#and did not take care of himself in any capacity Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[tauforged]

thinking about. my cephalon designs. i never did get around to drawing my take on ordan karris i shoudl really do that . especially now that hes finally being acknowledged textually in the game outside of ceph fragments

[princessanonymous]

Of Trials- Part 2/3 (Ask)

Platonic Yandere Vampire

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Finally another one posted! Y'all, I'm a slow updater,but you best believe I'll update nonetheless. Better late than never. XD

As I said last time, this is from an ask someone sent to me privatly. Once again, you'll need to read the main story, When Night Comes (Linked aboved) to understand this. :)

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Immortal Children were children who had been turned into vampires at a far too young age.  These children, once transformed, became uncontrollable beings, driven by impulses they could not yet understand or manage. Their beauty was unmatched; they were truly irresistible beings fated to remain untouched by the sands of time. Their physical perfection was a double-edged sword, enchanting and deadly in equal measure.

With red eyes that shone like bright fire and smiles that retained an eerie innocence, Immortal Children possessed an almost angelic appearance. This innocent facade belied the dark reality of their existence. Despite their sweet appearance, they carried the same capacity for horrific violence every other vampire had. Their enchanting smiles masked the bloodshed and destruction they were capable of. The problem lay in their inability to control their impulses and the immense danger they posed to both humans and vampires alike. Immortal Children brought chaos wherever they went, leaving a trail of death and suspicion that threatened the secrecy of the vampiric community. Their very existence was a cause of disaster, as their actions could not be predicted or controlled.

The creation of an Immortal Child was considered a crime of the highest order within the vampire world, a transgression with severe penalties for both the sire and the fledgling. It was seen as a reckless act, bringing risks that outweigh the benefits. A crime Dorian had now been accused of.

"We can leave," Killian suggested, pacing around the room frantically. So frantically, in fact, that he didn't notice when his feet reached the wall, and he began to walk up it. Had Dorian not been so preoccupied, he would have commented on the impropriety of such behavior. "You always said you wished to visit Japan again; we should go. I'm sure (Y/n) would find it lovely.”

Dorian wanted to pull his own hair out in frustration. "They will find us," he promised. He was sure of that. "And when they do, no trial shall be held and we will both be made to burn under the deadly sun. You might suffer the same fate, for helping us."

Killian stopped and turned to face Dorian, standing upside down on the ceiling with a look of incredulity. "So you want us to wait until they come to take you both? Have you lost your mind?"

Dorian's eyes burned with a mix of fear and resolve. "I haven't lost my mind, Killian. I'm trying to protect us. Running would only delay the inevitable and draw more suspicion. They have eyes everywhere. Leaving now would be a death sentence."

"So you will let her die?" Killian demanded in outrage. "You turned her, and I won’t allow you to do that to her." Killian had grown to care deeply for (Y/n), just as much as Dorian did. It had taken some time, but he had come to take on a more important role, that of a second father to her.

"Oh, don't you dare accuse me of that!" Dorian's eyes flashed with anger, his voice rising defensively.

"You created this problem!" Killian bit back, pointing a finger at Dorian. "(Y/n) could have had a perfect, happy, and fulfilling life without your interference."

"She would be dead!" Dorian screamed at him, his voice cracking with the intensity of his emotions. "Dead and rotting in the ground, eaten by maggots, larvae, and any other pests wanting a piece of her!"

Killian recoiled slightly, the rawness of Dorian's words hitting him hard. But he quickly composed himself, his own emotions bubbling to the surface. "And instead, she’s trapped in this cursed existence. Is that really any better?"

Dorian's eyes blazed with a mixture of rage and desperation. "I couldn’t just let her go! You don’t understand, when I looked at her for the first time, I just… I just knew she would complete us. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing while she slipped away.”

Then, there was a knock at the door, and they paused, their argument abruptly silenced. Dorian took a deep breath and called out sweetly, "What is it, starshine?" He wondered how long the girl had been standing behind the door, listening to their heated exchange.

The door slowly creaked open, and the girl who was the subject of their worries stepped in. Her red eyes gleamed with an innocence that belied the turmoil surrounding her. She looked between Dorian and Killian, sensing the tension in the room.She had her face scrunched up in an adorable mou that drew a smile on his own face.

"Was it a nightmare?" Asked his now calmer partner.

She shook her head looking frustrated. "You're arguing more than usual.”

Killian agreed with her, sending her an apologetic look. “We apologize, dear. Your father and I have been terribly preoccupied recently.”

"Because of that lady?" she probed further, her keen intelligence shining through.

Dorian shook his head, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. "Why don’t I take you back to your room?" he suggested gently.

"I don’t like her," (Y/n) said, clutching the hem of her nightgown, “She was awfully unpleasant. I don't want to see her again."

Dorian smiled weakly at her, feeling a pang of guilt for having brought her such distress. He planted a gentle kiss on her head. "That is alright. You won’t," he assured her softly.

He walked her to her room in silence, aware that she sensed his restlessness. They had tried to curb her habit of sensing the emotions of everyone around her, but their efforts had never worked. Over time, they had grown accustomed to this small breach of privacy, deciding to simply try to keep their emotions in check, knowing that she was affected by strong emotions. By the way she clutched his hand, trembling slightly, he knew their attempts hadn't quite succeeded.

"I can feel how scared you are," she whispered. "It makes me scared too." 

Dorian's heart ached at her words. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. The weight of his emotions was heavy, but he forced himself to remain composed for her sake. As they reached her room, he opened the door, intending to tuck her into her coffin.

But as the door swung open, the metallic scent of blood assaulted his senses, pulling him abruptly back to reality. His only reaction was to raise his eyebrows as he took in the scene before him: a woman's body lay sprawled on the floor, lifeless and drenched in blood. Despite the horror of the sight, a strange sense of resignation settled over him. He felt an astounding lack of surprise as he gazed at the corpse on the floor.

"(Y/n)," Dorian breathed out in defeat, his voice heavy with a mix of relief and frustration.

"Mayella cut herself while cooking today," (Y/n) explained with a shrug as she walked over to the corpse, completely unfazed by the sight. She plopped herself down on her coffin, swinging her legs casually. "I kissed the hurt goodbye."

"Starshine," he began, struggling to keep his voice calm, "you can't just—"

But as he looked into her innocent eyes, he felt his throat close up with a mixture of frustration and despair. It seemed they had tried to teach her better self-control, but it never seemed to stick. Feeding was always at the forefront of her mind, even after she had eaten only a few hours ago.

He looked at her tenderly and laughed wetly.  "You did well," he whispered, hoping she didn't notice the despair that overtook him.

[nevadancitizen]

-> YOU'RE OUT OF TOUCH – I'VE BEEN OUTTA TIME

synopsis: you died six months ago, but you've come back to haunt johnny. not as a ghost, no – as some twisted version of you that johnny still loves. too bad you don't still love johnny, or remember him in any capacity.

word count: 4k

characters: john "soap" mactavish, resurrected! reader

trigger warnings: talk of canon-typical violence, temporal weirdness, hurt + damn near no comfort

notes: first soap fic.. hopefully i've written him well!! also i couldn't resist incorporating madness combat in this somehow lol it's taking over my life (you don't need to know anything about madcom to read this, don't worry). also tumblr user nevadancitizen using the amnesia trope again? it's more likely than you think.

Somewhere in Nevada, a battered body is denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse…

And six months ago, somewhere in Russia, you were killed in action. 

It was a single shot through the skull – nice, clean. You didn’t suffer. Despite your killer more than likely being a terrorist (or working for one), they did you right. It was probably unintentional, but they still did you right. 

Johnny couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, even to piss, for weeks after. He was completely numb to almost everything. The world passed by while he stood completely still, laying on his side in your shared bed, spooning a pillow that was rapidly losing your scent. 

(He even tried spraying it with your perfume or cologne, but it didn’t work. It was too strong – it didn’t smell like when you wore it.)

Johnny thought all-too-often about what happened after death. He was ready to die, always has been, but he never really thought about what would happen if (or, more accurately, when) you died. He always cast those thoughts away, because he was done losing people. He was done with grief and screaming, pleading to God, and crying so hard he threw up. 

But he eventually returned to his job. He eventually put you to rest. He prayed for the first time in damn near two decades that, if there was really an afterlife, that you were in Heaven.

(He just hoped that, whatever Heaven there was, it was good enough for you.)

But again, six months ago, somewhere in Nevada, a battered body was denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse.

It is a land without sun, without warmth unless you could find it in another body. It is a land without rules, without remorse, without regret. 

It is a land of violence. It is a land that fits you well.

Despite being dead, you were sewed back together and cursed to live once more. Someone put a gun in your hands and told you, “Listen bozo, I don’t care where you’re from – just shoot!”

Of course, Johnny didn’t know this. How could he? He watched your casket be lowered into the ground. He knew it wasn’t empty – he had to confirm your identity in the morgue. 

But he can’t help but feel his stomach drop when Kyle comes rushing into his office, pointing behind him and, in a panting breath, says your name. 

Johnny immediately springs up from behind his desk and almost pushes past Kyle to get out the door. He turns down the hallway to the left, where he knows it leads to the hospital ward. 

“No, Soap – Soap!” Kyle sprints after him, just barely catching his wrist. “Wrong way, man.”

Johnny stops and, in his stunned state, lets Kyle lead him down the hallway to the right, away from the medbay, away from where you were surely waiting for him, recovering.

Kyle leads him into an elevator, scans his keycard, and presses the button for -3. They’re both uncharacteristically quiet. It just faintly registers in Johnny’s mind that the floor -3 is below the parking garages, past where anyone typically goes. 

(Past where anyone can hear screams ripped from tortured throats, really.)

When the elevator doors open, Soap’s greeted by a familiar sight. It’s a grey concrete hallway, with two soldiers on either side, guarding the way in. Doors line the hall, each one steel with a keypad to unlock it.

Gaz leads Soap down the hall and doesn’t stop for a while. Eventually, he stops in front of the last door and takes a deep, almost shuddering, breath.

Gaz inputs the code into the keypad and opens the door, nodding at the inside. “Come on.”

Soap, almost so quick he clips his shoulder on the doorframe, goes into the room. It overlooks an interrogation room, and it’s fit with a double-sided mirror, recording tech, everything.

Soap freezes when he looks into the interrogation room. It – it’s you, but… not you. You’re pacing, and Johnny can only stare. There’s a grey flush to your skin – no, your skin is actually grey – and bandages cover the back of your head, dirty and frayed, like you haven’t changed them in a while. 

You’re angry, a far cry from the person Johnny knew you to be. Sure, you could be angry, and Johnny’s seen you angry, but this…

You’re panting as you pace, fists clenching and unclenching as your eyes dart around the room. Soft mutters and expletives leave your mouth as you look around, surely looking for a way to escape. 

Johnny just keeps staring. You’re… alive? Yes, you’re not what Johnny remembers you to be, but you’re still alive. 

“Fucking – goddamnit!” You bang your fist on the steel table, causing it to rattle. “I don’t have anything to tell you! You’re all cowards –” you turn to the double-sided mirror and point at it “– especially you, Sheriff! Don’t tell me you’re not back there!”

You immediately turn away, your hands coming to clutch at the sides of your head, your fingers digging into the bandages, almost ripping them. “I swear, when I get my hands on you…!” 

“We don’t know what to do,” Kyle says softly. He looks over at Soap, his gaze obviously sad and sympathetic. “Do you want to try ‘n talk ‘em? Even if they’re feelin’ a tad… neurotic.”

Johnny can’t rip his gaze from you as you throw a steel chair at the wall, still cursing out someone named Sheriff and his lackeys. The chair bounces off the wall and one of the legs hits your shin, causing you to curse it out, too.

“Yes,” Johnny says quickly, decisively. 

Soap shifts on his feet, oddly impatient, as he waits for Kyle to unlock the door to the interrogation room. As soon as he does, Johnny shoulders past him and into the room. He hears a faint click as Gaz closes it behind him. 

You immediately whirl on Johnny, your eyes wide and your breath labored. 

“You!” You point at Johnny like it’s meant to be some offensive gesture. “What do you want?”

You move closer, and Johnny catches sight of the dogtags hanging from your neck. You were buried with one, and he kept the other. He even gave you one of his own because, on that day, a part of him died with you. But… instead of two, you have four hanging from the metal chain. 

You shove your finger in Johnny’s chest, your fingernail digging through the thin fabric of his fatigues. “Answer me!”

Soap immediately takes your wrist and cradles your hand to his chest. “Bonnie, please, calm down.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” you bark, ripping your hand away from him. “I just lost one of my team and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

“Your team?” Soap echoes.

“Deimos!” you snap. “You – you killed Deimos.”

You take a step back, your fists still clenched and your eyes still angry. “I saw your stupid fucking Engineer murder him. He was dead from the first five bullets, and you know he knew that! But oh, let’s just make sure he’s dead by unloading clip after clip into him.”

You heave a breath, almost growling. “Let’s desecrate his corpse. All because he’s a dissenter. Let’s make it oh-so-hard to bring him back.”

Johnny steps forward, just barely moving his foot, and you jump back like he took out a knife. 

He breathes out your name, soft and unbelieving. “Are… is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me!” You turn and rest your hands on the steel table, obviously resisting the urge to bring your fists down against it. “Always has been, always will be. It’s always me.”

Johnny circles around the table and leans down a little, taking in your face. The grey makes you look dirty and unwashed, like you’ve got a layer of dirt on you that you couldn’t wash away.

You look up at him through your eyelashes. “I know you.”

Johnny’s heart leaps into his throat and, for a hopeful moment, thinks that you remember him, that this is all some sort of stupid trick, that you went MIA instead of being KIA, that this is really you. The you Johnny knows, the you Johnny loves. But his heart is crushed beneath your boot when you speak next. 

“I know soldiers like you,” you say softly. “Soldiers, produced en masse, told to shoot first and die quietly. We’re both clones, you know? But there’s a difference in what we want.”

You stand up straight, glancing at the double-sided mirror before turning your eyes back to Soap. “You follow orders. When they say jump, you ask how high. But I…” you laugh beneath your breath. “I am fighting for change. Normality. You’re comfortable living in this… this chaos.”

“Bonnie, what are you on about?” Johnny reaches across the table, trying to take your hand. You snatch it away before he even comes close.

Gaz slides into the room, holding a tablet. You whip your head around and glare at him. 

His eyebrows lift a little, and he raises the tablet, as if in a defensive manner. “Your tablet. It –”

You snatch it from Gaz’s hands before he can talk again. You set it down on the table and stare at it, waiting.

Johnny can just barely see the interface. The top of the screen reads COMBASIC .9(beta). It looks like some sort of chat room. A few messages pop up in quick succession.

FellowD9: GOTEM FellowD9: YOU WERE RIGHT FellowD9: HE WAS COMPLIANT 2BDamned: Neat FellowD9: CHECK MY SECTOR FellowD9: ANCHOR HIM NOW [user:FellowD9 IS OFFLINE]

The messages seem to relax you, even if Johnny has no idea what they’re talking about. You bring a hand to your forehead and laugh breathlessly, then set to typing.

CrosshairF6: lol hey im still alive CrosshairF6: aahw assholes gave me my tablet idk why CrosshairF6: check my sector & get me back 2BDamned: Getting Deimos right now, I’ll get back to you CrosshairF6: better do it right CrosshairF6: saw his corpse, looks like he ran through traffic [user:2BDamned IS OFFLINE]

Johnny watches as you tuck your tablet back in one of the inner pockets of your jacket, casting a suspicious glance at Gaz, like you expect him to take it back. 

Gaz raises his hands and slips back out of the room, leaving you and Johnny.

“So.” You look at Johnny. “Why are you trying to act all buddy-buddy with me?”

“You’re… you were…” Johnny sighs, an overwhelming feeling settling in his chest. “Do you remember… dying?”

“Of course,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “2B brought me back.”

“2B?” Johnny echoes. “Like, the one you were talkin’ to? 2BDamned?”

“Yeah.” You move and lean back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s all doctor-like, y’know? Brings us back when we need it.”

“And he’s… on your team?” Johnny asks. He feels a deep pang of… something in his chest when the thought of you actually being on another team, separate from him, settles in his mind.

You nod. “Yeah. 2B, Hank, Sanford, Deimos.” You tap the dog tags resting against your chest. “We’re a team. Some of us are on a subteam, but still. We’re a team.”

Johnny blinks hard, shaking the thought from his head. “Do you remember anything before you died?”

“Some, but… not a lot. Just blips of fighting, some soldiers, then Nevada.” You shrug. “2B says that happens sometimes.”

Johnny feels his tense shoulders relax, if only a little. “Any one specific soldier, bonnie?”

“No,” you say. You look away and fiddle with your dogtags. “But I’ve got the dogtag of someone named John.”

“John?” Johnny echoes, his heart picking up in his chest. “John ‘Soap’ MacTavish?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze fixes on him again, immediately suspicious. “How do you know that?”

“That’s me, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly, moving towards you. He makes sure to stay slow and cautious, just in case. “I’m Johnny. Your Johnny.”

You move along the wall, away from him, just slightly. You seem to bristle a little, and bring your shoulders up a bit. “You’re not mine. I don’t own anyone.”

“Not in the literal sense, bonnie,” Johnny laughs, resisting the urge to trail after you. “I’m yours, romantically.”

You bring yourself off the wall, taking a step back. It’s like you’re repulsed by the idea. “I’ve never been romantically involved with anyone. You think I’ve got time for that?”

It’s like Johnny’s been punched in the gut. Tears well in his eyes and he suddenly feels so fucking sick. His feet almost come out from under him as he stumbles to the door, shaking hands putting in the code before slipping out. 

He could take the idea of you maybe not remembering him, sure. He could just re-introduce himself. He could take the idea of you forgetting the time you’ve spent together, because you’d remember, right? But the way you were disgusted by the idea of romance, the vitriol in your voice as you spoke…

Johnny doesn’t like the word ‘relapse’ because he thinks it holds too heavy of a connotation, but that’s the best way to describe what he did for the rest of the day, and into the early hours of tomorrow. He rotted in your shared bed, but instead of feeling numb, he felt his heart being wrenched by your hand, by your words. 

He just laid there, looking at his sketchbook – a good one with thick paper. The one you’d gifted him for your six-month anniversary. It’s filled with drawings of you: candid ones, ones where he had you pose (even though you were embarrassed), ones of you and him, together, doing couple-y things. 

He could only mourn what was lost, because you seemed to have absolutely no interest in recovering it. 

A week passes before you’re able to be let out of your cell. You slowly lost the fire and brimstone that filled your heart as you realized that the 141 really did want to help you. You feel better now that you have a few people by your side, fresh bandages, and a renewed sense of comfort.

(But you forgave yourself for acting like that in the beginning because, in Nevada, no one is nice. Not without an ulterior motive, at least.)

You’re practically on a leash as Ghost leads you throughout the base. He doesn’t talk as he guides you through winding hallways and up an exhaustive amount of flights of stairs. 

Eventually, he opens a door labeled ‘ROOF EXIT.’ He tilts his head towards the door.

“Someone waitin’ for you,” Ghost says gruffly. “And…”

He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. Your cigarettes. 

Ghost takes your hand and puts it in your palm. “Don’t set anything on fire.”

You close your fingers around it and nod. “Got it, boss.”

Ghost starts back down the stairs, leaving you and the open door to the roof. You move through it and look around. 

Johnny’s sitting, cross-legged, on the concrete roof, facing away from you. It’s dark – obviously, it’s night. You look up and take in the stars, and…

“You have a moon,” you say softly.

Johnny looks back at you, a tentative smile on his face. Like he’s scared to be too hopeful. “Yeah. We do.”

You hum and look at Johnny. 

“Do you…” Johnny glances at the floor, then back up at you. “Do you wanna sit with me, bonnie?”

You slowly move over to Johnny and sit by him. You keep a healthy distance, but you’re still closer than you’ve ever been to him before. 

“Those fags for sharin’?” Johnny asks, a teasing smile on his face. 

You look down at the carton of cigarettes in your hand. You grip them a little tighter, causing the thin carton to crumple a bit. “Sure. Don’t know if you’ll like them, though.”

“Nonsense, bonnie.” Johnny bumps his shoulder against yours. “Let’s give ‘em a go.”

You smile and take out two cigarettes. You hand one over to Johnny. They’re hand-rolled and don’t have a filter, so they look more like joints, but the overwhelming smell of raw tobacco quickly quells that thought.

“Got a light?” you ask.

“‘Course.” Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lighter. He lights his own cigarette, then pulls it away with a sputtering cough. 

“Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?” He asks in between coughs. 

You laugh, hitting your knee as Johnny reels from the taste. “It’s good, yeah?”

“Hell no!” Johnny wipes tears from his eyes and looks over at you. Despite his coughing, a soft smile spreads across his face at the way you’re laughing – loud, unabashed. Just like before.

You swipe Johnny’s lighter from his hand and light your cigarette, the cherry basking your face in a soft, warm glow. “Welcome to Nevada.”

“Let’s see that thing.” Johnny reaches over and takes the carton from your hand.

He turns it over, looking at it. The carton is worn, like it’s been refilled many times. There’s no warning about nicotine being an addictive chemical, just a grey box with a simple brand: G01 Choice. There’s a name scribbled on the back – Deimos, in all capital letters. 

“Deimos,” Johnny says aloud. “The man died and you stole his cigs?”

“He’s not dead.” You take the carton back and tuck it into your jacket pocket. “Not anymore. Well, he’s died lotsa times, so I guess he’s an... honorary corpse.”

“An honorary corpse,” Johnny echoes, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. He puts it out on the concrete. “Just like you, yeah?”

You take a drag off your cigarette and blow out the smoke in a single, smooth stream. “Just like me.”

A silence settles as you look up at the moon. You can feel Johnny’s eyes occasionally flitting to you, then back up at the night sky. 

“Your dogtags.” Johnny points in your direction. “Whose are they?”

You look down and tug on the metal chain, causing them to clink together. “Mine, yours, and my team’s.”

“Your team?” Johnny asks softly. “You never told me about them.”

“Yeah.” You look over at him. “I’m part of an extraction team. My partners are Sanford and Deimos.”

A pain, almost so real he thought he was actually injured, runs through Johnny when you say partners. The logical side of his brain chides him a few moments later because you obviously meant it in a militaristic sense, not a romantic sense.

“Can I see them?” Johnny asks.

You nod and take off the chain, then hand them to Johnny. He looks at the dogtags – he recognizes his and yours as being standard military dogtags, but Sanford and Deimos’ are much more… odd.

Sanford’s reads SANFORD / MELEE + EXPLOSIVES / G02 (NEG) / RETURN TO FAMILY. Deimos’ reads DEIMOS / FIREARMS + TECH / G02 (POS) / NO FAMILY. 

Johnny tilts the dogtags so that you can see them and runs a finger along the lettering. “What do these mean, bonnie?” 

You move a bit closer and lean in. “The first lines are their names, obviously. The second is what they’re proficient in. The third is what generation clone they are, and their blood types – there are only two blood types for second generation clones. And the last one is what to do with their bodies if they can’t be revived.”

“Wait, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly. “Clones?”

“Yeah, clones.” You tilt your head a little to the side. “What, you don’t have cloning technology here?”

“Of course not!” Johnny laughs.

You laugh and bump your shoulder against his. “You people are so primitive.”

Johnny smiles back at you and it’s like nothing is wrong. You both go quiet as you stare at each other until you look away.

“I, uh…” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry for being so… abrasive. Earlier, I mean.”

“It’s alright,” Johnny says, almost too quickly. 

You scratch your cheek and glance over at Johnny, then away. “But it’s not, is it? I should’ve handled things better.”

“Someone you know died right before we talked.” Johnny reaches over and, cautiously, puts his hand over yours where it rests on your knee. “It’s expected that you don’t act like yourself.”

Your breath hitches, and Johnny squeezes your hand reassuringly in response. 

“But that’s the thing,” you say. “I’ve seen so many awful things before. People getting shot, stabbed, beaten, Hank tearing people apart with his bare hands. But, Maker…”

You drag a hand down your face, rubbing your jaw. “Deimos is young. So young. He’s only twenty-seven, and he always has a smile like he’s just tied your shoelaces together and is waiting for you to trip. And he’s so smart, even if everyone calls him a bit stupid. Yeah, he’s got a slower reaction time, but that’s what me and Sanford are for, y’know? He…”

You blink hard, trying to will your tears away. A soft, frustrated groan leaves your mouth as you duck your head and put your cigarette to your lips. “Don’t look at me.”

Johnny starts to pull his hand away, but stops when you squeeze his hand. Instead, he squeezes your hand back, averting his gaze.

To Johnny, it again almost feels like nothing ever happened. Like there’s no Russia, no Nevada, nothing besides you and him on this roof, together. But he’s no fool. He knows things have changed – that Nevada has changed you. 

You breathe out a shaky plume of cigarette smoke. “I just want to go back.”

“But you’re here now, bonnie,” Johnny says. He tries to ignore the crushing feeling in his chest, tries to keep his composure for you. “Aren’t you glad you’re back?”

“I don’t know this place.” You look over at Johnny, your eyes rimmed with unshed tears. “You keep saying that we’re together, that – that this is my home. But how can this be my home if I don’t remember a thing about it? How can you be my boyfriend if I don’t remember a thing about you?”

Johnny exhales sharply, like he’s just got the wind knocked out of him. “Bonnie, please don’t say that. Please.”

“I know violence, and I know bloodshed,” you say softly. “I know Nevada. This place, this world…” You gesture vaguely with your cigarette still in your hand. “It’s not mine.”

“But there is violence here, there is bloodshed here,” Johnny insists. “Here, we fought together.”

“But I don’t remember us being together, in any capacity!” you snap. You take a breath and try your best to soften your words. “All I remember from before is just flashes. I didn’t remember your face. I just had your dogtag and a weird, empty feeling.”

Johnny sighs and feels tears welling up in his eyes. He can’t tear his gaze away from you. 

“You really expected me to trace the bullet and sift through fleeting memories when there was an entire agency playing Pinkertons knocking down our door?” you ask softly. “2B was bandaging my head ‘cause he just finished playing around in my brains and Sanford was shoving a gun in my hands. They pointed me in a direction and told me to shoot. I didn’t have the time to remember you.

“I’m sorry, but I just didn’t.” You squeeze his hand before letting it go.

Johnny immediately scrambles to catch your hand in both of his, holding on desperately. “No, bonnie, please.”

A few tears slip down Johnny’s cheeks as he looks at you. Your face is a mirror of his own, just in greyscale. Your cheeks are stained with tears and your eyes are just beginning to get a bit puffy. 

“If you know you’re gonna be leaving again, then just let me hold your hand,” Johnny says softly, his voice wavering. “Just for a few more minutes.”

You nod and, when you blink, a tear rolls down your already-wet cheek. “Okay.”

Johnny slowly moves so that you’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder to him. He hesitates before resting his head on your shoulder. You smell just like how he remembers, albeit tinged with the acrid tang of G01 Choice cigarette smoke. You’re just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

“Okay.”

[parrishh]

i still have lots of questions after reading greywaren right when it came out and i thought i could ask you... if youre not interested then just ignore me! i feel kinda dumb for not getting a few things

what was the sweetmetal maggie referred to? the one which was supposedly also in trc books?

why do ronan and declan look alike if ronan wasnt born the normal way? whatever created him certainly didnt care about how declan looked, right?

has ronan known that he is more than human? idk i kinda had the impression that he def didnt know about himself. he knew he was a dreamer, he obviously knew niall was is dad, so when and how did he learn about himself? thats what i completely missed somehow lol and how did adam get that too? when they were in the dream space?

what actually was the lace?

why did ronan have the nightwash? did it stop now after he knew what he was and saved the earth and all that? was it because he was too powerful and so he needed to be close to the power source aka ley line? and now he can be "free" bc he knows what he is and he chose to be human basically or more human with powers or such?

sorry i am still confused lol if you could help a dumb bitch out i would be very happy!!! some of these might be obvious but i really didnt get it. thanks so much <3

hiiii sorry for the late response. i haven't been around much. i can take a crack at these but i definitely don't know the answer to all of them LOL

no idea. i doubt she'll ever tell us

mór, niall, and the forest all created ronan together. his appearance was mór's contribution - it says she modeled him after a photo she had seen of niall as a toddler

i could be forgetting something but i don't think this is entirely clear in the book, i.e. i don't think there's any sort of inciting incident like ronan didn't know what he was and then this one specific thing happened and now he does. i think it was more of a gradual realization that came to him little by little during his time in the dream space. my understanding is that - being an ancient, all-knowing entity - he probably always had the capacity to "unlock" this knowledge but he had been pushing it down all his life because he wasn't ready to come to terms with it. his journey of self-acceptance in this trilogy culminates in him discovering who he is because he finally loves himself enough to handle the revelation. as for adam, i'm sure he understands that ronan is Something More because he's smart and because of their interactions in the dream space, but i don't think he knows exactly what that "something more" is. it probably has to be explained to him in detail off-page after the events of the book

i feel as though the lace is to hennessy as bryde is to ronan, i.e. a manifestation of all of her most negative thoughts and feelings. that's why it physically resembles the shadows from her most painful childhood memory. her suffering is so profound that this manifestation grows powerful enough to sustain itself in the dream space and affect other dreamers. i may be completely wrong but that's my understanding

nightwash doesn't only affect ronan - we know it happens to other dreamers, too, because hennessy also gets it when she doesn't dream. i think even after the events of this book, ronan would still get nightwash if he stopped pulling things out of his dreams. dreamers can't ignore what they are. he's "free" now in the sense that he accepts who he is; no more nightwash not because it doesn't exist anymore, but because he always allows himself to dream freely

[strawberriebunn]

Oikawa is a beta, even though some may think he’s a alpha or even omega with how he acts. He has traces of both in his personality, but he’s very much in the middle. He doesn’t get ruts, nor heats, but he’ll help you out, wether it be taking you during your heat, you fucking him on your rut, or just casual love making if your just in between like him.

Iwaizumi is an Alpha, top of the ranks, and the embodiment of being the leader of the pack. He doesn’t really care if you’re an omega, beta, or alpha (but does secretly gravitate to omegas more due to his second gender). He’s possessive in his marking, scenting, all that jazz. Especially if you can give him pups. A bit aggressive on his rut tho, so probably say goodbye to your hips and back 👋 (it’s a damn good fucking though 14/10)

Matsukawa, another alpha. His large stature and his very obvious BDE (along w a large knot that is scary to his mate the first few times), brings him up next to Iwaizumi, tho still a lower status than him. Also another to not care what second gender his mate is, but also another one that will break your back and hips with how hard he’s gripping and ramming you into the mattress. Will always prep you tho, even when he’s just ready to just go(9/10 for effort my dude).

Hanamaki is a beta. Sure he may act cocky, and hang around all his alpha friends, but he’s a huge sub. That’s why he prefers alphas and betas, but will still take omegas. He’s more personality than second gender. (Still a fucking brat). Will take dildos up his ass and moan like a bitch. Play with his dick and he’s cumming on your hand in seconds. He’s sensitive to your touches and will beg for you too.

Kyotani is a omega. It might come to a surprise but here’s the point (my opinion •3•). He’s feisty, someone who doesn’t want to submit to others of higher rank (except for those where they gain his respect, ie. Iwaizumi), and will fight for better treatment than being treated like only a bitch to breed. Once his heat comes around tho, whiny, submissive, and a big crybaby (also a fucking brat).

Yahaba, beta. Sure he acts like he might be a alpha, but he knows damn well that he’ll cower once a real threat is in front of him. He’ll probably prefer either another beta or omega, just so his ego and pride won’t get hurt, but deep inside he would want a alpha to put him in his place, to be their bitch. (Also another fucking brat)

(@blurring-stars ahaha I’m back whoops-)

I- I have ascended 🥴

tw: breeding

Beta!Tooru who is running himself ragged trying to keep you satiated during your heat. He’s been pumping himself into you for hours on end at this point, trying to give you what you’ve been asking for. “Want your pups ‘ru, gimme pups.” Which is what was fueling him to go that much harder. He knows he can’t give you the knot you really want but that doesn’t stop him from lifting your bottom half up in the air ,out of the press he had you in, to just sit balancing in the air so that the cum he just pumped deep inside you hopefully sticks this time. (Since imma complete sub I had to make it somewhat self-indulgent for my fave.)

Alpha!Iwaizumi who is taking you brutally from behind with only one thing on his mind; to breed you. He’s normally not like this when it comes to your sex life, only this way once he’s in a rut. You knew it was coming when you realized he’d been a lot clingier this upcoming week, scenting and biting on your mate mark constantly. It’s not like you have any complaints when you’re just taking the brutal slams of his hips to your thighs, drooling all the awhile. You let out a loud drawn out moan once he finally pops his knot into you, babbling and grasping the sheets in front of you to try and ground you. Once you’ve come back to, you feel him nuzzling you’re neck muttering “ ‘m gonna fill you up, with m’ pups. “

Alpha!Issei whos plowing into you as far as he can possibly go, with you babbling incoherently beneath him in the press youre in. “ ‘m gonna give you my knot , ‘mega. You gonna take it?” he asks in a slow drawl. You barely have enough brain capacity to nod and utter a small “ ‘ssei “. Which is enough to tip him over the edge and shove all the way to his hilt. Your eyes widen and your mouth opens in a silent squeal , you can feel him in your cervix it seems. “Hurts ‘ssei , hurts.” you mumble out with tears flowing down your cheeks. “ I know, I know. Just hold out for me, gonna give you my pups, gonna make sure it sticks.”

Beta!Makki who is whimpering above you while he’s balls deep inside you. He’s only just sunk in and he already feels like he’s gonna explode inside you. “Hiro,” you start, “hiro look at me.” It takes him a sec but his eyes meet yours when you place your hand on his cheek gently. “ Want you to cum in me, want your cum. Can you do that for me ?” , you sweetly ask him and he gives you a nod before he gets to work. For as much of a brat he may be , he’d do anything for you should you ask. (If you couldn’t tell I am a complete bottom so my switch stuff might be horrible 😣)

Omega!Kentaro who begrudgingly agreed when you offered to help him during his heat “ I guess since we’re mates now.” he had told you. Which caused you complete and utter whiplash at this point since he’s below you whining and keening for you to sink down on him already. You had been teasing him and taking your time since he wanted to be bratty earlier, so you decided to take your time just to make him suffer. “Please. “ Please what Omega?” you quipped back at him. “Please- Alpha.” he whimpered out to you, catching you off guard but causing you to smirk, you wouldn’t let him know that of course. But it scratched that itch in your brain, very well. “Good Omega, that’s just what I wanted.” you purr out before sinking down onto him finally, resulting in a high pitched mix between a moan and keen to come out from below you.

Beta!Yahaba who was not expecting this to be how your rut went. I mean he’s not surprised since you are and alpha but he wasn’t expected him to be whining and sniffling for you to let him cum at least once since you began your romp. He figures he earned this treatment considering he was being an absolute brat when you first came to him. “I know you’re an alpha , but you want me to fuck you silly on your rut hmmm?” he had quipped when you told him it was coming soon. Little did he know he’d be the one getting fucked silly. Too bad he can’t cum until you say so though.

[eligaxy]

Wind

☆ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 : Venti x gn!Reader

☆𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 : near death experience, you’re confused asf about everything, bad writing cause i suck, spoilers for the we will be reunited quest!! And also for venti’s backstory, venti is serious for once (yes it’s a legitimate warning🤚)

☆𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 : Some angst, some fluff? Idk bye🤨

☆𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 : "It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask." (2.8k words)

♪𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 : i’m an idiot simp, i did this in one sitting and half asleep, english isnt my first language BLA BLA IM SORRY FOR MY POOR WRITING BUT HAVE THIS

basically you don’t know if you can trust venti or not, head says no, heart screams yes

Also, I was listening to stormterror’s lair ost while writing it, just because its fucking amazing, you might wanna listen to it too

I’m nervous to post this?/&:! This is the second fic i’ve ever finished in my whole life

i love venti and he’s hot in his god outfit i don’t make the rules

KAY ENJOY <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

Saying you were exhausted would have been an understatement. After reuniting with your sibling, you had been frantically searching for clues about khaenri'ah and ways to Inazuma. With no luck, you couldn't find any traces of Dainsleif or of your twin. The ruins had been sealed and you had no idea what happened to the inverted statue or the corpse you had found there. Desperately, you clung into every little information you had, you would have turned every rock on this archon damned continent if you had to, which is what led you into those ruins near Guilli plains.

Walking along the destroyed buildings your eyes caught sight of a dandelion and you froze. You missed them so much, why couldn't they go back home with you? All you ever wanted was to be by their side why, why were they running away from you?

You remembered your travels, the moments you shared together, their protectiveness over you, the fondness in their eyes when you smiled at them. You remember the times you got hurt and healed one another with your now missing powers. You remember sleeping by their side and being grateful to the universe to let you keep your ray of sunshine everywhere with you. How ironic.

What had they meant 'once you reach the end of your journey' ? What does that even mean? Stupid twin, if they knew you were here the whole time, why hadn't they come to you? Why were they always leaving just when they were within your grasp? Why? Did they know how much you missed them and how much your heart broke when you finally saw them? Did they?

You only realized you were crying when a small gust of wind had your wet cheek react to the cold, breaking your train of thought. Wind.

The wind is everywhere, you think, free as a bird, always accompanying every citizen of this world, never truly alone. With this in mind, you resumed your exploring, slower this time.

A sigh escaped your mouth. You didn't want to admit it, but the wind did comfort you a little. Almost as if he was here. God of freedom and of the breeze, he was more a singer than a protector and you couldn't bear to think about him. Was it true? What Dain said... Did he destroy this nation? Was he the cause of the scenery that still haunted your nightmares up until 500 years later? Your brain simply couldn't accept that Venti, your Venti, you catch yourself thinking, could have made such an act of wrath. He was the epitome of freedom, why would he take the very thing he based all of his existence on from mere mortals? Barbatos simply couldn't be afraid of being overpowered, he didn't even care about power. All he wanted was freedom and happiness for his people. Surley this couldn't be right?

But then again, who were you to deny the wipe out of an entire nation? The gods did it. They were afraid that Celestia would be overthrown by the pride of humankind, the destruction of khaenri'ah by divine beings was a fact. There was no misunderstanding about this. That was the one thing you were sure of. So why did you feel like crying even more now?

The mere thought of a gentle soul such as Venti committing innocent people to an eternity of suffering didn't sit right with you. Even when his dearest friend Dvalin had turned against him, he didn't try to stop him, didn't even ask the dragon to save him. He healed and helped him, gave him a choice.

'What is freedom if demanded of you by a god?' was the same person that asked this question the same one who committed mass murder? Genocide?

Did the little wine-lover bard you had grown fond of destroy all hopes and light your kin had?

You remember that night when he freed Stanley from his burden, freed his and his friends' spirits. You had marveled at his action, in that instant he was a god, and he definitely hadn't struck you as a murderer. You remember that look of silent pain and grief in his eyes when he sang the tales of the nameless bard he had taken the appearance of. You knew he trusted you enough to share his story, something so personal, you could almost feel the war that took down the tyrant of Mond. Oh how much you cherished that evening, treating him to some well deserved dandelion wine afterwards, his favorite, and asking him to sing you more about the time where was nothing but the spirit of a breeze.

Your heart broke a little, remembering his rosy cheeks and drunk smile, you wish you could talk to him, ask him what happened. What did he do, was he really as dangerous as you had been told? If so, then why did you feel so good around him? Why did you feel like you could give hi-

You stopped walking upon seeing a ruin guard up ahead in the distance. You're so stupid, you think. Feeling this way is not gonna get you anywhere, especially with how the bard had been missing for a few weeks now. Ever since you had last seen your sibling.

Where was he, where was he wandering off to? You walk towards the disabled ruin guard, not really paying any mind to it, still thinking about the god you longed to meet with. If you could see him, what would you even say? Would he even answer your questions? Why did your stomach feel so light and funny when you thought about seeing him, why aren't you angrier?

You're almost at the killing machine's level now, so lost in your thought you don't notice the five other similar robots hidden behind a wall next to it. You notice them only when it's too late and you've already turned them on while thinking about examining them and collecting their serial numbers. When you hear the familiar tick of the mechanism turning on, you internally panic and think about running away only to calm down moments later and think to yourself that you can simply beat it and take what you came here for. Even if you are emotionally and physically tired, you can manage, you think.

That was before hearing five other consecutive ticks right after it, and all around you.

Turning around, your gaze falls upon the small army of field tillers. Fuck.

Paimon wasn't with you today, you had asked for some time alone which she hesitantly accepted, so you couldn't ask her to go fetch help. You would have been worried if you had all your capacities but with the state you were in, you were wondering how you were going to survive this fight. You were alone, none of your companions with you, and deeply weakened by the busy day you had and the few hours of sleep you had managed to steal away from the night. Was it today you would meet your doom, with all your questions and uncertainties unanswered?

You tried your best to fight with the strength you had left, but quickly grew desperate after what felt like hours of efforts to swing your blade and being able to only take one monster down out of the six. It didn't help that you got injured along the way, their blows becoming harder and harder to dodge. After being thrown on the grown for the third time, you understood you had at least two broken ribs and that your shaking legs would soon fail you as well.

Fear crept upon you, you would die here today, alone. Alone. You couldn't talk to your sibling after all, couldn't understand. You didn't even get to talk to him one last time. Him... You would die without the knowledge of the truth about your bard. You would die alone. You didn't want that, you couldn't look death straight in the eye.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

In Mondstadt, there was a musician, a weird singer everyone had heard about at least once. He lived off of his songs and was mostly known for having a great story-telling and being an alcoholic.

The number of people who knew the true nature of his identity were few and he was perfectly content with that. He didn't wish to be a god anymore, his gnosis had been taken away anyway and it's not like he had any power over the city of wind nowadays. Even if his people still worshipped him as Barbatos, it didn't sit right with him to be called a god anymore. It actually never did, he thinks to himself with a smile, he never really took any responsibilities that came with the divine title which is why he was so weak today. But it didn't matter to him, his smile turns into a soft giggle.

Sitting on a mill that was once born from his steps he looks fondly over the city he founded. Even if they were godless, the citizens were still thriving and free. He cared oh so very deeply about the place even if he rarely, if not never, showed the affection within his heart. He remembers the day he grew strong enough to dispel the storms over his actual Mondstadt, and made the weather gentle enough so that there was no need for fireplaces. Nowadays, he loves watching birds nest into the chimney tops and seeing them found their own home. It gave him a sense of belonging like no other, not above his people, but walking among them and watching them nest into this cocoon he created. He was proud of what happened to his land and would do it all over again if he had to.

Especially since it led to him meeting you. This thought doesn't catch him off guard, you often roamed around in his mind after all, and it's not like he didn't write at least three songs about you and your feat, your smile, your courage...

Ah there he goes again, rambling about you in a whisper. He turns around to the statue of him his people erected in his honor, chuckling at how they never made the connection with his signature braids. His, but not really his, since he had stolen this form from someone who was much more deserving of this power than him. Seeing his friend being honored with the statues of the seven around the land made him happy, he hoped that it was a good enough thank you gift in return for everything that the bard whom he couldn't even remember the name of anymore did for him.

Upon gazing at the statue, he remembered telling you of his long gone friend. It was the first time he had talked about him to someone else, he didn't even mention it to Venessa, she who made him believe in himself again. He could ask himself why, but he simply knew that you had something different, more than meets the eye. Perhaps it was because you weren't from Teyvat, or perhaps it was just you being as simple as your natural self but he was simply and utterly captivated by your being. You inspired him to no end, at first he thought it was because he had never met someone like you and he loved new things! But as time grew and he got to know you, he understood quickly the meaning and depth of his passions. He thought of it with a light chuckle, content with your presence alone. He really did need and want you around.

So why did he purposely avoid you like the plague?

The wind had brought to his ears that you had met with Dainsleif.

And your twin.

His first reaction was to search for you, talk to you, he wanted to be here to know what happened! You had searched so long, he couldn't contain himself, still listening to what the wind told him, he started running with excitement but... But wait, Dainsleif was... He told you what?

Oh.

So you heard about Khaenri'ah. He had stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, only sending a warm current of wind your way, hugging you from afar.

He wasn't ready to talk about this yet, not ready to face you and absolutely not ready to answer your questions. He was a coward, he thought, running away like that but what else could he do, really. It was only natural for him to be as uncatchable as air.

A sorry excuse to avoid the fact that even if his past had marvelous story like the one of the nameless bard, it also had its share of darkness, something he wasn't ready to dive back into. Especially not now when your arrival has been shaking this world up like it hasn't been since at least 500 years.

But oh, how he longed to see your face or to hear your voice. So he asked a breeze to report to him what you were up to, and where you were. Just in case! he tells himself, what if you needed help ehe? But he knows you're competent and you won't need the help of a weakling coward like him anytime soon. Or so he thought.

Because when the breeze only gives him a few words back, his blood runs cold.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

As you murmured these words in your desperate state, not really for anyone but yourself as a last resort, a prayer of some sort, you tried to stand by leaning yourself on your sword and failing miserably. You didn't dare look up as you heard the loud footsteps of the metal giants coming your way. It was over, and you barely managed to accept it.

As you rested your forehead against the cold handle of your sword, you closed your eyes, tears starting to make their ways out of your closed eyelids. All you could feel was remorse.

A soft breeze moved your hair slightly and your chest felt like a black hole had taken place where your heart used to be, regretting to not have been able to meet him under the tree at Windrise one last time.

The breeze quickly grew stronger, until it felt unnatural and you looked up from the ground, only to close your eyes again immediately when you realized the wind was too powerful for you to keep them open. If you had struggled to see though, you would have been blinded by the white light that soon illuminated the whole ruins. You didn't have enough time to register the situation when you felt a hand being laid atop your shoulder, snaking around your collarbones and pulling you back into... nothing? Another arm circled your weak form and a voice you immediately recognized said

"I've dealt with things worse than you, now crumble."

You realized that if you couldn't feel a chest behind you while still being embraced by his arms, it was because he was floating above you, and not standing behind you. A look in his direction confirmed your suspicions but what stunned you wasn't the fact that he was flying, but the attire he wore. Barely covering his body, a white set made of materials that seemed like clouds and liquid gold contrasted perfectly with his regular green clothes. His hair was glowing green and his eyes that were focused on the ruin guards up ahead had a marvelous shine that you had never seen before. He had that same aura he did the night he freed Stanley, but there was also something different about the way his hands gripped you a little too tightly or the way his voice sounded.

"Venti.." You muttered his name, relief and affection flooding you all at once, in his presence you felt as if nothing bad could happen to you. How foolish could you be, just a few hours ago you were speculating wether or not he had wiped out an entire civilisation and now here you were, being saved by him and feeling safer than you had in months.

"Close your eyes, I don't want give you a headache" he said, slowly floating legs first towards the ground. His unusually serious voice surprised you (and him) but you did as he told you. Letting go of your sword and leaning back into him, you let him deal with the monsters ahead of you.

"It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask."

Being protected by a god really didn't feel that bad. Especially when you were in love with said god.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Thank you so much for reading whatever this is until the end :’)

Don’t hesitate to comment or reblog, tysm <3

Ps: venti loves u and so do i do pls take care of urself mwah

[onemustalwaysbecarefulofbooks]

I keep thinking I’ve run out of things to be disgusted and offended by on Nesta’s behalf when it comes to Rhysand’s treatment of her, but here I am once again. Rhys makes it abundantly clear in ACOFAS that his beef with Nesta is due to the fact that she “failed” Feyre and “let” her go off into the woods and hunt by herself at 14, single handedly supporting the family. When Feyre expresses that she wants Nesta to come to their Solstice celebration he tells her “Should this be my Solstice gift to you? Forgiving Nesta for letting her 14 year old sister go off and hunt in the woods?” Feyre basically tells him to get over it because she has and he responds with “I can never forgive anyone who made you suffer.” That’s a pretty childish (not to mention hypocritical) mindset for an immortal being to have, but whatever. Forget that. What has me gagging is the fact that in the bonus scene for ACOSF, when they discover Feyre is pregnant, Rhys suggests naming the baby AFTER FEYRE’S FATHER. AFTER HER FATHER. Someone please explain to me how Nesta is somehow more responsible for the situation Feyre found herself in than the fucking FATHER OF ALL 3 OF THOSE CHILDREN. Nesta SHOULD have contributed more in some way, don’t get me wrong! You can’t hunt, but swallow your pride and go be a maid or something. She was wrong to contribute nothing. But having every character under the sun scorn her for this while never ONCE scorning the father is just ??????? Don’t give me the bullshit that he was crippled so there was nothing he could have done. I didn’t realize you needed your legs to earn money in any capacity. You’re telling me that if Cassian found himself crippled and unable to walk, he would just sit there and let his daughters starve??? You’re telling me RHYS would do that?? Ever heard of Chaol Westfall, anyone??! You can miss me with that nonsense, it is complete horse shit. He is not completely undeserving of any sympathy, but he is certainly not entitled to a total free pass and Nesta CERTAINLY does not deserve to take sole blame for the situation. If this were modern day/real life, all 3 of those girls would be taken out of his custody. Rhys has every reason to resent Feyre’s father for not doing more or trying harder to take care of his children but for some weird fucking reason, all of this is projected onto Nesta. NESTA has every reason to resent her father and her somehow her story ends with her reflecting on how she was awful to him and would never be deserving of his love. Yes, he did a good thing in the end and gathered the armada to come to their defense, but this does not change the fact that he sat by for years and let those girls, his DAUGHTERS, who were CHILDREN, fucking starve. The fact that Rhys says he wants to name their child after this man while walking around being a dick to Nesta specifically for “letting Feyre hunt” even after she saved Cassian’s life is flat out gross. I will never stop saying it…Nesta deserved better.

[jonsa101]

Episode 3x14: A Reflection of How Max Stepped Into Love After A Season of Suffering

Gif credit @supagirl

Hey guys! I can’t believe the season finale has come and gone! I think my mind is just taking time to comprehend everything that has happened! Sharpwin is officially canon! As I’m typing this out, it feels strange writing a meta on the other side of things. Since season one, I’ve been writing metas about how these two belong together and making predictions about the trajectory of their relationship. Now, to be on the other side of things where I know longer have to do that because these two are finally together is kinda crazy. I feel so elated!

Now y’all, I’m not going to lie to you, I had a totally different meta planned out and that meta is still in my drafts. I will probably release it because it was a general review of the episode but I thought it was more important that I put this meta out first. When I was watching the finale live, I didn’t love it. I just didn’t. I loved that Max and Helen finally got together at the end of the episode but I had a major issue with how it unfolded. The issue my friends was this scene right here: 

Baby!!! When I tell you this scene TRIGGERED me, it did! Now mind you, I wasn’t upset with Max’s storyline of searching and struggling to take off his wedding ring. It is human nature for Max to still have an emotional attachment to his ring. He’s not still grieving but essentially that ring is the only thing he has left of Georgia and represents a life he once had. Him taking it off was always going to be a monumental moment for Sharpwin and for himself. The issue that I had was Max casually telling Helen that he freaked out about losing his ring!!! To me, after the voicemail he left her, after Helen flew standby and was in a six hour flight to see him, it was an incredibly CALLOUS thing for Max to say. I know Max wasn’t thinking in this moment. I know his intentions were clearly not to hurt her but words matter and him being careless with his was a complete disregard of Helen’s feelings. She was deeply hurt and upset when he said this and rightfully so! I mean just look at her expression here:

Helen’s entire being read like

“I can’t believe you”

And girl same, because neither could I!! He knew he fucked up and he obviously made up for it in the end but y’all when I was watching it live, everything that came after that elevator scene was was tainted for me. I had a hard time believing that Helen would let what he said slide so easily and in the moment, I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of them finally coming together! 😩 In my personal opinion, there were so many other ways that scene could have played out without Max having to literally tell Helen to her face that he was worried about his wedding ring! I know they were trying to build up to the “big moment” where he finally takes his ring off and runs back to Helen’s apartment but man, that moment did not sit right with me in my spirit! It still doesn’t and I don’t think my opinion will ever change on this.

With that said, I’ve now done several rewatches of the finale where I specifically watched the scenes after that awful moment by the elevator. As I’ve had time to reflect, my perspective has changed. I no longer view the moments after the elevator scene as tainted but as something deeply profound and beautiful. Hell, even as I reflect on that scene by the elevator, I still don’t like it, but in a way I understand it in how it relates to Max’s overall journey when it comes to Helen. To me, Max Goodwin is a man who fell deeply in love with Helen in the midst of the most complex situations and a season of him suffering. It’s been deep rooted, complicated and messy from the start and over the past three years we’ve seen Max navigate through the complexities of his feelings for Helen and the circumstances he’s found himself in on our screens. I think when you look at season three finale and specifically the journey of Max finally making a choice to be with Helen, you have to put into context Max’s history and how it influenced what that looked like. So y’all that is exactly what I want to do in this meta so let’s dive in.

One thing I think we need to acknowledge is that, even though as an audience we have loved seeing Max and Helen’s journey unfold, the road has been so TOUGH for them. As Helen said in 3x13, it’s been a fight! Especially for Max. The suffering he has endured over the past three years has been unfathomable and much of his relationship with Helen and his feelings for her have been developed under these traumatic and tragic circumstances. 

At the very beginning of the series, when Max and Helen first meet they clash but it doesn’t last for long. It’s his first day at New Amsterdam and as the new Medical Director, he wants her to stay at the hospital and treat patients instead of doing press tours. Helen on the other hand wants to continue doing press and for the most part ignores his demands for her to return to the hospital. When she finally does return, she does so because she learns that Max has cancer. This bonds them at the onset as Helen is the only person in his life that knows about his diagnosis. As an audience, when we first see them interact, we instantly saw the sparks fly between them. Their chemistry and natural witty banter made us immediately take a look at their relationship and what potential they could have in the future. Though we were shocked by his cancer diagnosis, I think the fun and lightheartedness of Sharpwin’s first interactions really masked how traumatic this must have been for Max. On the first day of his dream job, that he sacrificed his marriage for, he learns that he has cancer while having a baby on the way. Those are the awful circumstances that first bring Max and Helen together. 

As Helen becomes Max’s doctor and he swears her to secrecy about his diagnosis, their friendship and bond grows deeper. His passion and drive to help his patients, reignites Sharpe’s love for medicine again and inspires her to put her patients first. They become vulnerable with each other more than anyone else in their lives. He confides in her about his broken marriage and she tells him that she wants a baby. When he almost dies, she becomes his deputy medical director so that he can focus on his care. All of these moments are significant to them because somewhere along the way they develop feelings for each other. They didn’t plan for it and it’s something neither of them are consciously aware of but unknowingly, they both start to fill a place in each other’s lives that was clearly more than a doctor and patient relationship or a friendship. This “place” wasn’t called out until episode 1x16 were the clairvoyant called out their feelings for each other. When episode 1x17 comes around, after a night of revelations and a scramble to get the power back on in the hospital, Helen decides to step back as his doctor. If she wasn’t aware of her feelings before, in this moment, she’s fully aware of them now. This is an effort to safeguard her heart and set boundaries because the lines of who they are to each other were already so blurred. When she “triages” their relationship Max’s reacts badly and honestly they’re both devastated and are on the verge of tears:

As viewers, we loved this moment but when you peel back the layers of what’s actually going on in this scene, it’s gut-wrenching. The subtext is so clear here yet their situation is so complex and layered. We know for a fact that Max wasn’t trying to lose her in ANY CAPACITY. We also know that in the way he TRULY wanted her he couldn’t have her and Helen knew that too. Not when he was married, had a baby on the way, and fighting cancer at the same time. Y’all that’s hard and profoundly painful when you think about it and it makes this scene all the more tragic. 

When Helen steps back as his doctor, at first Max seems to be handling it well but as his cancer starts to get worse, he completely breaks. Like I said earlier, over the course of his cancer treatment, Helen filled a place in Max’s life that was so much more than just his doctor or his friend. So when he’s dying and no longer has the person he feels deeply for play an active role in his treatment, he lashes out. He’s dealing with a range of emotions he can’t handle or properly process. Things only get worse from there and at the end of season one Georgia and Luna’s life are on the line and Bloom and Helen scramble to save them. When it seems like everyone was able to come out of that traumatic event unscathed, they get into a devastating ambulance crash that changes everything. 

Season 2 brings another level of pain and suffering for Max when he loses his wife after the crash and is thrust into single fatherhood. Not only is he grieving but he’s also dealing with guilt of falling in love with Helen while he was married. The complexities of his feelings is something he struggles with throughout this season and it affects his relationship with Helen. At some points he pushes her away and at others he desperately needs her. Once again, Helen and Max’s relationship is caught up in the most complex of circumstances that is riddled with agony and trauma. 

By time we head into season 3, Max doesn’t even have time to breathe or think about his relationship with Helen because they’re both thrust to the frontlines of the pandemic. 

I bring all of this up again to emphasize that there has never been a time where Max and Helen’s relationship hasn’t been wrapped up in trauma or some sort of suffering. It has always been one thing or another with them. It’s been A LOT and Max has tried to navigate being in love with Helen through his suffering and under these crazy ass circumstances. So after rewatching the finale, the questions that run through my mind are:

How do you step into love when all you’ve known for the past three years has been suffering?

How do you love openly and freely when for so long you’ve emotionally suppressed your feelings for someone because it was “wrong?” 

How do you let go, heal, and move on with your life?

To me, answering these questions is what the season finale for Max was all about. When you’ve suffered so much and endured so much it’s not easy to step into a new chapter in your life that’s hopeful and filled with love and possibilities. For Max, I don’t think in his wildest dreams that he ever imagined that he and Helen would be in a place where they could actually be together. Considering everything they’ve gone through, quite frankly it’s a fucking miracle! So when he actually makes it to the other side and not only SURVIVES but has a chance for happiness, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing. Pursuing/having feelings for Helen from a place that isn’t wrapped up in trauma and tragedy, where there are seemingly no obstacles in his way, is totally and completely new territory for Max. I think he’s clueless in how to do that in the right way and as he navigates through that, naturally there are hiccups.

That’s evident with what he said by the elevator and also in this moment here: 

Max doesn’t have a clue but he wants to make sure that he doesn’t fuck it up because he DESPERATELY wants this! I also think there’s something to be said about how we as human beings can self-sabotage ourselves when we finally have an opportunity to get what we want. Fear, guilt, worthiness usually comes into play with that and I think for Max there was definitely a fear with moving on with his life, guilt of surviving it all and having a chance to be with the woman he’s loved for so long, and a question of if he’s worthy of actually having happiness.

Their walk in my mind perfectly embodies him self sabotaging while also trying to navigate his feelings of desperately wanting to be with her. At the beginning of their walk, you see that at one point he clearly wants to hold Helen’s hand but he doesn’t (I would use a gif here y’all but I literally only have room for 10 😩). I’m focusing my attention on Max here because essentially this whole moment between them is a part of Max’s “mini story” in the episode. The ball has always been in his court and truly what we are witnessing is his journey to step into love because Helen is ready and has been waiting on him. 

The most compelling moment in their walk scene for me was this one: 

I find it strange for Max to walk so far ahead when he was the one who asked her if he could walk with her. My first thought while watching it live was “what is he doing” and I think Helen’s expression reads the same way. After analyzing this for a bit, I genuinely think that’s the point of this scene. Like I said earlier, Max doesn’t know what he’s doing. To be with Helen like this is, where its romantic, peaceful and drama free is probably blowing his mind and he doesn't know how to navigate this. He doesn’t know how to receive this second chance at happiness. 

The internal war of Max stepping into love or allowing fear, guilt, and unworthiness to hold him back becomes all the more evident when they get to Helen’s door: 

He knows he wants to come in. Helen know he wants to come in too. This man literally says goodnight twice and when Helen responds with “you said that,” it perfects this scene. She wants him to come in as well but she’s not going to ask him to. In this moment, she sees his internal struggle and she knows that he has to make the choice himself on whether or not he wants to move on with his life with her.

When he walks away, for a moment that was Max choosing to hold onto the pain and trauma of his past. That was him choosing to hold onto the guilt that was keeping him from healing and moving on. With the suffering he’s been through, it makes sense. In many ways he’s been conditioned to fight, to suffer and to endure. It’s what he’s used to. But praise the lord, he thinks of the moments he just shared with Helen. 

The joy he has with just being in her presence. 

The opportunity he has to freely be with her and have a life with her after loving her for so long.

He is not condemned to a life of suffering. It was only for a season. He’s in love with Helen and wants to be with her. Like hell is he going to let this opportunity at a second chance of love and happiness slip away from him. So guys, he slips off that ring, runs back to Helen’s apartment and makes a choice to step into love. Step into this new, uncharted, chapter of his life with Helen Sharpe. 

Anyway guys! I hope y’all enjoyed this! I might be releasing one more meta but we will see how it goes.

As always feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr and on Twitter @oyindaodewale. Love you guys!

[dp-marvel94]

Dan Redemption with a twist

So I'm still geeking out over my ask that @stillebesat answered a few days ago, the one where about an upcoming fic. I've been playing around with a really similar idea, with a redeemed Dan fusing with a clone of Danny, for months now.

Here's my idea:

First of all, my preferred version of Dan is basically Danny but evil. He less fused with Plasmius and more consumed his powers so Dan doesn't have any of Vlad's memories. Next, I'm a big fan of the idea that Dan deeply regrets killing his human half and is, for lack of a better word, haunted by the action. It was the first death of his reign of terror, his final chance to turn back from the dark path he was on and...it was his suicide.

Now, Dan doesn't realize any of this for what feels like centuries. He's trapped in the Fenton thermos in Clockwork's lair, alone with only his thoughts. And the knowledge starts creeping in, all that he'd lost, all that he'd done. He realizes that he misses his friends and family and to his surprise, he hopes his younger self saved them. But then he realized that he tried to kill them. And the guilt starts creeping in. The regret follows and he remembers all the rest of his crimes. He doesn't have enough humanity, enough emotional capacity to be wrecked but he's no longer a rage fueled destructive monster.

Then to Dan's shook, Clockwork releases him without a word. The master of time dumps him in the new timeline, maybe a few months after the events of TUE. To his dim relief, Dan finds that his friends and family are all still alive. He watches them for a while, trying to process where he is and what happened. But then he runs into Danny. And things don't go well. It's a rocky start. Danny does not trust Dan at all. He doesn't trust that the older ghost has no intention of hurting his loved ones. Danny is ready and willing to fight and recapture him. The younger's opinion doesn't change until Dan saves him and Jazz during a ghost attack. The two ghosts, at Jazz's insistence, come to an uneasy impasse. Danny will leave Dan alone if the older ghost leaves him and his family alone. Dan isn't really happy about this arrangement but it's better than being trapped in the thermos again and he does have no intention of hurting his younger counterpart or his loved ones.

So Dan concedes. He stays out of Danny's way. He watches. He catches glimpses of his former friends and family from a distance. And it hurts. Dan feels out of place, disconnected. This isn't his time, isn't his place. He's stuck on the outside looking in... and this timeline already has a Danny, one who didn't make the aggresous mistakes he did. And those mistakes... the guilt's still there but like all other emotions, it's dim and distant. That's how it's been since his death, with every emotion but rage. But still, Dan does not like being on the outside looking in. He needs to do something else with himself, find some place he can belong.

Then Dan remembers Vlad. He had gone to the older half ghost after losing everything. And... Vlad had tried to help him. Separating the then halfa at his request had been a horrible idea but Vlad had been trying. Vlad did care about him. And.... the man must be so lonely now. Lonely like Dan himself is.

It's something of a wim but Dan goes to the older halfa. And at first, it's a surprise to Vlad and then seemingly a dream come true. Here in front of him is a version of Daniel who wants to stay by his side willingly. This Dan is more powerful and experienced than his younger counterpart, though not as experienced as Vlad. The young man is willing to be taught and all he seemingly wants is companionship. Yes, it would be a dream come true except...

Dan will not tolerate any of Vlad's shit. He will not be used to hurt anyone ever again. He will not take part in any of Vlad's schemes against the Fentons. It's a high price to pay but the older man backs off. Vlad is content to not be alone and have a chance to convince Dan to work with him.

So Dan stays with Vlad. With the older man busy with work, Dan has free reign of the mansion for most of the day. In some ways, it's nice. Away from Amity Park, there's no temptation to check on his former loved ones. His longing for a life he can no longer have is diminished. Vlad's mansion provides ample distraction, in the library, the game room, the gardens. But... the days are long and often lonely and the nights... they're even worse. The large building, empty and quiet, it's too much like a time Dan wishes he could forget. The memories are stronger now. After the fiery explosion...weeks of weeping in his room. Somber diners with Vlad where he couldn't force himself to eat. Waking up from another nightmare.

Without his humanity, the grief isn't as soul wrenching as it should be. But it's ever present, the memories on repeat. And there is little to break them up. As a ghost, Dan cannot sleep. He cannot eat. He can't truly feel the sun on his face or the comforting chill of the water on the pool. All physical sensations are dimmed.

And Dan starts to realize, it's excruciating. He feels incomplete, like there's a gapping whole in his chest. The memories of his own death, seen from the outside, return. His own icy blue eyes wide with fear and pain. Red blood spattered on his face. It's horrifying. Or it should be. If Dan could muster up more than the dimmest shadow of the emotion. But he can't, because the part of him that could died 10 years ago. And... this is wrong. He is wrong.

He should have died completely as himself, as Danny Fenton. He shouldn't have watched his death from the outside by his own hands. He shouldn't be this half being that couldn't even be bothered to die properly.

Dan stews, a forgotten anger growing as he longs for something he'd once wanted rid of. His human self, his Fenton, his humanity... he wants it. He wants to be truly, completely himself again. He wants to be whole enough to fade, to move on.

But that is the problem with ghosts, especially one like him. They do not change. They do not move on. As much as Dan acts like he is older, like he is different, he is not. He's the same angry, broken teen that he was ten years ago. And he will never be anything else.

Dan rages, trashing Vlad's training room. Soon enough, his anger is spent and the young man comes back to his senses. Dan huffs in frustration and annoyance at himself. He'd rather enjoyed Vlad's training room and now the man himself will likely be cross with him. Dan does his best to put the room back in order and find something else to do.

But the pain, regret, and longing linger. At some level, Dan thinks he's being ridiculous. All his former loved ones are alive. Dan isn't alone. He has Vlad and the ability to determine his own future. This world wasn't ravaged by his hand. His mistakes have been erased. He should be free. Except...

No, his mistakes are not all erased. His own death returns to his mind over and over. He shouldn't think about, he shouldn't dwell on it but...

One day, Dan goes down to Vlad's secret lab. He knows he shouldn't. This is such a breach of Vlad's trust but... this is were it happened. The young man stares at the metal table. If he was capable of feelings cold, he would shiver. There, where he was pulled out of his body. That wall, he cornered his human half there, the boy cowering in fear. There, that control panel was spattered with his own blood.

Dan wishes he could cry but he's not human enough for that. He's not human at all. But he wishes he was.

Startled by the thought, the full ghost turns away. He shouldn't wish for things he can't have but... no. Dan's eyes flicker around the room, looking for small differences from his memories. Some of the equipment is laid out differently. There are different samples on the shelf and... that door wasn't there before.

Dan walks through and finds... metal and glass chambers in different degrees of construction. A few are filled with ectoplasm and there in the back... if Dan had a heart, it would stop. There in a clear pod with a breathing mask over his face is...Danny Fenton. No, that's not right. This isn't... this isn't his timeline. And his younger counterpart is in Amity Park so....

Dan frantically searches Vlad's computer, his notes for answers. Clones. Vlad had been trying to clone his younger half ghost counterpart. In the tube... clone 3. Fully human. Suffered mental decline from 2 weeks gestation and eventually brain death a month later. Body kept alive by machines since... the week Dan arrived.

Dan wishes he could feel shock. He wishes he could feel relief. From the data, this was the first attempt that even resembled something human. The others were by all measures animals, in no way sentient. And it appears Vlad hasn't continued working since Dan came to live with him. But still...

Dan confronts Vlad, asking about the experiments, about the clone kept on life support.

"I could not bear to pull the plug." Vlad answers, surprisingly sober. "I'd hoped his condition would improve." There is a far away look in his eyes, a longing. "I tried everything I could think of to stop the degradation but..." The older half ghost shook his head. "I'm continuing to monitor 3's status." There was a pain in Vlad voice. "I fear he won't live to see the outside of his chamber."

Vlad was in denial, Dan thinkd. This clone is gone, like his own human half. The heart still beats, the lungs still breath but...

He shock his head. "Before you approach me, I consider...if I could create a viable, ghostly clone and coax the spirit to hybridize with the body..."

The idea was ridiculous and he should be disgusted, hearing all Vlad had done, what he had planned but...

"That is all in the past now." Vlad finished sadly.

All in the past like the loss of his own human half. He shouldn't wish for things that he couldn't have but...

"I'm a viable ghost..." Dan could barely believe the words coming out his mouth. "Not a clone but... I am without a human side."

Vlad is staring at him like he has another head, something which Dan was sure he did not currently have. "Daniel...are you suggesting... what I think you are suggesting?"

Was he? It was ridiculous, impossible. He could not replace his human side by... possessing an animated corpse.

"No. I am not." Dan denied. "Forget I said anything."

Vlad gave a nod, dropping the conversation. But Dan did not forget. This idea... it was wrong. It was impossible. He couldn't be made a half ghost again. But...

The temptation. If anyone could get it to work, it would be Vlad. And if it did...the ghost floats to what had been his bedroom and laid down. If it worked, he could sleep. He could eat. He could go out in public with human. It would necessarily be a replacement for what he'd lost but...

No... this was wrong. This was basically a clone of himself whose body he wanted to steal. But... was it really? This was an empty body, no mind, no soul. It was mad science but... Dan was already the product of mad science.

And if it worked, not as an overshadowing but a hybrization... he could truly age, he could grow passed what happened. And he could feel more than the pale shadows he could now.

The next day, Dan asks Vlad for what he wants.

"Are you sure?" The man asked. "This could have unknown consequences on your body or your mind. You could even destabilize."

That gave Dan pause. This might not work. He might end up in unknown pain or even fade but... "this is worth the risk."

The pair work together, planning and experimenting. They give the body transfusions of Dan's ectoplasm. The younger ghost practices envisioning himself as a halfa again. He prepares himself.

"I will need to reduce you down to your core." Vlafd says solemnly.

Dan places his existence in Vlad's hands. After blowing off seemingly endless amounts of energy in a desolate portion of the Ghost Zone, the older halfa repeatedly shocks him with the Plasmius Maximus. Dan's body pops out of existence, leaving his core exposed.

As just a core, there is no sensation. No input. No output. It's terrifyingly like being in the thermos again. Dan knows he is being moved. Vlad is doing something to him but... there is nothing and too much at the same time.

Dan can not process. He is cradled. There is something beside him, something around him reaching out. Something is changing. He is changing. It is too much. Dan loses consciousness for the first time in ten years. It is not sleep. There is no dream. He can think one moment, separated from the world. And the next...

He is under water. Something is beeping. He feels light but heavy. Cold but warm. His center is fluttering, something straining and pounding. An emotion. Something that might be panic or fear suddenly rises in him, crashing over him as a wave. An equally panicked voice comes from in front of him. Then there's a sting in his neck. Sting? Pain? Pain, it's been so long since he felt pain. And... his neck? He has a neck again. Dan blacks out again.

The young man comes to again. There is still something beeping near his head. He's not under water now but laying on something soft. Soft and warm. Warm....Dan can feel that. His breath hitches. Breath... he feels lungs move on his chest. And...he feel heavy and warm. Something... something happened. He can't remember what...

Dan's eyes flutter open, falling on... Vlad.

The man's eyes met his, relief flashing across them. "Daniel." He sighs. "How do you feel?"

"Feel?" Dan crocks. Is that... is that his voice? "What...what happened?" The ghost (?) thinks he might know. "Did it work?" He whispered.

Dan's voice... his voice is high, like when he was a younger teen. It should feel strange but...

"Take a look." Vlad says, offering him a mirror.

Dan reaches forward with a shaking hand. His hand... it's not gloved, neither is it blue. It's.... he stares. It's a pale peach color like... his hands are smaller and thinner....

"Daniel." Vlad interrupts. "It's alright." He holds the mirror up and...

Dan meets blue eyes. His own blue eyes. Eyes he never thought he'd see again except on someone else. His eyes water as he reaches towards the mirror. "It worked."

His new heart is aching, a thousand emotions hitting him. Joy, happiness, relief, grief, guilt, regret. All of them are bigger, nearer, more real and soul-aching than it's been in years. He should be upset. He looks and sounds like a kid again. But... "I'm alive."

He is alive. And it is a joy. A gift. A promise. He will not waste this second chance.

The newly remade halfa is crying and...it's never felt so good.

[silenceinternalmonologue]

A Review of Loki (2021)

[The following is an exact transcription of Twitter user @/diolesbian ‘s thread linked here . They gave me permission to cross-post their thread on my Tumblr. Keep in mind that this review is fairly long and quite critical of the series. I agree with this review wholeheartedly, and would be welcome to discuss it with anyone else.] 

Loki is a character who has died many times, but his own series may be his most brutal character assassination yet.

1.  Loki’s role in the series. Instead of tackling Loki's most villainous state of mind in Avengers 1, the series literally speedran through his development in the subsequent films, after which they almost entirely halted his character progression.

Because this series was set right after Avengers 1 it had the responsibility of developing Loki further in place of The Dark World and Ragnarok. In Episode 1, this development was kicked off by having Loki watch a reel of some of his defining moments in the MCU, allowing him to see his future all the way up to his death in Infinity War. Sadly, this scene ended up being the most development he received in the entire series. And arguably, this isn’t even true development but more like a speedrun of his character up until that point, serving as a simple tactic to explain why he wouldn’t be acting all dictatorial and murderous during his own series. As soon as he had been made “good” (read: docile) enough to follow along with the plot, his agency was completely thrown out. From that point on, the series wasn’t about Loki making things happen but about things happening to Loki.

Loki was supposed to be the main character, but he wasn't the protagonist in this story. In fact, he was more of a side character than we’ve ever seen him be in the MCU before, perhaps excepting IW and Endgame.

A protagonist is by definition someone whose important decisions affect the plot, whose development is followed most closely by the audience, and who is opposed by an antagonist. Loki exhibited none of these traits in this series. Especially the latter half of the story, he was reduced to simply reacting to the revelations around him, such as the reveal that the TVA members were all variants and that Kang was the true mastermind behind everything. He never truly involved himself or acted based on any of these plot points, and hardly played a key role in what was supposed to be his own story. Even in the films, where Loki is a side character, he makes choices which impact the plot to a larger extent. He almost seems more like a background character in the role of protagonist than in the parts he plays in the films.

2. The antagonist. The TVA could have worked as the perfect setting for Loki to have a new arc. It’s a thematic antithesis to who we know Loki to be. But when this Loki turns out to not be who the audience thought he was the TVA’s thematic significance falls apart as well.

In Episode 1, the TVA’s Agent Mobius enlists the help of Loki the Variant to pin down a greater foe who we are told is another, more malicious version of Loki. Order and chaos meeting in the middle, teaming up to take down an enemy, who even happens to be the protagonists’ literal evil self: that works, it sounds promising. But this dynamic is soon undermined when Loki leaves with Sylvie. Still, the benefit of the doubt is easy to grant here: a story about tricksters is bound to contain twists. But by Episode 3 the series is halfway done and the TVA has been appointed as the main antagonist again: we’ve now established villains three different times. And then the Cloud Monster At The End Of Time is introduced, and finally Kang. In other words, the Loki series has no consistent antagonist, no one to pit its main character against. And this is where we once again miss out on an enormous aspect of Loki’s potential characterization.

Protagonists are always defined by an antagonist, whether a purple Titan, a flat tire, or themself. Loki is not given anything to define his morals, motivations, or development in opposition to and this is a huge oversight. Especially given the fact that Loki has taken on the villain’s role in the past: how is the audience supposed to know that the “bad guy” is now a “good guy” if there’s no “even worse guy” to stand up against?

3. The plot. A plot should show off its MC’s strengths and match their personality. The Loki plot hardly relied on his presence at all, he didn't play a key role. The story had so little to do with Loki that it seemed as though he has barely any impact on “his” narrative.

One of the most central conflicts in the Loki series doesn’t involve him at all: it’s between Sylvie and the TVA. This plotline was a good concept overall, but its main problem is that it’s practically the only conflict in the series. Loki himself, as mentioned before, isn’t set in opposition to anything or anyone. And thanks to his relationships with Sylvie and Mobius being weakened by conflicting storytelling devices, he appears to be in a bubble by himself away from the rest of the cast for much of the story. First he follows Mobius around, then Sylvie, then he wanders aimlessly in the void before following Sylvie once again and learning that Kang is a Really Bad Guy who he should be opposed to even though by this point he has interacted so little with the story unfolding around him that the audience doesn’t even understand why he should be choosing to play the hero.

The plot and the characters both suffer by being so incredibly unrelated to each other. A series, especially an MCU one, should tell an overarching narrative through the perspective of its main character.

In the beginning of the series, when Loki was still getting his bearings in the TVA, this lack of decision-making was more understandable, especially since some of his skills were still being shown-- he discovered Sylvie was hiding in nexus events, and he made the choice to leave Mobius and follow her. But by the latter half of the series he still hasn’t had much impact on the story or taken any actions of his own, and simply allows plot points to happen to him. Just because the Loki series had to introduce the TVA and Kang didn’t mean it had to forgo telling a story about its protagonist. If Loki’s story had been intrinsically tied to the overarching plot points, if his choices had been some of the primary factors determining how events ended up taking place, the series would have succeeded in every aspect. But instead Loki is pushed aside by the plot of his own series, a plot which subsequently ends up coming across as largely hollow and pointless due to its lack of character drive.

4. Loki’s arc. One of the main reasons MCU Loki is loved is for his excellent character development across his films. TVA Loki was extremely lacking in that aspect and chances to take his character in interesting new self-aware directions were thrown away without much thought.

Throughout the MCU, Loki is on a journey with many highs and lows. He goes from a bitter and disheartened prince standing in the shadow of his brother, to a self-loathing Jotun bent on destroying his own people in a desperate attempt to win his father’s love, to a half-mad partially mind-controlled dictator with delusions of grandeur fueled by his own insecurity, to a prisoner wondering what there is left for him to lose, to a savior of Asgard’s people finally coming to accept his place in what is left of his family, to a tragic sacrificial victim who knew he had to die so the true hero might live on. That’s a hell of a journey, incidentally shown in less than TWO HOURS of screen time, and the prospect of TVA Loki embarking on an equally stimulating one, this time told over the course of over four hours and shown from his own perspective the entire way through, was exciting. But as it turned out, this relatively simple expectation went completely unmet.

For a story trying to say so much about individuality and self-acceptance, the Loki series seemed to pass by every obvious opportunity to tackle those questions.

Sylvie’s introduction seemed like a good idea at first: Loki would be able to literally bond with himself and learn to accept who he is that way, and forays could be made to explore what Loki’s personality could have been like if he grew up under different circumstances! But aside from a scene or two in Episode 3, this was not how things ended up going. Loki didn’t come to any grand or important conclusions about his identity, he didn’t choose to act differently, all that happened was a vaguely-worded confession of pseudo-romantic feelings which was cut off in the middle, made no sense, and weakened the narrative in a whole host of other ways explained elsewhere. Loki’s encounter with other versions of themself in the Void was similarly meaningless: Loki didn’t end up expressing or demonstrating a single thing he learned from meeting all of those alternate selves, despite the fact that there was potential for massive self-discovery there.

Less than 2 hours of MCU screen time portrayed Loki more coherently than this entire series. Loki is loved because of how much he changes, and it felt like he didn’t in this series. He started off lost and stayed that way throughout the entire plot.

By the end of the series, it was impossible to identify who Loki had become. He said he didn’t want a throne, but it was not obvious why not. He looked sad to be betrayed by Sylvie, but never expressed what that meant to him. He seemed afraid once Kang was unleashed, but why? Why did he care about the Sacred Timeline? What were his motivations? Throughout the series the answers to these questions became less and less obvious, culminating in the final episode which ended without a single moment of reflection or explanation as to who Loki had become. He wasn’t a villain, but only because he wasn’t murdering people. He was in some capacity a hero, for… being against Kang, probably, but once again with no explanation as to why Loki had decided to feel that way. He never seemed self-assured in his heroism, as if he hadn’t chosen the role for himself. Again, making one’s own choices that shape the narrative are what differentiates a protagonist from a side character, but Loki did not do that in this series.

5. Loki and Sylvie’s relationship. Loki and Sylvie had the potential to be a powerful duo representing the process of self-acceptance but instead they were reduced to a strange pseudo-romance.

Despite Loki’s many developments in the films, he never truly liked himself. He has been known to act extremely confident and self-righteous at times, but this is merely the opposite side of the coin containing his self-loathing and insecurity. Having him literally meet and subsequently befriend himself in Episode 3 was a move towards developing this aspect of him and potentially teaching him to finally accept himself as he truly is, but this buildup was all shattered in Episode 4 when the relationship is portrayed to have romantic undertones. Instead of a powerful struggle to accept oneself, the relationship between Loki and Sylvie becomes a twisted thing which is memeable at best (selfcest LOL amirite?) and outright damaging to both characters and the very concept of loving oneself at worst.

Ultimately, Loki and Sylvie's relationship didn’t add anything to either character’s development and actively detracted from what could have been a touching story.

Romantic love is extremely different from self love; romantic love has connotations including dating conventions and sexuality which are impossible to ignore and in this case serve as a distraction. And on top of ruining a potentially powerful storyline, this strange relationship makes both Loki and Sylvie seem out of character. Loki is once again one thousand years old and he has never even had a true friend, so why would he possibly fall for someone after knowing them for only two days? Meanwhile in Sylvie’s case, Loki’s “feelings” for her cause the audience to pay more attention to her romantic life and gestures rather than her actual character and motivations.

6. Loki’s Sexuality and Gender Fluidity. Loki’s sexuality and gender has been shown in several comic runs, and the series was advertised as featuring this representation as well. But due to several fundamental errors and problematic storytelling this also fell flat.

Sylvie’s introduction filled many fans with hope regarding the portrayal of Loki’s identity. In the MCU neither of their LGBT identities had ever been touched upon, while the series introduced a female variant of Loki and explicitly stated their sexuality. But this portrayal soon unraveled, most notably in Episode 5, in which many other Loki variants were shown but not a single one besides Sylvie was non-male. On top of that, when TVA Loki mentioned Sylvie and referred to her as “a woman Variant of us”, the other Lokis agreed that that sounded “terrifying”. Why should a genderfluid being be afraid of a version of themselves presenting as a different gender? It read as both fluidphobic not to mention strangely sexist.

The pseudo-romance between Loki and Sylvie only aggravated the situation. Not only did the nature of the “relationship” seem to follow heteronormative storytelling tropes (falling in love after a couple days of knowing each other, one party being reduced to a love interest, valuing romantic love above any other type, etc) but it also seemed distressing and offensive to many genderfluid people. A romance between a male and a female Loki, one of which doesn’t even call herself by that name, seems to be implying that an individual becomes someone else when merely presenting as a different gender, which of course isn’t at all the case. The writing wasn’t necessarily malicious here, but it was certainly ignorant and potentially even harmful. The opportunity was there to translate Loki’s powerful comic representation into the framework of the MCU, but this attempt did not succeed.

7. Loki’s characterization. Loki is a chameleon, but there are certain traits fundamental to his character. These traits were either ignored or actively mocked in the series. The audience already knew “what makes a Loki a Loki", but the series threw that knowledge away.

Episode 1’s premise of stripping Loki of everything he is used to was an intriguing setup to ensure the discovery of the core of who Loki truly is. The only problem was that this truth didn’t end up being found at all. Mobius made fun of Loki’s most defining traits, such as his habits of lying to manipulate people and acting out of a place of insecurity, which seemed to be a signal for the narrative to forbid Loki from exhibiting any of those traits from that point on in any way. This reduction in Loki’s character was reflected in everything, from his lack of humor (in the films he’s even funny while he’s taking over the world!), the underpowered way in which he fought against Sylvie (he’ll use magic to dry his clothes, but fight with a damn vacuum cleaner?) to the way that he wore the same boring outfit in every single episode-- it may sound shallow, but clothes are important when presenting a character. Every one of Loki’s looks in the films said something about him and his state of mind, and sadly that bland TVA outfit seemed to convey that Loki really was nothing more than a subservient pawn in what was supposed to be his own story. Ironically, the writing stripped Loki of everything that made him Loki, and left us with nothing but a Jotun-shaped void to be swayed by the whims and wills of the characters and plot devices surrounding him.

8. Loki’s past and abilities. This series could have elaborated on aspects of his character which had been teased at in the films and theorized about by fans, but ended up being a disappointment in this aspect as well.

Aside from Loki’s characterization and development, something else the series ignores is much of his canon story in the films. Since Thor 1, a truth that always overshadowed Loki was his Jotun heritage. He struggled with it up until the time of his death, clearly visible in his relationship with his foster family. It’s understandable that Loki was supposed to be independent from Thor in his series, but that’s no excuse for completely ignoring this central part of who Loki is. It doesn’t matter how much he goes through or how much his circumstances change, this feeling of unbelonging sits deep in Loki’s core and should have been both explored and explicitly discussed in the series. A series all about Loki was the perfect opportunity for him to finally confront and explain his relationship with his heritage, and potentially come to terms with it as well. And this isn’t even to say how cool some more insight on Loki’s Jotun inheritance could have been-- hypotheticals aren’t the point of this review, but it would have been fascinating to see Loki reacting adversely to heat like he has been hinted to in the past or even using his ice powers like he did in Thor 1.

Loki's magic was tragically underused. It felt like he was stripped of all of his magical powers even after his TVA chains had been removed, and this was never explained.

A second huge oversight is his magic. His powers are all over the place in this series. They were always a bit vague in the films, but this series was the opportunity to set that right and explain exactly what Loki was capable of as a sorcerer, especially now that the MCU has embraced magic more than it had ten years ago. But instead, Loki showcased an inexplicable lack of magic use-- again, the vacuum cleaner fight can be presented as evidence. There is a single scene in which Loki says that he learned his magic from Frigga, but no information is given as to how much he learned or why he doesn’t always favor spells. His power levels are incredibly inconsistent (he forgoes using magic when first confronted by the TVA, but is later shown using telekinesis to save himself from being literally crushed to death). And, strangest of all, there is a scene in which he tells Sylvie that he “can’t” enchant living beings. Loki, the millennium year old Trickster sorcerer god, who can hold an Infinity Stone with his bare hands, reanimate Surtur in the Eternal Flame, and trick the average person using illusions with ease, can’t cast a little enchantment? And if so, why not? The series offered precious few explanations concerning Loki’s magical abilities and instead only raised more questions. And in this way, Loki is once again relegated into the background and left with not a single shred of any new characterization or development. 

Loki contains multitudes, but the series reduced him to two dimensions.

This isn’t to mention every other facet of Loki’s story that could have potentially been explored to great success in this series-- his torture and subsequent partial mental influence at the hands of Thanos just before the events of Avengers 1 is one obvious example, as is his youth on Asgard, as are his suicidal tendencies (people don’t tend to survive falling off the Bifrost, and he knew that when he threw himself off of it), plus infinite other facets of him. Of course, it was both necessary and more interesting for this series to be its own story rather than one which lingered on past films-- but that’s not to say that none of these plot points should have come back, at least subtly, to play a role in this story. Plot points exist to be brought back later, not completely ignored. Otherwise a story may as well be written about a completely original character.

[prompt-master]

Bear Trap (Part 2/3)

Art done by @doodles-by-noodles

Kyoko was hunched over Makoto, her eyes were darting from place to place over his body. Taking in every gash and tear before acting. Time was critical. She needed to know exactly how to treat him, or Makoto could die right there in front of her. Judging by the sound of his breathing, stressed and heavy, she could tell he’d already lost a lot of blood. Well, not that you needed her expertise to determine that. You could just look at the splattered pink around them. 

“It doesn’t look good,” She had said to Byakuya. It doesn’t look good. Seriously?

“No shit it doesn’t look good,” he spat out, sounding as intolerable as he did the first day they’d met in the killing game “I do have eyes, you know.“ 

Her right eye twitched. The logical side of her said this was just how Byakuya handled stress, by disconnecting himself and becoming irritable instead. The emotional side of her wanted him to shut the hell up. She opted to spare him little more than a glare before placing a hand on Makoto’s neck to check his pulse. It was beating rather hard and fast. It was strange really. She felt as though he was already dead. But that didn’t make any sort of logical sense. He was warm, he was still bleeding, he was shaking, and panting. All of this was right in her hands to be directly experienced. But he still felt like he was dead, putting her fingers to his limp neck. 

She had a morbid thought just then. About how her talents were used to help after a death, never really before one.

"You need bandages,” Byakuya said, ever so helpfully, “how else will you stop the bleeding? Or did the panic render you useless?" 

Kyoko took a deep breath. 

Makoto wouldn’t fight right now, not during an emergency, and neither would she. It’s just how he copes. It’s just how he copes…

"Tear up your jacket then.” She stated, “I’m not certain mine will be enough." 

She had to spark herself into action. She couldn’t let herself fall to something as simple as shock. She had been given mortician training as a part of the Kirigiri Family teachings so that she would have complete expertise on how different injuries came to be. She could glance at the wound on his back and see that it was given to him by the claws of a Mono Unit at a rather awkward angle. As she tied torn pieces of her blazer around his wounds so that they’d hold pressure - she only had two hands after all - she was able to get the entire story of all the brutal suffering Makoto just went through. 

She had seen bodies fresh from the morgue slapped down onto a table in front of her. She had witnessed the aftermath of horrors such as slit throats and dismemberment. She had once solved a case in which she found the victim’s severed head hidden underneath the floorboards in a safe. But Makoto’s disfigured leg, mangled to the point where she wondered how it was hanging on, bone sticking out after tearing through the skin, sharp from where metal teeth caused a clean break: THIS out of everything that she had witnessed in her life was what made her want to throw up. 

His arm was also rather damaged. It was hard to make out under torn fabric and blood, but it seemed more salvageable than his leg…she just needed…

"Togami. Your jacket.” Her tone was unforgiving. 

“I’m working on it.” Byakuya retorted back, a hint of offence in his voice.

It’s just how he copes. She felt like her patience for Byakuya was a rubber band in her hands, slowly getting pulled in either direction.

“Work harder." 

"You should be concerned with yourself.”

Deep breaths. The band was taut, shaking from force.

“Is this the best of your abilities?" 

The band snapped. 

"At least I’m actually doing something to help him!" 

Byakuya paused midway through tearing his blazer. Byakuya thought of himself as a capable man, but all his capable talents extended only towards self preservation. The one time he wished he had the skills to help someone else he could only stand and watch. There was nothing that Byakuya hated more  than being helpless. Kyoko’s words reminded him of the time Aoi slapped him back in the killing game. One of the many wake up calls Byakuya had received over the past few years. 

He could remember as clear as day, the wake up call that Kyoko herself had given him back when they hated each other. His fury at being incorrect over Sakura’s death, at not understanding the case, had all been snuffed out when Kyoko told him he simply lacked any emotional capacity to understand. Kirigiri Kyoko of all people. 

Hearing her remind him of his uselessness now with such a harsh tone. Well, it felt like she hated him all over again. 

He was still angry. Angry that he cared, angry that he wasn’t prepared, angry that he was faltering.

"What do you expect me to do?” He demanded. He spat out the words, but his heart was desperate to be given a task. 

“Make sure our emergency call earlier went through. Update the Foundation on the situation.” Right, that all made sense. How had he not seen that before? It almost made the emergency feel like a quick business move. He could handle that. Kyoko looked up from tending a wound on Makoto’s stomach, the worry in her eyes made him feel sick. “…and when you’re done, try to keep him awake." 

"Keep him-? He’s awake?” The boy had been so still and silent since they’d discovered his mangled body Byakuya hadn’t even considered that possibility. Upon further inspection Byakuya realized Makoto was never still or quiet. The distance he’d kept away from the scene prevented him from hearing the panting or noticing the trembling racking his body. 

A simple “yes” was all he’d gotten in response. He didn’t push or question any further though, it was clear Kyoko had a lot to focus on right now. Makoto’s life was in her hands, and neither wanted him to die like this. Kyoko could only estimate the ETA on help arriving, and she was fearing they would be too late. Memories flashed through her mind of running stitches through the skin of a banana peel during training. But she had nothing to work with, and certainly nothing sterile. Kyoko didn’t believe in God, but she prayed that an infection wouldn’t strike later. 

It was looking hopeless. 

“They said they’ll be here with a helicopter in half an hour." 

Right. She forgot Byakuya was even there. She tied another knot over a wound. Despite her heartbeat moving her entire body with its pounding, her hands remained steady. Just like when stitching banana skin shut. Another deep breath, her hands will stay steady. Any mistake could cause an issue. Mistakes could cause browning fruit to gush between the stitches. Nothing more than an insignificant rotting pile of ruined fruit splattered and smothered against the street like-

"Don’t just stand there, ” she took another deep breath, her hands will stay steady, “keep him awake." 

When Byakuya came over to take place near Makoto’s head she waited for him to pass her the tattered cloths she’d been waiting for. She ended up discovering he’d already thrown them to her side. She needed to focus more. She was by Makoto’s lower body, only half a mind paying attention to what Byakuya was doing. 

Makoto had never looked so disgustingly pale before, and he was the kind of person to lose all color when frightened. His mouth was slightly parted as his breathing continued to take a toll on him. A cold sweat had begun to break out on his clammy face, with a fever glowing across his skin from the blood loss and pain. What made Byakuya the most concerned though were his eyes, half lidded and staring at nothing in particular. His eyes fluttered, but his pupils were lazily taking in the world around him as if he was trying to understand what was going on but couldn’t take hold of anything tangible.

Byakuya held a hand up and froze. He was unsure what to do, all of this was out of his element. He wanted to push it all an arm’s length away. It was a simple task. Just keep him awake. But did he know what to do? In movies he’d seen people slap others awake. But Makoto was hurt, so shouldn’t he be gentle? Why was he even fussing over the method? There was no need to hesitate. He’d touched a corpse before, he could push through any nerves to handle this.

Byakuya put a hand to his face. After an unsure pause his thumb slowly caressed the skin of his cheek in an act of comfort that Makoto probably didn’t even register.

"Naegi, can you hear me?" 

There was a delay in his response, eyes heavily rolling side to side before settling on Byakuya. After the first small victory he prepared to speak, licking his lips and swallowing thickly. The delay felt like hours.

"T'gami…..kun?” Makoto’s lips felt heavy as he spoke.

There was an ache in Byakuya’s chest that he wasn’t used to, “The one and only." 

Makoto let out a breathy laugh. His face turned into this familiar dopey, trusting smile that he hated and loved all at the same time. His eyes seemed to lose track of Byakuya for a moment, he tried to match where they went. 

"Hey, eyes on me.” Makoto’s expression seemed to sink a little.

“W-….where's….” He sounded completely breathless and confused, “where’s Kiri…?”

“She’s right here.”

His head barely moved as he tried to see past Byakuya. Through his blurred vision he could make out that familiar lavender hue. Even with the trembling caused from blood loss he relaxed at the sight, letting out a breath when he processed. He closed his eyes, he didn’t see any reason to be scared anymore. 

“Hey, don’t you dare. Open your damn eyes.” Byakuya sounded angry with him, but he was too busy basking in relief.  

“You're….both ok?” His voice was barely above a whisper, if it wasn’t so quiet around them Byakuya would have to strain to hear it. 

“Of course we are.” It was that rare reassuring tone from Byakuya. Short lived before the anger came back, “I believe I gave you an order did I not? Open your eyes." 

To stress his point, Byakuya patted the side of Makoto’s face repeatedly and rather annoyingly. Both of them felt like they should be worried at how hard it was for him to simply open his eyes. It was like prying something off of hardened glue. Byakuya grit his teeth, he had a dreadful feeling that if Makoto closed his eyes again they wouldn’t be opening any time soon. 

"ETA?” Kyoko asked bluntly.

Byakuya didn’t take his eyes off of Makoto, “five minutes haven’t even passed yet.” So, they’re both impatient then. Makoto seemed to grin a small bit hearing Kyoko’s voice. 

He’s conscious, Byakuya reminded himself, which means that he can keep him awake by talking. But what the hell could he say? His mind felt blank, desperately pulling at drawers to find a single conversation topic locked away in his mind. But Makoto’s eyes were still on him. Perhaps the contact was grounding enough? But for how long? Makoto’s breathing felt heavier than before. 

“Why is he breathing so hard?” He opted to talk to Kyoko instead. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood." 

"He’s warm.”

“He’s lost a lot of blood." 

"Shouldn’t that make him cold?" 

"I’d rather it not get that bad. I’m sure his hands are cold if you check.”

She was right, his hands were icy cold. Makoto’s hands always felt a little chilly compared to his. Byakuya always ran hot like a furnace while Makoto was always chilly enough to wear multiple layers (I mean, a hoodie under a blazer? Really Makoto?). But this sensation felt like there was no blood in his hands. Wasn’t that a symptom of shock? His body was prioritizing vital functions just to keep him alive. Byakuya wished he could roll Makoto onto his back and elevate his legs like he’d been taught. But he’d seen the gashes on his back. It was the only injury he really took in. 

“You idiot” the words came through grit teeth, “getting yourself into a mess like this for us to clean up. Typical." 

Guilt could be read on Makoto’s face for a moment. “…yeah.” Byakuya once again felt a pang in his chest. Was that really all Makoto had to say? 

Kyoko managed to do something while working that made Makoto wince. Byakuya didn’t think for once, he just continued to rub slow circles across Makoto’s face.

"Hang in there.” Makoto’s face hadn’t relaxed much, still strained with all the pain he was feeling, “I do not permit you to die like this. Understood?" 

Makoto groaned in response, leaning into the hand that was cupping his face. Once again his eyes lost track, doing a big loop around before snagging back onto Byakuya. 

"Hurts…” he said, breath hitching as more pain shot through his body. 

“You can handle this much. You’ll be fine.”

Earlier Makoto felt relaxed when Kyoko and Byakuya had arrived. Their very presence gave Makoto a hope that he’d survive this. But Byakuya’s expression had gone from angry to worried. His eyebrows were furrowed, creasing lines across his forehead. If even Byakuya was openly worried…how bad was it? 

Makoto felt another harsh shiver run through his body. His face felt hot but everything else was like sharp winter air kept blowing over his skin. As the shiver travelled up his spine it caused pain to flare again. He was met with a harsh reminder to open his eyes from Byakuya. His breathing felt even heavier than before, each breath taking more effort than the last. Byakuya’s face was shifting again, but Makoto could hardly make it out through the greying swirls of dots across his vision. Ah, Byakuya looked scared. So Makoto was going to die then? The only sound he could hear was his own rabbit quick heartbeat threatening to break free from his tattered ribcage. Byakuya’s mouth was moving, but none of it made sense to Makoto. He couldn’t even read his lips. One second it was quick, then slow, like time itself was blending together into something incomprehensible. 

Makoto blinked slowly. 

“Naegi?” Byakuya had gone from tapping his face to shaking his shoulder.  He didn’t get much else besides a distracted groan from Makoto. “Naegi, can you hear me?”

“Don’t shake him like that!” Kirigiri scolded, frustrated as she tried her best not to let the movement interfere with her work. 

Byakuya felt like a life was slipping through his finger tips. His own breathing felt tight in his chest from the pure anxiety that Makoto’s unresponsiveness gave him. 

“Naegi if you don’t answer me right now…” his nails dug into the boy’s shoulders.

Makoto’s eyes rolled up, dropped down, fell to the left, all as if there was a weight to it. Another slow blink. More odd drifting. Not a single response from him. 

“Makoto, say something…” Byakuya ordered, pausing to watch the boy’s face; his voice was quieter than he wanted to admit. “Makoto!" 

Makoto sharply inhaled at the sound. Byakuya sounded scared. Byakuya was never scared. "Nn….” Makoto frowned a little bit in worry. He felt like he was drowning, being pushed beneath thick murky water and whenever he got close enough to the surface to even understand a little bit of what was going on he was shoved back down again. He could see Byakuya look towards Kyoko for a moment and watched his expression fall. 

Focus…focus. If he could just make out the words they were saying. His vision left him for a moment, greying out as his body felt weirdly numb and tingly. It wasn’t a bad feeling. If Makoto were to die here and now…he’d be happy to die next to the people he loved with this strange not-bad feeling. It was much better than bleeding out alone and in pain surrounded by the mascot that caused all this suffering in the first place. He could just drift away, and be able to die peacefully, a luxury most people didn’t get any more. If he could see his own face he was sure a weak smile played on it. 

“What do you mean?!” Byakuya snapped, he glared at her out of habit.

“I mean… just look…” Kyoko’s busy hands paused momentarily to grab more fabric from the dwindling pile. Byakuya looked away from Makoto’s face and his breath caught in his throat. The limb Kyoko was working on barely resembled a leg anymore. She had done a decent job at cleaning up the wounds but it only made it more apparent how… disfigured it was. Nothing about it seemed right.

“He can’t-” the words welled up in Byakuya’s throat. He couldn’t speak the words into existence. If he did, then it would become an undeniable reality. 

But Kyoko didn’t have that same hesitation, “There’s no way his leg can recover from this, and that’s without factoring in the high risk of infection.”

Byakuya’s eyes were glued to the horrific sight. Despite the sight of death becoming background noise to them all, it put a pit in his stomach. He felt disgusting. Like any second now his lunch would come back up. Look closer…it was a miracle the leg was even hanging on at all. Kyoko was right. He would lose his leg. 

Makoto, just barely through the swirls of gray blurs and black spots, could see the desperation and worry on Byakuya and Kyoko’s faces. It was only a small thought  in the back of his mind at first. Just a little whisper. But eventually it became bright and loud. A scream next to his ears. A new hope. 

He didn’t want to die. Not like this. 

He couldn’t leave Byakuya and Kyoko heartbroken. They’d drown in the despair.  Letting their trusted friend, their partner in survival, die after doing everything they could to try and save him? It would be heartbreaking. But Makoto couldn’t even make out the color of sky anymore. He couldn’t move his fingers. He didn’t know if it was possible for him to get out of this one alive, but he wouldn’t spend his last moments watching people he loves suffer. 

“ ‘s… ok…y …gami” Makoto’s tongue felt like lead and moved sluggishly in his mouth. Byakuya wished he could take any form of comfort from the broken sentence. 

The fever from Makoto’s face had gone cold, leaving him with all his blood washed pale skin on full display. Byakuya had to pause to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t talk like that, you moron. I know what you’re trying to do.” and he did. Byakuya knew that Makoto was trying to make himself and Kyoko more at ease. Even while walking on a tightrope between life and death the bot still wanted to make sure his friends were okay. Byakuya felt rigid in a mixture of irritation and worry.

“It… d’sn’t hur.. nymore…’s okay." 

The words made cold fear run down Byakuya’s spine. He clenched his fists, glaring down at Makoto like he’d insulted him. But his voice was weak, "I told you to stop…" 

"Really…I pr…mise…’s not going to be bad…" 

Byakuya grinded down on his teeth with enough force to hurt his jaw. He exhaled harshly, ignoring Makoto’s words and turning to Kyoko, "Will you hurry up and save him already?!" 

"I’m doing my best! There’s not much I can do!" 

”’re both… really strong… you c’n overcome …‘nything…” Makoto felt a lump in his throat, he wanted to make it seem like everything was gonna be fine, but he knew that no matter what he said… Byakuya and Kyoko were smart. They were smart enough to know he was lying through his teeth. Maybe it was more for him than for them at this point.

“Dammit Makoto if you don’t stop fucking talking that-!“ 

"Tha…’s why I know….you’ll be okay…” He struggled to speak, tongue heavy as lead, and still he tried to make the words clear as possible. He was afraid, he didn’t want to go, not now. There were so many things left that he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do. He wanted to tell the two people in front of him how much he cared about them but all he could do was watch as their distress increased. His vision started to fade and he wanted to scream for it to come back. He struggled to breath.

“Makoto!" 

Byakuya took Makoto’s face in his hands again. The light in Makoto’s eyes were completely gone, unable to properly process the world around him. Despite Byakuya’s pleas steadily becoming more and more desperate for Makoto to stay awake, he slipped through his fingers like sand. With his eyes drifting to the right, Makoto fell away from the world. 

And both of them felt it with their own hands. They felt the exact moment Makoto lost consciousness for what could very well be the last time. They both stood there frozen in shock. Byakuya still had his hands on Makoto’s face, just watching as if any second he’d open up his eyes again and apologize for scaring them. Kyoko had her hands up, mid-wrapping wounds. She just stared blankly, unable to grapple with the idea that all her work may have been for nothing. 

They sat in silence. No one moved.

It felt like gravity had increased, time had slowed down to a crawl and even the gentle whistling of the wind felt subdued and gentle, as if even it didn’t want to disturb them. Neither wanted to be the first to move. If they were to move, what were they even supposed to do? Both of their minds seemed to cloud. Was it even worth it to move? Was there even a point? There was too much to process, too many unanswered questions. Too many calls to feelings that would be left unanswered. And yet the world kept spinning sluggishly as if nothing had happened at all. 

"Check…” Kyoko felt some clarity dig into her skull, sharp like a breath of cold air, “check his pulse." 

"Huh?" 

"Check his pulse…! Now!" 

They both jumped into action. Kyoko grabbed Makoto’s wrist, pressing two fingers into the pulseline with enough force to bruise. It was manic and ineffective. She didn’t even think about how she had her gloves on, she just needed to know now. Byakuya was pressing his fingers into Makoto’s cold neck again and again. He kept missing the pulse point and getting impatient when he felt nothing.

When they found it, they both sunk back with relief. They could have passed out from the rush of realization. It was weak, and way way too fast, but it was something dammit. He wasn’t gone yet. With a shaky yet confident breath, Kyoko got back to work, hands trembling ever so slightly. Enough for Byakuya to notice, but not enough to comment on. 

Byakuya slowly let go of Makoto’s neck. He dragged himself back to give Kyoko space. The pick up would be here soon. In an effort to keep contact with Makoto and stay out of Kyoko’s way, Byakuya positioned himself so that he could rest the boy’s head in his lap. He wouldn’t be caught dead in this position on any other day but in the moment that didn’t matter. He occasionally glanced up at Kyoko to watch her work, but stayed focused on Makoto. If Makoto woke up he was going to be right there and this time he wouldn’t let him slip away again. 

The pick up was almost there.

[dangermousie]

CFC 93

I am kinda sick so this is pretty short.

1. XQC took medication thank god. (After seeing the miserable end of patient n3, who also tried to fight.) I am glad because it means he’s not doomed to die at 40, and his physical condition is good - he can run and everything now. But the thing that hits the hardest is one little sentence - when he could finally run and so it looked like he conquered RN13, “he is no longer the first patient, he is Xie Qingcheng.” It restored his sense of self and being human to him and I am sniffling. And he can’t get the years back and join the police but honestly the time between that and QCY’s death is the one peaceful stretch in his life and I love it so he got to have a breather. He still clearly doesn’t view himself as worthy, has survivor’s guilt, feels he needs to control his temper with an iron hand, and dehumanizes himself but it’s still a peaceful stretch with life ahead and a half-parent in his life. I think he actually must have married during this period because he had a tiny bit of hope/belief he could have a simulacrum of peaceful life.

2. The reason for QCY’s death is exactly what it said on the label and it somehow brings it all home that being good has to be its own reward because the world won’t necessarily treat you kinder because of it. It’s so bleak. QCY did so much good and one time doing good backfired and he was killed. How mundane and how real. No grand conspiracy, just a disgruntled young man.

3. SMOKING!!!!! XQC doesn’t chain smoke because he’s self-destructive! It’s because QCY used to smoke and after his death, he starts as a way of keeping QCY, keeping the comfort of QCY, alive! It’s like jellyfish for him, really. And it’s proof he’s not been able to extinguish his humanity - because it’s bad for him and he knows and this is a man who fought so hard to take care of his health, but the psychological comfort is more important to him than physical results, and it’s so real. It’s like the mark of QCY on him, the last remnant and Meatbun really gets grief, doesn’t she?

4. XQC not being able to go to the funeral since he wasn’t close enough, officially, and hospital needing people on staff, and so having to consult as usual and then consult ends and he’s alone and he starts crying as the funeral cortege is passing. This is the first time we’ve seen him cry in years and possibly the only time since the death of his parents and it says this is the last time he can return to being a boy (and yes, he last cried for his parents; QCY restored some semblance of paternal love to him and allowed him to be a child with an elder in some capacity, but now he’s put that away for good; he’s had to - there is no elder for him any more, no parent.) Honestly - this novel has gonzo and epic and whatever else crazy, but the mundane reality of loss, the little every day moments, are the ones that get me, that make me sob.

5. Now we know why XQC was so reluctant to be HY’s doctor - he wanted to help most people and this is a rare condition, developing methods for people with e.g., depression would help more people. But then he met He Yu and saw how unloved he was, how horrible his mother was, how he was suffering and chose to help him instead of the multitudes and this is one of the very few times we see XQC be “selfish” - in the sense of picking a person instead of the greater good and that is so huge. Remember earlier chapters, when XQC was all “I never really felt strongly for anyone, HY included, we were doctor/patient blah blah” - and it wasn’t his saying it (because then we could wonder if he meant it) but describing his attitude, which was genius on Meatbun’s part because then the natural inclination for the reader is to believe third person limited voice, even when it’s limited, but the whole thing is XQC believes this, or tries to, but the more we read, the more we can tell this is not the case at all - he feels strongly, and he cared for HY greatly, we see how greatly as we read on! I especially loved the bit about young dragon crying in pain, hoping someone would understand his suffering and so XQC was there. I loved the bit about “he stayed for the lonely child” and ohhhhhhh XQC!!! And bringing back “doesn’t it hurt?” that XQC asked of HY that made HY realize someone sees him as a person and person who doesn’t deserve to hurt; but also a shadow of QCY with XQC back then.

He wanted to be to HY what QCY was to him and his words to HY a few chapters back that the time spent was valuable to him but now he feels like he fed it to a dog begin to have a new meaning - he could have helped so many more people in the seven years he was with HY but instead he chose to help one, and now (at the time he makes this comment) he believes it was all an utter waste. His time and his talent are all he has and he gave it to HY for nothing, he believes at that point, instead of helping many people, and he can’t get that time back.

6. The chapter says that HY is too lacking in love (during his childhood) and lives more miserably than any mental ebola patient. Which I think are XQC’s thoughts and his compassion thinking (not that he is wrong.) Which to me just underscores both XQC’s enormous influence and HY’s strong will because under those situations, he’d have long succumbed, been locked up and died otherwise.

7. I think we will find out in the next chapter why XQC walked out on HY and what I love about this novel is that it could be a result of bad org hunting him OR it could be one trauma too many, one grief too many and XQC just snapping after a burden too heavy for anyone and both would be equally plausible.

8. I was thinking about this talking to @thebluestwitch - Meatbun is a genius about these tattoos. First there was XQC with Keats tattoo, Keats who was a doctor who gave up medicine, who had an incurable disease he got taking care of someone (ie for selfless reasons) and now He Yu with the Shelley tattoo - Shelley, who drowned!!! Whose epitaph is from The Tempest, a play about a shipwreck and those lines are about drowning. And look at the lines themselves: “Nothing of him that doth fade, / But doth suffer a sea-change / Into something rich and strange.” Isn’t it was RN13 does? Transform people into something “rich and strange?” And at least with XQC it was through “drowning” - months’ long immersion in a tank.

[violet-t-9]

My take on why Caleb doesn’t trust Astrid and Eadwulf

Why does Caleb not trust Astrid even though she helped the M9 multiple times by now and let them leave? Well, Liam has always kept good track of what happened in previous episodes of the campaign and I believe Caleb was drawing information from all his previous encounters with Astrid and Eadwulf, so here is just some highlights on what they know about them so far. This is another long post. Again, all quotes are not exact and straight from my memory. This is just my biased personal interpretations so take it as you will.

To illustrate my points, I recommend that you watch the Narrative Telephone episode Widogast’s Web of Words. It described the three of them this way:

1. Eadwulf as the boy whose mind was eaten, and he had “no mind of his own”.

2. Astrid as the girl whose eye was cut out, and she “never saw true again”.

3. Caleb as the boy whose heart was swallowed he “never knew love again”.

1. Eadwulf: From all the interactions we have seen with Eadwulf in it, he always appeared to defer to Astrid/Trent and this very much reminded me of the “no mind of his own” aspect. He “looks to Astrid” for what to do for multiple situations, and is clearly pretty content to be a follower. Otherwise, Eadwulf didn’t get to interact with Caleb a lot in general so to Caleb he must still be kind of an enigma. Whenever Eadwulf did answer Caleb’s questions he seemed like he was pretty content in his role as a Volstrucker as well and was pretty nonchalant about his job (basically talking about it like a summer job and very casually) without showing any hesitancy about what he does/carrying out his missions. His apparent association with the Raven Queen fascinates me and I don’t think Caleb knows what to make of that either. So far from what we’ve seen, Eadwulf clearly still cares about Caleb but also has lost some capacity to think for himself due to the trauma and abuse he suffered. This may also be why Eadwulf could be harder to reach than Astrid in a sense. So far, he has not given any indicator that he doesn’t believe in Trent’s system.

2. Astrid: “never saw true again” gave me the impression of her being “blind” to what is actually right and the true nature of Trent’s system, and given the evidence so far Caleb is right to think she is still buying into Trent’s ideology. When Caleb went to Astrid’s house to talk with her, she apologized and Caleb made a very high insight check. Astrid was “genuinely mournful for his pain” but there is also something “hardened” in her that was more like a “I’m sorry that you have suffered, as many people have, life is suffering and sometimes it is necessary”. Clearly, she on some level believe that what they are doing as Volstruckers to be the right thing. She said she felt guilty about her actions sometimes, but did believe that they were making a necessary sacrifice to protect the rest of the empire. Caleb even remarked that “he blinded you”. Basically, Astrid thought that Trent’s system and ideology is a necessary evil that is ultimately good for the empire because the Volstrucker does hard things so civilians can be safe. However, there is doubt in her, especially since Caleb continued to try to reach her. She made a remark at the dinner episode, something like “what we did was for the greater good... right?” and she sounded uncertain. I do think changing her mind would be easier and she may have started to see the flaw in Trent’s system already. As of right now though, Astrid seems to be already training other Volstruckers (I could be wrong, but she mentioned “tutelage”) and Caleb/Liam’s comment about her buying into the system is clearly not mistaken based on what we have seen from her so far. 

She is also ambitious in a sense that she wants to replace Trent, and she keeps reminding Caleb of that (”race you to the top”, “he is just an old man...”, “it could be an opportunity if you struck first”). She sees Caleb as an opportunity (I think Matt confirmed something about it or about her ambition when the Traveler was analyzing Astrid but can’t quite remember). She clearly doesn’t like Trent, and wants Trent gone, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t believe in Trent’s system (all evidence suggests she does still buy into it). She also likely wants to use Caleb to further her own goals, and like Fjord said “not in an evil way” but that Caleb defying Trent would be very beneficial/convenient for her own goals. She clearly still cares about Caleb a lot and is happy to see him again, and like I said, this doesn’t mean she is trustworthy. Caleb’s concern is mostly what Astrid would do if she does replace Trent and he is right to assume things wouldn’t change much given Astrid’s belief in the system right now (her mindset of “Volstruckers are necessary and they do the dirty work so the empire can thrive”). Her helping M9 doesn’t really cancel out her ideology, it just shows that she genuinely cares for Caleb. Furthermore, so far Caleb’s presence is good for her goals. We don’t really know what she would do if Caleb appears more a threat than a benefit to her ambitions one day. 

So far, Caleb is the first one to break away from Volstruckers and I do think that gives Astrid hope that Trent can be taken down, but she could very well want to keep the program around if she ever gets in charge after Trent. She is very much dangerous, ambitious, conflicted and fascinating. Her caring for Caleb is clearly not all of her character, she has her own plots and I love her for it (thanks Liam for developing this character) and I love how Matt portrays her.

3. Caleb: another reason why Caleb may not trust his “old friends” is that his heart has very much been broken. “He never knew love again” is an apt description. This is more just interpretation from my part, but I think Caleb has partially lost his ability to trust others and he doesn’t trust anyone outside the M9, his immediate found family and their extended families (it took him a LONG time to trust them as well). Honestly? He is for the most part right to not trust people so far (exhibit A: Essek reveal) and all his paranoia from early episodes have come true, so I would not be surprised that this one does as well. [I wanted to use Yussa as a counter argument for trusting people then I remembered they trusted him with the knowledge of Aeor and he proceeded to yeet himself into the astral sea in 48 hours (the poor man).] 

So yeah, reason 3 is that Caleb is just not a very trusting individual in general. He has expressed that he loved Astrid and Eadwulf, but that feeling has of course faded after more than a decade of not seeing them. He does still care for the both of them, but he does not - and should not - trust them to want to reform the Volstrucker system and change the Empire the way that Caleb wants it changed. 

Now there is clearly still hope that Eadwulf and Astrid can change their mind, especially if Caleb keeps reaching out. Astrid has already shown some hesitancy and reconsideration. They also both helped the M9. I do believe that it is possible for them to eventually see Trent’s system as it is, and they have the capacity to change for the better. Right now though? Yeah, they are still pretty much buying into Trent’s system as far as I can tell. Helping M9, caring for Caleb and wanting Trent dead are separate issues and have nothing to do with what they believe in ideology-wise. I really hope that Caleb does make it back and gets to try reaching out to them again after the whole city thing is dealt with. I am very excited to see where both of these characters will go. They are very complex and fun to think about.

[bittykimmy13]

Wounds (GT Angst)

This is a Shot in the Dark AU known at the “Dark Future AU”.

Fairies have been exposed to the world. Bounties have been placed on their capture. They’re not going down without a fight.

Characters belong to me and the lovely @marydublin5 / @little-miss-maggie​ , creator of the rad header image  <3

Warning: Blood

(( More Dark Future AU ))

A human in the safe house.

It was unheard of. The news spread through the halls like wildfire, accompanied by frantic questions of potential evacuation. If one human had found the haven, surely a mob of them would soon breach the glamour barrier and capture every last fairy.

That morning, Zia only heard about the rumors and chaos secondhand. If evacuation was necessary, it would have been underway by now, she assured herself. Though she was chilled at the thought of a human somewhere on the grounds, she continued tending to her patients and studying diligently to be prepared for whatever wounds were brought before her. 

During the past months, the healing ward had been so packed with the influx of arrivals that she scarcely found time to eat or sleep, let alone chase rumors. She couldn’t afford to lose sight of her role’s importance. Fairies showed up half-dead from their exhausting journeys, sometimes harboring injuries from humans.

Never had the world been such a hostile place for her kind.

“Saffron. Maeve.”

Zia looked up from her book, where she had been carefully studying an incantation for healing burns. 

It was Audrine who had spoken. She looked more vexed than usual as she entered the healing ward with three unfamiliar fairies in tow. They didn’t appear to be injured, but they had the wide eyes of new arrivals who were no strangers to suffering. Saffron and Maeve, the leaders of the ward, assigned nearby healers to their patients and hurried to Audrine. Zia tried to focus back on her spellbook, but she couldn’t help but overhear

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard about the human,” Audrine said, skipping the pleasantries. “Well, we have a bit of a situation. Which is to say, we have a clusterfuck of a situation. The human brought these three with him, claiming he wanted to get them somewhere safe.”

“It’s true,” murmured one of the new arrivals, whose face flushed when he was ignored.

“Naturally, we can’t let him leave. He knows where and how to find us.” Audrine cast a sour look at the three fairies, who must have led the human through the glamour barrier—their most reliable line of defense. “He put up no resistance to being taken to one of the south wing dormitories. We have our best guards—excluding myself, at the moment—watching him.”

Saffron, normally a picture of gentle composure, pushed himself in front of Maeve protectively. “What does this have to do with us?”

Audrine sighed. “He’s injured. And our new friends say he is worth being healed.”

“He saved us!” the same arrival blurted.

“He… he and his other human friend broke in to save some girl with a traitor mark,” said another, a young woman. “His friend was killed. The girl became unstable. She was an ice affinity. She froze the whole room and killed all the humans in it—all except for him. She told him to save us. S-she… she didn’t make it. Her own magic consumed her.”

By then, Zia was openly staring, along with everyone else in earshot.

“Please,” said the third arrival, who couldn’t have been older than seventeen. She looked to the lead healers, voice hitching. “You have to help him! He’s hurt so bad. All he did was wrap up his wounds. The blood’s showing. He doesn’t even seem to care that he’ll die.”

That finally seemed to make Saffron waver. He shared a look with Maeve, who bit her lip and said, “His injuries are that serious?”

“I’ll do it,” Zia said, the words flying out before she could stop them. When all eyes turned to her, she squared her shoulders. “Take me to him.”

Saffron shook his head. “Zia, we don’t know the danger this man poses.”

“All the more reason I should go,” she said. “You won’t let Maeve go alone, and she won’t let you go alone. And… if he is dangerous, the safe house can’t afford to lose both of you. I’ll go.”

“Excellent, glad it’s settled.” Audrine beckoned Zia to follow before there could be any protest. Nodding curtly at the lead healers, Audrine left behind the new arrivals and all but pushed Zia out of the healing ward. “She will be guarded. If the brute dares to lay a finger on her, that finger will be incinerated.”

Glowing orbs hung all around the safe house, pushing back the night’s darkness. Zia and Audrine flew through the foyer, past the enormous staircases, and crossed into a part of the building that had not been structured with fairy accommodations yet. It made sense to keep the human in the south wing, where fairies rarely wandered. However, Audrine did need to shoo off a group of teenagers who were trying to peek into the corridor to catch a glimpse of the human.

Most of the doors in the expansive hall were open. A group of five fairies hovered at attention in front of the last dormitory.

“Any issues?” Audrine questioned Emiko, one of the guards.

“He’s hardly budged,” he said.

“That’s as good a sign as any.” Audrine turned to Zia. “Are you ready?”

Zia squinted past the doorway. Something fearful fluttered in her stomach. There were hardly any lights in the room, but she could see a massive form sitting at the edge of a human-sized bed. She had the peculiar and frightening feeling of looking into a monster’s den. 

Humans had always been a threat, but the past months had proven they were more than that. They were apocalyptic. And she was about to put herself within reach of one.

He’s hurt.

“I’m ready,” Zia said in a small voice.

She entered the room flanked by Audrine and Emiko. The human raised his head as they approached. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that he was hunched forward, arms folded on his lap. A tingle ran along Zia’s skin as she sensed the injuries upon his body—puncture wounds that could have only been made with human weapons. Even a non-healer could have smelled the blood. It was a wonder he was still conscious.

The three of them came to a stop in front of the human. Dark as it was, he seemed to cast an even deeper shadow over them.

“What do you want?” His voice rumbled like thunder when he spoke, but Zia had a feeling he was barely muttering.

Audrine made a noise of contempt. “I want nothing more than to have you bleed out somewhere outside. The mess would be easier to clean up.”

“Fine by me.” The human grunted and started to rise.

Zia cried out involuntarily, covering her mouth too late to stop the noise. He was even bigger than she could have imagined. Audrine and Emiko immediately shouted incantations and ignited spells to their hands. The human looked between them with narrowed eyes before lowering himself back to the bed.

“Careful,” Audrine said. “If you frighten away your sweet little volunteer, I doubt you’ll be getting another.”

The human's overwhelmingly sharp green gaze settled on Zia. “Volunteer? Don’t tell me this is some kinda creepy sacrifice thing, ‘cause I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m a healer,” Zia said, wincing at how her voice cracked. She tried to compose herself and face him the way she would any other patient. “I’m here to help you. Can you point out what’s hurting the most—”

“No healers,” the human growled, leaning away from her like she was poison.

Zia stared, speechless. Considering the lengths humans had gone to abuse fairies for their magic, she hadn’t even considered that he would turn down the opportunity to be healed.

“Are you an idiot?” Audrine flitted closer in response to his retreat. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed the moment you stepped through the barrier! She’s offering to save you from a slow and painful death. Be grateful. That is, if humans have the capacity for it.”

The human tensed, and Zia’s eyes darted to his hands, certain that he would snatch Audrine out of the air to crush the life out of her. But he merely heaved a sigh and pressed his fingertips to his brows. 

“No healers,” he said with a note of pleading. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

Audrine hissed, clenching her fists at her sides. “You do not tell me what to do, you overgrown, thankless—”

Zia cleared her throat. “Audrine?”

She rounded on Zia with a glare. “What?”

Fiddling with her fingers, Zia was somehow more nervous than when the human was looking at her. “You’re very good at a lot of things,” she said delicately. “But I don’t think this approach is working. Do you think… I could have some space with him? And more light?”

Emiko looked at Zia like she'd gone mad. “Leave you alone with him?”

“I’m not helpless. You can watch from the door if you like. Just some space, please.”

Crossing her arms, Audrine reluctantly pulled away from the human. “Stay sharp, Zia. He could lash out at any moment.”

“I won’t,” the human muttered.

“And if he continues to refuse your generosity, don’t bother with him.”

Zia nodded, though she had no intention of leaving the room until the human’s wounds were healed. Audrine and Emiko sent out more orbs to fill the room with light. As her view of the human was cleared of shadows, Zia felt the spike of intimidation drive deeper. She tried to see past his size and found her heart breaking for him. He looked positively wrung out. He had a handsome face, no doubt about it, but his expression was cold and empty.

As Audrine and Emiko gave her the space she requested, she couldn’t stop thinking about what the new arrivals had said about the human. When his eyes slid to her, however, she blanked for a few seconds.

“I’m Zia,” she managed, folding her hands in front of her.

“Cliff.” The response alone seemed to exhaust him. “Look, sweetheart, I appreciate it, but I already said no—”

“No healers. I know. But what about some company instead?”

“You don’t want to be here. I’m scaring the daylights outta you.”

“Says who?”

He looked her up and down, heaving a sigh like a gust of wind. “You think you’re fooling anyone? You’re shaking like a leaf. Just go.”

“I’ve never been this close to a human,” she said. “I can’t help but be a little… nervous.”

“You should be more than nervous. Healers have it especially rough out there.” His fists clenched on his lap. “You stay the fuck away from other humans, you hear me?”

Her breath caught. It was distressing to process that level of anguish on such a large face. “I heard what the new arrivals said,” she murmured. “I’m sorry about your friend. And… and the ice affinity girl.”

“They were my family,” he snapped, making her flinch. Her fright eased when he looked a little sorry for startling her. He blinked hard and swiped tears from his eyes before they could fall. “Sylv,” he rasped. “And J—” His voice choked off, mouth pulling into a tortured grimace as he doubled over on the bed and heaved a sob.

“Cliff?” She was surprised to feel tears pricking at the back of her eyes. Flying in tentatively, she reached out a shaking hand to touch his knuckle. She looked up and tried to catch his gaze. “I’m so sorry,” was all she could say.

He shuddered. “It should’ve been me.”

“It shouldn’t have been any of you!” Her own tears finally began to fall. Her voice wobbled, and she pressed on nonetheless. “But you’re here. And I want to help. Please, Cliff… Let me heal you.”

“Don’t you know what’s happening out there?” His voice rose, and he practically shook her off. “Fairies are being caged in iron until their magic is needed for study or whatever sick shit the researchers decide it should be used for. Healers like you are being forced to use their magic. If they don’t comply, they’re tortured. Hell, they’re tortured anyway. I’m not taking anything from you. Not one fucking drop of magic. Don't waste your generosity on a human.”

“You’re not taking,” she insisted, flying up closer to his face and persisting when he tried to turn away. “I’m giving. You saved some of our own, and we’re grateful. Please. Let me do this, and we’ll be even. The ice girl… Sylv. She used her magic to save you, didn’t she?”

His gaze snapped to her, and for a moment, she worried she had crossed a line that would awaken his true human nature. But sorrow flooded in.

He swallowed hard. “She told me… to save as many as I can.”

In that moment, she knew that she was not looking at an enemy, monster, prisoner, or whatever else Audrine and the others wanted to think he was. Maybe even he needed to be convinced that he was none of those things. Pursing her lips, she tried to look at his face and not at the bloodied bandages she so desperately wanted to pull away and heal. 

“We’re trying to save as many as we can, too,” she murmured. “Do you want to help?”

Their eyes met, and she did not flinch away as he studied her. Something shifted in his gaze. He gave a nod that was barely perceptible even at his size.

Zia inched toward a soaked red bandage on his upper arm. “Well, you can’t help us if you’re dead.” She started to tug, but it was wrapped too tightly for her to make any progress.

With a sigh, he unwrapped the wound and allowed himself to be healed.

[primasveraas-writing]

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 2

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

2. The Relentless / The Chimera

The weakness does fade.

The next day is better, if only for the bacta and the pain meds. No one asks him about his unfortunate detour- not that his inferiors would dare, nor would his superiors deign themselves to care- so he writes his report on the incident, omitting all details regarding Garazeb Orrelios, and files the matter away.

Kallus doesn’t limp. There’s no need for that anymore, not when he can stifle or otherwise ignore the discomfort. He’s sitting most of the day anyway, his hours spent planning a new angle of attack to capture the Ghost crew. He skips lunch to avoid the trek down to the mess hall and more pain with it. If this is the cost he pays for a show of strength, then so be it.

It’s been a very long time since he’s felt so weak, he thinks, vaguely dazed, as the day creeps into the afternoon. He’s lightheaded and probably dehydrated at that.

Kallus sighs, tossing the datapad back on his desk. He’s behind on his work. Between the Lothal rebels and the other insurgent cells that keep cropping up, he’s been stretched thin.

That’s unfamiliar, too. He’s not used to losing.

But here he is. For the first time in years, he’s sitting at his desk, weak, injured, struggling to keep up with a group of pesky rebels that should have been eliminated years ago.

And that’s the icing on the stupid cake: it’s been a small eternity since he’s bent the rules. Kallus lied on a report- he lied about saving a rebel.

He groans, burying his face in his hands. Two rotations ago, if Kallus had discovered one of his subordinates doing the same, he would have recommended them tried and executed for treason.

He’s earned that much, in all likelihood. It would make things simpler. The action and the consequence swiftly following, rather than skirting around reality in a desperate attempt to save his own skin.

That’s not what occurred yesterday. Yesterday, he saved Zeb when he didn’t have to. Yesterday, Zeb did the same for him- literally carried him out of harm’s way- and offered to spare Kallus once more after that.

If he had taken him up on the deal, Kallus would probably be more comfortable, he realizes with a snort. The rebels have next to nothing, and they’d still take care of his wound.

Yet here he is- a top agent of the Empire, with resources worth trillions of credits at his disposal- and he’s sitting alone in his office with a growling stomach and a broken leg.

The line of thought is dangerous and foolish. It’s the kind of thinking that could get him killed. In fact- he has killed over messaging like that. The first indication of rebellion is questioning the might of the Empire, so they cull the curious and loud. Nip it in the bud, so to say, before the spark can catch flame.

Damn. Kallus has half a mind to turn himself in. But in the past 48 hours, he doesn’t know who he’s more culpable to- the rebels or the Empire.

It is, above all else, highly doubtful that any of these wonderings are markers of a good ISB agent. It’s stupid, for one. He should have killed Zeb the moment he made it to safety on Bahryn. Failing that, he should have turned himself in and begged for forgiveness, kissed Konstantine’s boots and sworn allegiance to the Emperor over and over.

It’s unlikely that sniveling would have worked, even if it is one of Kallus’ finely developed skills. No, it was over the moment he decided not to shoot Zeb.

So he has a choice- turn himself in and be jailed or exiled, at best, or move past what happened and reprove his faithfulness to the Empire. Own up to his actions or reach his full potential under the Empire, save for one little hiccup.

The latter seems the obvious choice. But Kallus still remembers the chill of the ice moon, the agony of waiting for the Empire to rescue him, his sole relief the Lasat next to him-

No.

Today, he serves the Empire. Kallus is sure he will not be caught in fudging the report. He’s one of the best, after all, and there’s no evidence to damn him unless he or Garazeb Orrelios decide to confess the acts of their mercy to the Empire.

It’s odd, then. Kallus is ISB, an Imperial agent. He deals in secrets and lies, so he should be accustomed to circumstances such as these.

But never before has he kept a secret with a rebel. He and Zeb are the only two people in the galaxy who know what really happened.

Zeb is the only person in the galaxy who has witnessed Kallus’ mercy.

And thus that is another thing he shares with Garazeb Orrelios. These secrets, a day together in the snow, memories of a burning planet, and a life debt formed around a tenderly bandaged leg.

It feels too significant to dismiss as an anomaly.

-

Kallus’ fist collides with the training dummy once more, a satisfying whack! splitting through the air.

His muscles ache, from his bad leg to his abdomen and back. One fall and he’s disrupted his whole body.

His spine, in particular, throbs. The limping, as infrequent as it now is, has shifted his weight and alignment. It hurts, yet he trains and pushes, a relentless wave crashing against an unyielding seawall.

Kallus knows what his body is capable of. He knows his limits, and he knows how to expand them. He knows what he should be able to achieve.

He throws his whole body into the next punch, and loses his balance. He pivots forward, twisting on his injured leg, and pain shoots through him, spiking white-hot through his every nerve. In a desperate attempt to save himself, he sticks his hands out in front of him, but his momentum is too great, and he crashes to the floor anyways, the world spinning, he nauseous and bruised.

The training mat smells of sweat and rubber. It’s disgusting, yet Kallus is so disoriented that the stench is the first thing that makes sense, that grounds him through the vertigo and agony.

Childishly, foolishly, he wants to cry. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, burning, and Kallus raises himself up slowly, shifting so his leg is kept off the ground. He ends up on the floor before the dummy, half stuck, half afraid of the hurt that will follow when he stands.

Even he will accept that he cannot train any more today. So Kallus picks himself off the floor, painstakingly and gingerly, then unwraps his knuckles and wipes the sweat from his brow. He closes his uniform over his undershirt, and retreats to his room to lick his wound.

He’s still weak. Bahryn fractured him, and it’s doubtful that he’ll ever be at full capacity again. His strongest days are past him and he never even realized this fact to enjoy them while they lasted.

This misery is nearly enough to occupy him as he showers and changes. His weakness is troubling, unfortunate, damning. His career could be in jeopardy, should the injury get any worse, and he cannot think of a day that the leg hasn’t bothered him in all the time that has passed since Bahryn.

But it does not suffice. The pain, the threat to his livelihood, the sudden onset of his physical decline- it is not enough to distract him from the thought that whisked him away to training in the first place.

Tell Garazeb Orrelios we’re even.

So the debt is paid. Is that it? Is it over? Has he recompensed to the rebels, at least for that one day? He owes Garazeb nothing, not anymore. He owes the Empire his own life for his treason, for breaking the promises that founded all purpose in his life.

If he thinks about it, he still owes the rebels. He’s saved one of them, once, and one of them spared him, once. But what does he owe to them for all the years spent chasing them across the galaxy, for the torture and death he’s inflicted upon them?

It’s his life’s work, to have done so.

They don’t deserve it.

The realization sends a jolt of shock through him. Kallus sits up in bed, clutching at the sheets with a frantic grasp. He feels short of breath because-

It’s never been about deserve. It’s never been about compassion or mercy, or secrets, or care. The Empire is founded on and fueled by control, by order, by power.

Bahryn stripped him of all of these things. He was helpless, lost, totally dependent on Zeb to survive. Each breath of air on that accursed moon was attributed to another, and Zeb granted them all to Kallus without a second thought.

What is the reward for doing the same?

What does he owe for this debt that can never truly be repaid? Because he has deprived the rebels of so much, for so long. Even he, who has finessed the system and risen to the top, now suffers, alone and miserable.

Few others have had the luxury of mercy and kindness under the rule of the Empire. There are not enough insurgents to compensate for all that the Empire has done.

He could change this fact.

-

The discomfort and weakness become normal in due time. It is no longer a conscious effort to hide what remains of the limp, nor does he rely on a generous dose of medication to get through the day.

Kallus has healed. He has changed, too.

What started on Bahryn and continued with Sabine Wren has blossomed into something larger entirely. Kallus is no longer a mere Imperial officer. He is Fulcrum. He is caught between both sides of the war and has taken a page out of Garazeb Orrelios’ book- he has chosen mercy, to save rebel lives because they do not deserve to suffer under Imperial rule and at his own hand, not anymore.

He is still responsible for a great many deaths, now rebel and Imperial alike. If the whole galaxy were to know his sins, there would likely be very few beings who would agree that Kallus doesn’t deserve harsh consequences for his actions.

But he does sleep better at night now. Kallus plans to repent every day for the rest of his life, however short or long that might be.

He doesn’t know why he does it. To help a desperate rebellion and hinder a cruel Empire, yes, but beyond these satisfactions, he stands nothing to gain.

That is perhaps the starkest difference between the two groups. In the Empire, he works only for himself, a cog competing against other worthless mechanisms so that he may benefit, so that his superiors may benefit, so that the ringleaders of the whole operation may finally see an entire galaxy within their grasp. The rebellion consists of a ragtag group of misfits, fighting for what remains of their families and freedoms.

Kallus is doing it for them. To dedicate his life to those he has hurt before may grant him some peace. He’s a fraction of a step closer to being able to live with himself, at any rate.

Today, he is up at the crack of dawn, a habit he shares with the commander of his most recent station- Thrawn. Except, while the Chiss rises early to develop strategy or train, Kallus is gathering intel to send to rebel sources.

He’s sitting on the floor of his small room, back aching from hunching over the datapad and encryptor, his legs stretched before him, mostly bare, as he hasn’t bothered to shave or dress yet. The ground is cold, yet it keeps the edging tiredness at bay, a sharpness that eliminates the heaviness pulling his eyes closed.

Kallus shifts again, then freezes.

His right leg is straightened before him- he knows this because the muscles are strained, stretched too far, yet the leg is bent slightly to the side. There’s a patch of skin just below his knee that is discolored and rippled, a bump indicating where the bone below was broken.

That’s wrong. He hasn’t noticed the abnormality ever before, but there’s only one reasonable explanation for it.

He’s unhealed, after all.

It is no matter. He’s already in an incredibly vulnerable position, and he has nothing else to lose. If the faulty leg serves him until he is caught or dead, then there is no need to concern himself with the issue.

-

Most days, he does not wake up in pain.

Instead, any discomfort builds over the course of the day. Kallus wakes and goes about his morning with no hindrance. At midday, he might notice a twinge if he stretches and moves about, but he is not truly bothered until late in the evening, when he has trained or ran or spent more than an hour standing. It is something he can survive, provided it does not get worse.

Today, Kallus wakes up in pain.

He’s awoken before his alarm goes off, which is not atypical, but Kallus realizes almost instantly that his sleep was disturbed because of his leg, which feels like lead, burning where it attaches to his hip. He gasps aloud in the security of his quarters, waiting for the agony to cease.

It does not, ten, then twenty minutes later. He throws his pillow at the chrono beeping at him incessantly to get up, then swears under his breath and hops on one leg across the room, slamming the button on the chrono to make it stop, then stumbling into the refresher to gulp down whatever medications he has saved.

They will not act fast enough, nor are they powerful enough to truly solve the problem. But Kallus dresses, every muscle in his body tense, and he gets to work.

The Empire still lies in wait, led by Thrawn as he develops the appropriate strategy to eliminate the rebels. Kallus is grateful for the moderate respite from action, though it comes at the cost of working closely with the Admiral day in and day out. Thrawn is unnerving, not just to his enemies, but to all in his proximity. Kallus will be uncomfortable in all meanings of the word today.

And as expected, when Thrawn arrives to Kallus’ office, the pain has only doubled. Sitting does not alleviate it, and standing makes it worse. Focusing is a herculean task, and behaving normally is no more easily accomplished.

Thrawn’s presence demands these things in perfect condition. Kallus stands to greet the Admiral, offering a small nod in greeting, then Thrawn opens a map of Lothal in the middle of the room, gesturing to the places of interest. He knows the planet well, his experience aiding Thrawn’s careful study. The discussion is frank and swift, and it should be easy to follow.

Kallus’ leg is on fire. It is the worst pain he’s ever been in, rivaling the initial break and spreading through his body, which is rigid and tense and out of his control. He concentrates on standing still, on not letting his mask of neutrality slip, and it’s then he realizes Thrawn is looking at him.

“Agent Kallus.” He hates the red eyes watching him so closely, he hates them. “Are you quite well?”

“Of course, Admiral.” Kallus is a good liar, above all else. He wants to scream out loud, collapse to the floor sobbing and pounding his fists.

“Ah.” Thrawn appraises him a moment longer, then turns back to the detailed chart, his smooth voice returning to its drone about Lothal’s power supplies. Kallus’ vision is blurry at the edges, and he cannot read the inscriptions on the holo three feet away from him. The colors seem wrong and the buildings are colliding, and Thrawn’s words slip away into nothing, nothing, until they form an ungraceful, wavering song. White creeps into his sight, threatening to overtake the black of his office, and he thinks he is going to die like this, standing on a leg that should have healed months ago.

He becomes aware that Thrawn has stopped talking.

Kallus must reply- the fog clouding his brain is too thick, he doesn’t understand what’s been asked of him, and he is hopelessly lost with no way to return.

He bites down on his tongue, hard. The new pain is sharp, thick and stinging. His brain reels at the sensation, but he doesn’t gasp, blinking once to clear his eyes of tears, and with the motion, his vision returns. Thrawn his standing with his back to Kallus, hands clasped neatly behind him. The pause is too comfortable for any question to have been posed, and Thrawn has been particularly punctual today, so perhaps he has not bothered with a loaded question that the Admiral already knows the answer to. Kallus decides to weigh his bets by maintaining the silence as he tries to remember the last of Thrawn’s words that he was able to understand.

There is still a rushing in his ears, the white noise overpowering all else; Kallus bites down harder, and the galaxy bursts with sound once more.

“....but I am confident that this strategy will succeed, once the laborers are under control. Do you agree, Agent Kallus?”

“Yes.” He’s too strangled; he clears his throat and straightens, a fresh spike of agony emanating from his leg as it bears more of his weight. “Handling the working class is the first step towards uniting the people under Imperial rule.”

“Good.” The Admiral must really be as close as he can get to approval, because he does not turn around to stare at Kallus again. “I expect we will be discussing this matter further at a later date.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thrawn bows his head in acknowledgment, and Kallus does the same. The urge to yell returns again as Thrawn exits the room, his pace terribly slow and measured. Kallus is sure he is shaking; his clenched fists are no longer enough to disguise this fact, but the door hisses open, then closed again, and Kallus is alone-

His muscles give out all at once, and he collapses to the floor in a heap, limbs convulsing and his entire body trembling. Kallus’ breath is ragged and uneven, and he only realizes he is crying when he feels the wet heat on his face.

His leg is a horrible mix of utter numbness and stabbing pain. Kallus attempts to right himself, but every small movement only brings more agony. The world is lost to him, but he inhales. Exhales. Breathes.

Taste is the first thing to return to him. In his mouth, thick and warm, he recognizes the copper of blood, gushing from the hole torn in his tongue.

[thevioletjones]

48. “You make me want things I can’t have.” 💜

Thanks for the inspiration! 💜

Prompt 3

Buffer

Ian Gallagher was starting to become a problem.

And the worst part about it was that he wasn’t even a problem that Mickey wanted to resolve. No. He just kept holding Ian closer and refusing to push him away like he should. He was just letting him ruin Mickey’s mediocre life. Because something about Ian was unshakeable. It wasn’t just that Ian kept coming back no matter what Mickey ever said or did, either. Ian was definitely persistent, but Mickey had formed an attachment too, even though he did everything in his power to hide it. It was still there, buried under layers of caustic remarks, aloof expressions, and occasional lashing out. He wasn’t proud of his behavior, but it was just who he was, and remaining unchanged in his ways was easier than the alternative.

Ian was definitely too good for him. Sure, he was hood trash too, but they were on two different levels. Ian was buffed up with a certain surface shine that Mickey lacked. Although, he would admit he’d come a long way in his style and hygiene game since his early days as an unwashed miscreant. Mickey was a gay man after all, and not immune to gaying certain things up, despite his tendency to flout homo conventions. If he wanted the ability to get a decent dick in his ass, there were standards that he’d learned to push himself to meet. This was the glossiest Mickey was ever gonna get, and it still came with a pinch of grime and hostility.

Maybe he’d developed enough sense to give a fuck, but he still didn’t give two shits either; a concept that walking contradictions the world over could likely comprehend.

The thing about Gallagher was that he was sweet. Not in an annoying, cloying, obvious way that was anathema to everything Mickey was about, but in a low-key, casual, incidental kind of way that somehow managed to be attractive, even to someone with Mickey’s abrasive nature. Ian played tough, and he genuinely was in many ways, but he had a gooey, marshmallow center that evened him out. Mickey didn’t see himself as having that sort of balance.

But there were these unsettling moments like this, usually in the middle of the night or early in the morning, when Mickey would catch himself watching Ian unawares. Unawares because he only ever did it when the redhead was deep in sleep. Suddenly, Mickey would be Mr. Contemplation, burning a hole into the face of the dude he was banging, daring to wonder what could happen between them if he wasn’t an emotionally stunted asshole. And then he’d reflect on what Ian’s life was like whenever he wasn’t around; the things Mickey acted like he didn’t care to know.

These circular thought patterns never led anywhere good, because at the end of the day, Ian wasn’t his. And Mickey could never be Ian’s. He’d long ago resigned himself to a certain destiny that involved long-term solitude until his dying day, which he’d always been fairly certain would come prematurely and most likely in violent fashion. It would be ridiculous to drag someone else into his vortex of apathy for life and the general traditions of living it. Especially someone like Ian, who was good; who helped people because he genuinely cared about, like, the well-being of humanity and shit. Despite the occasional soft look or revelatory comment that Ian would throw his way, he knew better than to think he’d want to be saddled with Mickey’s non-reciprocating ogre-y ass.

Usually when one of these intense, one-sided staring sessions would take place, Mickey would overcompensate for silently slipping by adding an extra dose of rudeness when he kicked Ian out after the fact. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why Gallagher still bothered with him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get laid elsewhere. Ian was the type that would never have trouble finding a willing ass. Yet somehow he kept coming back to Mickey and ignoring all the negatives thrown in his path. It didn’t make much sense on either of their parts… allowing each other in on any terms. Probably meant that Ian was just as fucked up as he was, really.

Blowing out the last hit off his smoke, Mickey glanced at the bedside clock and stubbed out the cigarette butt. 3:26 AM and he was wide awake, just gawking at his slumbering ginger fuck buddy, and trying to repress the multitude of emotions swirling within him. It was truly pathetic.

He could just get the hell up and drag his ass to the living room to play video games or watch late-night TV, but no. Apparently he liked suffering and feeling conflicted. What a pussy.

Not ten minutes went by before there was slow movement from the other side of the bed... Ian turning over in his sleep, reaching an arm out, and searching. Searching for the warmth of Mickey’s body, it would seem.

A big hand landed on his thigh, rubbing it softly as tired eyes blinked open, and a groggy voice sounded, “What’re’y’doin’?”

Oh, just fuckin’ lying here starin’ at your pasty ass for some reason. “Can’t sleep.”

“Didn’t wear you out?” Ian asked with a breathy titter, squeezing the sensitive flesh precariously close to Mickey’s groin.

Maybe it made his dick twitch a little.

“When did one round ever wear me out?”

“Pretty sure there were two rounds. Did you forget about the couch?”

“Random handies while watchin’ mediocre porn barely counts as a round, carrot-top.”

“A, it wasn’t that mediocre, and B, do you only consider it sex if penetration is involved?”

“I mean… it helps.”

“What about blowjobs, then? How would you classify them?”

“Sex act, but not sex, sex. Know what I mean?”

Ian laughed. “Not really. What about lesbians?”

“Definitely don’t wanna have my cock anywhere near those.”

“Har har. I mean, what would you call lesbian sex?”

“Gross? Boring? I don’t fuckin’ know. Never had it, don’t plan to.”

Ian laughed harder and it made Mickey feel good. “Pretty sure lesbians don’t want fuck all to do with you either, bottom boy.”

“Hey, likin’ what I like don’t make me a bitch.”

“No, but you seem pretty hostile toward anything but a real live human cock poking you in the asshole. I mean, naysaying getting your dick sucked? That’s a bold bossy bottom stance to take.”

“What can I say? I’m a simple man with simple kinks. Aren’t you glad I don’t need any freaky extra shit to get me off?”

“What kinda freaky extras are we talkin’?”

“Fuck off, Gallagher. Don’t act like you don’t just live for stickin’ that big red dick inside any tight manhole that’ll accommodate it. Does that make you a hungry top just begging for it?”

“I prefer ‘brutal top,’ since it’s so big, as you were so kind to mention.”

Mickey rolled his eyes into tomorrow. “Gotta remember to stop accidentally complimenting it. You get so fuckin’ uppity about it.”

Ian rolled over and boxed him in, nuzzling around his face and neck, while Mickey tried to bat him away.

“Come on,” prodded Ian. “Big hard cock seeks tight little hole for another round of deep penetration.”

Mickey could feel said big hard cock firming right up against his hip. “Ixnay on the cutesy man seeking man dirty talk, fuckhead. I will make you take that hulking boner elsewhere.”

“No you won’t,” Ian replied, humping down against him.

Of course he wouldn’t, but he had to front at least a little bit. That was the nature of his inner beast.

While they were fucking, Mickey could just let himself get lost in all the appropriate heightened sensations that really good sex immersed him in. Immersed him and Ian in. Ian and him. Them. Reveling in the pleasure of carnality was totally kosher… as long as it limited him from basking in that additional Ian stuff. That feelings stuff that he had no idea what to do with. That unfathomable connection that existed between them.

He let Ian kiss him a lot too. Like, a lot, a lot. That wasn’t customary for him with other dudes. In fact, it barely ever happened. It was just another habit Ian had slipped under the wire to form with him when he wasn’t paying enough attention. Mickey was pretty sure he’d kissed more girls in his life than boys, because that was always an easy, less disgusting way to publicly appear straight during the years he’d spent in the closet. With guys, there was nothing to prove and everything to hide, so it just wasn’t something he incorporated into his casual sex routine.

Before Ian, he hadn’t exactly attracted the kind of dudes that warranted sticking around for in any capacity, or who made any kind of effort to stick with him. There were never any near-miss boyfriends, or pine-worthy hookups. Sex was always transactional and he’d been perfectly fine with that arrangement.

The truth was that once he’d fucked up and invited Ian in for repeats over and over again, he started to figure out that the sex just kept getting hotter and hotter. That when two bodies really took the time to get to know each other, things fit better, motions got smoother, and orgasms got a thousand times stronger. Turned out that one-night-stands were not where the fuck it was at. Those were always crapshoots with odds that were at best 25/75 in favor of mediocrity. With Ian, it was guaranteed total fulfillment 100% of the time.

That was the only explanation he could find for this unexpected addiction he was stuck with. An addiction to Ian and his stupidly perfect cock. The rest of his body was alright too. And when he spoke, he wasn’t completely fucking annoying. His personality and his nature were tolerable. Mickey didn’t want to gouge his eyes out every time he got sucked into a conversation.

They didn’t really hang out, though. Outside of the bedroom, that is. It was like the whole game changed when they were in bed. They could fuck, they could goof around and have a laugh, they could wrestle, they could accidentally say something profound once in a while… but if Ian had a bag of food when he dropped by, Mickey wasn’t about to sit on the couch and watch TV with him while he ate it, and he definitely wasn’t going to accept a portion for himself.

Until tonight, that is. Or last night, or however the fuck time was identified when you were a natural night owl.

Tonight, they’d crossed another invisible line in the sand, and Mickey had found himself chowing down on tacos, while heckling some shitty 90s action film; his part-time lover chuckling next to him with a sloppy mouth.

It was fucking terrifying.

So as soon as he’d realized what was actually happening, and how much he didn’t hate it, Mickey had switched over to some hardcore porn. They’d cracked jokes about it at first, but it’d done the trick of quickly leading to the familiar comfort of sexual gratification. With that justification, Mickey could just sweep the whole ‘watching a movie and eating together like they were on a date’ thing under the proverbial rug without further examination.

At least until Ian had fallen asleep around 2 AM. Then it was dwell city.

By 4:30 AM, Ian had fucked him into the mattress once again, and promptly fallen back asleep without a care in the world. Mickey was more than sated, but felt even more awake than he had an hour ago, his brain full of fresh bullshit about the man next to him and what was happening between them.

He opened his bedside drawer and pulled out his stash, knowing the high would fog up his brain enough to go off on thought tangents, and eventually shut down for at least five hours. Within ten minutes, he felt a little better, or at least more distracted. He was still very aware of Ian’s looming presence in the darkness, though. He wanted to be comforted by it, but he just couldn’t relax.

There’d always been a buffer between them, which Mickey had been diligent in maintaining, and he could see it slowly falling away now. If he didn’t step up and push back, pretty soon there’d be no barrier left standing. Who the fuck knew what could happen then.

He hated it. He felt so fucking out of control, when it should be the easiest thing in the world to control. All he had to do was break it off. He knew exactly what to say and do to make that happen. Knew enough to be able to really hit Ian where it hurt, both literally and figuratively.

But goddamn it, he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to make Ian sad, and he didn’t want to give into his own desire to try for more. He would always fuck it up, because he was a fuck-up by nature. His goddamn knuckles spelled it all out in block letters.

He wanted Ian, but he didn’t want the responsibility. Didn’t trust himself, because no one had ever trusted him before in his entire life. What kind of dumbass wanted that kind of damaged douchebag for a boyfriend? No sane one.

Against his better judgment, Mickey rolled closer to Ian and wrapped an arm around his middle, spooning him the way he secretly liked it when Ian spooned him. He held him close and breathed in his scent.

“You make me want things I can’t have,” he murmured to himself, exhaling heavily against Ian’s neck.

He fell asleep swiftly, and in the morning, he didn’t ask Ian to leave.