#and he put her in danger when he's supposed to protect their leader

[widwogast]

im just thinking a little bit about. about orym. orym somewhere we don't know with laudna and ashton, orym looking for keyleth, for the voice of the tempest. he called her, and she came to help because this would destroy the world and she came. and so did her lover, who he doesn't know, none of them really know, but he came. and then lost, and there's grief about that. there has to be.

orym is holding so much grief and i'm just wondering if he has any strength left to carry it.

[eupheme]

— mine, all mine

cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4.2k

tags: jealous!cooper, sort-of alternate timeline (includes a fo4 character for fun), partners-with-benefits, mutual yearning, light angst, fingering, oral sex, one pussy slap, come marking

prompt: something where he's possessive and jealous. anything that would cause a man like The Ghoul to get jealous. He needs to remind everyone (including her) who she belongs to.

Cooper doesn’t take kindly to the man you picked up, even if he himself had made the deal to escort him to New Vegas. Not liking their old-world charm, that easy smile. Can’t be up to any good, and he hates that you might be falling for it.

It has him thinking that he just might have to remind you of a few things. Set you straight. Make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.

You can’t help the little laugh that bubbles in your throat, as you follow through the door at Cooper’s heels.

Seeking shelter for the night, after a long day on the road. Something different than the usual bounty. Escorting a man through the Mojave Wasteland, to New Vegas. Following another lead, they had said.

He had seemed capable enough, but didn’t know the area. His home was far to the east, not used to the harsh desert sun, the creatures that lurked here. A heavy bag of caps offered that neither one of you could say no to. Enough to buy a couple months worth of vials, and that meant more to you than anything.

“No shit. It really worked?” You glance back at the man from over your shoulder. The handle of your gun a familiar weight in your hand, as you check the hallways after your partner, “You really were him, costume and everything?”

“The Silver Shroud, in the flesh.” Nate flashes you a straight, white-toothed smile, “Calling cards and everything.”

Your head shakes in amazement. He was interesting - full of stories that didn’t seem possible to be true. Leader of the Minutemen. A retired veteran from before - or so he tells you.

Hard to believe such a thing could be true. It has you distracted - your boot catching on an overturned side table, a set of chairs.

A little yelp as you tilt off-balance. The Ghoul turning, a gloved hand stretching out out - but there’s already another at the small of your back, another at your elbow.

“Careful now, sugarbomb.” Nate huffs in your ear, steadying you until you catch your balance.

It has heat flaring in your cheeks - at his words and how you embarrassed yourself in front of both of them. Ignoring the hand, and winding yourself free, giving the mess of furniture a wide berth instead of stepping over as they did.

“Did you hear about him on the radio?” You ask Cooper instead, trying to change the subject.

Instead of an answer, the Ghoul gives you a rough grunt. Turning away from you, fingers tracing over the thick bullets lined up in his bandolier.

“Gonna sweep the second floor.” He rasps, “Stay put, alright?”

He must not have heard you, too busy concentrating on clearing the space.

You nod, a little flutter in your belly at his words as he leaves you. A hint of protection in them, layered deep. He hadn’t spoken much since he picked up this job. Eyes always watchful, fingers curled around the handle of his gun.

But you didn’t think there was anything too dangerous about Nate. He seemed nice - filling the space that you leave for him with his stories. The days traveling has been spent quickly, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry when you hear how he’d lost everything.

His wife, and his son. Waking up after it was all over - alone.

You wonder how he could press on, be so cheerful now. But you suppose someone could learn to shoulder a lot, after so many years had passed.

It has you shivering, in the old apartment. Thick brick walls - the radiators are long dead, the cold seeping through the cracks in the window panes.

“Hey.” You hear behind you. Nate’s shoulders flexing as he peels his leather bomber jacket off, fingers hooking under the collar as he holds it out to you.

The worn vault suit underneath clings tight to his chest. Silver threading through his dark hair, peppering his beard at the curve of his chin. Handsome, in an old-world way - something you haven’t been able to help noticing.

Not that you’re interested.

It’s only because he makes you think of him, a little. The same strange way of saying things. Phrases you don’t know from your time growing up in the wasteland.

And you can’t pretend you haven’t wondered, just a tiny bit. What Cooper might have been like, before.

Part of you had thought that would make them a little more friendly - that point of connection between them - but the Ghoul has been wrapped up in thorns for days now.

Distant even, but you think you get it. Suppose he thinks it’s safer, this way.

“Oh,” It takes you a second to accept his offering. Not used to generosity without a price. A soft sigh when you shrug it on - the fabric warmed by his body heat, “Thank you. Are you sure? It’s just, these old buildings-”

“This is almost warm compared to where I come from,” He smiles, shooting you a wink, “Least I can do, with what you’re doing for me.”

There’s a sweep of his eyes, as your hands slip through the sleeves - a considering tilt of his head, “Looks better on you, anyways.”

The compliment sends an uneasy ripple across your skin, a warm heat in your cheeks. His easy charm sets you on edge - not used to words and tones like his. Not knowing what to do with it - your eyes flicking towards the staircase.

There’s a pause, before he’s inhaling a breath.

“Listen. About your��� associate,” Nate takes a step towards you, his voice lowering, “I don’t know if you owe him caps or something, but if you need to split, you’re welcome to come with me.”

It stuns you for a second. How he thinks you might need help, that you’re indebted.

“Oh!” You manage - that eye contact breaking, as you search for words, “I’m not. We’re actually, uh-”

But you don’t have a straight answer. Involved, perhaps. You wouldn’t say together, as much as you wished it would be. Companions is too soft a word for the path you travel together.

His word - associate - too formal.

“Really?” Nate’s voice tips up - just before his eyes dip down you and back up, in a quick circuit, “Huh. Good for him, then.”

The silence that lingers is stilted. His hands raise, with the lift of your brow.

“Didn’t mean any harm,” He adds, easily, “Just, if you change your mind… it’d be good to have you on the road with me.”

Leaving you then - letting the offer hang as he pokes around in the side rooms.

Another thing that you had found fascinating - the junk that he carries with him. Not just old tape but bottles of adhesive, cans of oil. Broken hot plates, all tucked into his bag.

Your head shakes, as you move deeper.

Winding your way into the kitchen, picking through broken cabinets - snatching up cans of cram. Ending up in a study, through another door.

Books spill from the shelves. There’s an old, deep desk bumped up near a wall, the upholstered chair toppled over next to it.

A few of the novels catch your eye - nose dipping to inhale the familiar, musty smell of the pages as you crouch. Thumbing through them, trying to pick one or two to keep.

Engrossed enough that you don’t hear the creak of boots on wood. The low jangle of spurs, until the door is closing shut behind you.

There’s a slow, upward pull of your eyes, until you see the way he looms over you - eyes narrowing. A hard set to his jaw, a hand that curls around your bicep as he tugs you up and onto your feet.

“Something wrong?” You ask, as you catch the pull of his brow bone, “With the house, is it safe?”

“House’s fine,” He grits. A hand tracing up the zipper of the jacket, curling around the collar.

The frown deepens, as his eyes drag over you, “You take this off the Vaultie?”

Your eyebrows raise, “I didn’t take it off him. He gave it to me because I was cold.”

He clicks his tongue at that, one side of his lip curling. Stepping into your space, until you’re bumping up against that desk.

“Can’t leave you alone for a goddamn minute, can I?” Cooper growls.

Fingers tracing up your sides until they’re fitting beneath the fabric at your shoulders, pushing the worn leather from them.

“What do you mean?” You frown - letting him. The evening chill isn’t so bad in here, the room tucked deeper into the house. No windows to let the evening air in.

“You know exactly what I mean, sugarbomb.” He drawls, acid in his tone, “Smoothie can’t keep his hands off you.”

The jacket pools on the desk, a flick of his wrist sending it to the floor. You don’t know why the Ghoul is so angry - not when he’s made it clear this something between you is just a diversion.

Nothing more than business mixing with pleasure.

“It’s not like that.” You protest, though your mind flickers back to before. Cheeks burning as you shift back, but follows - crowding you, “He’s looking for his son.”

It has your hip pressing against a desk, his own fitting against yours. Hands flattening against the top of the desk, as he leans over you.

“Lookin’ to get his dick wet, more like.” His words are a low growl, “‘Sides, is that all it takes you get you starry-eyed? Fella lookin’ for his kid?”

There’s something in the way he says it. A tick in his jaw, the way his tone pushes at you. Needling deep, as if there’s something more to what he’s saying.

Your arms prop on your hips, “I’m not starry-eyed-”

“Aren’t you?” His head cocks, “You gonna be keepin’ his bedroll warm tonight, sweetheart?”

There’s mockery in his tone. A curl of his lip and bared teeth, all while his eyes catalog each and every expression.

Your hands press against his chest then, scoffing. Yes, Nate had flirted with you. Said you could come with him, but surely that wasn’t the reason why.

Was it?

“That’s ridiculous,” It comes out flustered, unconvincing, “He was married, he’s not-”

The Ghoul shifts, his hands fitting against your hips. Pushing, until you’re sitting on top of the desk, thighs spread so he can fit between them. Distracting you, though his look is no less fierce.

“That don’t mean much, sweetie,” He growls, “Key word here is was. Not gonna keep him from tryin’, I’ll tell you that much.”

And you think you get it now. His raised hackles from the very beginning, when Nate’s hand curled around yours.

Maybe he’d burn right up, if he had heard your conversation. You wonder if he caught any - drifting up through the floorboards. Sending him right down to you, to stake his claim.

It has you softening. Fingers hooking around the thick leather of his belt, tugging him flush.

“He can try all he wants, cowboy,” You shrug, looking at him from beneath your lashes, “It’s not gonna sway me. Was just being nice because he was.”

“Nice.” He echos, as his hands slip up to your waist. Fingers curling in the folds of your shirt, rocking you against him, “That what you think you want, sweetheart?”

There’s the dip of his head, and your eyes are closing. But he just hovers, close enough that you can feel the exhale of his breath. A jerk of his head when your chin tips up, seeking him.

“You think nice is gonna take care of you the way I do?” His hand drifts up - fitting at the curve of your ribs. Thumb brushing at your breast, as you suck in a breath.

“What are you doing?” You breathe, as your eyes open. A shiver at how close he is, how his crotch presses right against the seam of your pants.

His answer is a low rasp.

“Remindin��� you of a couple o’ things.”

There’s a familiarity in the way his other hand dips down. Those hazel eyes are still on yours, as he gives the button on your pants a sharp tug. A soft slide of the zipper.

Your fingers curl, holding on tightly. Anticipation sings in you, melding with the sharp flutter of nerves.

“W-We can’t,” It comes out as a stammer - your concentration torn. “He’s still-”

The Ghoul’s hand leaves you, but it’s only so his teeth can sink into the tip of a leather glove - the jerk of his head to pull his hand free. Already coming back to you, giving the fabric of your pants a sharp tug downwards.

“‘s cute you think I give a shit.” He husks - his eyes dark, as he jerks his chin towards your hips.

They seem to move on their own. A hum of approval as they lift - so he can tug both layers down to your ankles, leaving them to tangle with your boots.

His hands are warm as they trace back up your bare thighs. Soothing the chill - forever warmed by the radiation that lingers in him. Your thighs spread wider without thought, though his fingers linger.

Tracing the soft skin, just where your thigh meets hip. Close enough that surely he can feel the heat that lingers there - the scrape of his nails against sensitive skin sending up goosebumps, as his tongue pinches between teeth.

Eyes caught on how easily you open for him. The way you clench in anticipation, shifting into his touch.

Another protesting whimper falls from your lips, the ghost of a smile as his eyes flip up to yours.

“You’re gonna tell me you don’t want this,” His thumb twitches against you, ghosting along your slit, “When I can see you practically droolin’ for me?”

He lifts his hand for emphasis, casually examining the sheen that coats the pad of his thumb. Head cocked as he waits - dragging it slowly along the flat of his tongue.

“I do want it,” It’s hushed, though no less needy.

His tongue peeks out again. Pinched between teeth, before ghosting across a lower lip - the taste of you lingering. You expect him to bend you over the table, or lay you back against it.

Instead, his fingers pluck the hat from his head. Dropping it onto yours, the brim distorting your view as he bends. Crouching - his left knee pressing into the floorboards, as he situates himself between your thighs.

It has your breath hitching. Another exploration of his fingers, thumb pressing against your folds. Tugging you open, examining you, just like he’d do for a piece of found scrap.

Heat floods through you. There’s no mistaking that he’s still calling every shot, even when he’s on his knees.

“Then answer my question.” His voice takes on a sharp edge, those eyes back on yours, “You think he could give you what you need?”

From here, you can see the pretty fan of his eyelashes. The flecks of gold and green in his brown eyes, each little pitted scar and shiny stretch of skin.

Your head shakes.

“No.” Your thighs inch wider - hips bucking into his touch, “Only you, Cooper.”

He growls at the sound of his name, his hand coming to cup against your cunt. Fingers insistent, where they nudge at your opening. The tips of two sinking into your heat, ripping a muffled gasp from you.

A low hum, when he feels how wet you are. How you wrap so warm and tightly around him - an obscene sound as he presses them deep.

Unable to hide how he affects you, not when the pace picks up, until the heel of his hand is grinding against your clit. Until you’re dripping against his palm.

Your moan is bitten back. Fingers curling around the edge of the desk, needing something to hold onto.

His pace is steady, but he’s just teasing. Fingers merely filling you, stretching you out. No careful curl - just bringing you to hover on a plateau, leaving you to clench around him with desperation.

“Please,” You whine.

Relief then, as his fingers hook. Dragging against your spongy inner wall, as you whimper in approval.

“Yeah?” He hums - watching how your brows pinch, when his fingers flex again, “Change your mind about gettin’ fucked, honey?”

Teeth clicking together with your bitten-back whine, needing to feel more than just the unhurried crook of his fingers.

“Yes. I need more,” Your hips lift with your answer - bucking into his touch, “Need your cock, Cooper. I’ve missed it-”

A dirty trick, to use his name again.

To beg, like this.

He knows it, a heartbeat lingering before his fingers begin to move with purpose. The tilt of his head, and then - his tongue is flattening against your slit. Giving you something else, instead.

You cry out before you remember where you are - your hand quick to press against your mouth to muffle the sound.

He groans at the taste of you, as it floods his tongue. A dark glitter in his eyes, you think he did this on purpose. Trying to pull those sounds from you.

This thought solidified as he begins to devour you. Licking you from clit to hole, dipping between his knuckles. Working the muscle in until he can feel you clench around it too, his own groan caught in his throat. Coming back up - lips wrapping around the tight bud as you gasp, nails biting into wood as you moan.

Ones you still try to hide. Your breath sharp through your nose, palm pressed flat against your mouth. But it doesn’t stop the squeak of the desk as your hips move. The sticky plunge of his fingers, the wet lap of his tongue.

Something molten pooling inside you, red-hot. He knows how much you can take, how the stretch of his fingers slips into something honey-sweet.

His head rears back, as his eyes open. A sharp click of his tongue, before his left hand curls like a vice around your wrist. Capturing the other - fingers spreading wide as he pins them against your belly.

A smirk that grows wider - more sinister - when you realize you won’t be able to hide your sounds any longer. When all you can do is accept what he gives you.

“Oh, don’t hold back, sweetheart.” He coos - a rough breath, as he sees your jaw grit, eyes screwing shut, “Want him to hear just what I’m doin to you.”

A tilt of his head - slow in the way he returns to you. A pointed thrust of his fingers, another one slipping into you. Tongue flicking lazily, before spit is pooling on his tongue.

Pressing his fingers deep, as it falls from his lips. Dripping down your slit, before he’s sucking on your clit again.

The keen that pulls from you is loud. Drawn-out, your breath hissed through your teeth.

He grins into your cunt, the words murmured against your skin, “That’s more like it. Atta girl.”

Taking, as he gives.

Guilt lingers in you - thinking about Nate, wandering in the house. Hearing the muted moans and cries as you’re devoured against the desk. It has your lips pressing harder together, though it does nothing to mute the pleasure that winds higher and higher.

But he notices. Of course he does - fingers slipping free, curling against your clit before he’s pinching it between his fingertips. Teeth nipping at your inner thighs, marks blooming against your skin.

Another cry loosens, as your hips jerk.

“Now I know you want my cock, sweetheart. Asked for it so nicely, after all,” He husks, as his head tips up, “But you’re not gettin’ it till later.”

A threat and a promise, layered in the heavy pant of his breath.

“Plan on takin’ you by the fire. From three feet away, if I have to,” His smile is near-feral, “Let him hear how pretty your pussy sounds taking me. Knowin’ he can’t touch.”

You moan at his words. At the pet of his fingers - each breath short, growing louder as he brings you close to the edge. Keyed up enough over the past few days - leaving you desperate.

And you think that maybe - he just might be as well. It’s there in the way his shoulders curl in. The spread and rock of his own thighs, where you can see the tent of his hard cock.

That desire to make you come tipping into something that feels like need.

“You know why he can’t?” He coaxes, his words a slow drawl.

His fingers flattening when you’re slow to answer - pleasure-drunk, landing a harsh tap against your cunt that has you gasping in shock.

“Because…” You search for the words, grasping at their hazy shapes, “Because I’m yours.”

It comes so easily, the things you’ve thought but never said.

His knees shift, hips tilting on their own. A rough sound in his throat, as he watches how your lips form the words.

“That’s right,” Cooper coos, “Good fuckin’ girl. Knowing who she belongs to.”

It does something to you. That desire blooming into something tangible, racing from your thoughts to the needy throb of your clit.

He can hear the change in your breath. How it pitches high, drawn out. No longer holding it back - unable to, as your vision starts to go hazy.

“You liked that, sweetheart? Knowin’ that you’re owned?” He rasps, “Fuckin’ close, aren’t you. Gonna come?”

“Yes,” You chant, “Make me come. Cooper, please-”

His hand leaves your wrists - your palms curling into his jacket as he loosens his own belt. Fist wrapping around his cock as his tongue replaces the swirl of his fingers.

A whine - loud, in the quiet room - when those three fingers sink deep again, filling you. Only a few deep plunges of of his fingers before your breath is catching, eyes going wide.

The cry catches in your throat, coming out ragged. Unmistakable for anything else, as your pussy tightens around him - that thudding beat that starts low, rippling through you.

Pulsing against his tongue. Stealing your strength, leaving you boneless as your fingers anchor themselves against his shoulders.

He groans into your cunt, as he feels you gush against his palm. The way he can taste your release as it leaks against his knuckles, his tongue dipping down to taste.

Greedy again, with his gaze. Fixed on how wrecked you are - rumpled clothes, how you’re still speared on his fingers, thighs slick with need.

No one else can ruin you so thoroughly. You both know it - it’s enough that he lets go, chasing his own end. An unsteady push to his feet, as his fingers slip free.

His other hand flattening against your abdomen, pushing you back against the desk. A messy twist of his fist, seeing the gape his fingers left behind - that tension twisting, about to snap in his own belly.

His cock is coated in your release, when he comes. A feral snarl as his fist jerks - harkening back to your first few nights together. Back when he held back from spilling inside you, the vials too precious to spend on a stranger.

Fingers twitching against your belly, keeping you pinned as his own moan slips through his teeth. A needy buck of his hips into the tight curl of his hand, a cruel mockery of where he imagines it buried. But it’s enough - another rough sound before ropes of his spend arc across your mound.

Warm against your skin, as he covers you. Dripping down against your slit when he angles himself, making a mess of your slick pussy.

It already has anticipation simmering, deep inside. Unsure if he was being serious about later - but the thought of him taking you nice and slow, drawing it out - you might not be able to ever look Nate in the eye, but christ, it could be worth it.

Though something hangs heavy, as he comes back down. His head lowers from where it tipped back in pleasure. The slow drag of the tip of a finger through his release, glossy against your skin, before he finds the hem of your underwear. Tugging it back into place as you whine in protest.

“Hush, now.” He coos - stroking you over the thin fabric. Seeing how his come seeps in. A teasing circle against your clit, before his palm presses flush. Smearing himself against your cunt.

Staking a claim, you think. He’s always let you clean up before. And this isn’t a punishment, though the wait will be torture.

Fingers smooth the faded fabric when he’s content, his radiation-reddened fingers fitting against the soft curves of your hips.

And, maybe now you understand.

“I’m not going to leave you, you know.”

It’s quiet, breathed out as you gaze up at him.

He almost flinches. A different kind of shudder that runs through him, fingers pinching hard where they dent your flesh.

“You should,” His jaw grits. Voice low, the words coming out hoarse, “If you had any sense.”

But you both know you have none. Not when it comes to him.

Your hands fit in his, as he tugs you off the table. The snug fit of your pants as you tug them back into place, already feeling how he sticks against your skin.

Thoroughly marked. Unable to help the clench as you think about later - missing the fullness of his fingers already. A wobble to your legs - a hazy remnant from your orgasm - as you right yourself, fitting everything back into its place. Before stooping, to grab the jacket off the floor.

Cooper’s hand reaches out - fingers beckoning. His own duster already shrugging off his shoulders. Bundled up, as he holds it aloft.

“You get cold again, you tell me.”

It’s gruff. An offering, with the extension of his hand. Swapping the bomber jacket for his. The worn fabric enveloping you as you tug it on, that greedy look seeping back as he takes in how you look in his things.

A little nod, before he’s turning - making for the door.

Leaving you to follow behind, hiding your smile.

this started a couple different ways (flirting with a bounty or with a bartender) but I thought it would be interesting to have Cooper in a situation with a genuinely good guy (Nate is the MMC in FO4 if you choose his route!) because that would surely and truly drive him nuts (rip what a couple to join up with) 💖 thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

edit: the companion fic is here - this scenario with them picking up Nora and Reader being the jealous one!

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. VII

tags: @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @hueanhdang @thelastemzy @purple-1995 @pedro-pascal-love @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97

cw: blood, death, violence, threats

The minutes passed excruciatingly slow on top of Morningstar. Seamus pressed tightly against her back still, as if he was afraid of the dragoness trying to throw him off. Daenys wouldn't put it past her, honestly. If it wasn't a risk to catch her, Morningstar would buck him off like an ornery stud.

Even with the wind blowing past her at such a high speed and the altitude of the flight, Daenys only felt a flaming heat. It burned through her veins like fire, unrelenting with its assault. She became dizzy with the overwhelming thoughts in her mind. She hadn't foresaw this to her conscious belief.

Daenys couldn't go back to the Red Keep. Not until Rhaenyra was on the Iron Throne and could protect her. She would be trapped in a snake pit with no way out except for death. She would rather die than return alone. Aegon was a drunken cunt who found enjoyment in tormenting others, found his nightly entertainment in fighting rings, and found his pleasure in the many whores of flea bottom.

Aemond was even worse. He had great skill and wit to aid him, but his madness made him the most dangerous of the two.

Otto and Alicent were compliant with the brothers now that they were reigning. Unstoppable, Daenys knew. The Queen Mother wouldn't do anything for the defense of her step-granddaughter, not in a thousand years. Otto might even suggest for Aemond to take her as a wife in a display of dominance over Rhaenyra's claim. Her eldest daughter, sister-in-law to the King.

The thought did not help her nausea. She couldn't go back.

A better fate would be to die at a formal execution. A statement to the Realm; not even the high-borns were safe from treason.

She would die there. Body or spirit, it did not matter. Daenys wished to die on her own terms, not to the whims of a whore and a madman.

Her own mortality haunted her. A princess, eldest daughter to the Queen, meant to have the blood of the dragon. Destined to die on her dragon, yet not be honored with 'a dragonrider's death'. There was no being shot down by a scorpion in a great battle for the history books. No dragon dance to perform in the skies with another beast. Only a man. A craven.

She would be alone, only with Morningstar. Like her ancestor Aerea, who mysteriously disappeared for an entire year with her dragon to Old Valyria, only to return and die without telling her story. Daenys would be remembered for her madness, not her sacrifice. A footnote, perhaps, in her mother's reign. No chapter would be dedicated to a girl who did nothing.

It wouldn't matter. Daenys wouldn't be alive to care about her legacy. She was born with her dragon. She would die with her, too. The thought comforted her more than anything else could. She was a proud dragonrider, and that's all that mattered in the end, perhaps.

Seamus squeezed her waist, knife at his thigh, almost poking into hers carelessly. Not that it would matter if it did, she could return to King's Landing with no limbs at all, and Seamus would still be rewarded. "Can't this beast fly any faster? I thought dragons were supposed to be Gods."

"She cannot fly against the winds so easily." Daenys told him, resisting the urge to tell him it was common sense. She should've fed him to Morningstar when he presented her with the wolf's head. She was naive to believe he was clueless instead of slighting her intentionally. What a coward. He couldn't even fight Cregan head-on, despite his age and experience difference. Proudly, Daenys knew that Cregan was a rare once-in-a-generation talent. As a Stark should be. He would be in the history books of great and important leaders throughout Westeros history. Perhaps most known for his protection of all that resided south of the Wall or his aid to the Queen during the war for the throne. The Wolf in the North.

Maybe her death would inspire Cregan to send more bannerman than he originally planned, out of pity for the Queen's loss. Though, she secretly hoped it might be to avenge his short-lived lady friend.

He scoffed, "what a joke."

"Do you wish to walk to the crownlands?" She bit, regretting it when he dug his blunt nails into her skin. She would be left with plenty of bruises littering her skin on the morrow.

"Watch your tongue girl, or I will remove it."

She nodded quickly, refraining from speaking any further. When had she grown so mouthy? Only days ago, she would've never imagined saying such things to a man who had a knife to her back, or anyone, for that matter.

Daenys grinded her teeth, looking ahead sharply. It was only clouds below, grey skies spanning for miles ahead. If Cregan was following on horseback, he would've long since lost sight of her. She prayed that he was, even if he could not do anything from such a distance. The thought comforted her.

Morningstar shrieked, the sound jarring even to Daenys' tuned ears. It was higher-pitched than usual, like she was calling out for another dragon. Or a person.

A thought formed in her head. Morningstar did not have to bite someone to kill them. She, like many of the other dragons, had one thing unique to her. Baelerion had his unmatched size. Meleys was the fastest of the living dragons, even with her large form. Caraxes had a long neck, resembling a bloodwyrm. Sunfyre had his renowned beauty. Syrax had a regal grace to her that no other dragon matched.

Morningstar released a blue fire from her chest, burning hotter than the orange and red fires of her kin. She seldom used it, other than to cook her food. It scorched everything it touched in less time than other dragonfire. Daenys bit her cheeks anxiously. She would not live to the sunrise.

She would not see the bruises form and eventually fade.

She would not see her dear brothers again, nor race in the skies with Vermax and Arrax.

She would not feel her mother's warm embrace.

She would not see Cregan's kind eyes again.

But it would be her choice. Her sacrifice. For once, Daenys would do something. Perhaps not heroic, like her fathers', or significant like her mother. She would prevent herself from being held hostage with her timely death. Daenys knew that if she were taken, put to the gallows publically, Rhaenyra would back down in order to save her only daughter. It was obvious what the smarter option was, objectively.

She swallowed down her nerves, coming to a solemn acceptance.

Sliding her hand up her bunched skirt, Daenys slid the dagger slowly down her leg, uncaring if she nicked her skin. She could only feel the cold pommel in her grip and the hot adrenaline in her blood. On one side, she clutched her dagger. On the other, she reached for Seamus' weaponed hand. She snatched his wrist in a chokingly tight hold, trying to force his hand to open and drop his dagger. He jerked in surprise, not expecting the underwhelming Princess to act out. In his sudden movement, the dagger grazed her neck, drawing an angry red line of blood from it. She gripped the wrist tighter, his body acting against him and opening his hand up to drop the dagger. It fell to the forest floor, long out of his reach. She whipped her other hand down on his, stabbing it straight through his hand and into the saddle.

Seamus screamed out in pain, howling curses at the girl. "Forget alive! The King will have you returned in bits and pieces!"

When he tightened his arm around her waist again, she pulled the dagger back to her chest, allowing his blood and twitching hand to smack her across the jaw wildly. She twisted and fought in his grip, hot blood smearing across her face and neck. Seamus' eye was squeezed shut painfully from a scratch she managed to give the eyeball directly; the sight pridefully reminded her of Aemond. They both heaved with effort, fighting each other and to stay on the saddle. Below, Morningstar fluttered her wings in a panic, hearing Daenys yelp into the cold air.

He reached for her dagger, grunting when she continued to slice at his exposed hand's flesh. They continued their struggles, both covered in blood now. Daenys turned at the waist, taking the flying fist at her eye with a crazed look in her violet eyes. She stabbed the dagger into his soft belly, satisfied at hearing him cry out. When he pushed her into the front of the saddle, hands trying to keep a grip at her neck, she cried out. At her struggles, he slammed her repeatedly into the hard material of the saddle by the tight grip of her scalp, leaving her breathless and light-headed. "Stay still, you little brat!" He growled into her ear.

"Dracarys!"

Morningstar repeated her cry, refusing the command fiercely. Seamus left the dagger in his stomach to keep himself from bleeding out, though he was tempted to in order to kill the Princess faster. He would have to be satisfied with feeling the breath leave her throat.

"Dra—arys, Morn—!" She yelled breathlessly, wheezing at the excertion. The pressure was too much, black spots filled her vision.

Finally, after much reluctance from the white beast, the skies erupted in a beautiful icy blue light. Daenys, still pinned to the front of the saddle, could only shield her face uselessly with a single arm. Seamus, enchanted with the sight, had sat up. Daenys grinned hauntingly, baring red teeth to no one. Blood smeared across her lips and face, giving her the appearance of the dead already. At least Morningstar would return to Cregan. He would not be left clueless.

Morningstar easily flew through the impossibly hot flames, her dragonscales keeping her unscorched. Seamus, however, was not so lucky. His pain-filled screams didn't last very long, the blue fire-lit man lighting up the clouds like a thunderstorm. Daenys, too, was covered in the dazzling light, but her throat made it impossible to scream.

Morningstar knew the fate of her rider, mournfully calling out for her one final time. She sung the song that Daenys was always happy to hear, sometimes singing back when they were alone. The dragoness did not waste time flying any further toward the crownlands, descending toward the snowy woods and to the nearest clear patch she spotted. The smell of burning flesh filled the area that she landed in, the sound of two bodies individually thumping to the melting ground. But Morningstar refused to look at the bodies, refused to have the sight of Daenys tainted with what she had done. Killing her own rider, a sacred bond broken. The dragon curled in on herself, waiting to join her rider in death. No matter how long that took.

🗡

Daemon ruled over Dragonstone's council in Rhaenyra's absence. Jacaerys and Daenys have both yet to return, not yet receiving the dreadful news. Rhaenyra had left on dragonback immediately after the raven came, searching for anything to let her see the truth of it for herself. Daemon mourned Lucerys, too, in his own quiet way. He had to be strong for his family, for the living.

He left the council in the afternoon, wandering the empty halls of Dragonstone. Missing three children from its vast halls, the castle was a shell of its former vibracity. Daemon passed Jace's chambers on his way to Joffreys room, then paused when he noticed Daenys' door ajar.

He remembered that it had been closed when she left. Daenys had always been particular about who went in her room, constantly reminding her younger brothers to knock before they entered. Carefully, he creeked the door open, hand resting on his sword.

No one was inside.

Only a few scattered books and pages on her desk that Daemon knew wasn't the work of his daughter. She was a tidy person, never a thing out of place in her quarters. It brought her peace within her little bubble. Perhaps Joff had gotten curious, rumaging through her 'girly' romance books, as the boys liked to tease her for reading.

He approached the desk, ready to organize the books and place them back onto her shelves. He noticed the scribbles on the pages, the first instinct he had to associate with them was Joffrey's childish writings, but upon closer inspection he saw that they were a repeat of the same words.

Dates were placed at the top of each page that he turned to. A personal journal, Daemon concluded. Curiosity got the better of him, sitting to read what the contents were. He wished he had put the book back when he delved into the rabbithole that was Daenys' mind.

Every day, for the last seven years, was dated throughout many journals. Some worn, some newer. She started to document her 'dreams' after Laenor's death. There was one most nights. Some mundane—forseeing what she would eat the next day. Others painful—like Daenys knowing that she would take a tumble from the steps of Dragonstone's cobble steps. Others, on a rarer occasion, prophesied important events in their family's life. Most of these dreams were documented in an obsessive way. Sentences were written down hundreds of times, no doubt mindlessly by Daenys, who was still deep into her vision.

She foresaw Viserys defending Luke's claim to driftmark, Aegon's usurping, Meleys killing hundreds of smallfolk in the dragonpit, Rhaenyra losing Visenya to stillbirth. Why hadn't she ever said anything, before hand? The dreams are always dated either the night before they happened or merely a few days later. Daemon flipped furiously through the journals, looking for answers.

Daenys kept returning to one dream. One, that wasn't foretold. Laenor's death by fire. She had never trusted her mind to tell her the truth after it had not warned her about her own father's demise. She cursed the Gods boldly in writing and cursed herself for letting her father's life slip out of her grasp.

She did not know a truth from a lie, though all those that haunted her after were true. Still, she did not confess them to Rhaenyra or Daemon in fear that she would be wrong. One wrong warning and disaster might strike from ill preperations. Daemon rested his head in his hands, rubbing at his temple stressfully. It was Rhaenyra who went through her journals, too. She must have searched through every word of them for a glimpse at Lucerys' fate but found nothing like Daemon had. Daenys left Dragonstone before she could foresee his death. Daemon couldn't find it in himself to be cross with his daughter. It was his fault she never confessed her visions anymore. He had plotted with Rhaenyra to fake Laenor's death, keeping it a secret to all in the realm except for themselves, even Laenor's children.

Could this have been prevented? All of this, the war, the usurping, Luke's death. If only Rhaenyra and Daemon had confessed their sins.

🗡

It was hours that Cregan spent on horseback, looking between the trees and the skies in hopes of spotting the white dragon. Dusk had gone ahead, running at a pace that a horse could not keep up with for nearly as long. He was forced to walk most of the time, lest he killed Red by exhausting the poor horse. Every second that passed by was torture. His mind never let him forget the terrified look in Daenys' eyes.

He let her slip away again. This time, due to his own stubbornness. He distanced himself from the Princess, a hundred reasons why nagging in his brain. But none of them mattered now, when he had allowed her to go off on her own. He knew she was upset. He knew that she was leaving the campsite because of the unbearable silence.

Cregan knew, and still let her out of his sight. He failed again after promising that he would protect her. Those sad violet eyes, which had looked at him with all the trust in the world, were out of his reach.

Taken hostage on her own dragon, being used for Knott's selfish desires. Cregan knew he would be a man damned to eternal suffering if he believed in the New Gods. For the first time in his life, he regretted not following them. His only punishment would be his own guilt, which would eat away at him for the rest of his mortal life.

Cregan straightened in his seat when Dusk came sprinting to Red's heels, barking urgently. Cregan signaled for the direwolf to go on again, commanding Red to gallop in a chase. What had he found? Cregan hadn't seen or heard Morningstar since they had left, only instinctively going straight South like he knew Daenys woukd guide Morningstar. Dusk must have heard something that his owner could not.

The direwolf held himself back in terms of speed, staying at a pace that Cregan could keep in his sights at all times. It was not another half hour before Cregan spotted Morningstar curled up in a clearing. Dead? No, that was impossible. There were no threats to the dragon so far North.

Cregan slowed Red to a hault, jumping from the mount with a frantic resolve similar to his wolf's. His whole body was tense at the sight of Morningstar alone. If Seamus had forced Daenys to land and took her somewhere on foot, the dragon would be at the treeline, tearing out trees one by one to get to Daenys.

Where was she?

He almost didn't want to know.

Cregan approached Morningstar slowly, holding his hand out and brushing against the dragon. No response. No growl, no purr, no lifting her head to see who had approached her. He would assume the dragon was dead where she laid if he did not watch her middle slowly move up and down, as if she were only in a deep sleep. "Morningstar," Cregan murmured, coaxing the dragon to wake up.

Only the winds of the North filled his ears as they rustled through the trees. Dusk's growl perked his ears as he focused on the dragon, futility attempting to make her wake.

"What is it, boy?" Cregan asked from the other side of Morningstar. He walked around to where Dusk's call came from, freezing upon the sight. A large, extremely burn body lay dead on the floor next to the dragoness' wing. It was pure black, no sign of any distinguishing features that once dorned the body. To Cregan's relief, it was the size of an adult male. Seamus was dead.

But where was Daenys? And what happened to make Morningstar not be pleased at her work?

Dusk nudged at someone stuck under the body, whining and sniffing at it loudly. Cregan dragged Seamus' corspe away from it, tossing it aside with a disgusted sneer. Serves the bastard right.

It was Daenys, bare as the day she was born. Curled up instinctively to protect her own body heat, though the fire from Seamus seemed to have done that well enough. How was she alive? Unburnt, unharmed? She looked serene, peaceful, as if she were simply taking a nap in the forest with Morningstar. Cregan stiffended, realizing the situation. He swiftly covered the girl with his cloak, taking her into his arms like one might a wet and shivering kitten. Her skin burned to touch, almost making Cregan drop her: but he persisted through the burn.

Cregan considered himself an avid learner of the histories. It was his duty as a Lord and The Warden of the North to know everything about the Seven Kingdoms and all their houses. That included the Targaryens'. Never once, in any of the expensive texts he can arduously labored over in the late nights after his father died when he was only three and ten, was a fire-proof man or woman every mentioned. A secret, mayhaps, hidden by the Targaryens to not give away their strategies.

It was hard to say. When she woke, Cregan would simply have to ask her himself. For now, though, all that mattered was that the sweet girl was alive and in his arms again. As it should be.

Cregan lifted his head from looking at Daenys' worry-less face. When she was awake, she always had some underlying fear hidden behind all her other emotions. It dominated her, consumed her. Cregan saw it even when she was laughing, when she was safe. He wished to make it go away, to chase off what haunted her soul. But even the strong Lord could not fight internal battles for someone else. He could only hope that she gained enough strength of her own to save herself.

Like tonight. Daenys saved herself from her kidnapper. Cregan would soon figure out how she did it and how she survived it. He had a dark feeling that he would not like the answer.

He brought Daenys to Morningstar's eyeline. Shut, like her rider's, Morningstar looked a mirror image of Daenys. They both looked so much more at peace when not plagued by their thoughts.

"Here, girl..." Cregan murmured, lifting Daenys for Morningstar to notice. The dragon lifted its eyelid slightly, the scent of Daenys filling her nostrils. Immediately, the dragoness' violet eye widened and she jerked up. Delight washed over her features, as much expression as a dragon could have. Morningstar rosed to her wings and hind legs, sniffing at Daenys as if this were only a deceitful dream. Cregan grinned at the sight of the beast being active once more, assuming she had become despondent due to her rider being injured or presumed dead.

He shared in her relief and delight both.

After allowing her to reunite with the Princess, Cregan mounted Red carefully, placing the woman in front of him, facing him to lean on him in her sleep. The cloak still covered her, leaving a slight chill over the Lord's back and shoulders. It did not matter, as long as she was safe. The whole ride, taking well into the sunlight, was spent with one arm clutching the reigns and the other firmly across her waist to keep her safe and close. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in her smokey scent, content to be in her presence again. Even a minute without her felt like torture, not knowing how she wad faring all alone in a perilous situation.

Finally, once they reached the campsite again, Morningstar flying far ahead to it and waiting, Cregan placed her into his tent and bundled the Princess up in more furs. He did not wish to dress her, so it would have to do. He didn't sleep, watching over her and the campsite as he waited for the Princess to awaken.

It took nearly a full day for that to happen. Cregan grew more worried with every passing hour. Night had come, making it almost twenty-four hours since Daenys had been taken on dragonback by Seamus Knott. He stared at her intensely, watching every breath she took and every twitch mistaken for her waking up. He began to wonder if he should turn back to Winterfell, or even continue foward to the closest house, coincidentally Knott. He would be reluctant to take her to the very house where the vile man who hurt her was breed in, but a maester was a maester.

Daenys woke with a pained gasp. Cregan nearly jumped with her, stunned at the movement. "Cregan..." She called for him before she opened eyes. When she did, eyes bleary from her long sleep and likely more unpleasant dreams, Daenys teared up at the sight of the man sitting in front of her.

He was quick to wipe away falling tears, ungloved hands gently caressing her soft skin. "You're safe, my girl. He is dead. He can not hurt you again." He promised her, brows turned up in sympathy for the distressed Princess.

"I know he is dead. I killed him." Daenys sobbed into his warm touch, clutching onto his wrists like a lifeline. "I didn't—I wasn't even sorry for it, when it happened. I was glad that he would die, to hear his pained screams."

Cregan brought her to his chest, wrapping her safely in his embrace. "You cannot blame yourself for what you felt. You are not a bad person for it. Men kill all the time for selfish reasons. You killed to save yourself. It is okay."

"It does, Cregan. It does." She insisted, shaking her head vehemently as she gripped his tunic.

Cregan felt unsure of how to comfort her. He was never the best with words. He killed his first man because of his duty as Lord and Warden. Executing a deserter of The Wall for his crimes and disloyalty. He felt no guilt because he knew it had to be done. Such was the way of his station and the Old Way.

He could only hold her, stroking her hair while she cried. They stayed like that for as long as it took for Daenys to calm. Even after she quieted down, they stayed in one another's arms for the familiar feeling of bittersweet solace.

"I knew you would come for me. Thank you, Cregan." Daenys spoke up hoarsely. Cregan looked down at her, placing a strand of hair behind her ear and ignoring the spots of blood on her face.

"I would've ridden all the way to King's Landing to find you."

She truly believed him.

"I should've headed your advice, then." When he gave her a confused look, she continued. "When you wanted him gone. You didn't trust him from the start, I was naive to believe a kinslayer could ever have honest intentions."

"You wanted to see the good in him, even after I told you his crimes. That is not a sin, Princess. If you only ever saw the bad in your subjects, you would never trust again. You were fair in giving him a chance." Cregan mused, resisting the urge to rest his chin on her head. This position was too familiar for a Princess and a Lord—especially when both were unwed. They ignored that fact multiple times throughout his journey.

Was Cregan a fool for not caring? A better man would've surely escorted her back to Winterfell days ago when the wolf attacked her. The North was no place for a princess. He was a selfish man.

He was not before he met Daenys.

At the very least, he hoped that she did not think him bawdy or vulger for being so close to her. He had never known himself to be a slave to his baser desires, never visiting brothals at every want and whim or taking a mistress before he was wed. No, he was not like most men in that regard.

But oh, how he yearned for her. To simply be in her presence was a blessing from the Old Gods. To hear her brilliant laughter or speak her mother tongue so gently with her dragon. Every little expression she allowed him to bear witness to; joy, sorrow, fear, regret. He wanted it all, forever. Wanted Daenys to be kept safe in Winterfell with him, at least then he could always know she was sound.

She had grown so much in her little time with him. So shy and guilt-ridden to even be stepping foot in his home, though it was well within her rights as a Princess to do as she pleased. She remained gentle although she witnessed the brutal killing of a predator who nearly took her life—killed a different kind of predator herself. The little rabbits and the wolf were given kind words and careful handling even after they felt no pain. The titleness man being mourned and cried for even after he had attempted to use her for his own grab at power.

Cregan wished to covet all of her purity and goodness for himself. To keep her away from all things tainted lest they successfully drag her into their clutches. In Winterfell, she would be safe to flourish. Like a rare winter rose, which could only grow and bloom in specific conditions, Daenys could not do so in King's Landing–or even Dragonstone.

He decided then that he would make the offer to Queen Rhaenyra. His council had advised him of such things when Aegon first usurped the Iron Throne, telling their Lord that the Queen would ask for men, and it would be wise to ask for something in return.

If that made him a selfish man, then so be it.

🗡

Daenys wished she didn't wake up from her tumble off of Morningstar. It would be easier if she burned alongside Seamus. From the moment she gained consciousness, memories and guilt flooded her senses. She killed a man without remorse. For her own defense, Cregan had valiantly reminded her, but that didn't do anything to sooth the bile in the back of her throat.

She was a foolish, spoilt, and naive girl for trusting such a man. She would not make that mistake again. Daenys was glad to see the winter Lord, as well as Dusk and Morningstar, but all that did little to lift her mood. The night passed slowly with Daenys staring at the tent's roof, counting the passing seconds until Cregan woke and they would start their journey once more. She glanced at him, admiring his sharp features in the little light provided by the moon. She was vaguely aware of her state under the furs, and even more aware of how he had seen her before he wrapped them around her. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to care for her modesty.

A nagging question burned in her mind.

Why hadn't she caught fire like Seamus did? Her kin had never recorded such an event in their histories, nor had she dreamt of such things happening to herself nor other people. Laena Velayron was burned to death by her dragon, Vhagar. So clearly, the bond was not what saved her. Daenys wished to test herself once more against fire, but feared that she would not be so lucky a second time. There was no way to know her true condition for certain until she returned to Dragonstone. In the castle, all Valyrion texts were kept and passed down the generations straight from Lord Aenar Targaryen.

Beside her, Cregan stirred. He was closer tonight than he had been previous nights. Much closer, in fact. Their breaths mingled warmly when she faced him, and his arm lay outstretched slightly towards her own. She was exceedingly grateful to the man for all he had done for her over their time together. Patient with her trances, teaching her to hunt and defend herself, comforting her in her dark thoughts. Slowly, Daenys interlocked her fingers with his, squeezing once. She shifted to her side, planting herself close to his body heat and comforting scent. She slept beside him for the remaining hours of the night.

🗡

get yourself a ride or die (literally) like Morningstar, who was determined to let herself starve to death because she couldn't live without her best friend.

i hope cregan's little monologe didn't sound dark or controlling, he truly does love her and wants her safe, knows the south lands would not be good for her because they never have been.

how does one write in a man's pov? I will never know. I feel like I always made them too dark or cold. anyway, I hope yall enjoyed the chapter 🩷 feedback appreciated

[faynke]

Kaitos and Shinichis teams for the PKMN AU!!

ramblings below:

Shinichi, as Conan, is gathering a band of misfits and trouble makers. He originally only had Absol, uninterested in catching other Pokémon. But after getting Scorbunny from Agase a bunch of other Pokémon have been adopting him as their trainer.

⁃ Absol: he’s very protective and always on the watch for disaster, something that follows his trainer everywhere. He’s in charge of keeping the rowdy newbies in check and is stressed about it. Can mega evolve, but it’s something they rarely do since Shinichi is technically supposed to not be around. I imagine he's kept in his Pokeball most of the time so as to not give Shinichi away. ⁃ Scorbunny: she’s given to him so he has a Pokémon to call on as Conan. She’s high energy and childish, always getting herself into trouble and poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. ⁃ Joltik: she doesn’t have much interest in battle, but she can put people to sleep with a bite and has very strong string. She can also sneak tracking devices onto people/things, as well as act as hidden eye during cases. She doesn’t get into much trouble herself, but will gladly encourage Scorbunny to do something dumb in her stead. ⁃ Charcadet: He saw Absol absolutely wreck a dangerous criminal and simply had to join Conan’s team. Idolizes Absol and does his best not to cause him more stress. ⁃ Zorua: she’s connected to a BO case and was saved by Shinichi. She’s incredibly nervous and only seems comfortable around Shinichi. Ends up getting pretty close to Kaitos Zorua who helps her get out of her shell. Trouble magnet, if something can go wrong for her it probably will.

Kaito has very talented Pokémon, all trained to be just as good as he is with his tricks. He originally only had Meowscarada and his Pidoves, but his team had gotten larger since becoming KID.

⁃ Meowscarada: Kaitos reliable partner! He loves magic tricks just as much as his trainer and has a scheming personality to match. ⁃ Gardevoir: She was originally Toichis Pokemon and was left to Kaito with the KID outfit. Doesn’t trust Kaito to begin with, but eventually bonds with him enough that they can mega evolve. She’s talented, but somewhat standoffish. ⁃ Pidove: Kaito has a lot of Pidoves, but his shiny one is the leader of the flock. She’s friendly and happens to be the one Pidove that Shinichi saves, leading to her adoring him. She plays favorites and Kaito is low key offended. ⁃ Zorua: he was caught during a heist. Zoruas main job is to transform into the partner Pokemon of anyone that Kaito is disguising himself as. He’s mischievous and will often wander off. Likes Shinichis Zorua and tries to get her to work on her confidence.

I think both of them would still be so good at their jobs they wouldn’t really rely on Pokemon to get them done. So while they could both totally fill out their teams with helpful ‘mons they don’t need to.

I do think that Kaito would have a Klefki following him around and causing problems by stealing keys and such, but would also be helpful at times as well. He really attracts the mischievous types lmao

It would be funny if no one has seen his Zorua and they just assume KID is some crazy trainer with all sorts of Pokémon to help with his heists. His Zorua would be a master at getaways and not being seen when he doesn’t want to be.

I also played around with giving Kaito a Togekiss! I think it would fit the rumor that no murders happen when KID is doing a heist XD Maybe he eventually can get one, it would be cute to see him raise it from an egg. Kaishin finds the egg together and co-parents it

For Shinichi I don’t have another Pokémon in mind to fill out his team :0 I’d definitely love to hear what you guys think! Maybe a Luxray? Though I also feel that could be better used for a different character. Also definitely considering a Rotom. Could stick it in his voice changer or phone or smth.

Shinichi would be a little new to the whole trainer thing as before he only ever had Absol. Because he’s only ever trained Absol, a super smart and loyal Pokémon that doesn’t cause problems, he’d definitely struggle a bit with his new high energy Scorbunny. They’d bond through playing soccer :]

As for inter-team dynamics, I think their Zoruas would get along. Kaitos Pidove loves Shinichi and would likely get along with his Pokémon as well. Gardevoir and Meowscarada are the two with personality issues and probably are either hesitant to befriend a Detectives Pokemon or actively consider them a rival.

I can see Meowscarada and Absol having a crazy rivalry.

I have a few team ideas for other characters, if you guys wanna hear my take on anyone specific please feel free to send me an ask and I may draw them!! Heiji and Hakuba are two I wanna draw for sure. As well as Sera. I think I’d like to give them all Megas since they’re the main high school detectives and they deserve it lol.

If you have any thoughts on the PKMN AU please also send an ask, I could talk about Pokémon for ages!!

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 148 }

tiptoe.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

warnings: violence.

{ watch me fall above like a vicious dove | they don’t see me come, who can blame them? | never stopped to see me try, so i never had to lie }

you should have stayed home after all...

but how were you supposed to know that a group of rogue hunters were targeting you for the sole purpose of hurting your lover of 3 years-

sung jinwoo.

your day started out normal enough; you had gone into the city with plans to buy some groceries for the week. with your eyes solely focused on your phone as you wrote out your list from within your notes app. with jinwoo's shadow soldiers kept well hidden from inside your own shadow, you saw no reason to have fear or sense even an inkling of danger.

yet that all changes when you felt a particularly hard and blunt object smash into the back of your skull, sending waves of pain to course through your very veins as you lost consciousness. your face nearly lands against the harsh concrete of the sidewalk when your captors decides to capture you in their arms before bringing you back to their base of operations...

{ ... }

a group of rowdy men were seen within the abandoned warehouse, taking a drag of their cigarettes the moment their lackeys brought back your unconscious body.

with a grunt, the men toss your body against the concrete floors of the warehouse, your hair making a veil across your features as they remained hidden from the other hunters' view.

it was a scrawny hunter named seo-jun who decides to step forward while pushing up his glasses, looking down at your unconscious body. "do-yun, who is she? and why were you so set on capturing her?"

the leader, do-yun, flashes a smirk against the timid man, placing a hand on his shoulder, "why don't you admire her for a bit, then we'll have some fun with her..."

seo-jun gulps before making his way closer to you, curious as to who you were as the other men take a step back. his breathing was labored when he gingerly brushes back your hair. he sees the blood pouring from your head from how your body was suddenly dropped against the cold concrete floors of the warehouse, yet he couldn't deny how beautiful you still looked.

seo-jun knew that he recognized you, and when he finally realized your identity, he sharply inhales, feeling his blood turn cold at the mere sight of you.

"are you insane?! you captured the tenth s-ranker's lover! you just put a target on our heads-"

seo-jun feels his eyes widen when he sees your shadow lengthening, using his senses as he falls backwards, narrowly avoid the dagger that shoots out from the shadow.

he may have avoided the dagger, but the same couldn't be said for the men that had captured you. immediately, his eyes go wide when the blade lands within the base of his throat, the blood loss making him land with an audible 'thump!' against the ground.

seo-jun could already tell that the man was dead as his partner began to run out of the warehouse, fearing for his life. he couldn't move, feeling a sudden coldness surround him as the s-rank hunter appears from the depths of your shadows.

no words were spoken as sung jinwoo takes a protective stance in front of you, brandishing his two daggers in response as the ends of his trench coat sways in tune with his movements. do-yun and the rest of his crew didn't get a chance to even react when jinwoo moved so swiftly that it looked like he simply disappeared from seo-jun's eyes.

a wave of nausea hits him as the rest of his crew was left with a deep wound against their chests, a cut forming a large X over their chest as the deep red blood stains their cold, lifeless bodies. seo-jun nearly puked at the intense, coppery scent that fills the area.

"you." sung jinwoo's voice was filled with malice, wisps of shadows surrounding the entirety of his large frame the moment he takes great strides to reach the meek man.

"y-y-yes?"

"if you want to live, then heal her."

seo-jun nearly wet his pants in response to his demands, but eagerly nods his head, crawling closer to you as he placed a hand over your injured head. he allows the golden glow to surround you, with the wound disappearing as your breathing became less labored with pain.

he continues healing you until jinwoo's hand against the back of his shirt was felt lifting his lanky body away from you, tossing seo-jun's form aside as he lands against the harsh, cold floors with a grunt.

the impact causes his glasses to go askew as he sits up with a wince, watching jinwoo as he carefully lifts up your body within his embrace. his glowing eyes were filled with a love and devotion to you, and it was clear that he would do anything to keep you safe.

as seo-jun slowly gets back up to his feet, he hears jinwoo calling out your name before letting out a chuckle when you stir within his embrace.

"i'm in a good mood right now... i thought about killing you off, too, but ultimately decided against it because you healed her."

seo-jun didn't know what prompted him to speak with the hunter known as the shadow monarch when he continues to ask, "and, w-what would have happened if i wasn't a healer?"

jinwoo looks back at him with his eyes glowing a deeper purple. "then you would be left bleeding out with the rest of your crew."

the murderous intent was enough to bring seo-jun to his knees, filled with terror as he bowed down to him.

"i-i-i apologize for what we have done to your lover. please... continue to have mercy on me...!"

but his pleas fall on deaf ears the moment jinwoo ignores him, going towards the fallen hunters who planned to do unspeakable things to you. seo-jun glances behind him to see jinwoo tightening his hold on your body before speaking to those corpses.

"arise."

a sense of dread fills seo-jun's soul as jinwoo's dark voice echoes throughout the area, bringing forth 3 shadow soldiers who appeared like living skeletons as they floated away from their once living vessel. a smug expression was seen against the shadow monarch's features as he gives new commands to his newly formed soldiers.

"you all shall spend the rest of your life protecting my queen as punishment. this is only a small part of your retribution, do you have any objections?"

as if drawn to jinwoo, the shadows bow down to him without question, losing all form of autonomy as a new purpose filled them:

to serve sung jinwoo alone.

"no, my king. we shall serve you and your queen diligently. we are deeply sorry for our actions. please, forgive us."

with those last words, all three of jinwoo's newly made soldiers disappear within your shadow, making seo-jun shiver in response. he continues to remain on his knees, not daring to look up even when jinwoo passes him.

that man was no longer human, seo jun thought to himself as he kept his nose pressed against the ground.

for he knew that sung jinwoo was nothing short of a god now.

{ ... }

you let out a soft moan the moment you woke up, feeling like you had just fallen asleep.

your eyes were blurry when you look up to see jinwoo carrying you in his arms.

"hm? jinwoo...? what happened?"

he lets out a hum before looking down at you, lifting you up as he pressed a chaste kiss against your lips.

"hm, nothing much, you just got tired and fell asleep in a café."

you frown and tilt your head at him. "did i really? the last thing i remember was shopping for groceries-"

jinwoo immediately kisses you deeply just then, making you lose your train of thought as you moaned against his lips, kissing him back. almost instinctively, you delve your fingers into his soft, ebony locks of hair, basking in the sweetness of his kiss, not minding that he was purposely distracting you.

when the need for air proves to be too much, jinwoo pulls away from the kiss with a sigh, placing his lips against your forehead as he reassures you, "don't worry about it... now that you're awake, how about we go out to eat?"

"really?! we can go to..." you tell him the name of your favorite restaurant, earning a nod from him.

"yes, absolutely."

as jinwoo basks in your giggles while carrying you, you remain blissfully unaware of the three new shadow soldiers' eyes blinking up at you, now fiercely loyal to you-

you truly hadn't the slightest clue just how far the shadow monarch would go to keep you safe.

a.n. - yeah, that chapter where jinwoo beat up hwang dong-su for hurting jinho was still hot af to me, so i had to make my own version where he saves the reader from a similar situation ♡

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

In a Perfect World, You Love Me [i]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: injury, mentions of blood, cursing, derogatory name calling, forced drug exposure, hallucinations, light smut, angst, and some angst, and a little more angst just to top it off (actually this isn’t nearly as heartbreaking as some stuff i’ve written before lol), self doubt, anxiety, also cobb vanth is here. it’s not a warning but i love him so i wanted to mention it.🤷🏻‍♀️

word count: 6,961

Summary: On the way to visit an old friend, you and Mando find trouble. Both of you are subjected to a drug that puts you in your perfect world. But, when you can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t, how do you know what to trust?

a/n: bitches be planning out short drabbles about heart break only for it to turn into a long wordy mess. it’s me. i’m bitches. anybody know the show supernatural? it’s a show about like dramatic ass sad brothers who travel the country fighting monsters? (i know you know i’m being sarcastic). i watched that one episode where the djinn puts dean in like a dream world and it inspired this. i wanted to name it ‘din djarin’s djinn dream’ but that seemed a bit too on the nose.

.

“sometimes it is not love that breaks your heart. it is disappointment.”

-r.m. drake

.

Grogu was safe. That was the first thought that came to mind. You were so incredibly grateful that Mando had decided to leave the small child with Peli at the shop. It had been a last minute call. Weirdly, you were also thankful that you hadn’t stayed behind. You nearly did. Traveling through the Dune Sea was an absolutely miserable experience between the heat and the sand. It would have been so much more comfortable to just sit in the shop, cuddle with Grogu, and watch Peli con her customers.

However, when Mando mentioned he was going to Mos Pelgo you jumped at the chance to visit Cobb Vanth. It had been ages since you last saw the man, and you were eager to catch up with the marshal. So you climbed onto Mando’s rented land speeder, wrapped your arms around his beskar armor, and the two of you set off. What was supposed to be a simple day trip to greet an old friend and ask for a favor turned into a Maker forsaken nightmare.

Your face was throbbing in pain, you tasted blood in your mouth, and you were fairly certain your right wrist was broken based on the swelling and discoloration. Despite all of that, despite the pain and fear, the thought occurred to you once more. You were so thankful you were here. 

“How pathetic.” The smuggler cackled amongst his small crew. “You’re going to protect the Mandalorian from us? You dumb bitch.”

Five dangerous men stood at the rim of the pit you were trapped in while Mando laid motionless behind you. There was a bit of blood pooling from out of the bottom of his helmet, onto the sand, and the only comfort you had that Mando was still with you was the slow rise and fall of his chest. 

The smugglers had set a trap that Mando and you had fallen right into. As your land speeder tripped a wire it caused a blast that had both of you falling into a pit. The damned thing was deep enough to leave both of you injured and you prayed that your injuries were worse than Mando’s and he was just out cold for a moment. Your attackers began to argue amongst one another and you stayed on high alert. Mando and you were fish in a barrel. They could rain blaster fire down on you and there would be nothing you could do about it. The only reason you hadn’t grabbed Mando’s blaster to fire up is because you didn’t want to trigger a massacre.

“Shoot her dead then climb down and collect the beskar. Easy.” One smuggler scoffed and pulled out his blaster. You flinched but the loudest of the men, the leader, shoved the blaster’s aim away from you. “What?”

“The moment we try and get off world we’re gonna get stopped by those damned pirates again.” He snapped. “We keep the girl alive and hand her over as the tax we pay to pass free. We keep all the Mandalorian’s armor to ourselves.”

“Who’d want a bitch over beskar?”

“Oh, trust me.” The lead smuggler chuckled and the sound made you cringe. You set your hand in Mando’s gloved one and wished more than anything his grip would tighten around you rather than stay limp. “I know the man running the show right now, and he’s got a weakness for pretty little things.”

You tried to hide the tremble that shook your frame and you whispered for Mando to wake up⏤ for him to hear you. The lead smuggler opened his bag and you grasped Mando’s blaster. As threateningly as you could manage, you barked out. “You come down here and I’ll kill you. You hear me?!”

“Aw, she’s got some bite. Maybe we should keep her instead.”

“Shut the hell up.” The lead snapped and continued to root through his bag. “Where the kriff is that damned spice bomb?” Your eyebrows furrowed. Spice was bad news. It wasn’t something you ever wanted to touch. You had seen what the addiction could do to people, and you had a very bad feeling about what a spice bomb would be. “There it is.”

Panic hit you, and you lifted the blaster to start firing but the leader tossed a glowing red ball down into the pit and the smugglers dove away from the hole. The ball exploded mid way down into a cloud of red dust that rained down on you and Mando. You tried to cover your mouth and nose with the bottom of your shirt, but it was to no avail. Your entire body grew heavy, collapsing on top of Mando’s chest, and a sharp, tingling sensation washed over you before your eyes fell shut.

Din woke with a start⏤ panting and desperate for air. His mind was filled with a heavy fog that he tried to swim through to gather his bearings. There had been a wire. Din noticed it much too late and he remembered the ground swallowing you and him whole. You. Your scream was the last thing he could recall. 

His hands drifted to his face and Din hated that it was only then that he noticed he wasn’t wearing a helmet. He blamed the fog. Din scrambled about the soft bed he realized he was tucked into as he searched the space around him for his armor. Din was in a bedroom he didn’t recognize wearing only a pair of sleep pants. Dank farrik. Din leapt out of bed but stumbled rather than landed with any amount of grace. Where was he? Where were you?? 

He forced himself to take a steadying breath and centered himself. 

The bedroom was small. Only a large bed, a clothing dresser, and two nightstands on either side of the bed. The walls were painted a soft blue, two doors leading out, and one wall had a window that spanned nearly the entire length of the room. Din blinked in confusion. Outside was a bustling city with towering pillar-like buildings and early morning light spilling down through holes in the upper shelf casting light on a city that was very much alive. Din knew where he was. He just didn’t know how he got here or how this was even possible.

“Sundari?” He breathed in shock. Din had only seen images of the cities of Mandalore. Sundari, the domed capital city, being the most infamous of all. This must have been a dream. Exactly how hard had he hit his head in the fall?

Din, in all his distraction, hadn’t even noticed the sound of running water until it stopped. He spun on his heel and stared at the door in the corner which must have led into a fresher. Din wasn’t alone. His hand snapped to his hip for his blaster but met air. Maker, he’d be happy when this concussion finally passed. He scanned the room for any kind of weapon he could use and as he grasped the nightstand drawer he froze. Sitting on top of the small table was a holo image being projected up from a disk as decor.

It was a photo of you and Grogu. Din narrowed his eyes at it in confusion. The two of you were at a park of some kind, but he couldn’t recall where or when this had occurred. The door opened, making Din jump in surprise. Fine, concussion or not, he’d fight his way out by hand. However, as if he couldn’t possibly be caught more off guard, you stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?” You stepped toward him and Din stayed frozen in place. Your hands came up to run across his bare chest before settling on his waist where you continued to trace your fingertips up and down in a repetitive pattern. There was so much happening at once that Din didn’t even know what to think. It didn’t help that the moment your skin touched his, his mind seemed to short circuit. “I was trying to let you sleep in for at least a little.”

Ever since you had confessed to him weeks ago that you wanted more than just a friendship Din had been plagued with dreams of you. Visions of you moaning under him as he buried himself into your warmth, of you riding his cock while his hands explored your body, of him simply holding you in his arms and memorizing your features unimpeded by his helmet. But never had it ever felt this real. 

“Din?” You tilted your head. Hearing his name from your lips, he shuddered. How was this happening? You staring up at his bare face and whispering his name in concern. 

Din tried to open his mouth and speak, but his voice had left him. When you confessed to him, it had taken every fiber of his being to not react. As much as he cared about you, as badly as he wanted you, he knew it was a bad idea. Din knew he had to draw a line to keep you safe. He was dangerous and Din knew it was selfish of him to keep you and Grogu around despite that. He always figured the two of you would go your separate ways when the jedi were found and Grogu was delivered, but Din would never be able to say good-bye to you if he crossed that line. So he lied. Told you he didn’t feel the same and walked away leaving you teary eyed and broken hearted. 

You frowned. Your eyebrows furrowed and he had the overwhelming urge to smooth out your brow with his fingers. Trace every inch of your face with his hands. “You look sad, love.” You lifted your hands to cup his face. “Did you have that nightmare again?”

“Wh⏤What?” Din’s voice was quiet and ragged.

“We’re safe now. You don’t have to worry.” You caressed his cheek. “Me, you, and Grogu. We’re all safe. We have a home. Our days of running are over.”

Din shook his head. “No, no. We were in the Dune Sea. I⏤I missed the trip wire and we fell. You were hurt. We⏤”

“Din, that was so long ago. Out of all the bantha shit we’ve dealt with I’m surprised that memory is the one plaguing you.” You said.

Din pulled out of your arms. “It wasn’t. It just happened. You’re lost⏤ You’re hurt. I have to⏤”

“I’m not lost. I’m not hurt. I’m safe, right here with you, in our home. Grogu is still sleeping down the hall. There’s no place safer for our son and I.” You set your hands on his chest once more. “Grogu with his buir, and I with my riduur.”

Din was so shocked by the Mando’a that left your lips that he didn’t even register the soft kiss you pressed in the middle of his chest. Right where his iron heart would be if he had his armor on. You stepped away from him, walking to the dresser off to the side, and Din watched you go until you let the towel fall from your body. He forced his gaze up to the ceiling to keep from staring. Something felt wrong. Was this a dream? Was he dead?

Din didn’t trust the world around him.

You startled awake. A cloud of panic and fear drowning you.

“Mando!?” The nickname left your lips before you even registered a thought. You scrambled to sit up, arms reaching out to try and find purchase, but it was too dark to see anything.  Even without your sight, something felt familiar about the material under your body and the comforting smell surrounding you, but the last memory of the smugglers dropping the spice bomb had too much adrenaline rushing through your body for you to think properly. 

The wall in front of you shot up with a metallic click and a light blinded you. Hands grabbed your calves and you screamed again trying to kick them off. “Mesh’la! You’re safe!” Mando’s modulated voice filled the air. “You’re on the Razor Crest. You’re in my bunk.”

Your eyes adjusted to the light and you recognized your setting. That’s why it was familiar. Mando’s scent surrounded you as you were nestled in the blankets and pillow he used to sleep. Standing at the bunk’s entrance was the Mandalorian himself. He looked unharmed, but he always looked unharmed when he was covered from head to toe in his beskar.

“Mando!” You cried in alarm and launched yourself at him. He didn’t complain when you wrapped your arms around him tightly. Mando simply held onto you and kept you from knocking him over. This should be awkward considering how he had bluntly said he felt nothing for you only weeks ago. But, you were so relieved that he was safe and alive that you didn’t care. His hands rubbed your back soothingly as he mumbled soft reassurances. “I thought you⏤ I thought we⏤”

“We’re safe, mesh’la.” Mando replied.

You leaned back and he kept his arms around you. “What happened? The last thing I remember…” It hurt to try and pull the memory out of your own head. Spice bomb. Red dust had rained over you and Mando. You passed out on top of him. “The⏤The bomb.”

“It knocked you out.” Mando said. “My helmet filtered it out, I think. I woke up with you on top of me and the smugglers were climbing down. We fought. I won. Then I carried you back to Peli’s.”

“All of that happened?”

“We’re in hyperspace now.”

“How,” You shook your head, “How long was I out?”

“Two days. The spice hit your systems hard. I was⏤” Mando cleared his throat, the sound scratchy through the modulator. “I was worried about you, mesh’la.”

It was only then you realized you still had your hands resting on his shoulders and he had his own wrapped around your waist as you sat on your knees⏤ the bunk making the two of you eye level. You swallowed nervously. “I, uh, it was you I was worried about. Your head. I thought I saw blood when you were out cold.”

“Small injury. Only took one round of bacta to clear up.”

“Good.”

“You, on the other hand,” Mando mumbled. He brushed his gloved fingers across your face. The touch lingered on your cheekbone. The same one that had hit the ground hard enough to make your face throb. Mando pulled his other hand away to wrap around your non-bruised and non-swollen wrist. How much bacta had he used to get all your injuries healed in two days? “Mesh’la, I am so sorry.”

You shook your head. “None of that was your fault.”

Mando kept quiet, as if he didn’t agree but didn’t know what else to say. The sound of a soft coo made you lean forward and peer around the edge of the bunk where Grogu was standing by the ladder leading up to the cockpit. He lifted his arms and waddled closer. Mando released you to pick the small child up. Grogu whined until Mando set him in your lap and you didn’t hesitate to cuddle the boy to your chest.

Thank the Maker, he hadn’t been with the two of you. You let out another sigh of relief. It seemed like you and Mando had gotten out of the pit by luck alone and you don’t know what you would’ve done if Grogu had been harmed during the whole thing.

“Here. Let’s get you some food.” Mando set a hand on your elbow to help you slide out of the bunk. What caught you off guard was when he let his hand travel from your arm to your lower back as he led you toward the ladder. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his entire frame. Mando was a good man. It wasn’t the shiny, silver metal of a Mandalorian you were attracted to or the reputation of a dangerous and strong bounty hunter. You had fallen for the kind and protective man who hid under both of those roles. Mando’s head turned to stare back at you and a thrill went down your spine. He whispered your name.

You took a step away and cleared your throat. Mando let his arm fall away. Your obsession with him, your stupid idiotic crush on him, had you misreading signals left and right. The only reason you had confessed was because you convinced yourself that he was shooting you lingering looks and that every brush of his hand against you was purposeful and not a mistake made in passing. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled. Mando had made his position clear, and you were done crossing the lines and boundaries he had set.

“Can you get up to the flight deck alright?” Mando asked and you nodded. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Mando tilted his head toward the ladder and he waited until you began to climb⏤ as if he was worried you’d fall off mid-way up. When you got upstairs, you settled into the co-pilot’s chair with Grogu in your lap and stared out at the blurring lines of hyperspace. A small smile settled on your features.

The world around you was right again.

Din felt more like himself once he had his armor on. It still felt like the world around him was spinning and nothing made sense, but his beskar was like a heavy, impenetrable comfort blanket. He sat in a kitchen, helmet on, as he stared out at Sundari through a window that sat near a dining table. It seemed the home around him was part of a tower inside the domed city, and Din still couldn’t wrap his brain around that. The sound of footsteps startled him and he turned in time to see you padding down the hall with Grogu in your arms. He pushed to stand⏤ seeing the small child putting him at ease.

“Why do you have your helmet on?” You asked after handing Grogu to him. The child bounced in his arms chanting a recognizable sound asking for food. “Are you leaving already? Don’t you want breakfast?”

Din stayed quiet. You moved around the kitchen with the ease of someone who did this regularly, and he watched you make a meal. It didn’t make sense, he didn’t understand, but he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt toward you being so domestic. Especially after you had just claimed that he was your partner, your husband, your riduur.

“Come here, cutie.” You cooed to Grogu and he let you take the boy from him. You set him in a little high chair and set a bowl of food in front of him. As per usual, Grogu didn’t hesitate to begin scarfing down what was in front of him. You lovingly pressed a kiss to his head then walked over to lean at the corner of the kitchen island next to him. “Din, please talk to me.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la.” He sighed. 

You had shifted even closer to the bar stool he sat on. Din tensed when your hands settled on his thighs and you stepped between them. Slowly, you took his hand in yours and began to peel his gloves off. Din sucked in a breath, but couldn’t find a complaint to speak. You did the same thing with his other hand. Finally, your hands rested on his helmet, but you didn’t move. Not until Din gave a small nod. You pulled his helmet off carefully, respectfully resting it on the counter, and Din felt his features soften as he stared at you. Maker, you were beautiful.

“Din, listen to me, I love you.” You said. A pretty smile spread across your features and you took his face between your hands. “But if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I am going to kick your ass.” He chuckled and leaned into your touch. Was Din losing his mind? If this was insanity, it felt so good that Din really didn't think he minded. “Are you… Are you having one of your mornings?”

“One of my… mornings?” Din furrowed his brow.

“You know, when the nightmare doesn’t end.” You whispered.

Din shook his head. “This isn’t a nightmare. It’s a dream. A dream I don’t deserve.” He let his hands rest on top of yours with the plan to pull them away, but he was too weak to actually go through with it. Din sighed, “I lied to you.” A flash of confusion crossed your features. “I said I didn’t care about you in the same way you felt about me, but it was a lie. From the moment you stepped onto the Razor Crest I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. Mesh’la, you are my world.”

“Din, are you…” You paused then a small laugh left you, “Maker, are you talking about when we were trying to get to Mos Pelgo, still? I confessed to you and then we got caught weeks later and…” You shook your head. “Don’t scare me like that. When you said you were sorry and you lied, I was worried something had happened. It’s just a bad morning. They always pass.”

“What are you talking about?” Din asked.

“Fine. I’ll jump start your memory.” You pushed up on your tiptoes and then sat on his thigh. Naturally, his hands went around your waist to keep you from falling and your hands wrapped around his neck. “You confessed to me. It happened months later. You’re an incredible bounty hunter, but you move slow as hell, Din.” He narrowed his eyes. “It was right after we decided to keep Grogu with us. Become a real family. For the record, it also took you way too long to propose to me too.”

Din could picture it all and it made everything so much more confusing. Had that happened? No. Not yet. Yet? Had he meant to think of that word? Yet? Din wasn’t planning any of that, but it sounded right. No part of him thought he deserved you or Grogu, but Maker this was what he always wanted. It was the life he craved, but was too broken to admit aloud. 

“But,” Din tried to find a tether to hold him in reality, “Sundari. We live in Sundari? Mandalore is dead.”

“No, it wasn’t. The poison the Empire caused faded away. We rebuilt.” The sound of a door chime made you glance over your shoulder. “Kriff. She’s here early.” You slid off his lap. “Grogu, we’re gonna be late! Let’s get you cleaned up so Soran can walk you to school.”

Din watched you scoop Grogu up, the boy gave him a wave he returned numbly, and the two of you disappeared down the hall. Were his fears the reason he was confused? What if what you said was right? He was just trapped in a nightmare and it was keeping him from living his life. Din had finally taken the leap, taken the chance, and found his perfect home. Now, his fear was crawling back and trying to ruin it again. Din always did this. He always fought himself. It was why he had denied your initial confession and wasted so much time in the first place.

Moments passed, he could hear you moving around the home with Grogu. Until finally the door chime rang again. Din stood up and faced the hall. Seconds later, you stepped back into view. You gave him a bright smile. 

“Alright, where were we?”

Fully accepting this for what it was, Din marched toward you. Your feet came to a stuttering stop and an excitement filled your eyes. You knew what he was doing before even he knew entirely. Din basically tackled you, pressing your body as tight as he could to his chest, and crushed his lips to yours. You responded immediately. Your hands wrapping around his neck as his tongue found it’s way past your lips. Din let his hands trail down your back, over your ass, under your thighs, and with ease began to pick you up. Just like with the kiss, you were on the same page as he was. You jumped just enough for him to lift you off the ground and your legs wrapped around his waist⏤ locking your ankles at his back. 

Din had planned to carry you down the hall, back to the bedroom, but he felt you grind against him and that plan went right out the window. He slammed you against the wall, lips leaving yours to trail down your neck. Maker, he wanted you. Keeping you pinned to the wall with his hips, relying on your grip around his waist and neck, Din pulled his hands away so he could grab the collar of your shirt. He ripped it down to the middle of your torso so his mouth could reach your breasts.

“I liked that shirt, you know.” You gasped, but the way you kept trying to find friction against his hard on told him you didn’t like it all that much.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Din replied before leaving open mouth kisses down your chest. One hand went back to cup around your thigh and the other yanked your breast band down so his mouth could wrap around your nipple. The unholy moan that left your lips nearly made him come undone right then and there.

“You’re going to be late to work. They need you today.”

“Mesh’la, I don’t kriffing care.” Din said after pulling his lips away from your breast. His mouth found its way back to yours and after leaving a messy kiss there he pulled away only far enough to speak. “As far as I’m concerned the only place I’m needed is right between your thighs.” 

Din licked into your mouth, and he was startled when your hands untangled from around his neck. Then, with great proficiency, you began to unlatch his armor. His vambrace and left pauldron fell to the ground with a heavy thunk. “How did you do that so fast? How’d you know where the latches were?”

“I’m your wife, dummy.” You unlatched his right one, it joined the other on the floor, then you ripped the cloak out from under the top of his chest piece and pulled down on the collar of his shirt so you could leave too soft, teasing kisses against the hollow of his throat. “Now, either keep carrying me down the hall to our bed or drop me on the floor⏤ I don’t care, I just need you to fuck me.”

Din was not going to make it to the bedroom.

You rose from your seat with Grogu nestled in your arms sleeping. It hadn’t taken long for the boy to fall asleep between the warmth of your arms and the silence of hyperspace. As you drifted toward the door, Mando spoke up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna put him in his hammock is all.” You whispered.

Mando glanced over his shoulder at you then nodded. “Good. Come back up when you’re done.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise but you gave him a quiet confirmation before leaving the cockpit. You made your way down the ladder slowly and carefully so you didn’t wake or drop the little green gremlin snoring against your chest. You chuckled and rubbed his back while crossing the cargo hold. When you set him in the hammock, he stirred briefly and you took the time to lightly rock the hammock while humming him a lullaby. Only when you were convinced he had fallen back into a restful sleep did you find your way back to the cockpit.

“He’s down for the count.” You joked and dropped back into your chair.

Mando flipped a few switches on the panel before spinning the pilot’s seat so he was facing you. Your eyes widened and you shifted awkwardly in place. The weight of his heavy stare on you was intense. It burned into you and for a brief second you were sure he could see straight into your soul.

“What’s going on?” You asked. “You okay?”

“I could’ve lost you.” Mando whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“It’s over, Mando. We don’t have to think about it anymore.”

“It’s not over, mesh’la. There will always be another fight, another opportunity for someone to take you from me.” He argued. 

Mando wasn’t wrong. Your lives were a constant battle to maintain the upper hand over all the people trying to take Grogu and harm both of you. It was the exact reason why you had found the courage to confess to him in the first place. You stupidly convinced yourself that you didn’t want to lose anymore time⏤ waste another second. The silence in the cockpit was agonizing. You wanted so badly to break it, but you had no idea what to say to do so.

Luckily, Mando did not have that same problem.

“Come here, mesh’la.” He motioned you toward him with the curling motion of his fingers. You swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in the middle of your throat like a rock. “Please.” The word was spoken softly, but there was a firm undertone that made it feel less like a request and more like a command. You stood up and took the single shaky step that was required to put you in his reach. Mando’s hands found your hips and he startled you by pulling you into his lap. With a yelp of surprise, you were forced to rest your knees on the outside of his thighs. The moment you were situated Mando spread his own thighs further so each of your legs were pinned between him and the chair and you were even more open to him. “Oh, sweet girl…”

“Mando. What⏤ What are you doing?” You whispered. Your entire face felt hot⏤ kriff, every inch of you felt hot.

He shook his head, his hands roaming up and down your sides, “I never should have said no to you. What happened, it made me realize how much,” Mando raised a gloved hand to your face, “how much I care about you.”

“Wait, really?” You breathed. It was the stupidest kind of response to give and you hated that you just blurted it out. Mando chuckled in response, and you shook your head. “Mando, maybe you’re just… feeling this way because what happened was so fresh. We should give it a little time⏤”

“I spent two days waiting for you to open those pretty eyes for me, sweet girl.” Mando cut in. “I’m not losing another second with you.”

The hand fell from your face to rest on your shoulder and, with the other still on your hip, Mando pressed you down on top of him. He shifted his own hips so he could drag the hard bulge in his pants against your core. A sharp gasp of surprise left your lips. Mando kept you pressed against him and when he dragged his hip against yours again the sensation caused you to groan this time.

“Dank farrik.” Mando grunted as he bucked up against you⏤ this time you moved your own hips to add to the friction and he moaned. The sound of him losing control shot straight to your core and you let your hands rest on his chest so you could grind into him more. Maker, you wanted to hear that sound again.

Mando sat up straight and the only thing keep you from tumbling off his lap was the hand he wrapped around your waist. He reached past you, hands hitting switches and buttons, and suddenly the entire panel of flickering lights went dead. “Mando?” You questioned. He hit one more switch and you glanced over your shoulder to watch as the windows darkened until the lights of hyperspace couldn’t be seen. Nothing could be seen. A hiss of pressure release, then a hand took hold of your jaw to turn you back so you faced forward.

“Mesh’la.” Mando whispered. Before you had only heard his unmodulated voice from a distance, as he was eating out of sight or lying in his bunk with the door closed. But, now it was closer than you could ever imagine. He mumbled your name and you could feel the movement of his lips just barely brushing against yours⏤ his hot breath on your face. “Say you want me, mesh’la.”

You took in a deep breath and nodded. “I want you, Mando. I’ve always wanted you.”

Rather than pressing his lips to yours as you wanted, Mando lifted you with ease and pressed you against the control panel. Something sharp was jabbing you in the back, but you didn’t care. Mando’s leather gloves roughly yanked your pants down, underwear and all. You had lifted your hips just enough to help him, but when you lowered yourself back into a seated position you hissed at the cold metal against your bare skin. 

You lifted your hands to find his shoulders, you wanted to feel his face, but Mando’s hands grabbed you by the wrists and pinned them to the panel by your head. He leaned over you and slowly dragged his hard cock, hidden behind his flight suit, against your already dripping wet lips⏤ but it wasn’t the only lips you wanted touched.

“Kiss me, please.” You begged and tried to lift your head to find his, but he leaned back just enough to avoid you. “Mando, I want to feel you⏤ all of you⏤ please.”

“Not yet, mesh’la. Be patient.” His entire weight was pressing down on you. “Good girls are patient, and only good girls get rewarded. Is that what you want, mesh’la? To be my good girl?” You nodded, breathless from the agonizingly slow way he was grinding into you. “Words, mesh’la.”

“Yes.” You gasped. “Please, Mando, please⏤”

“How lucky am I?” Mando hummed. “To have such a pretty girl begging under me. I’ve wanted to make you fall apart since the moment you stepped onto my ship.” You tensed as an alarm began to faintly ring at the back of your mind. Something inside you was trying to warn you. Mando kept whispering loving words on top of you. “You’re mine, mesh’la. You’ve always been mine and you always will be.”

“No.” You tried to squirm out from under him, but Mando was much too large and much too heavy for you to even move an inch. “No, no, no.”

Taking the hint, Mando released your hands and jumped away from you. Breathless, you tried to sit up and gather your bearings. “What is it, mesh’la? What’s wrong?”

“This is wrong.” You shook your head.

“No, it’s right. This is what you want, this is what I want.”

“No, it’s not.” A sob left you. “You don’t want me. You said so yourself. You don’t want me. This isn’t right.” Your head was beginning to pound in pain and Mando’s voice sounded like it was suddenly far away. The cold metal under you was beginning to turn hot and the firm smoothness of the control panel was taking on a new texture⏤ something grainy that shifted under you. The darkness turned to a blinding light and you gasped as pain began to settle into you.

Your face was throbbing, you tasted blood in your mouth, and your right wrist was aching. Now you had a pounding headache as well.  You blinked your eyes, trying to clear the blurriness out of your vision, and you saw a man climbing down a ladder into the pit you laid in. The smugglers. The spice bomb. Your hand tightened around the blaster you had taken from Mando and you lifted your heavy arm to fire at the man. It hit him in the back and he fell from the ladder and landed motionless only a few feet away.

You blindly fired shots up to the ridge of the pit. Over and over⏤ not knowing what else to do. You fired so much that you never noticed the sound of someone else’s blaster mingling with yours. A familiar voice was calling out to you, but it wasn’t Mando. Your heavy arm sunk back into the sand, blaster falling loose, and your eyes began to droop in exhaustion.

You wished it was Mando calling for you.

You woke up slowly. Your entire body was sore and it took straight willpower to get your eyes to stay open. There was a thin cot underneath you and a flickering fire ahead of you. A groan fell from your lips as you tried to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa,” A familiar voice said, “Slow down there, little lady.”

“Vanth?” You tried to turn to find your friend, but a warm hand kept you from moving too much. Suddenly, Cobb Vanth was kneeling beside you with a charming grin. Your entire body sagged in relief. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now.”

Vanth rubbed his jawline and gave you a wink, “I am much better looking than those damned smugglers, huh? How’d you and Mando get caught up in all that mess?”

“Mando!” You sat up quickly, immediately wincing when a sharp pain shot through you.

“Maker, darling.” Vanth scolded. “Your tin man is doing just fine. He’ll feel just as shitty as you when he finally wakes up.”

You glanced around and just as Vanth said your companion was lying on a small rolled out cot of his own. The firelight dancing as it reflected off his beskar. “He’s really okay? I think he had a head injury.”

“He’s fine. I promise you.” You nodded and Vanth offered you a canteen of water. As he asked, you began to tell him the story of what happened. It didn’t take long until you reached the point of the story that made your cheeks warm. Vanth noticed your hesitance and bumped his shoulder into yours. “Say your piece.”

“They threw a spice bomb and… and some weird shit happened.”

“Yeah, a spice bomb will do that to you.”

“What is it?”

“Depends. What’d you see?”

You paused before shrugging. “I was on the Razor Crest. Traveling with Mando and Grogu. Like always. It was… it felt so real.”

“Probably glitterstim then.” Vanth made you drink more water. “I have no idea how you broke out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The drug should’ve put you under. Place you in a happy haze of the thing you want most and trap you there for as long as the drug runs its course. Too much and you can end up dying in that perfect little world.” Vanth explained. “Usually, you can’t get out unless someone hits you with an antidote. Something to cancel the effects of the glitterstim. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you shock yourself out of it.” Vanth shrugged. “It all happens quick. In the first few minutes you either fall into the spice’s trap or you snap through it. The fact that I saw you wake up and shoot that smuggler is quite the feat, darling. How’d you do it?”

You wrapped your arms around your legs and rested your chin on your knees. The drug in your system deemed your perfect world to be Mando confessing how badly he wanted you. How pathetic was that? You didn’t stay under because even in a drugged out haze your mind knew that it was fake. Mando didn’t want you. Not the way you wanted him. Tears filled your eyes. Vanth didn’t press for you to answer and instead set his arm around your shoulder as a comfort. You leaned into him and fell asleep.

Every single part of Din’s body hurt. It reminded him of when the mudhorn had tossed him around like a ragdoll. Every atom in his body though, despite the pain, screamed danger. Din forced himself to sit up, blaster drawn. He was in the desert, by a fire in the dead of night. Across from him, he saw Cobb Vanth sitting there casually. Din’s blaster was pointed at him, but Vanth just gave him a slight wave.

“Hey there, brother.” He greeted. “You can put the blaster away.”

“What⏤” Din began to ask, but then his eyes landed on you. Your head rested against Vanth’s thigh and he had one hand resting on your shoulder. Part of your face looked bruised and even from this distance he could see your busted lip.

“Smugglers got the jump on y’all. Hit you with a spice bomb.” Din holstered his blaster and cursed. Dank farrik. Whispers of his dream world lingered in his mind and Din had to shake his head to try and rid himself of the way your lips felt against his skin. “You’re lucky.”

“This is lucky?” Din asked dryly. Maker, his body ached. 

“Little lady here broke free of the spice dream.” Vanth said. Din’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know what he wanted to know more⏤ what your perfect world had looked like or how you had broken out of it. Vanth’s hand was tracing shapes on your shoulder as you slept and Din frowned at the touch. Coming from an imaginary world where he was fucking you, his wife, to reality where you were sleeping against another man was jarring. “You got stuck in it. Tell me, Mando, what was your perfect world?”

You were. You were his perfect world.

But, Din couldn’t bring himself to admit that in his current reality. 

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Could I possibly request a little Negan x hispanic!Reader? Reader has 3 kids from before the apocalypse and the toddler seems not to be scared of Negan?

Wandering Babies

Negan x plus size reader

When the ruthless leader of the Saviours bumps into a lost toddler in his city, his life gets changed forever, especially when his protective mother shows up.

Warnings: Negan being Negan, swearing, implied future relationship, fluff

WC: 1.3k

A/N: Hi nonnie! I don't usually write y/ns with a specific race since I like to remain as open as I can with them but I did give her kids traditionally Spanish names so I hope that was ok!

Minors DNI

“Well well well, what the fuck do we have here?” The sun shone brightly behind the giant of a man, casting his face in shadow. To any normal person, it would have scared the absolute shit out of them, especially with the looming threat of Lucille across his shoulders, but the toddler in front of him was smiling the whole time.

His big brown eyes focused on the man in front of him, looking at him in a way that only babies could. Kneeling down, Negan came face to face with the child. “The fuck do you want?” He said like he was addressing someone below him but the two year old just burst out into giggles, obviously finding this whole thing hilarious.

“I think that’s the new-comer’s kid.” Simon chose that moment to speak up and caused Negan to roll his eyes.

“Yeah I fuckin figured that.” He growled, not taking his eyes off the kid who was now inching closer. He wasn’t quite steady on his feet and wobbled dangerously with each step he took. Unconsciously, Negan’s free hand shot out and held the surprisingly plump belly of the child, keeping him upright. Tiny hands grabbed at his wrist but didn’t attempt to push him away. Instead he touched Negan's arm, pulling at the sleeve of his leather jacket. 

“I’m just wondering how the fuck someone could lose a goddamn kid.” The toddler continued to fiddle with the dark fabric, Negan only stopping him when he tried to put it in his mouth.

Simon shrugged behind his boss. “I mean she’s got three of em and she’s working in the kitchens and the infirmary.” That shocked the older man. Working two jobs was unheard of in the Sanctuary, one job could provide more than enough for someone and their family.

The kid suddenly released his wrist and raised his arms over his head, opening and closing his chubby hands in a clear sign. Releasing a deep sigh, Negan relented. He shoved Lucille into the awaiting arms of his second in command and picked up the child with an ease of someone who has done it many times before. His little head tucked into the crook of his neck, his fluffy brown hair tickling Negan’s nose.

“How about we go find your mother huh.” The toddler nodded. Just as Negan took a step forward, already planning a very angry speech to the boy’s mom, a woman ripped out of the building and his breath caught in his throat.

Her eyes were wide with panic but that wasn’t what caught his attention. She was gorgeous, all thick curves and fat like a Greek goddess. She blazed with anxiety and rage, poised for a fight against anyone that might have taken her child. “Tomas!” The child’s head shot back, clipping Negan’s chin as he did.

“Mama!” She spun and locked eyes with the big bad leader of the Saviors and shamefully, he felt his knees buckle. Tomas squirmed in his hold, eager to reach for his mother but Negan was frozen in place. Two other children trailed behind her like ducklings, a pair of twin girls that looked to be 8 or 9 years old. 

As she drew closer, he could see the details of her face, the scars and blemishes but more importantly, the huge dark circles that marred her otherwise perfect visage. She stopped a yard away from him, quickly shoving her girls behind her back. “Thank you for finding Tomas, he has a bad habit of wandering off when I’m not looking.” Her voice was steady, he supposed from years of practice.

“He is a very sweet fucking kid.” One of the girls gasped, her hand coming up to her mouth in a comical expression of shock.

“He said a bad word, mama.” The other whispered just loud enough for Negan to hear. 

“You shouldn’t let your fucking kids run around without supervision, that’s how they get killed.” Her murderous glare set itself on Simon as she took another step forward. Negan could see what she was planning to do, grab Tomas and then go after the tall man. 

But before she could make her move, Negan did. “How about you go and fuck off, I need to have a fucking conversation with this lovely woman and you are really killing the mood with your fuck ugly face.” There was a brief moment of tense silence before Simon thrust Lucille into his free arm and turned with a huff to walk away, muttering under his breath.

The woman breathed a sigh of relief, her walls crumbling slightly but they were quickly built back up. “Could I please have my son now?” Tomas was lifted from his arms but Negan realised he missed the weight of the toddler against his chest. He suddenly felt a hell of a lot colder than he did before.

The boy gave out a great big sigh as he settled into his mother’s bust, utterly exhausted from his escape attempt. Two little heads poked out from behind her legs, studying the man that had been holding their brother. “Well who are these two pretty girls?” Shyly, they clung to their mom’s jeans, not answering him.

“Isabella and Lucia.” She responded for them.

“Two fucking gorgeous names for two gorgeous girls.” They smiled bashfully but didn’t try to hide again, he took that as a win. “And which one of you are going to tell me your mama’s name? I bet her name is just as beautiful as her.” He raised his head to look at said woman, expecting her to be as flattered as her daughters but instead he was met with a glare even dirtier than the one she gave Simon.

“Oh now that is a dirty damn look! And I would be lying if I said it didn’t turn me the fuck on.” Her jaw ticked with annoyance but that only made his smile grow wider across his stubbled cheeks. He gave an exaggerated shiver which made the girls giggle. “Wowie your mother is goddamn scary.”

“Yeah! Once she kicked Derek’s dad in his private place because he said something mean to her.” Isabella finally spoke up, her little voice gaining confidence. Lucia nodded along with her sister in agreement, still too shy to say anything yet.

“Well Derek’s dad deserved it for being such an asshole to your lovely mother. Now how about we go have some fucking dinner and keep disguising how amazing she is.” Those seemed to be the magic words because the twins emerged fully from behind said woman’s legs and ran at him. With absolutely no hesitation, Negan dropped Lucille beside him, kicking the bat away so neither of the girls would accidentally hurt themselves. 

Just like their brother, they each took hold of one of his jacket sleeves and yanked. “Can we have spaghetti?” “Do you have ice cream?” “Mama, can we go with him?” “Mama please!” “Mama!” They screamed in quick succession, not giving either adult any time to answer before asking their next question. Negan gave her a victorious look. 

He could tell she wanted to say no but her girls had finally opened up to someone new for the first time since the world ended and, even though she loved them, she could use a break from their clingy behaviour. “Fine but no complaining about an early bedtime tonight. Remember mama has to work early tomorrow.” They exploded into excited shouts and began tugging the older man forward, eager to talk to him.

Negan let them pull him along but he looked back at the woman that had so entirely captured his attention, throwing her a wink. “We’ll stay up as late as you want and don’t worry about your job mama, I’ve got that all covered. You just need to sit back and relax tonight and let me do all the work.”

Her eyes widened and then darkened with a barely hidden lust at the double entendre and he just chuckled deep in his chest. He’d gotten her and maybe, just maybe, a new chance at life with this little family, all because Tomas liked to wander.

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❝ 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 ❞

❥ pairing: dick grayson x civilian f!reader (part 2 of a series)

❥ summary: dick has to find you after all he put you through you don't deserve what your ex is doing to you.

❥ warnings: moreee angst, fighting, acts of violence, many mentions of depression, anxiety and thoughts of death

❥ wc: 3.8k

"I think the best plan here may be to pay the price, Grayson," says Damian walking into the Batcave, nearly dragging a half-awake Tim.

"That's just dumb, for all we know he'll just use the money to take her away with him. Steph and I will get her back. This guy is clearly a coward" Cass says in an annoyed tone while leaning on Duke who kept quiet.

"What if he has used his own money to hire people to fight us, he can't be that sure that we would actually pay the price," Bruce says interrupting the conversation. "And I do mean "we", y/n is practically family Dick if you decide you want me to pay the ransom we will"

"That's quite a lot of money to risk Bruce," says Barbara "Cass may be right, he might just take her away once he gets the money"

"Stop it you guys, just let me think!" Dick nearly screamed, trying to hold himself together. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see that it was Jason, "I know you're not exactly happy with me right now. But out of all of us, we need to be strong Dick. In a situation like this, we need you as our leader"

Dick didn't know how to feel, of course he needed to be the leader but he couldn't even manage to be a good boyfriend to you. Could he even save you? Were you still even alive? The blood on that envelope had been dried for fucks sake. And Steph had told him she hadn't seen you in 2 months, not since you moved back into your place.

No wonder he couldn't track you, you had been kidnapped for 2 goddamn months, and was his fault. He fucked up and left you alone to heal, he didn't realize how stupid of an idea that was. But for now, he needed to let go of that, he needed to find you and rescue you.

"We're not paying the ransom, even if y/n is still alive…he'll most likely take her with him," Dick says, causing everyone to stop their chatter. "Babs I need you to try and locate them, I know it may be a lost cause but it is our only bet"

He pauses for a second formulating a plan. You had been kidnapped for an estimate of 2 months now and if you were still alive, that meant your ex was still here. Which means he needed money.

"Tim, could you do a background check on y/n's ex? Find out his patterns, if he doesn't get money from me he'll definitely be looking for other ways to obtain some" Tim who was half awake, nodded and opened up his laptop to work alongside Barbara. Dick kept silent for a while before asking the rest of them to try checking abandoned warehouses, or any other places they possibly thought you could be.

Bruce tried talking to Dick but he tuned him out. Over the years he learned how to pick out the bits and pieces Bruce wanted him to hear and ignore the rest but right now he was tuning him out completely. The thought of you being dead made him sick, things weren't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to protect you, he loved you that's all there was to it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and it was Jason. He didn't say anything and that's exactly what Dick needed. He needed a moment to breath and just think.

He knew you ex was crazy but he didn't really know anything else about him. He didn't know if maybe there was a past of crimes he overlooked or maybe your ex was even the man he claimed to be. For fucks sake, he wished he had listen to you more when you talked, when you had practically begged him to. He thought that he was doing you a favor but all he did was put you in danger.

He could only hope that you would forgive him.

It was cold and empty. The air felt harsh to breathe and you never felt so dead. You weren't sure if something was holding you down or if you just couldn't move.

Everything hurt.

There where flickering screens in the background while soft hum got louder and louder. You could barely make out what was happening around you and maybe you didn't even want to know. Your eyes searched the room, you were in a bed covered by what seemed to be a blanket. You were tied down, your body was just weak. Where were you? What time was it? When was the last time you had eaten food? Were you dying?

The flickering screens finally caught your attention and there you saw him standing in front of a bunch of TVs, your ex-boyfriend and all your memories came flooding back. He kidnapped you...how long ago was that? And where were you? Your mind could only think of one person: Dick Grayson. You meant it when you told him, you couldn't be with him any longer but that didn't mean you didn't still love him. You'd be crazy not to when you and Dick had met you not he was some flirty playboy who flirted with every girl until he showed you otherwise. After dumping your crazy ex and going to Divk for comfort, you realized how caring he could be. So you entered a relationship with him with high expectations that he'd always treat you so well and everything between you to have been perfect.

Then he'd started cancelling plans last minute and you knew something was up. Dick didn't like secrets and it was the biggest surprise when he confided in you that he was Nightwing. You were obviously worried, worried one night he wouldn't come home but you accepted him because you loved Dick Grayson, not Nightwing. You met Jason soon after and the two of you hit it off, Dick wasn't fond of the friendship but Jason didn't mind looking after you. Jason saw you like family. Yes, he was dangerous but he knew it would break Dick's heart if anything ever happened to you.

A quiet sob fell from your lips while you thought about Dick. You hadn't even realized your eyes were filled with tears and that your fingernails were digging into your palms. You wanted to cry and shout, but you knew that was dumb. You didn't know if anyone was coming to save you but that didn't mean you wouldn't try and keep yourself alive.

While you tried you calm yourself down, you saw a black figure walking over towards you. You knew it was Roman so you closed your eyes.

Pretend to be asleep.

He won't notice.

You steadied your breaths and allowed them to fall into a pattern while his steps grew heavier and closer. His hand gently stroked your face, making you mentally gag. "You used to be sooooo perfect for me...but then you put your nose where it didn't belong" You felt something cold and thin press across your face. A blade. If you hadn't been scared before you definitely were now.

The fear inside you wasn't just from the blade but more of what he was going to do with you after. You know he isn't going to kill you because he would've done that by now but no possible way he wants to stay in Gotham. Were you still even in Gotham? There were still so many unanswered questions, but all I knew was that this room was decorated with old TVs that it seemed that Roman had been using. Still, all that didn't matter, staying alive and staying put did. If there was any chance you were in Gotham and anybody was looking for you, all you had to do was just hold out a bit longer. Dick would come for you, if anybody would, it had to be him.

The cold feeling of the blade eventually left your face and after a couple sentences of mumbling and mutters, those heavy footsteps finally walked away and slammed a door behind him. A opened your eyes and your breaths became more frantic, you knew for sure now that you were alive and that you could handle this. Small bits of pieces of what you had experienced here popped into your head but you shoved it back down. Now wasn't the time. You need to calm down and think. For all you know staying put may not work. You wanted to still be angry with me but how could you be when all you wanted was to be in his arms again. You need to see him again, even if it's just to hug him.

You needed to see Dick one last time because you were still so hopelessly in love with him.

Dick is standing in front of your favorite cafe. It was on the verge of closing and he could never understand what appeal you found in it. You said the coffee was really good especially when you put a bunch of sugar in it but didn't that apply to most coffee? For a brief moment, he smiled at the thought of maybe being able to share coffee with you like that. Just one last time, if you'd still have him.

Dick had always been fascinated by you. You were so accepting of him and his family and there was never a moment where he doubted your love. He never meant to accuse you of cheating, if he could take it back he would. If he could re-do that entire night over, he'd do it properly. He'd apologize for canceling your date and explain to you how he had been feeling for your safety. He shouldn't even have let you go that night, he should have told you the truth.

For the last month, while Tim and Barbara endlessly searched Gotham's cameras CCTV, and public records the rest of the siblings spent their free time tearing through every abandoned warehouse in hopes of finding you but they failed every single time. Every day Dick contemplated paying the ransom and risking losing you if you weren't already gone. He needed you back and he wasn't the only one worried about you.

Your parents were worried sick, all they know is that you were kidnapped but it still hurts them. Your relationship with them may not have been the greatest but that didn't mean they wanted to lose you completely. They never liked Dick, they tried to be supportive but Dick once showed up. He knows now how badly he mistreated, how much he fucked up. All you did was love and care for him and he let you down time and time again but wouldn't this time. He was going to find you and never leave your side again.

He left the cafe and went towards the phone store nearby. Dick had bought you your latest phone but never got around to connecting it to Barbara's location system which tracks all of them including Bruce. Which meant he had to go to that store and see if they could track it using the information when it was bought. He even managed to find the box it came in in your apartment.

He was able to find out that your phone was either dead or broken because it was disconnected. He thought he had reached another dead end until the cashier said its last location was tracked which was supposedly a play near Gotham's most popular TV company's buildings. The only abandoned one is the former headquarters but just getting into there is difficult, there is no way you'd be there and no one knew right?

He left with that thought on his mind and a cup of disgusting coffee full of sugar.

The quiet hum of the computers and the small chat between his sibling filled the room while Dick tried to eat his dinner. He picked at the fried rice Jason had picked up for him and the rest of his family. All it did was remind him of you and the way you always wanted to order out instead of eat something home cooked. It wasn't cause you were bad at cooking but more because you loved trying new foods every once in a while. Dick bit down on his tongue hard, tasting a cold metallic taste that barely brought him back to reality.

It had been nearly a month since you had gone missing. Daimen thought you were dead. Cass and Steph kept going through your apartment, looking for something to stop them from giving up. Jason was silent. Bruce was angry, he saw you as the perfect fit for Dick. He had never seen his son happier. Babs knows you're a survivor, you wouldn't die on her like that.

"Dick, snap out of it", Barbara said slowly reeling him back into reality. You and her had always gotten along so well, especially after Barbara got shot, you were there for her like a sister. That when he knew, that's exactly when Dick knew he was in love with you and couldn't handle watching people he cared about in pain. "Tim and I found some stuff...we have good news and bad news"

"Just tell me" He grunted out, whatever it was he could handle it, as long as there was a chance you were alive. You had to be alive, you still loved him and he had so many apologies to give you once he had you back into his arms again.

"Once I hacked the CCTV of y/n's apartment I was able to get a couple of photos of this "Roman Jennings" guy and I had Tim cross-reference them with what we knew already knew about him.." she paused as if what she said next could break Dick "This guy doesn't exist in Gotham. Not only do no records tie to him...there's no information on him anywhere"

Dick knew that most of Roman's murders had been made look like suicides and hadn't been caught but he hadn't realized that maybe "Roman Jennings" doesn't exist and that they might've been following a false lead the entire time. How could he waste a month on this? What if she's really dead-

Calm down, Grayson.

Worrying will get you nowhere.

"I'm guessing that's the bad news?"

"Yup, the good news is that, on the cameras near that abandoned TV company's old headquarters, I found the same guy leaving and entering the building every day for the last 6 weeks. I'm not completely sure but I think that's our guy" Dick was sure he heard her completely but that didn't matter. Your phone had last been located in that area and it was the only lead they had. He knew you didn't have much time and there was no way he was just going to sit here and wait.

"I'm going to check it out, Babs sends me the coordinates," Dick said as he put down the food on the counter. The silence that was surrounding him, should've been a sign that for the words that come next but Dick just couldn't think about all that right now. He needed to get to you, bring you home. Bruce felt a need to interject but he felt that it wasn't his place. But Jason had no problem with interfering especially in this situation, "Y'know you're not going in alone right? And definitely not without a plan"

Jason grabbed onto Dick's arm, roughly pulling him away from the door. The tension between them had never been resolved, no matter how many times Jason tried to make it clear that he never had any romantic feelings for you. Jason saw you as family and tried to be there for you especially since most of the time you got upset because of Dick. Bruce was ready to step in now, seeing as Dick was now angry, stressed, and running on practically no sleep. Dick rips his hand away in anger and pushes Jason, "Jason I really don't need your opinion on this, y/n has been trapped for almost 3 fucking months now. If I don't go right now, she could die"

"If you go in alone and angry, you might just be the reason she dies. Do not fuck this up for the rest of us" It hadn't really occurred to Dick that maybe this wasn't just about him and that the rest of the family had cared about you. Dick had always seen Jason as a wedge between the two of you but he never really thought he actually cared. He thought Jason just did it to mess with him. Before Dick could even respond, Steph spoke up, "She's our family too Dick, we all want her home but we have to do this right"

"Y'know she's the only one, I can talk to about menial matters," Damian says quietly, "She made it easy to just talk about those small things even the stupid ones" Maybe the stress of the situation had caused him to forget how much of positive impact you had on his family and how much this was affecting them. "Look I'm sorry guys I just…

"Want her back?" Bruce says looking over at him "we all do, so just give us a couple more hours to plan how we're getting inside and what we will do?"

Duke who had been quite quiet finally speaks up, "I think you should rest Dick. If you're going to be the one to get her out of there you need rest. Proper rest"

"I second that!!" Cass says, appearing from behind Duke. All Dick could do was nod, he was tired and stressed and just needed a little bit of sleep. He left with a weak smile and found of the guest rooms in the manor. Once he hit the best he was out like a light. That night he dreamt of you, your smile, your cute hobbies, your contagious laughter, and more. While he slept he dreamt of you, kissing you, loving you and even marrying you. Dick Grayson was utterly in love with you and couldn't wait any longer for you to come home to him.

The next morning after that was stressful, to say the least. Barbara and Tim had calculated the best time to infiltrate the headquarters when Roman wasn't there. Except that was during daytime which meant no Nightwing. Attracting attention could only get more people hurt and Dick wasn't going to risk it. Jason, Cass, and Steph agreed to come along while Damian was on standby with Duke and Bruce. Tim and Barbara would be feeding Dick information through an earpiece and would be doing the same for everyone else.

Their plan wasn't perfect but it was the best they had. Dick would in with Steph, while Jason and Cass stayed outside to not only stop Roman from entering but also catch him. Jason and Cass had no problem being ruthless if they had to be but since there was still light out they would have to keep a low profile. Officer Gordon borrowed them police uniforms which they hoped would be enough to scare Roman away if he even sees them. If not, they were ready to fight if it came to that.

Dick and Steph quietly entered the abandoned building, they went through a back door Tim was able to locate after finding the building's original floor pans. The entire building was very old and quite huge so, Tim mapped out the building for them so it would be easier for you to be found. If you were even in there. Inside the building was extremely cold but it didn't seem abandoned. It actually looked like a home. Which was a good sign, it confirmed someone was staying here. It meant there was a chance you were here. "Did she talk about me?" Dick asked Steph, trying to break the harsh silence. The two hadn't spoken up since the two of you had broken up. Steph didn't take sides but she wasn't exactly happy to hear how Dick was treating you and behaving.

"Depends, what are you willing to hear"

"Anything at this point"

Steph was quiet for a while, the two of you had searched through about 2 offices and 4 other open spaces and nothing had come out of her mouth. Dick was just about to let it go just before Steph finally spoke up, "She hated loving you. Not in a bad way, just in a way that made her miserable but feel ungrateful. She thought that she was difficult to love especially since you had been the one to approach her. She hated fighting with you but she hated the thought of her not being enough more"

Dick knew he had fucked up at every turn of your relationship but he hadn't realized how much that really had affected you. how much damage he did. In his mind he was just hurting himself but this whole time you had been the one suffering. "We all have underlying issues Dick so not everything that went wrong was on you and believe me y/n really loved you. After she'd been done ranting, she'd always think of how happy you made her and how sweet you were to her when you actually showed up. There's no doubt she would have married you"

"Would have?"

"You accused her of cheating Dick, she loved you endlessly and you just threw it in her face," Steph said after checking another room that was once again empty. "You hurt her in a way that shouldn't be forgiven and you'd be very lucky if she did forgive you"

"I know, I know! I would do anything to take back what I said to her, what I did to her. Do you know what I would give to be able to restart our entire relationship from the beginning? Do you know what I would give to open this next door and believe she's in it?" Dick kicked open the door in anger, the room was filled with lit-up TVs that seemed to be surveilling the abandoned building and parts of Gotham.

Dick wasn't sure if was he hallucinating from all the anger, stress, and need but there you were in what seemed to be an air mattress with a blanket and a book. You looked weak, like you hadn't eaten much but you seemed okay? Like you weren't hurt physically because Dick knew the deepest scars were always mental.

"y/n?"

Your name barely left his lips but it was just loud enough for you to hear. You turn to look at him and first he can see the surprise on your face and the relief but that quickly changes to a soft smile. A smile that could break his heart and fix it in an instant. A smile that he hopelessly missed. Dick never stopped loving you and he could only hope you still loved him and maybe, just maybe in that moment that's all that matters.

❥ taglist: @meowkn, @kazzattack @chichinaylo, @yourlocalcringydaydreamer, @orchidsangel, @nia-jul, @mayfieldss, @millyhelp

[taruth3mighty]

I have to rant about the Key Guardians of Doodle World. You could say it's some Food for Mind. Usually when it comes to the architype of test for the player to see if they are strong enough to progress or if they've made progress. This architype for this test is most well known as something called a 'Gym Leader' For Doodle World, their 'Gym Leader' are the Key Guardians. Just like a gym leader, you are there to defeat them and obtain something as proof of your strength. But the special thing about the Key Guardians. Unlike Gym Leaders, who do it as a job and have multiple badges. Key Guardians only have one key. Whoever beats them first that wants the key, gets it. And being a Key Guardian is something that's passed down to them through family, it's more like a duty rather than a job. The Key Guardians are the main focus of the game in many ways, I love how the game incorporates the 'badges' of the game. It's important lore and gameplay wise. You have to be the first to get the keys. Which is why Quincy and TJ are more rivals than other rivals since there is only one key for each Key Guardian. Meaning if they can't get this one key, they don't have a key. Another thing. Every Key Guardian has some kind of twist them that makes them different from even Gym Leaders. A gym challenge before you face the Gym Leader themselves. Nimbus has you go through a traditional puzzle to prove yourself worthy to fight him. The closest to a traditional gym challenge. Von Sweets... is dealing with problems and locked himself away, so you need to get him out. By beating the shit out of a bear. Erika is seemingly this strong tamer that's a typical excellent student, but only after getting to know her and you are put in danger that it's revealed she's a Key Guardian. Then she faces you once you deal with the danger. You hear that Zane is the supposed Key Guardian, after the last three being revealed directly to you, with a guy like him and so much pointing to him being the Key Guardian, the twist is that he ISN'T the Key Guardian. It's actually Victor Solis, the guy that told you to go after Zane just so he wouldn't get his hands dirty. That's the twist there. And the last twist is Anna Where instead of trying to find out the next key guardian, its outright revealed to you. And instead of trying to defeat her, you must instead protect her. All of the Key Guardians have a different twist, all that flow with their characters so well. Oh yeah, Key Guardians actually have personality. Sure, with Nimbus and Von Sweets, it's a bit hard to say. But with Erika, Zane, Victor Solis and Anna. All of them are memorable due to their respective arcs that surrounds them. I mean Erika is so loved that she's often drawn with the main cast. I love the Key Guardians and the roles they play.

[isolophilian]

"this has always been a family story" "this is the kind of family they are" directly points to how fucked up the gods and the way they operate are, and how Percy can see it and understand it. Sally raised him with unconditional love, and did everything she could to protect him; Grover stood up for Percy again and again, got himself into trouble with Chiron and Mr D for him, and i think we all know that he would do literally anything for him; Annabeth has known him for only a few days and has already put herself at risk multiple times, and was willing to sacrifice herself on the arch. all of them have shown him what family is actually supposed to be, and how Poseidon, or any of the gods, don't even come close to that, because they couldn't even do the bare minimum (maybe Poseidon sending the nereid counts but he's still a deadbeat so fuck him)

he's called them out repeatedly about how they act like if for their child to be worthy of their love, they must prove themselves, as though love is a scoreboard that needs to be tallied. it wouldn't even be right to call it transactional because that implies that it's a give and take system; no, it's not even that. the gods can just withdraw their support whenever they want, at a whim, proven by Athena, given the way she condemned Annabeth just because she "embarrassed" her. the daughter who worked to hard to be loved by her, to be the perfect child of Athena, always the leader, a literal 12 year old. "they'll always be in your corner no matter what" breaks my heart

Percy fights for those who he actually considers family. he was ready to throw hands with Gabe, you could literally see the rage in his eyes when he fought the minotaur, and he's still fighting for her by going to the Underworld. Percy chose Grover even after feeling betrayed by him ratting Percy out in the principal's office, and you can see him going to lengths to protect him. Percy said that he could never imagine being friends with Annabeth, but he still makes her laugh at the arch with that accent, and was ready to sacrifice himself in her stead despite being literally poisoned

him pointing out how the way the demigods talk about doing things to receive a god's attention, your fucking parent, going on dangerous quests for them, simply because they sired you, and just deciding to ignore you whenever they want, is ridiculous because that's not how family works. hell, that's not how parents are supposed to work. and Percy is going to change that. they're all going to change that

[mysticwolfshadows]

Taken - Zutara - Part 15

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Zuko had known Hakoda was going to leave the Tribe the second time he was in the South. When Zuko had agreed to help the Tribe that next morning, for Katara's sake, Hakoda had started asking subtle probing questions about the war effort.

It hadn't taken much thought to figure out why. Eventually, Zuko asked when he planned to leave, and Hakoda had confessed he needed to know if Zuko could be trusted to protect the tribe in his absence. To do so would be to betray the Fire Nation, and while Zuko may be banished, he is still their prince. Hakoda, taking his silence as hesitation, asked that he take his time to think, and give an answer another time he returned. For Zuko, it was a simple weighing of loyalty: his father or Katara.

Katara would always win.

Zuko had known, when Katara had run out, waving her arms to say goodbye, that he would do anything for her. And what was best for her was for the war to end and his father removed from the throne. And for that, they needed every fighter they could in the war. Including the Southern Warriors.

He continued his search for the Avatar, mostly to keep up appearances, eyeing his crew as they visited the Southern Air Temple. They found plenty of old Fire Nation war equipment, but the propaganda, how the Air Nomads had amassed a great army, was clearly false. He heard two of the soldiers whispering, asking where their weapons were. And Zuko had confessed his doubts in the Fire Nations glory.

His uncle, in turn, explained how they crew had come into Zuko's service.

While the crew had been a bit clumsy in formalities from the beginning, they had eased more under Katara's care. They had hollered back to her, and teased Zuko for the blush that they seemed to imagine on his face whenever they brought her up. But when his uncle had told them why they were assigned to Zuko's ship, they became so fiercely loyal to him. They would help in any way they could.

So, when they had returned to the South, the soldiers distracted Katara for Zuko, so he could meet with Hakoda. Without hesitation, Zuko had agreed. He would give Hakoda all the information he had access to, any information he gained. With each meeting, Hakoda and Bato were able to build a better plan. They knew what islands to avoid, what ports to go to to join with the Earth Kingdom Army. The Southern Warriors were thin, but they were sailors, and the Earth Kingdom had no real naval power.

At that last meeting, Zuko had entered the hut, found Bato holding back snickers and holding a stack of Southern clothes. Hakoda had explained he would be gone by morning, the Warriors sailing off at midnight. The women would stay behind with anyone under fourteen. Zuko had nodded, about to move the conversation, but Hakoda had grinned, and said there was one last thing he needed from Zuko before he could leave.

While Hakoda and Bato stripped Zuko down, wrestling him into Southern parka and tugging his hair into a warriors pony tail, his uncle stood by the entrance and pretended he wasn't laughing. When Zuko stumbled out of the tent, Katara was there to witness his humiliation. He felt ridiculous. He bet he looked ridiculous.

But then Hakoda was taking him away for ice dodging, putting him with the two boys that had turned fourteen in the past month. Zuko, knowing Sokka was supposed to turn fourteen soon, had asked Bato if the Southern Prince had already done his ice dodging, and Bato had side stepped the question. So they were leaving before Sokka could join the warrior ranks.

He had been placed on the jib for their ice dodging trial. The more sure of the other two was put as lead, with the last put on the sail. Hakoda explained that the leader must be sure in his decisions, and must speak each order with wisdom. While battling winds in dangerous waters, whoever manned the sail must be brave and true. And without a steady hand on the jib, they would all go down, so the crew must trust Zuko to keep firm.

They had barely started when they came across their first problem. Despite his confidence, the boy taking lead fumbled his commands, their boat began to get a bit to close to a few icebergs. The boy at the sail had panicked, his grip loosening on the main line. The two were afraid, fearing they would fail, fearing that Zuko couldn't be trusted. When they were on a clear course to scrape along one iceberg, Zuko planted his feet, holding the jib rope with a single, firm hand, and had sent a fire ball to thin as much as he could. They managed to skim by, and Zuko had snapped at them to get it together.

They managed to pull through, though barely. The two boys had managed to get it together enough in the end to earn their marks, but Hakoda was beaming when he painted the mark of the trusted on Zuko's forehead. Then the two warriors announced a hunt to celebrate. Zuko had been worried, the hunt going by in a blur.

In the end, they took down an arctic caribou, Hakoda and Bato whooping with the two other boys. Then, Hakoda had clapped him on the back, beaming. "Good job, son!"

His heart lurched, surprised by the pure and true pride in the mans voice. Zuko couldn't help by beam all the way back to the village, dragging the caribou with the other two. Katara had been furious, but she soon settled and celebrated with them. Zuko was welcomed by all in the tribe, though with some hesitation. Even if the tribe did not trust him fully, he was considered one of them now.

As the celebration waned, Katara had bid Zuko goodnight, promising to see him off in the morning. Guilt rose in his throat, unable to sleep. as he knew Katara wouldn't be saying goodbye to him. He waited, watching warriors slowly ease back out of their homes. As children slept on, husbands said goodbye to their wives, sons farewell to their mothers. He watched Hakoda clutch Kya tightly, before leading the warriors towards their boats.

Zuko watched them as they sailed into the night.

Come morning, Zuko still hadn't slept. He had his crew count food stores, so the cook could figure out how long it would last the tribe. They would need to be back before the food ran out, just in case, so he could help Sokka hunt.

When Katara came out, he couldn't dare look at her. His blood was roaring in his ears as she spoke, her words nothing but a buzz. Finally, she had snapped, using her bending to grab at the snow behind him and pelt him in her rage. She was gone by the time he stood, her brother not to far behind.

Everyone was watching him. Zuko took a breath.

"I know that not everyone trusts us," he said, his voice carrying over the quiet. "I know that my homeland has done terrible things, and that you may not want us here, but Hakoda asked that I help anyway I can. We will increase our visits, making sure that your food stores stay up. If you wish, I have men who have volunteered to stay behind, to help with hunting, fishing, or anything you need. They'll be at your disposal."

They continued to stare, so Zuko pressed on. "The point is, we're here to help. We're here to do as you need. So please, allow us to help as Hakoda asked us to."

A slow murmur rose from the tribe, mothers and sisters and daughters looking to one another for answers. Eventually, Katara's grandmother, the high elder of their council, stepped forward.

"Young man, you have done so much for us. It would not be right to ask for more. But you are as much of this tribe as Katara, myself, or any of us. Zuko the Trusted. You have earned that. So I ask that you contribute, as we all must, in these trying times."

She bowed her head, and plenty of the village followed her lead. Zuko returned it. They all began to gather around him, a plan slowly coming to shape. They would need two men, at least, to help Sokka. The younger boy had been on plenty of hunts, and would be able to direct two men, no matter how inept. With some help, the cook was able to figure out that the tribe should have enough stored to last a bit over a month and a half. Just in case, Zuko would plan to return within a month.

The village became a flurry of it's usual motion, with the added chaos of his crew preparing to leave two of their rank behind. It was during this flurry that Katara returned.

"How can I help?"

It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He could breath. He could stand tall. He could make it through this.

Even if it meant giving up on ever going home.

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[butwhatifidothis]

Do people really not see the inherent disconnect of the claim that Houses Claude is genuinely an amoral opportunist when his dream is to break down barriers to foster unity and peace? Like, is there not a fundamental incompatibility in having a desire for everyone to get along yet being a backstabber that throws people under the bus for their own benefit? From a personality/character standpoint, all that does is make Claude look like a ginormous ignorant hypocrite, and an idiot even though he's supposed to be smart. Because if his end goal is to create a diverse and harmonious community, how is he going to bring people together if he constantly betrays every side? And from a writing perspective, it makes no sense to have a character's actions and goals be completely contradictory and never address it.

Also for someone who is amoral, it sure is interesting in Balthus' Classroom QA Part 2 that Claude likes "ensure the fewest casualties" and dislikes "do anything to eradicate the enemy" when the question was "the war has been dragging for long so let's end it quickly". It's kinda like he has some principles or something.

Like, the idea of Claude being an untrustworthy backstabber who opportunistically takes advantage of everyone without ever growing close to them is just Hubert minus Lady Edelgard could be an interpretation of his character that aligns with at least his initial showing, or a surface level understanding of him. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he never fully opens up to anyone, he can in fact be fairly manipulative and callous; the crumbs are there, for sure.

But it also has to ignore how far he's willing to go to protect his people (putting himself in high danger when he is not sacrificial like, say, Dimitri is), or how he supports others having dreams for themselves (Goddess Tower), or how open he is to criticisms against what he thought (Cyril's support), or how he tries to be there for his friends (Marianne's support), or how he's open-minded enough to listen to people he initially thought needed to be his enemy (Rhea), or how violence is not just not something he considers but is something he actively rejects as a means of getting what he wants (The Alliance Leader's Ambitions, near the end), or how putting the people's lives in danger is something he is adamantly against (as you point out, Balthus' classroom question). A staggering amount of Claude's character has to be deliberately ignored in order to come to the conclusion that he's just a backstabbing opportunist who does anything to get what he wants (who magically gets fixed by Byleth's mere presence), because a backstabbing opportunist who does anything to get what he wants who magically gets fixed by Byleth's mere presence does not describe Claude.

Even if one were to take the game's writing failure of properly presenting Claude tackling racial issues (like never addressing Petra's situation despite having supports with her) you can't really deny that Claude is, in fact, a caring person after taking everything in his character into account. For all his flaws, he never abuses the trust people have in him to the extent that they are actively put in danger, nor is it ever the case that the "doesn't truly tackle racial issues" ever translate to anything so drastic as "which means he'll actively worsen relations between two countries." And, well, yes; you still do have to take into account that his dreams are of bringing people together and disregarding past bad blood. He never stops trying to achieve this dream, and he wants it to come true so badly that he is willing to let other people that he trusts rule Fodlan to work together with him to achieve it, shown in VW and even AM. That means a lot for someone like Claude, who is otherwise pretty slow to trust other people so deeply.

That's not someone who would use Leicester's bad history with Faerghus as fuel to violently invade it. That's not someone who would use Almyra's navy to make it look to Sreng like Faerghus tried to invade it. That's not someone who wants to conquer other nations and make his own come out on top. Those things describe Hopes!Claude, which 3H!Claude is not.

It's like. You know how some 3H's fans see 3H as "Edelgard, Dimitri, and the third guy that justifies my fave"? How a lot of people in 3H's fandom don't really see Claude as his own character with his own perspective and ideals and beliefs and morals that are unique to him, and only see him as a battering ram to try and knock down one of the other two lords? And so don't really care how he's characterized in other things (like fanfiction, fanart, meta, or in this case spinoff media) because they never really cared about him as his own character? But then get really, really, really defensive when you point out the flaws in their perception of him, saying that you're the one who never understood or liked Claude, because if you did you'd "realize" that he was always [insert vague, bland description that happens to prop up the lord they actually like]?

Yeah that's basically what's going on here. Most people who prefer Claude as their fave lord do not like Hopes!Claude, some of the loudest voices in the JPN Amazon reviews were of people who hated Hopes!Claude and were literally trying to warn Claude/GD fans away from Hopes as a game because of how awful their writing is, while nearly every Hopes!Claude fan that I've seen vastly prefers Edelgard as their fave lord and are - you guessed it! - very defensive when it comes to Claude fans venting their frustrations over Claude's shit-end-of-the-stick treatment he got in Hopes.

So like, yeah. It's less that people aren't directly computing that Claude's ambitions and character don't match how he's depicted in Hopes, but that they just don't care that it doesn't since 1) it justifies their fave and 2) they never really gave a shit about Claude anyway

[rileys-battlecats]

Finally made some simple reference sheets for my little guys :D I also put together some little facts about them and their personalities :P

Minare

pronounced mee-NAH-ray

Half leader, half figurehead to the rebellion against the current king and his heir

The people who work with her respect her as the last scion of the true royal line, but also they have known her since she was Fresh Out The Womb so she's also kind of their baby. Collectively. Collective rebel baby

Disregard the fact she's like. Early twenties. That's their baby girl

This makes Minare A Little Insane. She loves the rebels, they've supported her and her family through the worst times they've seen in living memory, but also She's An Adult and she NEEDS to have someone respect her and her decisions.

Her opinions don't always hold the weight that she thinks they should, her being the future ruler of the kingdom and all

Much of her work in the rebellion is stunted by the fact that she is THE last of the true royal family, so she is Not Expendable. They have to keep her safe, and she knows why, but it's also a little infuriating that she can't help more

Dangerous missions are an Absoultely Not, but Mina still helps by doing safer missions and planning/strategizing

She's been given tons of self-defense training, and she carries a short blade with her just about everywhere. This is seen as slightly unusual, but ultimately understandable for a young lady when she's traveling on her own often. Like having a can of pepper spray with you

Makes casual friends very easily; she manages to seem incredibly open and personable while simultaneously telling you Nothing important about her personal life

That being said, she doesn't have many close friends. She doesn't want to put anyone in danger, and she also doesn't want to put herself or the rebels in danger by making an opening that could be exploited. Her friendship with Vaitus is something that happens without her really meaning for it to happen. She just looks up one day and realizes she's gotten way too attached to this guy that was supposed to just be another acquaintance

She's got a protective streak a mile wide. if she makes the connection in her brain that she's responsible for someone, they INSTANTLY become someone Under Her Protection. This clashes with the inherent sacrifices she has to make as a leader of a political rebellion with high stakes consequences for each decision made

If one were to ask a random citizen of the capital if they know Minare, 9 times out of 10 they're at least acquainted with her. she's always keeping an ear out for people who need help, and is known for being able to give them a hand. If she's not doing the helping herself, she probably knows a guy

Loves finicky work. tinkering, fixing things, touching up stuff, anything that most people would find boring to work on, she's your gal

Vaitus

I'm. not sure how to explain pronunciation like I did with Minare. It's 'Vai' like in 'vital', and 'tus' like in 'tusk'

Doing His Best™

Crown Prince of the kingdom. I think I might name the kingdom 'Acora' but I haven't decided on that quite yet

"Crown" Prince is kind of an unnecessary title, since there's no other heirs. There used to be! Up until Vaitus was around 7 years old, he was one of the last in line for the throne. But then An Event occurred. I will get into this event at another time, I've got a few animatic ideas for it :P

Vaitus is less than enthused (read: terrified) by the idea of becoming king one day, but he's also aware that the kingdom would almost certainly fall into chaos if the current king died without a ready heir. A rush to fill a power vacuum could tear the kingdom apart. So he just. keeps on keeping on!

Fantasy autism. it's just like real life autism except the royal physicians diagnosed him with "occasionally possessed of foul spirits and daemons" so the diagnosis wasn't really helpful. He has no idea why he suddenly loses the ability to speak (or sometimes even think) in high stress situations. this is especially unfortunate when most of his life consists of going from one high-stress situation to another

Very thoughtful. will not speak until he's got the full sentence ready + 3 possible follow up sentences depending on where the conversation goes

Animal lover. but he doesn't know this until he gets to interact with an animal. he meets one (1) stray dog and is so normal about it (lying)

TERMINAL rbf

Was told as a child that it's impolite to not make eye contact with people, so now he makes All The Eye Contact. he's being polite. wait what do you mean he's being scary

[rebelspykatie]

that green light, i want it

Part 2

He can’t believe someone caught him. Weeks of planning, trying to avoid this outcome, only for it to all come crumbling down when he’s finally successful. He doesn’t want to have to kill this man, but he’s seen too much. No one can know the truth, it’s too dangerous. 

No one was supposed to know any of this. Nancy swore him to secrecy, made him take an oath that he wouldn’t knowingly tell anyone of their plans. Their coven is well protected in the hollowed out recesses of the deep, overgrown woods. Hidden away from the world, kept in the shadows to safeguard their identity. Nancy only stumbled upon them in her mission to find Barb. 

Of course, whispers of the haunted wood are nothing new in Hawkins, but Nancy learned the truth the hard way. She was sucked into their world, desperate for answers on Barb’s disappearance. They promised they could help, filled Nancy’s head with delusions. It wasn’t long before her power grew too strong, lashing out at those around her, putting everyone in danger. 

It was a good thing Steve found her when he did, magic eating her alive, tearing her apart and feeding on her grief. Hollowed out eyes, sunken in cheeks and the smell of decaying wood followed her everywhere. Steve forced the truth out of her, convinced her to lead him back to the coven, their leader furious at Nancy’s betrayal. 

But Steve proved himself, displaying a quick aptitude for it, requesting to take Nancy’s place. Before long, he was outpacing Nancy. Her control was tenuous, ebbing and flowing with her mood, but Steve’s was stable. He anchored himself to the earth, listened to the elders and found strength in the calming quality of the woods. 

He’s not naive, he knows that the coven wants to use his power, to corrupt him into doing their bidding, but he came into this with a purpose. Answers about Barb were his only mission. Nancy’s not the only one with unanswered questions from that night. How Barb disappeared without a trace. How the cops had no leads and let the case go cold. How Steve was the last person to lay eyes on her and spent weeks as a lead suspect at the tender age of sixteen. 

And now he has answers. But it doesn’t feel better. The closure does nothing to satisfy the roiling turmoil turning over his stomach. He’s scared. Or maybe he’s not as anchored as he thought, because he can feel the power surging through his veins, the way it tingles down his spine and lights up his fingertips. The way revenge whispers in his ear and begs him to do its bidding. It’s terrifying, feeling powerless under the weight of all that power. The cloying madness of it seeping into his palms, itching to find a way out of the vessel he’s trapped it in. 

So when he turns and spots this helpless man watching him, he moves without thinking, magic taking hold and protecting him without a second thought. Before he even has time to process what’s happening, the man is pinned to a tree, green tendrils wrapped around his wrists and neck, the man uselessly clawing at them for purchase while his hands slip right through the incorporeal mist. 

“I-it’s not,” the man rasps, sputtering around the choking sensation. Steve loosens his hold. The man coughs and repeats, “It’s not hot.”

It’s not what he’s expecting to come out of the man’s mouth. Confusion cuts through the fog of power, snapping him back into the present. “What?” 

The man’s eyes are focused on the magic flowing out of Steve’s hands. “Your magic. I thought it would be warm.”

Ah. He flexes his hands and lets the magic coil around the man’s chest instead of his neck. “No, it’s not hot.” He looks up, tilts his head curiously when the man lets out a nervous giggle. Maybe this guy’s insane and he doesn’t have to worry about killing him. Would anyone even believe that he saw talking corpses in the graveyard? 

“Sorry,” he squirms against the tree, “it tickles.” 

Curious. Steve always believed that if anyone found out about him, they would be scared. He certainly was when he found Nancy and she didn’t have half his power and looked like a walking corpse herself at the time. But this man doesn’t look afraid. He’s giggling. 

“Aren’t you scared?” 

“Should I be?” He raises both eyebrows and tightens the restraints. The man winces and rolls his eyes. “Ok, you are holding me off the ground with magic, that’s fair. You just, I don’t know…you looked sad.” He tries to shrug and it tugs on Steve’s magic. “Even if I am scared, what difference does it make? You clearly have all the power here. If you’re going to hurt me, there’s not a lot I can do about it.” 

“I was going to kill you.” 

The man stares at him with narrowed eyes. 

“Well, at least they won’t fire me then.” Yeah, this man’s deranged. Or has a death wish. “Do you know how hard it’s been cleaning up after you? You should have some more respect for the dead. And minimum wage workers.” 

“Are you trying to annoy me into killing you?”

“Is it working?” He’s grinning now, like he’s got Steve exactly where he wants him. After a beat with no response from Steve, his face turns grim. “What are you doing all this for, anyways? It better have been worth it.” 

“I-It was. I got my answer.” 

“About what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh come on, I think I deserve to know what this was all about before you sentence me to death.”

“Don’t you know that curiosity killed the cat?” 

“Cats have nine lives, asshole.” 

“You only have one and you’re pushing your limit on getting to keep it,” Steve sighs. 

He’s not going to kill this man. He’s not sure when he decided, but he’s tired of death. It’s followed him around for years now and he wants to shake free of its hold. There’s no way he’s going to contribute to the ghosts haunting these woods. Not when he’s finally laid one to rest.

Slowly lowering the man to the ground, he asks, “What’s your name?”

The man narrows his eyes again. “Why should I tell you that? You need it to plan out your story once I’m six feet under?”

“I’m not going to kill you,” he repeats.

He pulls his magic back, green light winking out and shrouding them in darkness, the quick contrast disorienting him, eyes slowly adjusting. He can make out the man rubbing at his wrists, but he’s not running. This guy has no self preservation instincts. 

“Eddie,” he mumbles into the dark night. “Eddie Munson.” 

“I’m Steve Harrington.” He opens his palm and conjures a ball of light, dousing them in a green hue again. “If you want to know more, I’ll explain what I can, but we have to get out of the open. You’re not safe now that you know.” 

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Epilogue | AO3

[lainiespicewrites]

The Atreides Era Part 2

A/N: HI. this was supposed to be posted like 2 weeks ago! but I was finishing school and then my BEST FRIEND HAD A BABY! Life has been kind of crazy. But here is part 2 of my series for @hey-its-roseaurum ! for my dedicated followers my normal content will also be resuming soon as well! Enjoy guys!

Warnings: Death? Kinda?

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By dawn, the masses had gathered. Or what was left of them. About 3 days earlier some of the camp had accompanied Lady Jessica. They had already gone south. Stilgar was at the center of the gathering along with Paul Atreides. Stilgar was giving a speech. This seemed to be his mantra. Matar and Chani exchanged an exasperated glance. The two lingered outside the group. 

“There is no turning back from this, Matar,” Chani Says. Matar nods at her friend. Her body is rigid but the glassy look in her eyes barely shields the hurt in them. 

“He says, it is for our protection. For my protection. But…” Matar pauses and looks at her friend. Chani tears her eyes away from the circus happening in front of them and gives Matar her full attention. She continues. “If he follows through with this. I fear it is him who will need protection.” She glances back at Paul. He looks like a leader. He is building morale with the soldiers before they make the move to head south. He looks… so sure of himself. But Matar sees right through it. She and Paul had, against her better judgment, become friends. Close friends. He may have a plan. But he has no idea what he’s doing. If he was so sure, so brave. Then why had he come to her? Why did he need Chani? If he was the fearless leader Stilgar claimed him to be, then why could she see the certainty wavering in his eyes when they met hers across the crowd of people around him? 

“Protection from who?” Chani’s question broke through Matar’s thoughts and her full attention was once again brought back to the girl standing next to her. Matar inhaled deeply, her eyes dropping to the sand beneath her feet. It was only months ago they had taken Paul and his mother in. Against her will, she was training him to walk so he wouldn’t get himself killed. Was he really strong enough to lead a war against the emperor? Was it even his choice? He was just a puppet on his mother's string. He made the choice. But it is Lady Jessica who laid the path. Matar paused still. Trying to choose the right words. Finally, she met Chani’s eyes again. 

“Himself,” she spoke. “He is a danger to himself.” Before Chani had the chance to respond the soldiers were beginning to move. Following the two men up the sand dune. Reluctantly the girls followed. A silence fell over them as they watched the young Atreides place the thumper in the ground. About 50 feet away Stilgar repeated the same process. Naturally, the Freman soldiers split off into two one to follow Stilgar and the ones that would travel with Paul. As they started to hear the rumble under the sand in the distance Matar once again caught Paul’s gaze. Without a word, she nodded at him and she and Chani joined Stilgar and the others waiting to jump. She did not look back at him. Nor did she see the brief expression of pain on his face as she had denied him. But it was short-lived.

The rumble was now only mere feet away. The head lifted up from the sand. Not one of them flinched. They all took their cue hopping onto the creature's back digging their hooks in for balance. Whatever reservations Matar had about this decision would have to be put to rest. Any chance to turn back was long gone. 

The ride south was long. And for Matar, quiet. A time to reflect. No matter what outcome she could not picture this move having a positive ending. Paul believes power is the answer. He’d once told her he would give anything to be equal to her. He seems to contradict himself often. More than anything. Matar could not shake the feeling that  Paul’s choice would tear them apart. He promised her it was to protect her. So he could keep her safe and keep them close. But in her eyes. His choice to give himself power and trying to rise above everyone else is doing the opposite. 

When their journey came to an end Matar took the time to get her bearings. She pays no mind to Paul as he sets off toward the temple. Or the shrine, as Lady Jessica had called it. She watched as the other Freman set up camp. Readying themselves for Paul’s instruction. Paul had refused to tell Matar how he planned to attack the Emperor. However, she knew he had a battle plan. Only time will tell. 

Matar found a quiet place on the outskirts of their new camp to set up her tent. She stares at the business of the scene around her. Everyone seems so frantic. Haphazardly setting up their new lives. Eager to play their part in this ridiculous game. Yes, She thought, she was losing him. Losing him to his own greed. The man she saw this morning already seemed vastly different from the man she was with last night. The man who spoke of oceans as deep as her eyes. The man who had plans to take her there. She wanted to believe he was still her same friend. But he made no effort to prove it. 

She was lost in thought. Settling into what felt like a foreign land. Matar did not notice that she was now alone. The other Freman had gone off to follow the young Atreides. Even Chani who had been setting up nearby was now gone. Still, Matar did not notice. Not until her friend’s voice rang out across the way from inside the shrine. At first, she thought she was mistaken. Matar quickly turned around from her tent. It took her only seconds to realize she was alone. And then again… unmistakable this time. It was a cry of her name coming from her best friend. 

Her heart races. Mind going a mile a minute afraid for her friend. Her family. Everyone she knows is inside that building. What has happened? Are they hurt? She took off. She ran from camp and across the sand to the shrine. Throwing open the doors, she runs inside. She follows the sound of her friend's screams but is stopped dead in her tracks when she finds her. As she takes in the sight in front of her feels as though the air in her lungs is depleted. 

Paul is lying on the ground motionless. Chani is kneeling next to him grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him trying to break whatever spell he’s put himself under. The Freman are scattered around the room. They’ve dropped to their knees in devoted prayer. And her… of course her. Lady Jessica stands aside watching the madness. Unphased and waiting. 

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” She hears her friend shout. She watches as Lady Jessica only continues to glower at Chani. 

“It had to be done.” She said. Chani looks back to Paul and shutters through a sob.

 “He’s dead,” Chani states. Matar can no longer stay in the shadows. She runs to her friend kneeling beside her. Her hand quickly finds Paul’s. Her Mouth goes dry when she finds no pulse. No. this isn’t real. Her body starts to shake with rage but she forces it down. She turns her head fixing her glare on the boy’s mother. 

“You killed your own son, and for what?” She seethes. But she’s not done. “That is low Lady Jessica, even for you.” Matar opens her mouth to continue to berate the woman but her words are cut short. 

“SILENCE,” Lady Jessica uses her power of voice to shut the girls up. “It is not your place to tell me what is best for the future of my family. And for your planet. You will thank me. And if you would let me finish… he is not dead.” Matar looks back to Paul’s lifeless form squeezing his hand in hers. 

“You did this! Fix him!” Chani shouts. Lady Jessica shakes her head remaining stoic. 

“The prophecy must be fulfilled …desert rain.” She states. Chani lets out a frustrated groan but Matar stills. She looks at her friend. 

“She is right,” Matar says as the girls lock eyes. 

“Matar,” Chani begins to protest. From behind them. Another vile of the blue liquid is being brought out. 

“I hate to agree with her. With any of this. It’s all bullshit. But we’ve always known about the prophecy. Chani if you don’t do this, Paul will die. You did not force his hand, but you can save his life.” Chani’s shoulders shake from the sob she’s trying to hold in. Finally, she can no longer hold it back and she lets her tears fall. 

“DO IT,” Lady Jessica’s voice rings through the room. Causing Chani to jump. 

She quickly wipes the tears from her cheek, dips her fingers into the blue liquid that has been presented to them and presses them to Paul’s lips. The room falls silent as everyone waits. Matar once again feels like she cannot breathe. She feels a twitch. And realizes she’s still holding Paul’s hand. His fingers slowly start to curl around hers. Then seconds later. He awakens. 

“Usul!” Chani lets out a relieved breath. “I’m here,” She looks back to Matar “We are here,” she caresses his cheek her face no full of concern. “Are you okay? Do you feel okay?”

The room erupts into chatter and Matar feels like her heart is being squeezed inside her chest. He is alive. Her friend her…Paul. He is alive. She looks at him and finds he is staring back at Chani. And for some reason, this causes more of an ache in her chest. Slowly he lets go of her hand and starts to sit up. 

“I’m okay, I feel okay. “ He assures her. His eyes shift to Matars and he gives her a gentle smile. But it feels forced. Matar nods at him, standing back up. Paul turns back to Chani. “Thanks to you.” He says. Matar quickly starts to feel as if she’s over stayed her welcome. Really she never felt as if she was welcome here. And she takes her leave. As she’s walking out the door she hears it. Chani slapped Paul hard across the cheek. Saying nothing else she stands and follows Matar out of the shrine. 

The doors close behind them and Matar stops for a moment to let out a shaky breath, showing any emotion at all for the first time since she entered the building. 

She feels Chani’s hand on her shoulder.

“Matar, he’s okay,” she says her voice soft. This is supposed to be comfort. But Matar’s body goes rigid, and what feels like jealous burns in her stomach. 

“I know,” she bites out. She takes another breath. This isn’t Chani’s fault, she tries to reason with herself. Chani hates the prophecy as much as she does. But she cannot help that she was apart of it. “Thanks to you.” her words come out more bitter than she means them to. She turns to face Chani, letting her hand fall from her shoulder. 

“And what does that mean?” Chani askes, her voice still calm. However, her eyes were sharp staring back at Matar. 

“It just means,” again Matar stopped herself. Chani was her friend. Paul was her friend. She was thankful that she saved his life and surely paul was too. That is all this is. “You were there, and I am glad you were. Usul would have died without you. I’m greatful that you saved his life Chani.” Matar says to her. Chani’s eyes begin to water again. She’s still emotional from the events that have just taken place. 

“I don’t know if I could have done it if you we’ren’t right there with me. Thank you. You are a good friend Matar. And an even better fighter. I can’t believe you spoke to Lady Jessica like that.” she chuckled softly. Matar cracked a soft smile. 

“It was nothing she didn’t deserve.” 

Just then the doors flew open again. There stood the man himself. He looked as if he was still in pain but he was fighting it well. 

“There you are,” He said to them. “C’mon, we have to prepare. We attack  tomorrow. The three of them exchange glances. Matar and Paul lingering for only a moment before she nods. 

“Lead the way Usul.”  She states.  Paul turns walking back into the building and the girls follow. 

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[bonnieisaway]

WHICH ONE OF YOU WAS IT THAT - I KNOW IT WAS ONE OF MY MUTUALS - WE HAD A REALLY LONG CONVERSATION ABOUT HOW SEVEN ALWAYS WENT STRAIGHT FOR THE KILL IN THE PAST, AND WE GOT ON THE TOPIC OF THE GIRL IN WHITE AND YOU SAID THAT YOU THOUGHT SHE DIDN'T MEAN FOR SEVEN TO DIE BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T GO THROUGH THE HEART NOTICBLY MORE THROUGH HIS CHEST/STOMACH AND I SAID I WASN'T SURE IF WE COULD REALLY GO OFF OF THAT BECAUSE WE HADN'T KNOWN MUCH OF HER CHARACTER NOR WHY SHE DID IT BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE WE NEED TO SIT DOWN AND REDISCUSS THIS BECAUSE SEASON FOUR SPOILER THING UNDER CUT

I WENT FUCKING FERAL WHEN THIS WAS SAID because like obviously the question is when the hell did that poison get put in him because I feel like , Seven wouldn't have taken it himself? Like he wanted to move on and he was willing to fight all of Xuanwu for the girl in white but I think he would've known he had to do that face on and that poison would only, inevitably, put them in more danger?

And I can't think of another shadow killer or the leader that would want this- EVERYONE wanted him dead, Green Phoenix presumably didn't care because evidently the shadow killers DIDN'T go after him last time or were afraid to, otherwise he would've used his plan earlier, the leader NEVER gets off his ass, and there would've been no point erasing his memories if he was wanted dead.

I feel like the logical conclusion here - at least I'm assuming between the moment he was stabbed and washed up nobody else saw him, and prior to the fight he hadn't seen anybody else who'd have done this nor discussed it - is that the girl in white had it on her blade, right? Like wasn't she also wanted dead? Seven was protecting her and that's the whole reason he was wanted dead, so killing him would've gotten her killed too and I feel like this shit is waaay too much to pull a sort of long-con to get him killed, but even if she WAS supposed to kill him as some sort of long hidden plan, maybe she might've loved him anyway and CHOSE this form of mercy? Because erasing his memories would effectively 'kill' him? Or was it that they both wanted this to end so badly but she chose the impulsive way out, getting herself killed and a merciful, forgetful end for Seven that had a fighting chance of letting him live on without her?

But also the symbolism when they show it confuses me.

So this eye was a new thing in season four and it ONLY ever really is shown around the leader of the shadow killers, when he's on his being-an-eldritch-horror shit, but my thing is WHAT purpose would he have to do that to Seven? Like yeah, he ordered him dead, but HOW would he even get that done and what reason would he have? Like, it was kind of presumed the leader had gone out on a limb and chosen SPECIFICALLY Seven for some unnamed reason, to a point that even Redtooth was fuckin annoyed about it (probably because to some degree Redtooth envied him but let's pack that away for another day) so I don't know WHY this eye is here

There's also a crow here which I would assume was ALSO for the leader's spybird if it wasn't for Blackbird's whip right next to it? But like, Blackbird doesn't seemingly have an unsettled score with Seven. He wanted him to die, yes, and he said "painfully at my hands," but that's like, how everyone dies to Blackbird. And their entire fight, there was nothing brought up about something in their past or between these two, everything was only about Blackbird's past and his tramua, which almost sounded like he felt like he needed to be this anti-hero killing Seven because of the order and would let Shimen take the reward.

There's also a really faint hand here? I don't know what else to attribute it to other than this hand:

back in season three, which this sequence was VERY much a long allegory about Seven's nature and that he's had a very, very short time to live the life he wanted and that he's basically being fucking dragged through life at this rate, though noticeably the hand here in season four has a red, glowy texture on it (aside from the rest of the texture near it) that's seeming to me either be blood or also another sort of imagery for the poison in him

but also there feels like there's a larger image here, too? It's really hard to make out because I can't really tell if it's just the shading , or a stylistic choice, but the bottom right is noticeably a different shade and has an outline and the inside has a wood-grain like texture? But I think also this might just be a sort of outline - given where it starts on Seven's shoulder - that's supposed to look like a gaseous, poison cloud coming from him. just AAAAAAAH oh my GOD there's so much to think about from this 20 seconds alone kill me