crisis of faith I’m experiencing isn’t exactly the best time to show you how to pray.” You smiled and Tommy shook his head. 

“You’re interesting to me. You were a nun for fuck sake, maybe I want to be saved?” Tommy theorised. 

“And you believe I can save you, Thomas Shelby?” you asked looking into his eyes as he gazed down at your lips. 

“I think you were sent here to save my soul,” He whispered 

"I think you might be the devil," You said softly as you leant closer to his face

"Are you scared of that?" Tommy asked.

"I've been looking for a sign of God that he's listening. Some kind of notion that he still hears me. Perhaps if I kiss someone like you I will get that sign I need," you paused. "God will punish me."

“Then why do you want to kiss me?” He asked.

“So I know he exists,” you leant forward and kissed him softly, Tommy’s hand placed over your rosary in a confused notion of faith, “Ah, well. I wasn’t struck down by lightning. Maybe you aren’t the Devil.” 

“I think I can challenge that point of view,” Tommy put a hand on your cheek. 

“Our Father,” You began to whisper. “Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy Will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” You paused once more and tried to connect with your deeper self. “Amen.”

next part Peaky Blinders Taglist: @queenofkings1212 @severewobblerlightdragon @cl5369 @fairypitou @stressedandbandobessed7771 @shadow-of-wonder @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns @curled-hair-red-lips @lucystivinsky1315

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

Let's settle down for the night.

Quick summary: You’ve been each other’s for a long time. You trust him with your life, your body, you time, and he trusts you with his. Sometimes, though, you find yourself craving a quieter kind of intimacy. Without the helmet.

Word count: 6.3K

Warnings: A lot of fluff 😩😩; may be inaccurate ‘cause, I gotta say, I’m a Star Wars fan but I did not proper hyperfixate on it like with some of the other stuff I’ve written about (buffs, please help me out here); kind of angsty??? like, reader’s an orphan etc; allusions to smut (under the shirt stuff amiright amiright); explicit mentions of smut.

A/N: What a fittie, guys. Bound to happen. This one goes out to @manicdream for giving me a lil’ prompt where you and Din are in looove aaaand—I guess you’ll have to keep reading for the fluuuff and feels! I really had fun with this one! Love this stoic, brooding, dramatic lad, and I enjoyed exploring love languages, their communication, etc, etc. i have no idea when this would take place, so just try to follow along, I guess??? I hope you enjoy this short, little story! I think this is gonna be just one part by the way. For all you Pedro Pascal sluts out there 😌😌😌, I do think I’m gonna write a smut thing for Joel Miller TLOU. NO PROMISES, THOUGH. Just finished the latest episode and what the fuck 😀😀😀 it just gets more and more traumatising huh. Anyway, please enjoy this happy fic!

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We’ve been walking for a while, now. Muscles aching, legs straining. The low, sloping sands of the Tatooine desert are pink in the setting suns, stretching on for years and years. 

The light flames up brilliant red and orange and bright white in his beskar, and I have to squint my eyes when I look over at him. From this angle, he looks like he’s all armour. When the suns finally go down, he’ll be a silhouette. That time of day always suits him best. You know how people you meet just seem like things sometimes. Din’s like rich soil, the kind that you can sink your fingers deep into with one single push. Or like a rock – with how little he talks, I used to think he was a rock. He’s also dusk. Dusk happens to be my favourite time of day. 

My feet are dragging again. If I were with anyone else, I’d never let my guard down—but it’s just us, and we’re in the middle of nowhere, and we’ve got a whole bunch of credits in my pack that’s almost enough to finally buy us our own ship. Won’t have to put up with sceptical glances on commercial flights anymore, or getting bashed about by produce on cargo ships we’ve had to sneak onto. Maker, I miss the comfort of the Razor Crest. But, y’know, it’s—it’s what it is. Lucky for us, transportation is the worst of our problems – it’s been a relatively quiet trip over the planet; no trouble—yet. Quietly trading with sketchy contractors in isolated taverns. We never ask questions about the high-paying ones, whether we’re implicitly tipping the scales of some political bantha shit, but I’m always curious.

A dry gust of wind cools my stifling skin, a break from the still weather.

“You alright back there?”

Din has his head angled slightly back towards me. His grainy, modulated voice curves my mouth up into a smile, and I stare fondly over at him as he slows his pace a little to fall into step with me. I urge him not to slack with the jerk of my head.

“Yeah, ‘f’course,” I assure him, tongue buzzing with foul saliva. Can’t drink just yet, though, ‘cause I already chugged about half of my waterskin way back at sun-up. He’s offered me the rest of his, but I refused to take it. Though, right now, grimacing at the bile in my mouth, I am thinking hard about changing my mind. “We’re safe,” I say confidently. We’ve been careful.

“I know.” Yeah, I know he knows. “I was just wonderin’ cause, y’know, you’ve been a little quiet.”

Playfully, I nudge into him (damn that beskar) and laugh as he shoves me back. “What, so you’re saying you want my ‘mindless chit-chatting’ back now, huh?”

I’m talking out of my ass, of course. We’ve had a thing going for a while, now – it’s been just us for a while. I know he doesn’t mean any harm when he teases me like that. It takes a lot for him to hurt my feelings, and he never does. Maybe at first, when neither of us would admit that we were happier being together than apart. I don’t know why I didn’t just tag along with him sooner. If I had known that those gruff, little grunts he’d make during conversation when we’d cross paths during jobs meant that he was enjoying himself?—well, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time in asking him to be my partner. In all senses.

But still, he feels the need to explain: “Ah, you know I was just—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I suppose that, after so long needing to be strong and tough and brave and coarse to get on with life and work, he likes being soft. This is soft for him: letting me walk ahead just slightly, his shoulder behind mine, so that he’s always got my six; teasing me about things he’s told me are his favourite qualities of mine; secretly watching me from behind the security of his visor. I don’t tell him I love it, and I don’t tell him I notice, but he knows, I think.

He turns away to complete a quick scan of the horizon on his blind side, and I do the same for mine, before we turn back to each other. He’s tired – I can tell by the way he’s leaning in towards me, like he wants to be held. The privacy of this big, wide desert must be a comfort to him. I know it is to me.

“How’s your day been?” he asks me lowly.

I laugh. “You mean the day we’re currently spending together?”

He nods. “Tell me about it.”

Stars, I’m glad it’s getting dark, because my cheeks start to glow with warmth. Not necessarily just his voice or even the words. Consistently, he always asks about my day. Yesterday, it was in a dingy tavern, after avoiding a bar fight (some prick tried to trick me out of a drink the contractor bought me fair ‘n’ square). The day before, it was in the dead of night, looking up at the stars, with the bounty, unconscious, lying between us.

“I liked it.” He scoffs. “I did. There’s been no trouble, and, y’know, I grew up on a desert planet like this.”

“Bantha farmers, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He grunts.

I laugh again. “You bastard! You’re so judgemental. Honestly worse than those Coruscanti pricks we worked for ages back. Remember how they looked at us when we traded? Tried to underpay us? Bet they’ve never risked even chipping a nail.” Bounty hunting is a little more difficult these days without the assurance of carbonite freezing, without the security of the Guild – we’ve had to complete ten times as many jobs for five times lesser rates just to get where we are now. Reminds me of when I first started out: bounties fighting back, trying to make a run for it. But what else are we supposed to do?—take up a job where?

The suns slip below the horizon, and everything is washed a low, gentle violet—and Din is that silhouette, now, and everything seems peaceful, like it all fits together just right. Even though, of course, it might not fit together just right when I try to haggle the price of that gunship down a few credits or so and the vendor absolutely obliterates me with the most personal, cutting insults in the entire galaxy. Din’s no help in the communication sector there – the stoic type – but, if anything, he’ll be able to stand behind me with that armour and steel glare and weapons of his to try and intimidate that damn stubborn seller all the way to fuckin’ Bargain Town. Because, damn, we’re relying on it. Peli, bless her soul, doesn’t have anything large or powerful enough to support the three of us on our run from the Empire.

Speaking of the three of us, the kid’s absence, I hate to say it, is kind of nice. Of course, I worry about him, but I trust that he’s being well-looked-after at the garage. Safer than he would be with us. But I haven’t had Din to myself in what seems like years. Last time he touched me was—was—a long time ago. Too much stress. Not enough time to savour it. And he’s all about savouring those kind of things, those moments, dragging them out as long as possible.

I can feel his stare on the side of my face. My sweaty, greasy, clogged face – stars, I can’t wait until we reach a water supply.

“Are you looking at me right now?” I ask, amused.

He does another strategically-timed scan of the area, turning away from me even though I can’t see his face. I wonder if he blushes under that helmet, if it’s really obvious. “You’re looking at me.”

I roll my eyes and smile softly, lowering the scarf around my nose and mouth and tucking the fabric beneath my chin. “How was your day?”

“Good.”

“Good why?”

“‘Cause I’ve got your mindless chit-chattin’ to keep me company.”

Forcing a laugh, I glare at him again. “Ha-ha, you’re so funny, Din. Real knee-slapper right there.”

It goes quiet again – he becomes like that, sometimes, after I use his name. The first time I spoke it was in the dark hull of the Razor Crest, in hyperspace. He sat and stared straight ahead at the streaking silver, motionless, wordless. Here, the desert air is still and calm. His shoulder is still brushing up against mine.

“Are you tired?”

Yes. My legs feel like they’re about to fuckin’ fall off. Here, walking along the plain, is good, but earlier, climbing over dunes and rocks and boulders, was hell. But we need to be getting back to the kid as soon as possible. As much as I trust Peli, I need to see him and make sure he’s okay. So, I shake my head and say, “It’s only a little ways up till the next settlement.”

“It’s a lot further.”

My heart drops. “Oh.” Wishful thinking’s just got me forging fake memories at this point. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me.

“D’you think we should stop?”

“No, we can—”

“I’m tired—” he abruptly comes to a halt, apparently deciding that this little patch of sand will be a nice bed, “—let’s stop for the night.” He beckons me to him, coming in close and retrieving the lamp from inside the sling-bag, setting it down.

Well, if he insists.

You know, it’s moments like these where I just let myself be fond of him. I let myself stare freely at him, admire the shape of his body, the sleek, smart make of his helmet, let myself wonder if his face is any bit as handsome as he sounds. Everything about him is rough. The way he fights, the way he bargains, the way he pilots. His hands. I think about the texture of his hands as I sit down. I remove my gloves and stuff them away, gliding my skin across my skin to just try and simulate that touch.

“You’re not cold?”

I untwine the bag from my shoulders, setting it down and retrieving our remaining food for this day. “I’m not cold. I have, like, five layers on.”

He eyes me doubtfully. “Okay.” And he sits down on the opposite side of the lamp, facing me, one leg propped up as a rest for his arm. The pulse rifle lays by his side, ready.

I offer him a hardening clump of bread and a few stout, odd-looking, white-and-purple vegetables (generously given to us by a farmer we passed a while back)—but Din shakes his head and urges me to eat as much as I can. I bite back a remark about that helmet of his – he must be starving.

“We’ll get something better to eat when we get to the city.”

I snort. “It’s hardly a city.”

“You know what I mean.”

Stupid Din always making stupid decisions and rationalising them because he thinks it’s for me. He knows I can take care of myself, that I’m good at it, but that doesn’t stop him from dropping everything to try. It’s nice for someone to have my back, for that someone to be as wonderful as him, but, holy kriff, he’s so stupid sometimes.

I tell him flat-out, “We don’t have enough credits,” because we don’t. We have barely enough to cover a scrappy, little ship. We definitely don’t have enough to purchase any food. We’ve relied on favours and luck for long enough, and we can go for longer until we’re off-planet. Peli’s got—edible food—probably. I don’t trust it won’t make me shit my brains out as soon as we’re in hyperspace, though.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, though. “We’ll get a worse ship.”

“Din.” Stupid. I toss him a chunk of bread, swivelling around to give him privacy.

He protests, “I’m not hungry,” and reaches over and taps it against my shoulder – I shrug him away.

“I’m already stuffed, so what’re you gonna do about it?”

He sighs in exasperation. “Thought you might say that.”

“‘Cause I’m just so predictable?”

“You’re stubborn.”

Snapping my head over my shoulder, I scoff and give him an incredulous look. “I’m stubborn?”

He tilts his head to the side as if to goad me further. “Yes.” The warm light of the lamp glows along the strong planes and clean lines of his armour. His hand leisurely dangling from his knee, he rubs his gloved fingers together, and I’m suddenly jealous of a clothing item. I know he must notice the slight catch in my breath.

I turn back around to face him, the sand moulding easily beneath my smooth movements. “And there’s not a brooding Mandalorian sitting across from me now, refusing to eat.”

The first few years of working with Din, I never once saw him eat or drink a thing. It was like he was a droid (don’t tell him I said that): always working, working hard, but fuelled by seemingly—nothing? Obviously, I figured he had to eat some time. When I became his partner, sharing the Razor Crest, he’d retreat to his bunk to eat. And when I asked him his favourite food, he said he didn’t really hate or love anything – as long as he could consume it and it wouldn’t kill him, he’d tolerate it. Over the years, though, I’ve learned he tries to steer clear from any kind of berries. Doesn’t trust ‘em. And he’s not a fan of fish, but the kid is, and I am, so we have it more often, now.

Din jerks his head and allows me to toss him one of those weird vegetables. Having already finished my chunk of bread (on the brink of mould—so yummy!), I take a large, eager bite right out of the vegetable. My mouth is flooded with its bitter juice, and I squint my face up a little at the greenish tang.

“How’s that taste?” he asks.

“Like dirt.” I chew the mouthful slowly, careful not to judge too quickly, and eventually hum in contentment. “But—” I retract, “—sorta sweet underneath. You ever tasted a beet?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s sorta like that.”

He watches me for a few heartbeats, calm in the steady, amber light. I smile at him.

“Turn around,” he tells me brusquely.

I wink at him and do as I’m told, shuffling around again and turning to back the blue and purple horizon, the lamp and his gaze warm on my back.

I’m silent as he unseals his helmet with a quiet click and hiss. I try to imagine him again. Every single time, I feel guilty over it, because I know how dedicated he is to his religion—but, oh, I can’t help myself. I run my tongue over my teeth, enjoying the remains of that bite, before taking another, crunching down into the flesh. As I do, I hear Din do the same. My heart stops a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

“It’s nice.”

Stars. Stars, that voice. His voice, unfiltered by the modulator. Slightly hoarse from lack of water, scraping a little in his throat, but smooth in its low, rich tone. Like dirt you can sink your fingers right down into.

I set my hand flat on the sand my by side before pushing them vertically down, down, down, past the cooling surface and to where the glowing spirit of the day lingers.

Calm yourself down. It’s just a voice.

“You should have the rest of it,” he continues, and there’s the tap of the vegetable against my shoulder again.

Oh, stars. He hasn’t got his helmet on. He hasn’t got his helmet on. If I turned, he could be right there. Just him. I think about clamping my eyes shut to avoid the temptation of looking at him, but I can’t really co-ordinate myself at the moment. He taps again, encouraging me to take it back. My fingers hook up inside the sand, and it slips around me to my satisfaction.

“If you like it,” I say dryly, “you should eat it.”

The vegetable disappears from my peripheral. Another crunch, and another, and another. We sit in silence as he finishes it. The horizon is finally flat and unwavering in the cool of the night.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze when he’s done, hiking up the scarf around my head so it doesn’t slip too far over my hair. When I turn around, the helmet’s back on.

I wonder if he saw the colours of the sunset earlier. I had my head turned up for hours, watching every single shift in pink and orange and blue with wonderstruck eyes—but Din was striding on ahead, uninterested. I’m no engineer, alright? I don’t exactly know what he’s seeing in that helmet of his, or why. Infrared sensors for tracking, like in a rifle I once had that – that was one of the best damn weapons I ever owned, guaranteed to locate and hit your target, and I loved it to bits—until it got fuckin’ stolen by a bunch of fuckin’ Jawas. Point is, isn’t it just black and white in there? Sort of a purple-y black and white, and you can see changes in tone and depth and all, but black and white nonetheless. Red for footprints, though. Is that what he saw when I told him to look at the sky at sundown? Black and white? What is he seeing as he’s looking at me now? Me, I’m admiring the regal gleam of his beskar again. But he won’t be able to interpret the warmth of the lamp’s light on my face the same way as I did for him. I’m not the prettiest in the galaxy by a long shot, I know, but isn’t he missing out? On the beauty of the natural world? I think I’m prettiest at sundown – something in my undertone, I dunno – but he’s only seen me in that greyscale. Imagine if he just thinks I’m—okay-looking.

Overthinking it again. Din doesn’t waste time with things he doesn’t think add to his life. He doesn’t think I’m just okay-looking.

“You’ve got a good voice,” I tell him, grinning widely.

“You’ve heard my voice before.” The raw clarity of his words are lost once again behind the modulator. I shift my position, wriggling away from my disappointment.

“I know.”

A chill passes brightly through the air, and I tug my cloak tighter around myself, bringing my knees in close. Din doesn’t move a muscle, though, and he sits there and observes me a little longer.

We’ve been each other’s for a long, long time. We’ve been through a lot of shit together. And I’m not exactly thinking critically, and I’m not sure where I’m going with it, but I find myself asking, “When Mandalorians get married, they can take their helmets off around their partner, right?”

The mortification immediately sets in.

Holy kriff.

Din looks at me carefully. Then, he nods the slightest of nods.

Holy kriff.

“I’m not—” I stutter out, eyes darting away, over there, over here, anywhere but his constant, steady, shameless attention, “—‘m not asking you to marry me, Din. I was—I was just wondering ‘cause, y’know, I think you mentioned it to me once, ages back, and—and I was just thinkin’ that maybe—” you pause, glancing up at him; he doesn’t move a muscle, and there’s nothing that gives away any kind of anything he might be feeling, “—maybe I’d like to see—what—you—look—like.”

Wow. Wow, I’m almost amazed at how slick I am with these things. God, Imperial spies could learn a thing or two from the master.

I clear my throat, deciding to embrace the grave I’ve dug for myself. “But I’m not asking you to marry me, so you can stop looking at me like that, now, alright?.”

He says nothing, does nothing.

I situate myself with untying my waterskin from beneath my cloak, hiding my face in my shoulder and cursing, “Damn voice. Gets me too damn stupid-excited,” under my breath, like it’s a secret, like he can’t hear every fuckin’ word I’m saying on a planet seemingly stripped from all other noise.

Seething at myself, I crunch back into my vegetable, then tearing off a piece of bread to stuff in alongside it, taking a careless swig from my waterskin to wash it all down. Honestly, at this point, I’d rather die from dehydration than address the awful, awful statement I just made. Stars. Probably scared him right off. We’re as close to married as the real thing anyway. Din’s more of an actions-over-words kind of guy – I don’t need to call him my husband. It’s not like—well, marriage is companionship, and we have that already. Marriage is trust, and we have that already. I don’t need to call him my husband. He’s just—my guy. My person. Would be nice to have it on paper, I guess. Proof that he’s my person, that he wants to be my person. Bless him, but for every single thing he does for me, every action, I still crave him saying those words. Not shit to do with marriage, exactly. Just: “You’re my person. I’m yours.” Words aren’t his forte.

“I’d marry you.”

I swallow the hard lump of bread with difficulty, scrunching my face up into a grimace. “Hmm?” I ask, drifting back to the present.

“I’d marry you,” he repeats, and my eyes go wide. Oh. “Right here. If you want me.”

Huh. Huh. I dunno what the appropriate reaction is here, so I just continue staring unblinkingly at him. My stomach is erupting in flutters, and I just stare at Din.

Then, I look around us, at the barren desert. And look, yeah, I grew up on a planet very similar to Tatooine, and, yeah, sure, I have fond memories of my childhood. And then they get not-so fond. I scrunch my nose up in disapproval. “Not here.”

“Where?”

I shrug, brows knitted together in deep consideration. “I dunno.” And I really don’t, because—because I didn’t think we were the marrying type. Just the together type. Growing old and pissy together, living together, fighting together, figuring it out together—type. Mandalorians value community and strength and The Way over everything else – not necessarily love. Didn’t take him for the marrying type.

I screw my mouth together and exhale deeply. “Just somewhere prettier, I guess,” I decide on. “Not this quiet, but still pretty quiet. Y’know, somewhere with trees. Proper, green trees. But not the kind where there’s stuff in there waiting to kill you.” I want there to be as many colours as possible, in the sky, in the flowers, so he can see me and see all that beauty all together at once.

He tilts his head. “Like, with mountains?” he asks.

I smile. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind mountains.”

He glances down at the sand, tracing some kind of pattern into it with his forefinger. “We could go to Takodana?”

Stars. My smile widens. Stars, is this a proposal? Did I just propose to him? Did he just propose right back? That’s actually quite funny, that is. In the middle of nowhere, running out of water, running low on food. Romantic.

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Din?” I ask, more confident.

He grunts and shakes his head. “Not really.”

“‘Not really’,” I mock him, deepening my voice and attempting to widen the shoulders. I laugh at my own impression, leaning back on my hands and huffing a strand of hair out of my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shifts, clearing his throat and adjusting to a more comfortable position. “I mean, I’ve kissed you—between your legs,” he tells me, nervous, like I’ve managed to forget how well he treats me, how eager he is to kneel down in the pitch-black and take care of me like that.

Heat blooms in my stomach. “Great work down there, by the way,” I tell him through a sly grin.

“Thank you, mesh’la.” Is he blushing? Does he blush? I find myself wondering over that again.

I smile and stare at him.

“Could I kiss you?” The suggestion just slips out without a second thought. I just think that, after some food and water and rest, I don’t really have to filter anything out anymore. I don’t have any complaints – just some recommendations for fun we could be having.

Din doesn’t reply.

Ah, shit. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with me? Mandalorian, remember? Stupid, stupid. If there’s anything anyone knows about Din, it’s that he’s a Mandalorian first. He’s a Mandalorian before he’s mine – he’d never say it out loud, but we both know it’s true. I’d never ask him to choose because that’s cruel. Am I being cruel?

Either way, I can’t seem to stop, and I don’t seem to care: “I’d keep my eyes shut,” I blurt out, trying to keep my breathing from becoming heavy with lust, and failing a little more than a little bit. Stars, I’m turning myself on at this point; he just has to sit there and look pretty. “You know I’d keep ‘em shut. I wouldn’t look. I just—wanna—” you sigh, “—I just wanna kiss you. It’s nice, I swear. Nice feeling. I’d keep my eyes closed. Or—or you could tie something around ‘em?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Stars,” I curse. “I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes from dust and dirt and blink hard. “I think I’m just tired.”

“You’re tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Is ‘tired’ why you’re pressing onto yourself down there?”

He flicks his fingers over to where I’ve got my hand stuffed between my legs, rocking softly against the heel of my palm. I swallow hard. Fuck, I didn’t even notice I was doing that. I convinced myself I was—ha!—I was just warming up my hands.

I shift my eyes sheepishly back up to meet Din’s, guilty as charged.

He sighs deep from within the chest. “You keep ‘em closed and we tie something around ‘em.”

Silent, I nod in agreement. My thighs squeeze together.

He jerks his head to beckon me over, and I go shuffling on over to him on my knees, probably looking like a right idiot, but, then again, I don’t really give a fuck because I’m about to kiss Din Djarin. I’m about to kiss my Mandalorian. I’m about to kiss my companion of almost a decade, more if you count all those shady bounties we used to end up competing for. My Mandalorian, my Din Djarin, mine, mine, mine. I’m not possessive, I don’t think, but, gods, I—I—I can’t believe it sometimes. That I get to know him like this. That I get to know such an incredible person. That he won’t say more than two words at a time to anyone, not even those we’re close with, like Peli—but, with me, he’ll talk for hours. He jokes that he’s just humouring me, but I know he loves it. He tells me so.

Din makes a motion with his hand to turn around, so I do, and I let him tie an old, folded food cloth around my head – unsanitary, sure, but, again, I don’t care, and my head’s reeling, and my heart’s racing so hard, thrumming in my ears, and he’s so close, and his fingers are tangling through my hair as he lowers my scarf, and they’re brushing against the nape of my neck now, and—

“Can you take your gloves off, Din?” I ask, and, unfortunately, the neediness seeps right through my voice. “Please?” Stars, I’m pathetic.

Behind me, there’s the shuffle and quiet groan of leather as he tugs them off, and then a quiet pat! as he tosses them to the side.

And then his hands are back. Rough, calloused fingertips ghosting over my ears, my hair, as he knots the cloth, then knots it again for good measure. Darkness is closed over my eyes, tinged the rich green of the fabric. My breath seems nearer this way, short, shallow, hot. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, still, as he cups the back of my neck, his touch cool.

I reach over my shoulder, taking a deep inhale as I run my fingers over the dips and hills of his knuckles. I fold my hands over his and squeeze, bringing them forward and kissing his fingertips gently. I feel the texture and thickness of his fingers, trace the lines of his palm. Din comes in close behind me, the solidity of his chestplate (cuirass? I dunno, once, he got all pissy ‘cause I didn’t call by it’s actual name) pressing up against my shoulder blades.

I smooth my thumbs along the deepest crease in his palm. “Y’know, once, before I met you, I met someone who told me he could foretell my whole life, and my child’s life, and their child’s life, just from the lines on my hands.”

“Oh, yeah?” His voice is right in my ear, low and intimate. Maker. “What do mine say?”

“All good things,” you reply shakily.

“Anything about Takodana?”

He twists his hand over, enveloping my right and rubbing circles into the back of it.

Then, he’s letting me go, leaning away—and there’s that hiss and click of him removing his helmet. I blink against the green cloth, my eyelashes dragging up slowly. If I hold my breath, I can hear him breathing.

“Turn around,” he tells me, and I do.

It’s too dark for silhouettes anymore. If we were in daylight again, maybe I could’ve seen the vaguest outline of him. But we’re not in daylight. I blink again against the cloth, hard.

His hands reach out and grasp my hips, and they’re warm and large and I never get used to it. The breath is still knocked out of my chest. He angles and adjusts me to face him, and I place my hands on his shoulders, fumbling around his armour before settling them instead on his neck.

His neck. Bare skin. I smooth my hand up the column of his pretty, perfect neck, feeling every inch of him. I already know the texture of his hair. When he’s between my legs and kissing me there, I like to thread my fingers through it. It’s thick and wavy and slightly too long. But otherwise, I keep my hands to myself. Even though I’m not technically seeing him in the dark when he takes his helmet off to taste me, I don’t reach out and touch his face—because it’s his. It’s his, and he’s taken an oath to keep it that way. He’s never initiated a kiss, so I’ve never asked. I’ve been content. I’ve been patient.

But I guess my patience has reached a limit. Slowly, tentatively, I drift my touch up, up, and feel along his jawline, coarse with longer scruff. His breath hitches, and I smile and continue. I smooth my fingers right along his cheekbone – Din gently circles his hand around my wrist, pressing his nose into my palm, then kissing it, soft, careful, dragging the tip of his nose along the line of the vein that trails over my arm.

Stars.

I blink hard again behind the green cloth, clenching my jaw down till my teeth grit together.

I feel along the jagged bridge of his nose, take note of how it’s slightly crooked to the right, like he’s broken it before (wouldn’t surprise me). I learn the shape of his brow, the broadness of his forehead. I feel the feather-light brush of his eyelashes against my wrist. I’m silent—and I’m grinning like an idiot, because what else can I do? It’s like I’m seeing his face. I’m not, but it’s sure as hell the closest thing. The weight of his head in my hands, the cautious squeeze of his hands on my arms. I whisper some kind of babbling, incoherent request, and he relaxes his eyes – I can feel the muscles in his face release tension – for me to trace my middle finger over the shape of his eye. I’m not crying, but, fuck, it’s getting a little moist up in this blindfold.

His eyes droop down slightly at the ends. I like eyes like that – kind eyes. My mother used to say these types of eyes only belonged to the kindest of people. Stars. Don’t cry.

“You look insane, mesh’la,” he whispers, close to me, lifting his hands to tenderly hold my face, like I might break.

“Ah, bantha shit, baby,” I retort. “You’re loving this.”

And I can feel him smile. I can feel it crinkle up the sides of his eyes, and I can feel the squint of them, and the way his cheeks lift. He smiles a little lop-sidedly, actually, the left corner of his mouth just a touch higher than the right. I try to memorise every single bit of information I discover, as urgent and as desperate as if my life depended upon it.

Quivering with want, I press my lips to the inner corner of his eye, firm and sure and needy, my hands grasping around his face. Din grabs fistfuls of my cloak, bringing me nearer to him.

He smells like dust and tastes like sweat and salt, but, Maker, this is good. Satisfies some deep, hellacious ache that would have otherwise consumed me.

I kiss the ridge of his cheekbone with the same fervour, and then I kiss the corner of his mouth, the left side, the side that quirks up when he smiles.

Only, he’s not really smiling right now. He’s breathing heavily, almost panting, and stroking my hair away from my face and neck before mumbling out, “So pretty.” I press my nose against his, breathless with anticipation, heady at the warmth of his body. “S’good. You look so good—like this. Y’look good all the time—”

But I’m kissing him already, frantic, fingers pressing into the back of his neck, into his shoulders, bringing him as near to me as humanly possible. I sob dryly as he reciprocates, nudging his nose flat against my cheek. He opens his mouth to suck in a breath, and I lick into him, taste him deeply, practically having climbed into his lap during my whirlwind pursuit. His cold hands slip under my cloak, arms wrapping around me in a second.

The kiss is dry and rough, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It seems befitting of him somehow.

And when he makes a pathetic sound, a whimper or something, at the back of his throat, I almost melt right into the ground.

Closer, closer, closer – that’s all I can really comprehend at the moment. Even with our bodies slotted together, even though I can feel each shaky breath he takes as his stomach flexes over my own, I feel hungry for more. It’s Din. My Din, kissing me, his hands on me, his eyes on me. My Din, grunting into me as I shift in his lap and squeeze my legs around him. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine—

He grabs my face gently by the chin, urging me away from him for a few moments. I sit there, blind, his open mouth still hovering over mine. Oh, stars, I think of the softness of his tongue, and I kiss the corner of his mouth, wanting, asking.

Din angles my face to the side, coming in slow, warm, and languidly slides his tongue into my hot mouth, breath fanning out across my glowing face. Maker. I can’t control myself – a helpless noise passes through me as I take it good and kiss him back, eager, wide open.

I guide his hand down the the base of my throat, just to feel his touch somewhere else. He squeezes there lightly.

His other hand manages to snake under my shirt, pressing flat across the small of my back, sliding up my spine and sending shivers all the way right through me.

It’s—good. Really good. Can’t-open-my-eyes-for-a-good-few-heartbeats type of good.

“Maker,” he curses hoarsely under his breath as I pull away, still leaning forward for me, chasing my touch.

“Good?” I ask him.

He presses a kiss to my cheek, smiling. “We can do this—more often—‘f you want.”

“If I want, huh?”

He kisses me deeply again, his thumb slotted beneath the cloth over my eyes. He pulls it taut to the side over so slightly, and I can make out that beautiful, warm glow over the sand and his armour again. I shut my eyes as he tilts my head up, though, as kisses down to the hollow of my throat and back up again.

I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” I just know it. Everything about him is just beautiful. It’s just lovely, and I love it.

“Marry me and you can find out for sure,” he mumbles into my neck.

I can hardly hear him, of course – blood is pounding so hard in my ears that all I can understand from his words are that they rumble deep right through his chest, warm under the cool beskar.

I lift his head and press my nose into his cheek. “I can tell,” I continue, words brushing his lips. Again, I smooth my fingers over his face. “You’re so pretty, Din.”

“Marry me,” he urges, whispering against the fabric over my eye, warm.

I grin. “Later.”

He curses, something in Mando’a. “We’re going to Takodana as soon as we get that damn ship, you hear me?”

[stuckonyvalentinecards]

On Valentine's night, creators were revealed for the Stuckony Valentine Cards event!

THANK YOU to everyone who participated!

Click here to go to our collection!

Below the cut, you can find a masterpost of all our Valentines!

Death By Chocolate by KandiSheek

Stucky / Rated T

Bucky is dying on the couch. Steve is surprisingly unsympathetic.

-

"I love you" is on the tip of my tongue by Biased_bisexual

Stuckony / Rated G

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I'll Take Care of You by KandiSheek

Stuckony / Rated T

Steve has never liked being in heat, but Bucky and Tony make it a lot more bearable.

-

If This Feeling Flows Both Ways by Satirickitty

WinterIron / Rated T

Bucky just wants to say thanks, but you know, without having to actually say words out loud. Notes are a perfect solution, right? Right?

-

Just Like Magic by Naivelittleprincess

WinterIron / Rated G

Tony has a new hobby. Bucky is-maybe-his number one fan.

-

Little Murder Baby by swtalmnd

Stuckony / Rated G

By the time Steve had gotten there, Tony was already in love, and Alpine already had a name.

-

love is a tower where all of us can live by soliloquent

WinterIron / Rated G

“A metal-armed supersoldier materializes before him, intruding into Tony’s line of sight and obstructing his project. The trespasser holds two plates of food and regards Tony with an unreadable, almost disinterested look.

Tony sighs internally. Why did he think adopting all these orphaned Avengers was a good idea?”

—⎊—

or: Five times Bucky takes care of Tony and one time Tony realizes why. ❤️

-

Nom! [ART] by MassiveSpaceWren

Stuckony / Rated G

Super-soldiers have an appetite. Tony did NOT expect this.

-

Plush by fohatic

Stony / Rated E

Tony couldn’t understand the reasoning behind all of it. For Steve to leave one stuffed animal for him was nice enough. A couple more was slight overkill, but still quite sweet. A couple dozen was something else, entirely.

-

The Plushies Thank You Heat by Aquatigermice

Stuckony / Rated E

Bucky and Steve decided to get Tony something he always wanted.

The results of which bring some rather sudden and attention demanding courses of action into play.

This is about the aftermath.

-

Red String [ART] by MassiveSpaceWren

WinterIron / Rated G

Bound together by fate, they finally found each other.

-

Safe in your Arms [ART] by MassiveSpaceWren

WinterIron / Rated G

Finally, Bucky is back in Tony's arms, where he longs to be.

-

Scentsational by swtalmnd for newtypeshadow

Stuckony / Rated T

Tony goes to a scent-matching service, and matches with our bonded couple, Steve and Bucky.

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Shelter from the Cold [ART] by MassiveSpaceWren

WinterIron / Rated T

Knights Bucky and Steve are trying to keep their king protected in the snow storm.

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So Soft and Gentle by TrinityDay

Stucky / Rated T

Five times people noticed that Steve Rogers liked soft things (and one time someone told him to his face).

-

Stranded [ART] by MassiveSpaceWren

Stuckony / Rated G

The terrain is rough, but Steve, Tony and Bucky treck onwards. Maybe after the next mountain ridge, they will find out where they are.

-

What You Don't Know Can't Hurt You by KandiSheek

Stony / Rated T

Steve and Tony are good friends. Very good friends. The kind of friends that go out to eat every other day, cuddle on the couch and are all up in each others' space.

They're not dating though. No matter what the team says. Right?

-

You Are The Moon That Breaks The Night by MercurialMagpie

Stuckony / Rated E

Mage Tony and werewolves Bucky and Steve are the best cursebreaking team in Nova York. Maybe they can be more, too?

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you are the sweetest melody i never sung by soliloquent for Naivelittleprincess

Stuckony / Rated T

“A soft tune cuts through his thoughts and seeps right in between the cracks of his broken mind. It sounds like a slow, gentle piano song, and it soothes his senses, numbs his tension, and lulls him to the smooth edge of sleep.”

—⎊—

or: Bucky struggles with insomnia, Tony plays the piano, and Steve just wants the two most important men in his life to get along. 🎶

-

You Have My Sword As Well As My Heart by Aquatigermice

Stuckony / Rated E

Sir Steven Rogers would like to admit that he thinks this whole Royal Progress thing is a very stupid idea. But it's the King's idea. And no one is above the King when it's all said and done.

But the fact of the matter is that even his King is just human. And there was a time when the man was something less important to the country. Yet still as important to Steve and his fellow knight Sir James Barnes.

-

[the-bi-space-ace]

Daniel Jackson & Why Stargate SG-1 is the Best Show in the World

Here we go again. Listen, my obsession with this show knows no bounds and I’m going to simply have to take you through my thoughts on every character. 

Strap in. It gets long.

Daniel Jackson. Linguist and ancient aliens believer (Daniel. It really is your worst quality. Even worse that YOU WERE RIGHT HOLY MOLY) and he figured out how to dial the Stargate and get it to work. A character known for his intelligence and empathy, his moral compass and being petty as fuck. A man who pushes those around him to be better people, and to think outside of themselves. Also he has allergies which plays into a very cute intro to his character in the show where Jack literally tosses a tissue box into the Stargate to make contact with Jackson. Let’s get into it. 

We open season one with the SGC traveling back to Abydos where they left Daniel Jackson in the og movie after disaster struck (that disaster you may ask??? ….. I have no clue I haven’t watched it yet BUT I DIGRESS). There’s a problem. Aliens came through the Stargate and took one of their own. They need to talk to Daniel, to the Abydonians, and what follows is unfortunate. 

You see, they defeated Ra in the movie, a parasite pretending to be a god, and thought they were done with this villain. Unfortunately they’re facing a new one, same shit different name: Apophis - brother of Ra. And it turns out they aren’t finished with stealing and enslaving people. Now, the genre of villain they’re against is swift, cunning, technologically advanced, and ruthless. The Goa’uld. They attack Abydos and take a young boy named Skaara and Sha’re, Daniel’s wife, captive along with the SG team member. 

Ugh. Sha’re. Daniel is so sweet to her. They’re so clearly in love. Daniel Jackson has my favorite quality in a man which is that one of his primary personality traits is that he loves his wife. Ugh. It kills me that the Goa’uld took her away and he spends the next few years desperately tracking her down. The Goa’uld end up possessing both Sha’re and Skaara and it leads to Daniel Jackson rejoining the SGC and joining Jack O’Neill and Sam in SG-1. 

It’s important to note a few things about Daniel here that inform me about why he is the way that he is. He was orphaned as a child, he lost his wife whom he loved very much, and he is extremely empathetic. He basically imprints on every being he comes across that doesn’t have a family and that kills me. He’s desperate for connection and he tries to understand the motives and meaning behind everything. He cares about people. He cares about culture. He cares about respecting things you don’t understand. 

While we’re on the subject of imprinting, let's talk about Daniel and his friendships. We’ll start with Sam and Daniel. True science besties. I love every interaction between these two. It's like they found their platonic soulmate that they’ve spent their lives looking for. They info dump with each other, bask in each other’s intelligence and value it even when they have zero clue what the other is on about. Their friendship is pure and quick and beautiful and I can’t talk about Daniel without touching on how he quickly latches onto his friends and makes them important and how it makes his life fuller to have them. He does the same with Jack. They clearly care deeply for each other and Daniel finds a safe space in Jack. A space where he can push and be angry and ask questions and share how he feels and never receive rejection from Jack. Yes, they fight and argue and disagree but it is (typically) a safe disagreement where they’ll mend anything they hurt. Then there’s Teal’c. Teal’c, the man who is… kind of responsible for taking Sha’re from him. A man that Daniel wants to hate but can’t. Because Teal’c is a changed man. A man who had little choice. A man who Daniel has come to recognize as a friend and ally. This. This is big for Daniel. 

Imagine. Your wife is taken from you. The man responsible for choosing her to take is now saying he is going to help you defeat your enemies. He lives on earth with you. He is treated as an honorable man and warrior. He is part of your team. Your everyday life. And you forgive him. You forgive because it’s the right thing. You forgive because you know it’s not his fault. You forgive because your heart is big enough to do so. To not assign blame where it’s unfair. That is Daniel Jackson. That is who he is. And fuck do I admire this in him. If it were my partner taken, life stolen from them, parasites taken over their body and using them to harm people. If I had to look at the man who chose her every day I might not be so forgiving. I might not have it in me to see a difference. This quality is something I admire because it is something that would be excruciating for me. 

Speaking of excruciating things: watching Daniel’s face when someone he loves is in danger is like getting stabbed through the heart. One of the moments that sticks out in my mind is when Jack and Teal’c are trapped on a submarine that is being overrun by Replicators. Their only hope at not letting these bastards take over the earth is to blow it up, with both of them on it. Jack tells them to prepare to do it and Daniel is immediately against it. Jack takes his helmet off so he can hold the camera up so Daniel can see his face, can talk directly to him, and tells him to do it. When Daniel, in desperation, pushes again Jack reiterates that he does not want to die by the replicators. He doesn’t want his life to be over that way. Daniel has to let him and Teal’c go. Daniel eventually gives in but he refuses to look away while two of his friends die. (Spoiler alert is that they get saved at the last minute, thank fuck.) 

We watch this despair each and every time one of his loved ones is in danger. We watch his expression, his heartbreak, his feelings of powerlessness. He’s desperately done everything he can to keep them safe. Daniel is not a soldier. He is an academic. He doesn’t have the training that the rest of them do. He hasn’t been taught how to handle battlefields and death and loss like they have. Watching his friends get hurt or die is so devastating for him. They are his family. Losing them is like losing everything he has left, especially since losing Sha’re and leaving everyone on Abydos. His heart holds all of them so dear. 

We know he values his friendships, but what about the times he makes friends with beings from other planets? One of my favorite times is with an Unas who kidnaps him to sacrifice him. Now, Daniel spends a lot of time trying to communicate with this Unas. He shares food with him, talks, they play games. All while he’s being dragged through the wilderness to be slaughtered. He starts to understand the Unas, to learn that he has a connection with this one. Eventually this connection is what saves him in the end. Daniel even goes on a rescue mission to save this Unas when he gets captured in a later season. 

Then we have Reese. Oh, Reese. I liked her. She was an android responsible for creating the Replicators, a dangerous villain in later seasons of SG-1. Daniel spends time bonding with her, learning about her, and figuring out why she made the Replicators. She was lonely. She spent her life being told she was ‘made wrong’ and that she needed to be ‘fixed’. She was sad and emotionally uncontrolled. I’m about to be annoying about this but this is why Daniel bonds so well with her. She was lonely. She wanted friends. She wanted kinship. Daniel so desperately wants these things. He’s so lonely, has been since childhood. He sees himself in her. And when she dies he’s heartbroken. It’s the first time you hear him cuss at Jack, a line that will live in my head forever: You stupid son of a bitch. Now, Jack isn’t stupid. Daniel knows this. Daniel is angry. But Jack was just trying to protect him, doing the thing he does to show his love, and it was rejected. This moment stings. It stings because of the context. It stings because of when it happens. It stings because of what happens only a few episodes later. 

Daniel dies. Daniel dies because of his empathy and action. He dies protecting people. He dies. And it’s heartbreaking. Watching everyone say goodbye to him is one of the most tear-inducing moments so far. (I cried for… a long time.) Teal’c honors him in a way culturally significant to him with tears in his eyes. A man that is usually stoic and a strong silent type letting himself mourn a friend he’s grown to love. Sam cries and reminds him that she loves him and she wishes she could do more for him. He can’t even respond to her at that point but she sits with him and takes in what little time they have left. And Jack, well, he makes a joke. He tries to be serious about it but it’s too uncomfortably close to talking outright about his feelings so he makes some joke about how Daniel has been a pain in his ass for five years and despite all of that he has grown to admire the man that Daniel has become. It’s so painfully Jack O’Neill that it’s charming and gets Daniel to smile. (CAVEAT Daniel is not like… dead dead… I’ve been informed that he returns and my sadness over it is only temporary since the character will be back soon… and yet I still cried for over an hour over him.) 

The worst part is that there is a chance for him to be saved. But he stops them so he can ‘ascend’ and ‘do more’. And how does he stop them? Well, he talks to the one person he knows will respect his decision, the one person he knows will let him go, the one person he knows he can trust to have the responsibility to take care of it. Jack. He tells Jack to let him go, to make them stop, to let Daniel move on. And Jack, despondent and unhappy as he is to do it, does. It is horrible to watch. Daniel standing in front of Jack, crying, telling him he’ll miss everyone while Jack says ‘yeah. Me too.’ and lets Daniel go. Ugh. It kills me. He says at some point during the episode that his life is worth no more than anyone else’s. That he hasn’t done much. He’s not done enough to help. Oh boy. He’s so wrong. He’s so unbelievably wrong it hurts. He’s an idiot. Not enough? Daniel, sweetie, you’ve given your life to this. You’ve saved civilizations, saved earth, saved Skaara, what more do you need to know that you have done miraculous things? His low self esteem hurts me here. He doesn’t believe he’s done good, that he is good. How does a man who has given his life to this cause think so little of himself? Well, I think it stems back to his parents. 

Goodness. I believe his parents loved him more than the moon and all the stars. I believe they raised that boy with attention and affection and love and care and it is a damn shame that they died. It’s a damn shame they died at the same time. It’s bullshit that Daniel watched it. He watched both of his parents die when he was around 10-12 years old. He became an orphan in an instant. He went from two loving parents to the foster system in seconds. Now, he didn’t have to go to the system. He had a grandfather that could have adopted him but the man didn’t. He had a career more important than Daniel. I wouldn’t make the same choice if it were me. Hell, this little baby lost everything in a day and he needed someone. He needed love. He needed a home that was familiar. And instead of taking on the responsibility, instead of working through his anger and helping him cope you left him. My sympathies lie with Daniel here because I love him so deeply so I get angry when I think about little Daniel having a family member that could take him and instead being given up because of… what? A career? Some things are more important. (Sidenote that I am not condemning people for prioritizing themselves instead of having children… I am not ever going to have children and that is completely of my own free will and choice and wants and needs. What I am saying is that Daniel’s grandfather chose to leave him for the sake of himself and I think this rejection is where Daniel’s low self esteem comes from.)

His grandfather’s rejection is the start in a long line of rejections. Rejection from his peers, rejection from superiors, rejection from society. He finally finds somewhere he feels he belongs (Abydos) and that is gone too. In the blink of an eye. He thinks he isn’t good enough. And I think that blows. (Another side note that I think Daniel has at least ADHD if not also Autism and since I have both of those things I get really fiery about Daniel so… I’M BIASED OKAY.) He spends the rest of his life searching for connection, community, love. Hell, he even tries to infodump to Jack in episode one and faces yet another rejection of his skills and interests and I can’t help but feel like that hurts. Now, Jack does this song and dance often throughout the show with Daniel but it starts to feel more like they’re purposefully winding each other up and not like Jack is trying to hurt him. But… a different post for a different day. 

Now, I won’t lie. I am super drawn to characters like this. I had a huge crush on Milo from Atlantis as a kid and Daniel is very very close to that character in a lot of ways. The floppy hair, the glasses, the nerdiness, the excitable way he talks. So… I’m a little biased… but this character… this character rules. He’s sweet and kind and sometimes so petty it makes me laugh. He’s funny and charming and GOSH I JUST LOVE HIM OKAY. HE’S STUPID CUTE IT MAKES ME MAD. But. He has flaws. Flaws that make me like him even more but flaws nonetheless. He can be one track minded. He takes things into his own hands and puts himself in danger and puts his team in uncomfortable positions because of it. He lets his emotions get the better of him. He compartmentalizes by throwing his all into things like working and solving something. He’s a great man. But he’s confused and scared and has such low self-esteem it hurts. 

His flaws are on full display when he puts himself in immediate danger to stop Jack from destroying a ship that is about to wipe out a civilization that they helped get a new home for. Daniel has talked to this person, knows that he can prevent two civilizations from being destroyed, but Jack is focused on helping the one they’ve already connected with. Daniel disobeys Jack’s order. He puts himself in the path of an explosive in order to convince the other person to cease unintentionally destroying the planet in order to find another solution. While Daniel does succeed and it is the right thing he still puts Jack in a situation where he has to choose to sacrifice Daniel if he is to complete their mission and save a whole group of people. It isn’t fair. It hurts Jack, pisses him off, but Daniel isn’t putting that piece of it as his top priority. He’s putting saving two whole civilizations of history, art, and passion as his top priority. He doesn’t think past the consequences of what he’s doing. 

Another case like this is in season one, The Torment of Tantalus, where they find a device that contains information well beyond our wildest dreams. ‘Meaning of life stuff’ as he likes to say. He values this preservation of history and knowledge. Even more than his own life. His one track mindedness here almost gets him killed. Jack begs him to go, tries to force him, but Daniel refuses and again forces Jack to make the choice to leave him behind and get everyone else to safety. Now, Daniel does end up following and getting out of there but it does take him a little bit of time to come to the conclusion that he does have to leave. He can’t just give up his life to stay behind on a planet about to be destroyed by a storm. 

I want to touch on his pettiness for a moment because it is damn entertaining to watch him get… petulant for lack of a better word. I have never seen a man more willing to mouth off to high ranking government officials or question his bosses or down right taunt someone holding him captive. He will say some stupid joke in the driest tone I’ve ever heard and all I’m thinking is: yep this is the day he gets punched in the face. This is it. They’re going to do it. This man does not know when to shut up. My dear, sweet boy sometimes you have to SHUT UP!!! Self preservation, Daniel! Ever heard of it?!?! By far the best part of his pettiness is the looks him and Sam share when someone says something stupid. Some high ranking officer saying something stupid or derogatory? Sam and Daniel are sharing a ‘do you hear this guy?’ look. Someone being a bit too mouthy for their liking? They’re side-eyeing each other. They are true best friends. Having silent conversations with one another while everyone else in the room argues. I love their very first meeting. Sam geeking out over the dialing device while Daniel watches her like ‘who is this and why is she literally the most amazing person I’ve ever met’. Them interacting that whole first episode is just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. They are best friends, your honor. I cherish them.

Daniel, above all, is the definition of what it means to have a found family. His was taken from him and he spends his life finding a family again. The great thing is that he does find it. He finds it and he holds on so tight. I’m still working through the seasons of Stargate but Daniel is an interesting and beautiful character. He’s traumatized and sad but he’s also wonderfully complex and still learning. 

If you haven’t watched Stargate consider this: the found family trope runs rampant here. There’s plenty of content to watch, plenty of relationships to explore, and plenty of things to be said about this show. Plus, you could write some damn good fic about it if you wanted to :)

[please-be-nice-im-sensitive]

Do you have any OC’s you want to yap about? You’ve mentioned Jax and Aria before, so I’m curious. I promise I’m not a stalker I’m just interested

i know!!! I love asks!!!! Jax and Aria are two characters in my story where the basic setup is there is an underworld and an overworld. The angels live in the overworld and the demons live in the underworld. The angels used to devote themselves to the seven heavenly virtues but now all they do is run away from any evidence of the seven deadly sins. The demons at an early age are chosen for certain sins to focus their magic on throughout life. Jax is orphaned at birth and bullied their whole life because they have the ability to shapeshift, which is uncommon. They are chosen for the lust track in life and soon their magic is bound to it. They grow up in an orphanage but are a prodigy in school and spend all their time there. One of their teachers even offers to adopt Jax if they stay academically this good. This teacher has connections, but she is creepy towards Jax. Jax is living a terrible life when they meet Aria in middle school. She is the worst student in class because she is not interested in learning and hates her teachers, but when she and Jax hang out, she names almost every kind of flower in existence, how she dreams to get a visa to live on earth and open up a flower shop, Jax never let themselves dream, their future was set out for them. But Jax gets Aria to do better in class and Aria gets Jax to rebel and on a field trip to Earth, Jax doesn’t do any of the work, only spending time with Aria. The teacher flips her shit and traps Jax in a closet and beats them up and assaults them. Aria comes across this happening and tears the teacher away from Jax and starts to try to beat her up, but the teacher is stronger, so in a desperate situation, Jax uses their heartbeat manipulation magic they learned from being in the lust track to stop the teacher’s heartbeat. They pass out after that and are visited by the queen of the underworld, Korê (only sort of based on Persephone) she tells Jax that she wants to recruit Jax for her program that was essentially a school for tje CIA. Jax says they won’t go unless Aria can go too, and Korê says that is alright, as long as Aria gets her grades in place. Aria is so excited because if you get into this program, you can gain almost immortality and retire only after forty years of work. They both work their butts off and the day before they go, Jax tells Aria their feelings for her, it is reciprocated, and they swear to spend their eternity together. Korê becomes Jax’s mentor, and they both make it through the program and the day after they graduate to join the program and gain pseudo immortality, Aria is told she has to get her fortune told. Aria meets a forever living woman who tells her the future, that will only happen once she dies. Jax will almost kill themself. Then they will lead a rebellion against the king that will be unsuccessful, but then they will fall in love again with the woman who will become the next queen. This woman will bring the underworld to an era of prosperity and peace it has never known, and the people will never be happier. Aria finds this all out, and she is spooked. She does her job and stays with Jax and they retire together in Seattle in a penthouse apartment in the seventies paid for with money they had saved from coin shortages. Aria becomes a florist and Jax becomes a singer. They are in love, but this whole time Aria wasn’t allowed to tell Jax the prophecy, and in the nineties, Aria starts silent rebellions against the king. By the 2010s Korê finds out who starts the rebellion and has Aria killed (immortal but killable) Jax finds Korê after this, and grief-struck, leads an army against the palace which is unsuccessful, but they kill Korê, which leads to them running away to a bar in Seattle and almost drinking themselves to death. (Their immortality was based around Korê’s) this is where they meet Rhea, a bar owner who happens to be a demon in disguise who also runs a fake ID business for people trying to flee from the underworld government. They get an ID, and don’t see Rhea for years, almost forgetting her face, but never her name.

Jax cleans themselves up, they start a new singing gig and even go into another relationship (they were definitely not ready, still grieving and it was very toxic) when Jax meets the mc, Maya. Maya gains a crush on Jax instantly and so does Nikki, Maya’s friend/love interest. Maya was told her job is to keep demons from stepping foot onto Earth because the angels taught her that they are “evil”. In the meantime, Maya’s mentor, Viera is told to kill a child because she was born out of two angels falling in love. This girl was eleven years old, more from trauma, and heavily scarred. Her name was Iris. Viera had previously tried to capture Rhea, but had gotten herself beaten up (never happened to her before), despite this, Viera brings Iris to Rhea because she thought she could keep her safe (Viera is very morally bound, used to be insanely loyal to the angels, but has since changed). Rhea ends up adopting Iris and allying herself with Viera. Years later, Jax is kidnapped by the king of the underworld and Maya goes to save them. Viera knows this moment is the perfect time to overthrow the king, who went crazy after Korê died. Rhea leads the rebellion, and with help, Rhea kills the king in the process, becoming queen. In the battle Jax’s arm gets injured to the point where it needs to be amputated. Jax has to stay at the palace for this, and while it is traumatic and that’s when they become friends with Rhea, and eventually a sort of assistant to her. Slow burn slow burn plus Jax’s guilt for falling in love again plus Jax pseudo adopting Iris.

btw I promise the Korê and underworld king thing is not romanticizing the hades/persephone thing. Korê had been kidnapped by the previous king, but the next one, Pluton fell in love with her and killed the king, and become the next one and she married him. sorry you probably wanted a short description lol

[tmntkiseki]

Thinking hard today about Venus (or my 2003 version, rather) and man

Start life as an ordinary human, alongside your younger sister.

Shortly after you are orphaned at the ages of 6 and 2 respectively, you and your sister are captured by members of a cult who attempt to transform you into mindless demons in a ritual involving turtle blood.

The ritual ends up being botched, somehow; you and your sister retain your humanity, but are transformed into one-of-a-kind turtle yokai.

The Ancient One saves you, but because he cannot bear the idea of raising more children after what happened to the three he took care of last time, he instead trusts your care to a friend of his. (He is, however, the one to bequeath you and your sister your names; you still have no idea why he went for a Sandro Botticelli theming.)

Have to spend the next eleven years living isolated from most people in a shrine in an ancient forest. The head priest, who also happens to be a ninja in his own right, is a kindly man and you love him as a father, but you can't tell if he actually loves you and your sister as his daughters, or if he is caring for you and training you out of pity and nothing else.

Become increasingly aware as you grow older that you and your sister's status as mutants created via magic denies you of normal relationships with humans; if they see you when you're not wearing your veil and miko outfit, they accuse you of being a monster and run away.

Cue increasing feelings of self-loathing and loneliness for being what you are and wishing that you were still human, despite no longer even remembering that period of your life.

However, you can't let your problems get to you because your sister is dealing with her own insecurities regarding her self-worth and skills as a ninja, so you just bottle them up and try to act like everything is fine in your life.

You FINALLY meet someone outside your family who looks like you and makes you feel accepted in a world that otherwise loathes your entire existence (Leo); unfortunately, he is currently dealing with his own problems and the time you spend together is painfully brief.

Months later, the shrine is destroyed in an attack by unknown assailants, who spirit your beloved sister away. Your father is mortally wounded in the fight and it is only as he dies in your arms that you realize that he truly loved you and your sister as family.

"You are loved, Venus. You have always... Been loved... And will be loved..."

As you pray over your father's grave, the Ancient One approaches you. He reveals that he had a vision and that your sister is undoubtedly still alive; however, she has been taken to the United States and is somewhere in the northeastern region of the country.

Knowing what you must do, you thank the Ancient One for all he's done for you over the years and board a cargo ship bound for New York City...

[onewomancitadel]

I guess this painful small detail I love about V8, which I have remarked upon a few times, is the gesture of compassion Winter extends to I/ronwood - maybe thinking about her because of a post I wrote the other day - appealing to his better instinct... she still loves him very much, this sad almost-father of hers, still believes in him, uses the opportunity right before she betrays him, uses that trust he extends in her unilaterally, more than anyone else, to still be kind, maybe purposelessly - except for herself, except for the affirmation of this kind-strange-blooming hope in her.

Emerald snaps out of it when she sees what Salem is doing to Cinder - that we've clearly been show is what she was initiated into, as a little girl - and it's this moment of recongition and compassion that is, again, rewarded. It's a tender recognition of pain, that Emerald is to Cinder what Cinder is to Salem, that Cinder plays at being Salem in imitative girlishness, which is not to say just master, but mother, and yet Cinder is more of a peer than an authority, pretending at the latter, denying she's the former. And Salem is a complicated surrogate mother. She killed her last daughters. And yet to Cinder, the arrangement is clearly better, which is exactly how she would intellectualise her arrangement with Emerald. Mercury's mercenary, known all along what it was, because he knows how parents hurt, but Emerald was just an orphan girl in need of love at any cost, as orphan girls are in this mocking fairytale. And there's still allowed to be a tenderness. There's a tenderness for Winter, and a tenderness for Emerald, even amidst the pain, of realising who I/ronwood and Cinder really were.

I really thought that that sort of complexity wouldn't be in the story and just take the cheap way out, that people who are hurt immediately stop loving the people who hurt them because that's just how it should work otherwise you're complicit in your own pain, especially after so much discourse surrounding Adam. But even the treatment of Adam is really weirdly tender... Blake gives him so many chances to go, and he keeps chasing her, fixated on a shadow. I don't find revenge fantasies cathartic for their own ends, the simple, breezy archetype of how abuse is supposed to function: the victim hates the person who hurt them and the hurt happens removed from the breadth of human experience. The Abuser is not a malignant, external, compartmentalised entity so cleanly cleaved from A Community, more wandering Devil than human; the abuser is a man, and a woman, who do bad things, who walk amongst us in plain clothes. Violence is a choice made, and made every time. Adam is symbolically the wilting rose curse, but he is also a person, and maybe that's where the R/WBY thesis about fairytales-being-real works here against allegory so successfully: he is literally a pained man (his full name means first man-bull, from the earth), a pained Faunus, who crafts for himself a match from his rib. But that's not who Blake is, and Blake has to be a real person too, and so does he, outside the story bounds.

But Winter is also funny because she takes a last final snipe against her father (whom Weiss also extends a mercy to)... because to her, I/ronwood is the better daddy, will always be the better daddy, still saved her and saved Weiss, even though he betrayed her in the end. That there's still room for that after everything is... a really rare type of nuance. And maybe at a character-level, that's how I feel about I/ronwood; it's hard not to love him, and you can countenance that with what he is, what he becomes. Like, I did not expect this level of compassion for the experience of the suffering characters at all.

Yet there's a strange reversal of this sentiment in Rhodes' final head-caress of Cinder when she strikes him down. It always read as so condescending to me: he's told her that she'll run all of her life, and now, even as he dies, he's not let her forget what he was to her. It's supposed to be like forgiveness, and yet to me, he's the one who should be begging for forgiveness. It's a tenderness which wrecks her. Even the one who might have protected her didn't. There's a warped mirror between Rhodes and I/ronwood here, too: I/ronwood would sacrifice Winter into the gullet of Salem, and she has to swallow it down, knowing that she can't really be his daughter, but in a weird way, that's how he shows his love and what really is his familial and intense affection for her. Whom else would I/ronwood trust with the gravity of such an act? This is the path that Rhodes wanted for Cinder, and yet it seems like neither of them ended up truly happy. It took so much longer for Winter to figure out what I/ronwood was than Cinder did Rhodes, and these are the Maidens we're left with.

Salem tortures Cinder and then raises her up, structurally in the story, and then atomically, this is the pattern of their dynamic: fear and strength, fear and power. I really wish I had a .gif here to convey it, but the movement from her knees to this always struck me, taking Salem's offered hand... I don't know, this is the world to her, and the world crafted through pain, her body grafted with it, scars incised, and there's this appreciation what effectively looks like dissociation, watching the world through the eyes of the dead -

contrast with when Winter's magic shocks Cinder (off in the distance, like a blue ghost, more revenant than fairy), a forcible intrusive remembrance of the connection she tries so hard to deny.

Salem does to Cinder what was done to Salem. Endless, eternal torture, this sharing of horror, the worst sort of forced empathy. But Cinder exults when she feels Salem again through the arm, after Salem temporarily dispersed into the aether. She's a source of safety and harm at once. She's a nurturer who feeds her poison. Salem gets to re-enact the mother-daughter relationship she squandered, through this Four Maiden vessel all of her own, the girls who were like daughter surrogates to Ozma too.

And you can see this over and over in the story. These aren't outliers. The Yang-Raven relationship, mired in cruelty and neglect and abandonment, and care, magical voyeurism - watching her child grow up through the eyes of a bird, feeling a magical connection, forever bound to protect - never once is Yang punished for her anger, but neither is she punished for longing to find her mother either, and both are allowed to exist. And Raven loves her, and also hurts her, and also talks down to her, and then there's the strangeness of her grown daughter rising to the challenge she set and going above and beyond - growing beyond her - in the Ozlem conflict. This thing she denied herself because of it. It's all really complicated. Then once you get to the throughline of Ruby and Summer - the background pressure-cooker mounting and mounting - the heroic image broken down and made into a Grimm monster - you have what is the thread of our head protagonist, allowed to grow, and burst open. It doesn't victim-blame, it doesn't fall prey to so many bad stereotypes about the way abuse is "supposed" to work, the way abuse is reconstituted to fit social sensibilities, to fit consensus reality; it is just allowed to be experienced by the characters, for the story to evolve. Maybe they find healing and reconciliation, or forgiveness, or protection, or do what they must, the violence still marking them. Killing Adam doesn't come without pain. That the hurt and the abused - like Cinder - are forced into acts of violence is itself a betrayal too.

It gives me hope that it would be possible for an Ozlem resolution to be nuanced like all of this too. Ozma wants to preserve the memory of Lionheart - a good man, never a coward - and I think this kind of speaks to how he views his whole deal with Salem: people are written into history as ideals, as what they should've been, the matter simplified, Salem bad, the people who work for good, good. I/ronwood's fall complicates this, and makes us empathise with him, but I think challenges this binary too. He's so afraid of them finding out that he loved Salem once, in part, I think, because it disrupts the binary, the rewriting.

It's hard not to, now I've written it out, read it as an intentional thematic idea repeated. It's communicated so blatantly as much through Alyx, that all this can be held in tension, and appreciated, giving catharsis. That there is bad, and good, and bad, and the path to something like healing and resurrection is not binary, that healing is not the binary enforced on you through abuse either - hurt or be hurt -, that you can love and also hurt and still need to leave, that violence is not forever, that it is not right that a victim may be forced into a protective violence, that violence is not just bad because the wrong people do it, that moments of marked violence do not define anybody forever in a story like this, because it is a choice made, and must be made over and over, and could be rejected. A world without redemption is a prison. That's the prison Salem was locked in by the brother gods: to be lessoned by Ozma, to be tortured through eternity into submission. Given the experiences of the cast laid out, one can hardly think that this is the ultimate boon of this story. But then who could forgive the brother gods, too? I suppose their mother.