#and how that could very easily have resulted in her being compromised or a forced engagement/marriage and then didnt

[clairesbeauchamp]

2.08 | 3.04

[juniorgman187]

Spoiled Rotten (Reid Fic)

Summary: After Spencer went radio silent on Reader while he was in prison, their pride and stubbornness threatens to tear them apart forever. Reader’s forced to mourn the death of who they were and experience the inner turmoil of navigating who they are.

A/N: Y’all are gonna kill me for the ending, but it’s one hell of a way to go.  Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst Content Warning: Imprisonment, humiliation, abandonment, anger, frustration, angst, yelling, fighting Word Count: 5.3k Playlist: Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo

Time jumps are indicated by “. . .” or “_ _ _”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

A rather unfortunate predicament we’ve found ourselves in tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever been quite this uncomfortable in my life, yet I’m careful not to speak too soon. Because I know the second Spencer opens his mouth to break the silence we’re currently sitting in, I’ll stand corrected. 

“You’re breathing really hard,” He tells me out of nowhere. 

See, I stand corrected. 

Now that I’ve become hyper aware of my own inhale and exhale, my respiration is just that much more restricted. I’m practically holding my breath at this moment - both from the anticipation of catching this unsub in the act and giving Spencer one less thing to scrutinize about me. 

“I didn’t say you had to stop breathing,” He tacks on as if it would put me any more at ease. Not that if he had explicitly said such a thing, I would’ve. 

Unlike other people, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to throw myself at his feet so he’d like me. But to use that as grounds for his disdain would be foolish. Our rancor went deeper than the basic lack of synergy between us. 

And in the spirit of getting to the bottom of that abyssal pit, I finally asked the question with words that always seemed to hang above but never would form. 

“Why was I the only one denied visitation while you were in prison?” 

It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like this between us; we were actually close once, although it is hard to imagine that version of us ever really existing. However, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember with perfect clarity who we used to be. 

. . .

“Jeez, you really don’t like these things do you?” I nudged him playfully before feeling instantly guilty once I witnessed the result of my shove that must’ve been a little too much for all 120 (at most) pounds of him. I’d neglected to remember the strength I held over the lanky Doctor as well as neglected to notice where the trajectory of my push would land him - in the direct line of a circus clown walking the opposite direction as us. This, of course, brought him face to face with the character. Unfortunately, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lens of Spencer’s glasses grazing the white face paint of the caricature. 

After a shudder of mortification and a very brave shriek, Spencer ran to my other side to be as far away from the clown as possible and apparently, as close to me as possible. From a distance, you’d think we were conjoined simply by the way he was glued to me - shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. 

While removing his glasses to clean them off with the hem of his blazer, he answered, “Carnivals? I mean, what’s not to like? What with the loud noises, the heart-attack-inducing food that’s more grease than actual food, or the sheer amount of bacteria harboring on each and every handle, hoop, ball, or button of these ridiculous game booths.” 

“Wow, you really don’t like carnivals.” I should’ve figured. 

“Nope. Never have and probably never will.” 

As someone who looked forward to the fair every summer of her childhood, any aversion to carnivals broke my heart. I had a fondness for them borne in adolescence that I couldn’t quite justify now in my adulthood. 

“But they’re fun!” was the best argument I could muster. The whine in my voice being provoked by the possibility that the higher the shrill of my pitch, the easier he’d be to sway. Turns out, Dr. Reid was not nearly as susceptible to my auditory persuasion as I might’ve thought he was. Just a stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. 

“I’m sorry. I know you brought me here because you love these things, but I just can’t get past the ...” He surveyed the fair, ostensibly against his will, in search of the perfect word to describe our surroundings. “Filth.”

I would’ve argued in the defense of the carnival, mentioning how it’s endearing that the only bathrooms for miles were porta potties, and that the screaming, crying, sticky children galore just added to the attraction, and that there was a hidden charm to the way the roller coasters creaked beyond their means with every ride. 

But to an extent, I agreed. It was rather filthy, and I wasn’t much of a germaphobe myself so to someone like him, this would be hell on earth. 

“Well, you get what you put into it. If you’re willing to overlook some minor imperfections, I really think you’d enjoy this place.” 

Spencer by now had his hands in his pockets and his walking pace had slowed to a complete halt. There was a moment of skepticism, followed by a partially open smile to make way for the laughter that escaped from the disbelief that he felt for letting me break his resolve so easily. 

“Alright then. What do you want to do first, Brat?” 

The nickname I’d earned could be seen as meanspirited, but truly, it was affectionately diminutive. Like all good nicknames are. And like the proclaimed Brat I was, I’d taken him to all my favorite parts of the fair. 

First came the bumper cars to ease him into the experience - as ironic as that sounds. He was reluctant to submerge his gangly body into a mini vehicle, much less one that’d been inhabited by God knows how many people before us, but he pushed his reservations aside when he realized he’d get to slam into my car (safely, of course). 

Secondly, we went on the Carousel, but this was only in preparation for the real ride that I wanted to take him on next - the Swinging Chairs. He’d gotten a little nauseous, from both the repetitive circling and the galvanized chains he had to hold that were definitely held by several others. 

He had no interest in going on the Gravitron - super lame, I know - so we opted for the Ferris Wheel instead. I didn’t mind making this compromise so much after recognizing all that he’d done for my benefit that night. And for his generosity and selflessness, I thought it only fitting to end the night going somewhere so tame he couldn’t possibly have any opposition to it.

The photo booth.

The booth in particular we’d gone to was smaller than an airplane bathroom, if you can imagine that. The bench seat was barely wide enough to fit Spencer, let alone seat the both of us. While he didn’t explicitly make the offer to let me sit on his lap, it was kind of a give in that I’d have some part of my body intertwined around him like stubborn ivy. 

. . .

I still laugh thinking about the tangled mess of limbs we were below what the camera couldn’t capture. It was arguably the furthest extent of contortionist work I wanted to do in my lifetime, and henceforth exceedingly uncomfortable, and yet, I’d never felt more at home than when I was in his arms. 

That night he would tear off the top three photos to keep for himself while I kept the bottom three photos. 

To this day, I have never seen the pictures that he kept, and I’m left to wonder if he had them at all.

Because I still have mine. And they were virtually the only thing keeping me sane throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment. 

Six Months Ago ...

My eyes were locked on the loose thread of my cardigan that I was rolling between my fingers anxiously. 

“Would you stop that?” Penelope swatted my hand away from my sweater. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.” She grumbled. 

“Sorry,” I apologized bleakly.

A few seconds later she groaned again, making me think I was still doing something bothersome, but it turned out to be just the opposite. “Ugh, I know that sounded mean, and I hate when I sound mean, but I can feel my forehead creasing from the stress, and watching you fidget is going to give me an ulcer.”

“I wish I could help it. I’m just really worried about him.”

“Well I am, too, but that’s not gonna do us any good right now. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Sometimes Penelope’s overly optimistic view on life was futile and unwelcome, and truthfully, this was one of those times. 

“Penny?” 

As she turned her head, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the lenses of her dark green glasses. I could see my own mournful expression as I asked, “What if he’s found guilty?” 

She started to say something but stopped herself. “Right now, all we need to focus on is his bail. We can worry about a verdict later.” She put her hand on top of mine and shook it briefly to remind me that we were in this together. 

Moments later recess was over and the team came trudging back into the courtroom. 

The sound of the judge clearing her throat and our footsteps on the floor made this feel all too normal. 

How could Spencer’s life be hanging in the balance in such a place as non-intimate as this? 

It frustrated me how casual things felt today and how everyone was acting normally. Prentiss had yet to bat an eye, Rossi’s stoic expression never changed, and Penelope was telling me not to worry. Everyone was acting so aloof. 

My eyes darted to Spencer, who was looking back at us woefully. I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, so I kept my head down and stared at my feet after I took my seat. 

Even when I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the vision of him in a suit, just like one he’d wear to work. But instead, he was wearing it for this - this vastly different situation. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him the same in one anymore. I’ll probably just remember this particular look on his face, in this god awful courtroom, during this horribly nauseating circumstance. 

If one thing was for certain, it was that this would all come back to me if I ever laid eyes on him in a suit, and that thought fucking terrified me. 

Because that one thought spiraled into the next: Everything was bound to change after this. Every little thing would change in every little way. 

Spencer’s lawyer, the judge, and the prosecutor were going back and forth for a while, but I tuned it all out because I knew if I had tuned in, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my arguments. Eventually, though, I heard something I could no longer ignore. 

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk.”

I stood up immediately, getting a head rush from the speed. I knew what was to follow, so I needed to be on my feet the second I heard it. Maybe so I could run and escape before I had to.

“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in federal custody pending trial.” 

“Spencer!” I shouted, losing all the composure I’d been trying to maintain. I reached for him as if he was at any capacity to reach back and hold me. God, I needed him to hold me. Hold me like how he did at the carnival. 

Hold me.

Luke held me back as I fought to be near him.

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to break free of his tight grip. Spencer could only stand and stare, mirroring my own wistful glance. He mouthed something to me that I couldn’t quite make out, but if I knew him at all, he probably said something about not wanting me to worry about him. 

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s gonna be alright.” JJ reasoned, pulling me into a hug. 

“How long before this case goes to trial?” I heard Prentiss whisper to Spencer’s lawyer. 

“It’s a complicated case. I’d say three months maybe?” 

Immediately, I worked myself out of JJ’s arms and pushed my way through the team, running up to the barrier between us.

“Spence!” I cried out in anguish. 

To the sound of my voice, he glanced over his shoulder sadly. He wasn’t even shocked I’d been able to get so close to him - he seemed to expect it, and for that, he was sad. Because he knew if I was going to be as stubborn as to fight to get to him at this hearing, then I was going to be stubborn enough to reach him in prison, too. And should he find himself behind bars, he knew that I’d get to him one way or another. 

That is if he’d let me. 

“Be strong,” He weakly smiled. ‘For me’ his sad eyes begged in addition. He held my gaze for as long as he possibly could before disappearing into another room. 

As I watched him walk away, I could feel my heart shattering and crumbling into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps that was a premonition, a true gut feeling, telling me something I at the time couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have accepted. 

That was the last time I would see Spencer. 

People always say when something unbelievable happens, it doesn’t feel real, but this? Nothing felt more real and more intense than this. 

There was no other way for me to see this situation but as the first defeat in an endless line of them.

If Spencer was denied bail, what else could happen to him? Could he be found guilty too? Because prior to this, the denial of his bail seemed impossible. He posed no flight risk, but according to the judge, he did. So if what I once thought to be impossible happened, then it could and would happen again.

I knew Spencer was going to be found guilty.

What I didn’t know, though, was how I was going to live with myself from then on.

I didn’t go that day. 

I knew myself too well. So did the others, which is why they didn’t object to my decision not to come to Spencer’s trial. They knew I was better off staying home. Especially, if there was the chance that I might react hysterically again.

I didn’t stay home, though. That part the team never found out about. 

I went to visit Diana instead. A much wiser choice, in my opinion. 

“You know, we’ve been talking so much about Spencer today, but we haven’t talked about you yet,” said Diana. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I feigned a polite smile. 

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her chin downward and gave me that sly grin of hers. 

“No, no, of course not. I know better than to underestimate the Diana Reid.” I quipped, making her smile widen. “I just figured you’d wanna spend your time talking about someone much more interesting.” 

“Oh please, Spencer and I talk about you all the time.”

I perked up from the checker piece I was fiddling with. “You do?”

“Mhm,” She nodded over and over again. “I always knew there was something between you two because you could always talk about each other to me, but for some reason, you could never actually talk to each other.”

For the first time in months, I genuinely laughed and I couldn’t help it. “He makes me nervous! I always feel like he might correct something I say, or tell me that there’s food in my teeth.” 

“You know, now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about seeing a really big piece of lettuce in your teeth one time.” 

“Diana!” I squealed, pushing the checkerboard at her, pretending to take offense. 

“I really don’t know what you’re so nervous about! I think it would be good if you just talked to him.” 

“It’s, um, it’s not that simple. Not right now, at least.” 

My energy quickly nose-dived and I tried to do my best to hide it from Diana, but it permeated through the rest of the visit. I couldn’t fully enjoy myself after it. 

The team and I all agreed not to let Diana know, especially not with the uncertainty of the case. There was no point riling her up if there was nothing to be worried about. And I could only imagine how I reacted - Diana would be reacting 10 times more hysterically. 

But as much as I hated to say it, I almost would’ve rather been in her position. 

I would give anything to un-know Spencer’s circumstance.

Present Time ...

In this car, there was nowhere for him to run or hide, not like before.

Anytime I so much as entered his gravity by being in the same room, he’d flee the space in the next breath. Granted, he couldn’t really avoid me entirely. We did have to be on the same flight for an extended period of time, but he made that work by letting me choose my spot first, then choosing a spot directly on the opposite side of the jet. 

What a gentleman, huh?

“Kudos to you, by the way. For managing to avoid me for this long. I imagine it’s been as not-easy as it has been incredibly-cowardly.” My words stung as they flowed from my lips as badly as I imagine they seared his already cracked skin. I couldn’t believe that now that I finally had the opportunity to talk to him, I was using it to be petty and passively aggressive. But then again, I could. 

Because after what he put me through, he deserved to feel the full severity of my indignation.

My only wish was that he knew exactly how I had felt when I found out. 

. . .

Icarus. 

He died tragically while using artificial wings, invented by his father, to escape from the Labyrinth. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, it melted the wax that held the wings together, and he fell into the sea.

‘Don’t fly too close to the sun.’ That’s the moral of the story. That’s what Reid was trying to tell me. But I didn’t listen. 

I flew too close. 

I had approached the window with more zeal than this predicament warranted. 

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here to see Spencer Reid, R-E-I-D,” I eagerly spelt his last name with ease as though it were my own last name. 

She’d flipped back and forth between pages, running her index finger up and down the sheet for far too long that it made me worry. Turns out, I had every right to be worried. 

“I don’t see you on the list, ma’am.” 

I was so mindnumbingly dumb that I couldn’t even see how dumb I was being. “Oh no no no, I’m with the FBI. I called earlier and left a message, remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember you,” She smiled politely, giving me the tiniest fragment of hope. “But you’re not on his list.” Only for it to be shattered in an instant. 

I had yet to process or accept this information. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he doesn't wanna see you right now. And frankly, neither do I. Next!” 

“Wait, could you just please check with him? My name is (y/n) -” 

“Ma’am, you are holding up a whole line of people that wanna see their loved ones too, so I suggest you see yourself out before I call security to help see you out.” 

I knew by her tone of the word ‘help’ that meant a prison guard would most likely forcibly remove me from the premises, and the last thing I needed was to feel even more humiliated. 

I got plenty of that when I had to come back to the BAU. 

“You’re not on the list?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked. More so than I was. Above all, I just felt really stupid. 

“I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Stephen reasoned. He was so good at being level-headed. Which normally, I would’ve loved. But right now, it only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But later on, she asked him herself, and he said - and I quote, ‘I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever.’”

. . .

Those were the words that seared my skin, and he hadn’t even spoken them directly to me to do it. 

The words that did just enough to heal me back to health were, of course, Penelope’s.

“Since you haven’t seen him yet, the rest of us will just wait until you have. It’s only fair that you have your first turn before the rest of us go back for a second time.” 

Back then, it was easy to hold out hope, but the more and more time passed, the more he kept denying my visits. Therefore, the more my hope began to fade. 

It had been weeks since anyone else had seen him before I finally surrendered. Although I had newly-brewing sourness towards Reid, it didn’t feel fair to deny him everyone else’s presence until mine was permitted. 

Luke was the one who volunteered to visit first. And to my dismay, Spencer didn’t fight against it. 

The proof was finally there. Now I could say with absolute certainty: Spencer just didn’t want to see me. 

It was both ironic and utterly frustrating to think about how I’d never gone more than two weeks without seeing him. Even when the BAU got time off after big cases, we’d always spend that time together. The longest we’d spent apart was 12 days. And right when he came back to D.C, we were attached at the hip for the next week, trying to compensate for all that time we were apart. 

Now, look at us. I haven’t said one word to him in half a year. 

If tragedy and comedy could coexist, this would be it. 

“How is he?” I asked Luke as soon as he got back. 

“He’s holding on,” Luke affirmed with confidence. What he said next lacked any of that. “He told me to tell you not to worry about him.” 

Something in me knew it was a lie. “Did he actually say that?”

His lack of an answer was one itself. 

“Did he say anything at all about me?”

“I tried telling him how much you wanted to see him, but he just brushed it off. I’m sorry, (y/n).” 

This became my routine for the months to follow. Every time someone would come back from the prison, I’d ask them if they talked about me, but the answer was always no. After a while, it had gotten to the point where I purposefully started leaving myself out of the loop. At least in that case, it was by my own volition that I was being excluded, not by a predicament being forced on me. 

Not by Spencer. 

“We’re not doing this right now,” Spencer declaration brought me back to the present, where I found him removing himself from both the conversation and the vehicle. When I heard the latch click to open, my hand reflexively flew to my auto-lock to prevent him from leaving. Naturally, he still managed to escape using his door’s button.

If I couldn’t stop him, then I could follow him. 

“Then when will we do this? Huh, Spencer? When? Because anytime I try to talk to you, you run away.” The mere fact that I was speed-walking after him was proof. While he casually strolled down the sidewalk paying me no mind, I tried to be clever and walk down the street so we’d be somewhat side to side. I was tired of staring at his back every time he walked away. I needed to see his face.

For his every stride, I had to take at least three steps. He was gliding through the world so effortlessly as I was trekking my uphill battle. It was quite fitting, though. Further exemplification that, between us, I was fighting harder to preserve the people we used to be, the relationship we used to have. Meanwhile, he couldn’t care less. A stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. Just like he always was. 

As I began to speak, I had to also be conscious of the parked cars along the curb, being careful to weave in and out. 

“For months, you have blatantly ignored me. The entire time you were in prison, you denied my visits. And it’s not like it was a one time thing. I tried to visit you over 100 times while you were in jail! 100 times I got rejected. 100 times I got turned away. 100 times my heart shattered.” 

By now, I was speaking so loudly that I could see household lights within neighboring homes turning on. I hadn’t even realized how far we’d walked down the street and away from our car, but it was the last thing on my mind. 

“Then after you were released, it’s like I never even existed. I had to find out that you were out of there a week later than everyone else because they all assumed you came to me yourself to tell me the good news,” I laughed wryly at my own stupidity. “Do you know how hard it was for me?” 

“Do you know how hard it was for me?” 

It took me a second to register that he was actually engaging with me in this conversation now. But when I looked at his expression, I could see that something within him had snapped. A little piece of me was glad, though. Now I knew for sure that there was some effect I had on him. 

“Hard for you?”

“I know you came to visit me 100 times! Want to know how I know? Because I was there, too! I was there every time a guard came to ask if I wanted to see you. I was there every time I turned you away. And while you got to walk out of those doors every time I did, I was stuck in there, rotting in that cell, thinking about how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to touch ...” His voice faltered. “To touch you. But I had to protect you!” 

“You do realize in protecting me, you were hurting me in the process.” 

“Because you just don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” His hands tugged at the root of his unruly hair like evidence of the frustration that my stubbornness caused. “You’re such a pain in the ass because you can never cooperate! It’s gotta be your way or no one else’s! ‘Spencer, it has to be this way because I said so. Spencer, you have to let me see you because I said so. Spencer, you have to talk to me because I said so. Spencer, you have to ride this stupid roller coaster because I said so,’” His imitation of my nagging voice would’ve made me laugh before. Now, it was bringing me onto the verge of tears. “Since clearly no one’s told you this before - not everything is about you! You just want it to be because you’re a whiny, little brat! You’re so spoiled rotten that you can’t even see how far down it goes. If you did, you’d know that you’re rotten to the core and that nothing will ever satisfy you. Especially me.”

His words had done more than sear me. They pierced me. They ripped me. They destroyed me. When he called me Brat, I thought it was endearing. Now, looking back, I realize - no, that’s just how little he thought of me. 

As I came to the conclusion, I stopped dead in my tracks on the pavement. 

I was done chasing Spencer.

His face had fallen from its anger, indicating he was apologetic, but I was beyond accepting his sorry excuses anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I looked behind me to find our car at least a football field away. I guess in many ways, I’d gone the whole nine yards. 

“This is what you wanted right?” I turned back to him momentarily. My voice scared me how calm it was because, inside, I was boiling with rage. “Well, here you go, Spence. Have all the fucking space you want.” 

It was usually me watching his back while he walked away, and now, he was watching mine. 

“(Y/n), wait!” 

And for the briefest second, it actually felt good to be the first one to leave. 

I was free. 

_ _ _

To my dismay and relief, when I walked into work the next morning, he wasn’t there. I would’ve looked for him with more than a cursory glance except I was stuck on looking at something strange in the bullpen that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But as I walked further in, a blaring siren went off in my head. 

Spencer’s desk is completely empty. 

I instantly sorted through my purse for my phone to reach Prentiss when I noticed something more. 

I had been desperate to cling onto any notion that he still loved me, and there it was, just sitting on his desk. Proof that the man I loved was still in there somewhere.

The top three pictures from the carnival photo booth.

I laughed, as I always did, thinking about how much we had to exert ourselves to be positioned in a semi-adequate way. In the next wave, I felt profoundly empty. He had kept the pictures all these years, and now that I finally get to see them, he’s left me.

As I brought my hand to my face to clear the tears pooling at my lower lashes, I saw that my finger had an ink smear on the pad of it. There was nowhere else I could’ve obtained it except for if there was writing on the back of the photos. 

What I read when I turned it over was as follows. 

I want to be this guy for you again, (y/n). I just don’t know how. 

I just don’t know if I can.

No matter how much I’ve changed, one thing’s still the same.

I love you. 

I should’ve focused on the message, but all that I could focus on was that if I managed to smear the ink, that meant it was fresh, written just now. 

He was still here. 

I pocketed the photos and abandoned my purse, only carrying with me the phone that I forgot to use to dial Prentiss. After a moment’s indecision, I figured that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator, and I bounded down the steps without hesitation. 

“Spencer!” I yelled into the parking structure when I reached the ground floor. The sound of me bursting through the door caught the attention of Anderson, who was getting out of his car. 

“I just saw him leave.” Anderson threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. I knew, even in my state of mind, there was no feasible reality where I could reach him on foot. I had to call him. 

I pleaded to myself for him to pick up with every ring of my phone. 

“(Y/n),” He said like a statement instead of a question. Again, he’d anticipated I’d do this. He probably picked it up not even having to look at the caller ID but knowing it was me and no one else. 

“I don’t need you to be the guy you were before, Spencer. I just need you to bend a little bit. I know we’re both stubborn people, but if we can just find a halfway point-”

“(Y/n), (y/n),” He was settling me and the sentences that were coming out of my mouth at 100 mph. 

“I’ll bend if you bend.” I promised. 

The static of the call filled my ears until his voice finally did.

“For everyone else, I bend ... for you, I break.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

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[cerastes]

What do you make of Specter's operator record? Personally I liked it, but that's with the knowledge we're getting more Specter backstory soon.

Ok, so! Just as you pointed out, I went into it with the knowledge that:

We're getting Under TIDES soon.

Specter gets a second Operator Record later, some time after Under TIDES.

And with that in mind, I'm fine with it, but if I was a CN player and all we got was Specter's first Operator Record without any knowledge of the future, I would be pretty pissed, lmao. In fact, CN players were pretty pissed, the reception to her Operator Record was pretty bad. Specter is a popular character both in terms of gameplay and character (the latter more so in China, she gets a steady influx of cosplayers, fanart and fanfic in Weibo, Lofter, and such). It's believed that Hypergryph announced her second Operator Record because of this backlash.

Now, with the context and preamble on the table, I want to say: Great idea, not so great execution. Overall, I enjoyed it, but again, that's only with knowledge of the future. Despite that, I sincerely praise Hypergryph for actually having the balls to try a narrative approach like this one on a mobile game. The thing is, just because an idea is interesting doesn't mean it's good, and I think a lot of aspiring writers and designers need to hammer that in their head, especially armchair game designers that like to theorize oh so much about how cool it would be to have a game that did this or that. I don't care if it's cool or not, is it enjoyable to experience?

And that's just the thing with Specter's Operator Record: It felt lackluster in many regards. The approach was definitely interesting, bold, I'd even say, but that doesn't really matter too much if the result isn't a success, now, does it? Let's immediately address the Originium Slug in the room: Specter doesn't even appear in it. Now, is that an interesting approach to an Operator Record? Sure! Is it good? I don't really think so, especially with a character that fans really have been clamoring to see more of in actual cutscenes, given the wealth of clues they've put regarding Specter in other places:

Blue Poison' Files -> We learn that Blue Poison knew Specter personally before her descent to madness, addressing her with her real name.

Skadi's Dialogue -> Skadi implies that Specter was on a very important mission, and more or less confirms she knew her before she went crazy.

Several pieces of official art -> Specter is associated with the phrase "All seas are singing your name".

Ceobe's Fungimist -> It's implied the cursed painting depicting the end times is the same confusing painting Specter painted in her Token.

Rosmontis' Files -> It's confirmed that Specter's spinal cord is filed to the brim with originium fluid, and the Medical Team theorizes that, just like Rosmontis, her infection was artificially induced. It also confirms that they have no idea how Specter is able to fight such an insanely high level of infection.

So, see, this has been a character that fans have really been clamoring to see again. The only cutscene Specter's ever been is the secret cutscene of Grani and the Knight's Treasure AKA the very first event in the game. Understandably, after two years of the game existing, people were a bit miffed that once again we just get breadcrumbs and a non-participation 'appearance', to say the least, in what's supposed to be her day in the limelight.

Now, personally, I kind of get how they are handling her, and the Operator Records are a very faithful reflection of this: Specter is meant to be this mysterious force that we don't have clearance to know about, as Kal'tsit herself is the only one authorized to treat her or even enter her containment quarters. And, in this regard, I think the Records succeed:

It all starts innocently with Suzuran drawing Specter in a Secret Santa and then having to start deep diving to find out who the hell even IS Specter, because absolutely no one knows of her. Eventually, Suzuran lucks out by asking Meteorite, who did participate in a mission with Specter once, to which Suzuran immediately reacts: "Hey hold on, don't they send you on pretty dangerous missions all the time?", and Meteorite's answer is, "Yeah, and she's right at home there."

Now, this is really interesting because we, as Doctor, have some level of clearance: We know things about Specter and can even converse with her to a certain degree, because Doctor is a high authority in Rhodes Island, but the average Operator, like Suzuran, Aosta and Chiave, doesn't even know of her existence. She's one of Rhodes Island's well kept secrets, even within Rhodes Island. Even Meteorite, a veteran Sarkaz mercenary and a bombardment expert, only knows about Specter in a need-to-know basis (because they deployed once together). More telling is the fact that Meteorite doesn't think she'd get along with Specter, simply based on the fact that, just on that one operation, the level of violence and carnage brought upon by Specter unnerved even her, a Kazdel Sarkaz veteran. Well, to be precise, it's not the sheer level of destruction that Specter is capable of that unnerved Meteorite, it's the fact that she does it all seemingly without a care in the world, expressionless, soundless, simply following orders to the letter without showing or taking in a single emotion. To paraphrase Meteorite, "someone that can unleash such destruction and violence upon others so easily, and that can then just not mind it in the slightest, has something wrong and concerning going on with them, no doubt".

Next up, we also learn that Folinic has very restricted, also on a need-to-know basis access to Specter. Keep in mind that Folinic is extremely competent and not at all a stranger to danger: She handles Phantom. So this is a huge hint: There's perhaps more to the secrecy regarding Specter than just her being a dangerous, unstable element. Folinic could reasonably handle Specter professionally, but it's not about whether she can or not, it's about information, and this brings us back to Grani and the Knight's Treasure: Kal'tsit makes it clear to Skadi that Specter is, as a whole, inaccessible to everyone but her, that only she has clearance to access Specter's quarters. Keep in mind that Skadi does not operate in the same conditions, despite also being an Abyssal Hunter. In fact, it's well known that Skadi is infamous among other Operators for being unreasonable and obstructive in operations, as well as unapproachable outside of them (unless you are Grani, who managed to successfully befriend Skadi and vouches for her). There's things about Specter that are so sensitive, so important, that Kal'tsit can't risk them getting out, and even using her as an Operator is something reserved for very dangerous operations. Not even Warfarin, senior staff and Operator that's been with Rhodes Island for a very long time, has full access to Specter, but she clearly knows the importance of keeping her under curtains, given she immediately diffused the Folinic-Suzuran situation by coming up with a compromise on the spot.

There's another interesting contrast between Files and the Operator Record: Meteorite describes Specter as "dead silent". Mind you, we knew from before, thanks to Specter's Files, that the shark is completely silent in battle, but we also do know that she incoherently rambles quite a lot. Folinic sheds some light onto this, explaining that Specter intentionally stays silent most of the time so as to not say anything that could be misunderstood when around others. When she's in a more private setting, however, she does let loose with the insane talk. This is confirmation of something that had been hinted at before: Even though she's insane, there's a fervent part of her clinging onto sanity for dear life with bloodied, splintered fingers, and it manifests itself in how she'll never harm an ally, and how Specter is, to a certain degree, aware of how far gone she is, and thus keeps her mouth shut around others that aren't Doctor or Kal'tsit, so as to not spook them out or accidentally threaten them with her insane rambling.

Then, at the very end, after Suzuran managed to get her present to her, Specter does in fact deliver a thank you present back to Suzuran: A music box, consistent with Specter's love for the arts. Of course, the gift might have been chosen by a proxy of hers (Skadi or Blue Poison, both known to also enjoy music), but the message is all the same: Specter clearly appreciated the gift, and was mentioned to see an improvement in her condition after receiving the doll Suzuran gave her.

So, in paper? All of this? I love it. Of course I do, she's my favorite character, and it was such a bold way to present her Record, too, I respect them trying out new things, it managed to capture the essence of "the mysterious, terrifying fighting machine Operator they don't want us to know about that's actually a pretty sweet and decent person, just going through some really hard stuff" that they've been going for with Specter, it's just, I can also understand (and agree with) fans because... It's been two years, bwahaha, let us see her again, you know? It's her Operator Record, we've gotten some VERY good insights into the lives and days of other Operators through those, like with Angelina's or Kroos'! Of course we also wanted something like that, bwahaha.

What I would've loved, and what I think would've made it all better with fans, is if the final scene had Specter actually show up in Suzuran's room like the cryptid she is, with Suzuran noting the security door had just sort of been casually pried open, Specter's perpetual smile on her face as she's holding her thank you gift before Warfarin and Folinic just sort of storm into the room like "DUDE, WE SAID YOU CAN'T--", she thanks Suzuran wordlessly, gently hands her the music box, and then she calmly turns back and walks back to her confinement quarters.

But, yeah, I've gone on for long enough. I appreciate it overall, knowing what's coming, and I appreciate the idea, I just think they could've handled it better, but the whole essence and message of it, I think lands pretty nicely.

[love-sapphirerose]

Inuyasha: Why Falling in Love Caused Kikyo’s Powers to Weaken

Inuyasha's Kikyo is known for her powerful legacy and her tragic downfall, the latter of which may be tied to her occupation as a historical miko.

BY DIANE DARCY

Kikyo, the tragic miko (shrine maiden) of Inuyasha, is something of a legend within the story’s canon, leaving behind a powerful legacy even protagonist Kagome has trouble upholding. Along with being one of the more powerful miko who ever lived, Kikyo is especially remembered for her tragic downfall by falling in love with Inuyasha.

At first, it may seem strange that love would be the thing to destroy Kikyo, especially considering the same didn't happen to Kagome. But there's really no comparison for one simple but significant reason: Kikyo is a historical miko and Kagome is not. While Kagome may have inherited Kikyo’s spiritual powers and kyūdō skills as her reincarnation, she's also a woman of her time and was never subjected to any of Kikyo's training for a miko living in Japan's Sengoku era.

Historically, Kikyo Began Her Miko Training In Childhood

Historically, miko in Japan fulfilled a very different role from their modern counterparts. While today's miko are seen assisting priests at Shinto shrines, in the past they were actually shaman women. As such, they maintained a position of power and authority within their respective communities. As practitioners of Shinto, their job description included performing divinations, exorcisms and communicating with the kami (spirits and deities) of their respective communities. That last one entailed allowing kami to possess their bodies and convey their messages through a trance-like dance that is performed today as kagura or miko mai.

Within Inuyasha canon, Kikyo is seen performing many functions of the historical miko, most notably exorcisms with her asuza yumi (sacred bow) and hama ya (exorcism arrows). To become a miko, however, Kikyo couldn't just be anyone. She either had to be the daughter of a shaman or had to possess strong spiritual potential. While nothing is known about Kikyo's parents, she does, have a reputation for immense spiritual strength. That power is most likely how she got selected by her community to train to become a miko.

Per Japan's own history, to become a miko, Kikyo would've begun training at a very young age and undergone a series of purification rituals. Since training lasted anywhere from three to seven years, Kikyo would've started her training at age 10 or 11 if she was approximately 17 or 18 at the time she met Inuyasha. The completion of her training would've ended with a ceremony to symbolize her bond with the kami Kikyo would commit to serving, which was the reason she had to remain a virgin. Since purity is central to the Shinto belief system, maintaining sexual purity was essential to Kikyo fulfilling her role as a medium for her community's kami.

Being A Miko Was At Odds With Kikyo's Humanity

Despite Kikyo's training paying off and establishing herself as one of the more powerful miko known throughout Japan, her life was also at odds with her humanity. Kikyo was more than aware of what she was sacrificing to fulfill her responsibilities to her community and the kami she vowed to serve. This internal conflict became a major source of unhappiness for Kikyo, who was still a teenaged girl, and was explored in detail in the Inuyasha anime spring special "Tragic Love Song of Destiny".

In the spring special, Kikyo's powers and talents another miko's envy -- Tsubaki, whom she trained with. At the start of the special, Tsubaki went out of her way to remind Kikyo of what her training entailed and why she couldn't fall in love with a man if she intended to maintain her spiritual strength. This was Tsubaki's no-so-underhanded way of reminding Kikyo how quickly she can lose all that she has worked hard for the moment she compromises her sexual purity. In fact, she was counting on that happening given Kikyo's youth.

While Kikyo brushed off Tsubaki's "advice" as placing a curse on her, it was established in both the Inuyasha manga and anime that -- as the more powerful miko of the two -- Tsubaki's curses don't have an effect on Kikyo. Still, Tsubaki wasn't off in her prediction given Kikyo's own internal conflict in reconciling her humanity with her miko existence. More than anything, this was the reason Kikyo refused to kill Inuyasha every time he pestered her for the Shikon no Tama (apart from recognizing he was a hanyō and not a full yōkai) and what led to her bonding with him.

Falling In Love Led To Kikyo's Sexual Awakening

Over the course of their friendship, Inuyasha and Kikyo developed mutual romantic feelings. This led to them spending more time together, and to Kikyo becoming more emotionally vulnerable. One thing Tsubaki noticed in her next encounter with Kikyo was how much her spiritual powers had weakened since meeting Inuyasha. She once again reminded her of what she was compromising by allowing herself to fall in love. This implies Kikyo started experiencing sexual desire, which Tsubaki then attempted to exploit by unleashing her famous snake curse. Though the attack was easily deflected, Tsubaki still was not wrong in her predictions.

Not long after this encounter, Kikyo began experiencing the full extent of what her romantic relationship with Inuyasha was costing her. She was becoming less powerful and effective in fights against yōkai, one of which resulted in the loss of her sister's eye in the anime. This forced Kikyo to make a decision: give up her life as a miko and become an ordinary woman, or give up her romantic relationship to regain her strength as a miko. She ended up choosing the former, which led to her proposing that Inuyasha use the Shikon no Tama to become human. If he did, the jewel could be purified while Kikyo could be relieved of her responsibilities to it. After some thought, Inuyasha accepted Kikyo's proposal, which led to their first kiss in the anime special.

Kikyo's Downfall Is Linked To Loss Of Sexual Purity

Although the kiss in the anime was depicted as an affirmation of Inuyasha and Kikyo's love for one another, when examined through Japan's historical context, it was even more significant than that. In Kikyo's time, people in Japan did not kiss as part of romantic expression, but as part of sexual interaction. Since Kikyo is a woman of her time with no knowledge of western European notions of love, this means that when she kissed Inuyasha on the boat dock, she was initiating a sexual encounter. This happened during the daytime and Inuyasha was later seen escorting Kikyo back to her village late at night.

While the anime does not detail what Inuyasha and Kikyo did during those in-between hours, plenty of contextual clues in the aftermath hint at them having engaged in sexual activity. The first clue was Kikyo not detecting Naraku's distinct aura when he visited her at the shrine disguised as Inuyasha. Since Kikyo is skilled at detecting different yōkai auras (and especially Naraku's distinct aura post-resurrection), this is a strong indicator of how much her spiritual powers weakened. This was confirmed by Naraku later on -- in both the Inuyasha manga and anime -- as the reason he was able to attack and kill Kikyo. Had he encountered her while she was still at peak spiritual strength, he would not have succeeded in his plan to tear both her and Inuyasha apart.

Revisiting the question of why Kikyo's powers diminished by falling in love when the same didn't happen to Kagome, it boils down to the fact Kikyo is a historical miko, whereas Kagome is a modern miko. As a historical miko, Kikyo was bound by the rules of her occupation, which at the time entailed maintaining sexual purity. Kagome, by contrast, is not bound by those same rules as modern miko in Japan are no longer required to remain sexually pure to assist priests at Shinto shrines. As a 20th century girl, this is the perspective Kagome brings to the Sengoku era.

[acourtofsnakes]

Tracinya - Rogue, Chapter 23 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: Nothing will stop you from rescuing Din. Anyone who stands in your way is merely an obstacle to be removed. But will you be merciful... or listen to that dark call? 

Warnings: Injury detail, blood, guns(of the space variety), knives, fighting, swearing, death, watch me make things up about the Force again. 

Word Count: 13k+ (I got carried away?)

AN: Well. This ended up a lot longer than I expected it to be. I got rather carried away it seems  ((oh well)) Also, I have checked this ((twice)) but its over 13k words and there is going to be something I missed. 

Introduction

1: Solus | 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl ^ | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur ^ | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi | 8: Haran | 9. E’tad | 10: Tome * | 11: Aliit Ori'shya Tal'din * | 12: Mar’eyce**^ | 13: Kov’nyn | 14: Ne’tra ^ | 15: Or’dinii | 16: Dar | 17: Haalur | 18: Mesh’la** | 19: Talyc ^^ | 20: Jorhaa'ir ^^ | 21: Hibirar | 22: Jetii’kad | 23: Tracinya | 

Rogue| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f) Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ @kenoobiwan @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew @queenofthefaceless @rosiefridayrogersunday @greeneyedblondie44 @itsnottilly @welcometothepedroverse @xgoldenjenny @mamacitapascal @heyitsjaybird @amyk-37 @greatcircle79

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal

Mando’a Translation: Tracinya - Flame

There was no part of his body that wasn’t screaming in pain. 

His right leg was broken, possibly in two places, and his left ankle was fractured. 

He had taken the fall on his right side, meaning the impact had dislocated his shoulder and shattered his collarbone, resulted in searing agony whenever he moved his head. 

Not only that, but every breath felt like glass and fire, a pain he was familiar enough with to know he also had at least three broken ribs. 

Of course, there were bruises – his entire body was probably littered with purple and black smudges – and cuts. 

Din didn’t remember hitting the floor. Only remembered saying goodbye and then… nothing. He supposed he should be grateful, because from the state his body was in, the feeling of impact would have been horrendous, his body crushed under the very armour that was made to keep him safe. 

He’d been convinced that was it, the lights were turned off and the Maker would come to greet him. 

And yet, after an indeterminable amount of darkness… there was suddenly light. 

Harsh, blinding light and hands moving over his body, checking for injury and – 

They were going to remove his armour. 

The thought and realisation sent shockwaves of terror through him, and despite the agony that had threatened to suck him under, survival instinct kicked in and he lashed out. Taking down anyone who came near him, the medics, the guards, Troopers – anyone who threatened to touch his armour. He was like a caged animal, defending his last dying breath even as his head spun and his knees gave way. 

He fought for consciousness, long enough to see a pair of immaculate boots walk in, the edge of a long, ebony cloak embroidered with gold.

Through the roaring in his head, he heard a silken voice ordering everyone to stand down, that if anyone removed the amour, they would be removed of their head. 

And then he had been sucked back into a fitful abyss 

Din wasn’t sure how long ago that had been.

The room – cell – they had put him in contained no windows, no clocks, nothing to give him indication to what time it was. Only a few artificial lights placed on each wall – which he was grateful for, because the dim lighting was a minimal balm to his pulsating head. 

Only a thin cot for him to sleep on, pushed into the corner of the room and a tiny area in the corner where he could relieve himself. The ceiling rose far above him, giving the impression of being at the bottom of a very small, very dark pit. 

There was no regular pattern to when they pushed a tray of food and water through a tiny hatch in the door either, so he couldn’t even use that. 

Not that he could have concentrated anyway, with the agony waging war on his body. 

He’d had countless injuries before and danced the line of death so many times he was surprised he kept getting away with it. 

And yet this… this was bad. 

His vision kept fading in and out, blurriness making his sight hazy before it cleared again, but not without leaving fuzzy auras that floated in his peripheral. 

Concussion too then… a bad one. 

He just prayed there was no permanent damage. 

He could still talk, though his voice was hoarse and ragged when he whispered to himself the names of his loved ones – he could still remember them, thankfully.  

The ability to move remained intact – though heavily compromised. He could only manage tiny movements, embarrassingly slow as he tried not to move his neck or shoulder… or head… or back. 

An escape probably wasn’t going to be possible for a while. 

Din sighed, laying in an awkward position on his cot, one that gave the least pain. 

Again, his thoughts returned to his haven. 

You. 

You were going to kill him when he got out. 

Either for being a hypocrite, or for the worry he was causing you. 

The worry, no… the heart-wrenching terror he had heard in your voice mere moments before he fell. That cruel fear of the consequences as you laid into him, tried to keep that anger contained but he knew you too well. Knew that this would be tearing you to pieces.

He had felt the exact same way when you were taken – when she died. 

You were a rather dysfunctional pair, weren’t you. 

That thought had him chuckling – and then groaning as the small movement sent shockwaves from his broken ribs. 

Maker, he was battered. 

He didn’t even know how it had all gone so wrong. 

One minute he was flitting through the sky, dodging blaster fire and the next there was a loud pop and smoke began billowing from his back, from the jet pack. 

A very carefully aimed shot, with precision and intent – not to blow him up by shooting at the fuel lines… but perfectly lined up to knock out the thrusters and sent him tumbling to Earth. 

There was only one person he knew that could make a shot like that. 

Someone he should have foreseen, if he was honest with himself. 

Looking back, the townspeople letting slip the information about the base… that had clearly been a trap. 

A false trail to lead them right to the doorstep of the very people trying to chase them down. 

Din hadn’t just led himself to his death… but his friends too. He had no idea where they were, if they’d escaped – if they were even alive. 

He was disgusted with himself, the way he had so easily and thoughtlessly allowed his friends to be brought to such danger. He should have just gone in alone but… he hadn’t been thinking straight. 

When he’d heard that there was a whole base dedicated to finding his sweetheart… a whole legion of Stormtroopers trained, and no doubt given weapons specifically made to defend and attack Force users, he’d lost it. 

How could he walk away knowing all of that? Knowing they were going to come after you?

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

And now look where he was. 

Movement outside his door suddenly broke him from his reverie, a shadow moving past the gap in the food hatch. 

Something beeped outside the cell, multiple locks sliding and scraping through the door and then it was pushed open. 

Din blinked against the sudden harsh light flooding his cell, his helmet damaged so his visor didn’t adjust to the brightness the way it should have done. 

As his eyes cleared, he saw a figure lean and tall, wearing a long cloak – with golden embroidery. 

Oh, joy.

Anger sizzled through his reluctant body as Haran prowled into his cell, filling the small room with that unearthly presence. The shadows of the room seemed to cling to him, perhaps recognising that their master had arrived. 

Din grunted, ignoring the screaming agony that flooded his senses as he dragged his body to sit up, leaning heavily against where the two walls joined near his bed. If this was his end, he didn’t want to be laying down. 

If it was a friendly little chat… well, he could at least give himself a better position to punch the bastard in that overly pretty face. 

Haran stopped in the centre of the room, lifting gloved hands to his hood and he pushed it back.

He looked the same as always. 

Sharp cheekbones accentuated his face, which was neither old nor young – timeless, for no one knew how long this man had truly been alive.

Amber eyes that dominated his appearance, simmering like molten gold and only highlighting the fact that he wasn’t quite human. 

 The twin scars across his mouth and eye did nothing to mar the beauty of him – and Din supposed that was all part of the act. A beautiful face, a silken voice and a laugh that could bring entire villages to their knees to worship this fallen dark prince.

Before he slaughtered them all. 

Din hated him. 

Those golden eyes simmered with amusement as he beheld Din, as if knowing the thoughts going through the Mandalorian’s head… which he probably did. 

He cocked his head, a smile lifting his full lips, “Well, fancy seeing you so soon, Lori.” 

Din growled, his hands tightening into fists and he wished his blazing glaze would melt through his beskar helmet and sear straight into those lion’s eyes. 

That damn lovers laugh rippled through the tiny room, setting Din’s teeth on edge, “Oh, Mando, no need to be so defensive. You had to know what would happen when you decided to infiltrate a base dedicated to hunting your little Jedi.” 

“You won’t find her.” Din spat the words, wishing his body wasn’t so battered, wishing his had his strength so he could tear this creature apart. 

Haran’s smile widened, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, his scar tugging ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth – a predators grin, “That’s not entirely true, considering I found her so easily last time. But I won’t need to find her.” He examined his cloak, brushing a speck of invisible dust from it. 

Dread coiled in Din’s gut, “She doesn’t know where I am. She won’t be able to find me, so you can’t lure her here like a piece of bait. She’s smarter than that.” With every word, he had the sinking feeling that he was saying exactly what the King of Shadows and Death expected him to. 

“You see, I would believe you, if not for one tiny little detail.” Now Haran inspected his gloves, tugging the buckles that tightened them around his wrists, a picture of cool, arrogant confidence. 

It was an effort for Din to keep his voice steady, “And what is that?” 

Please no, please…

Haran looked up at him again, a dark curl falling over his forehead, “I hacked into your comms system, right as you hit the deck. You really should get some better tech, Mando.” He clasped his hands behind his back, “I sent a distress signal to your pretty Jedi, telling her your exact coordinates and even how to get in.” 

Din simply made a noise of horror, knowing that nothing in the world would stop you from finding him. You were stubborn, headstrong and determined… all combined with a fierce desire to save the ones you loved. 

He just prayed Ahsoka would make you see sense. You would be smart about this… right?

Haran shrugged lightly, “I don’t think even Tano will be able to hold her back.” 

Sick bastard, reading his thoughts. 

“I guess we’ll see who’s right soon enough, won’t we?” With that, he turned, walking back to the door, where he knocked twice. 

The beep and locks sounded again, and Haran looked over his shoulder at Din, who was still struck dumb with dread, “Why, I bet she’s already on her way right now.” He laughed low, and then he was gone with a sweep of his cloak.

~~~

~~

You were beside yourself with panic and terror in the first few hours after the call cut off. 

Your scream had woken Ahsoka and the kids, who made it to your tree in time to see you half fall from the branches, stumbling around looking for something, anything to help. 

You could barely hear Ahsoka calling your name, until she grabbed you, forcing you to look at her and calm down. You’d told her what happened, before yanking out her grasp and running to the camp. 

Nothing was computing in your brain, nothing except a primal instinct to go and save Din right now. 

Again, you hadn’t heard her calling your name, mumbling over and over that you needed to go, you needed to get out of here, Din needed you. 

Except there was just one problem…

“Slow down. How are we going to get off of the planet? We don’t have a ship…” Ahsoka spoke calmly, but firmly. She was watching you tear through the camp, emotions a wreck and noting you were moments away from a panic attack. 

You had turned to her, clutching your belongings in your arms, your breathing coming in sharp pants, “Then - then we’ll just… Um...” Casting your eyes about helplessly, you had felt your throat close up, your heart race and your palms start sweating. 

A sob had been about to break from your lips but then – you both heard it. 

The tell-tale sound of a twig breaking, of hushed voices. 

The pair of you whipped your heads in unison, toward the sound and your panic attack vanished, being replaced with the cool ice of battle. The things in your arms had been placed on the floor and then Ahsoka’s voice had been in your head, “You go left, I’ll go right. We’ll meet in the middle.” 

You nodded, reaching for your blade but then Ahsoka had held out a hand to stop you, instead… holding out one of her sabers. 

Oh.

Yes, you’d trained with it but… now she was letting you use it for real, in actual combat? 

Lifting your eyes to hers, she had seen what you were thinking and simply smiled encouragingly. 

That said enough, so you curled your fingers around it and then the pair of you had separated, footsteps lighter than air as you both forged a protective Force field around the kids. 

Moving through the trees, marking the intruders... it had all soothed you, soothed the ache and terror in your chest for the time being. 

Your power let you know they were close, and you hovered in the darkness for a moment, watching the two cloaked figures and sensing Ahsoka opposite you. Something flowed through the air, like a confirmation and you activated the lightsaber, springing from your hiding space with a burst of glowing late. 

“Wait!!! Wait, it’s us!!!” The two cloaked figures turned around, dropping their hoods so their faces would be revealed in the glow from both your sabers. 

Cara, and another man you didn’t recognise – bald, with a numerous harness and straps that no doubt held weapons under his cloak. 

You made a nose, lowering the saber, “Cara?! I thought… I thought you were with Lori – what are you doing here?” Despite the situation, the anonymous nickname for him came out instantly – protecting his identify even here. 

Cara looked from you to Tano, who was still standing in a somewhat defensive position with her saber held out. “We were… We’d split up to take down more of the Troopers. Mando took to the sky to draw fire so we could sweep through them. When we saw him get taken down, we had a choice. Either get captured ourselves, or go and get help.” 

You blinked, a frown forming on your face, “Hang on, let me get this right.” Something stirred in your chest, something smouldering, “You saw Din get taken down, saw him fall from the sky, into the clutches of Stormtroopers who are no doubt reporting to Moff Gideon… and you ran away?” The last two words come out in an incredulous tone, your face showing confusion as you looked between Cara and the other man. 

He raised his hands, shaking his head, “Hey, I wouldn’t go as far as to call it running away. We didn’t know he’d contacted you; we didn’t know how anyone would find us. If we got captured too, there was no way we could get out. Only Boba and Fennec knew where we were, they wouldn’t have been enough.”

Ahsoka raised her eyebrows, stepping closer – never lowering her lightsaber, “So, he’s there alone? Or wherever else they’ve taken him?” 

The man blinked as he looked at her, “Do you mind lowering that thing, lady? I don’t see how we’re the enemies here.”

You snarled at him, mimicking Ahsoka in the closer advance, “I’m not calling you enemies, I’m stunned that you just abandoned him there!!”

Cara held out a hand, trying to diffuse the situation, “Mayfeld, shut up.” She looked at you, “Look, Mando isn’t incapable of taking care of himself. He’s been in situations like this before, he’ll be fine.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, your head spinning, “He’ll be fine?! He could be anywhere, Cara! Who knows where they’ve dragged him, what they’re doing to him! I’m not doubting for a second that he’s been captured before – but not by an army of Troopers, alone, after falling hundreds of feet from the fucking sky! How about I push you out of the open air in a metal tomb and you tell me if you’re up to fighting your way out of an Imperial army.” 

Mayfeld squared up to you, tensions running high, “You know, you might want to be a little more understanding. I’m sure if the situation was reversed, Mando would have - ”

Suddenly, you had pulled free your knife and it was held to his throat, “If you dare say he would have done the same, I’ll cut your throat.” You didn’t care that these were Din’s friends. Didn’t care that they were obviously here to help. 

You were furious, feeling helpless and well… you had never been the greatest at controlling your temper.  

Ahsoka disabled her lightsaber, running forward and gently pushing you all apart. You felt a phantom brush over your skin and realised she had weaved threads of the Force between everyone, “Hey, hey, let’s all just take a moment to breathe, okay? We’re all worried and wound up… Yelling at each other isn’t going to solve anything.” 

Mayfeld muttered something you didn’t hear, though you did hear the thump as Cara elbowed him in the ribs. “Enough.” 

You powered down the saber and dropped your head into your hands. 

The world had flipped on its head, completely and utterly shifted and turned into something unrecognisable. Maybe this wasn’t really happening, maybe you were having some kind of fever dream. 

You sighed long and deep, rubbing at your eyes before looking at Mayfeld and Cara, “I’m sorry, for what I said. You did the right thing… We wouldn’t know anything if you hadn’t come back.” You shifted your gaze solely to Mayfeld now, “And I’m sorry for holding a knife to your throat.” 

To your surprise, he just chuckled, shaking his head, “Don’t worry. I’ve had worse from your Mandalorian, this was nothing.” He held out a hand, “Migs Mayfeld.” 

You found yourself smiling back, sliding your hand into his and shaking it as you told him your name. 

Cara looked around, “As much as I’m glad we’re not threatening to kill each other anymore, does anyone want to tell me how we’re going to find Mando?”

As if by coincidence, the comms device on your wrist started to emit a high-pitched beep. 

All four of you jumped, then looked at the device which had begun to flash red. 

You held it up between you all, and the screen lit up, displaying a string of co-ordinates with that same persistent beep. 

It dawned on you instantly, “It’s a distress signal. Lori sent us the co-ordinates of where he is.” 

Cara was eyeing it thoughtfully, “Do we want to ask why that suddenly came up, just as I asked where he was? And what if he isn’t there by the time we get there?” 

You were already moving back toward the camp to gather your things, “I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s a trap, or if he’s a whole parsec over. It’s the best thing we have, so we’re using it. Get your things.”

~

That had been a couple of nights ago. You were now travelling on Boba Fett’s ship, a tight squeeze but you didn’t care. Nothing else mattered apart from finding Din. 

Boba Fett was an interesting man. He was a clone of the infamous Jango Fett, the Mandalorian of whom you’d grown up hearing about. His armour was older, less sleek than Din’s but still as ruggedly beautiful and had belonged to Jango himself. He was shadowed by another woman, Fennec Shand – an assassin of whom you’d also heard of on your ‘travels’. 

He was a straightforward, direct man, greeting you and praising you on the stories he had heard – then asking how everything was going to go ahead. Straight to business. 

Two hours later, a plan had already been created.

The distress signal coordinates you had given Boba would take you to the general area you needed to be. Then, once you located the Cruiser, Boba would get you as close as he could, slipping into a disused landing bay. 

He would remain with the ship and kids, waiting to get out – and to lead a distraction if it came to it. 

The rest of you would infiltrate the Cruiser, splitting up to cover more ground and find Din – Cara and Fennec in one pair, you, Mayfeld and Ahsoka in the other. 

You sat a little way away from the others – as far as you could in the ship, letting the sound of their planning wash over you. They were determined the best way to get in and out without being seen, whether it was best to go in all guns blazing – literally – or try and be as discreet as possible with minimal causalities. 

You were glad you had excused yourself… because that dark assassin within you was stirring, sensing the oncoming fight – readying a thirst for blood. 

Sure, some of the Troopers may have had no choice… but they certainly hadn’t done anything to change their fate. They still chosen to continue following Gideon and Haran – for you knew now it was him that shot down Din, but you had kept that nugget of information to yourself, only telling Ahsoka. 

The others didn’t need the added stress of knowing a terrifying legend had truly come to life. 

If they wanted to try and preserve life – fine. You certainly didn’t have to agree with them. You didn’t answer rot anyone but yourself. 

And you supposed that mindset should worry you, making you concerned that you were slipping back to that cold killer but… you didn’t care. If you had to become her to save Din and get everyone out safely… so be it. You would deal with the consequences later. 

Ahsoka crossed your field of vision, and then came to sit down opposite you, her back against the wall and her legs stretched out next to yours. She said nothing, merely watching you with an unreadable expression for a few moments. 

You sighed, “If you’ve come to tell me not to go where my thoughts are leading me-“

She shook her head, cutting you off gently, “I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. I’m just going to ask you… Are you prepared for the consequences of what you do, either way? If you choose to go down the path of tearing down anyone in your way… How will you feel afterward?” 

How would you feel afterward?

“I don’t know how I would feel… I know what it’s like to be pushed into a life but… There’s always a choice at some point. However small…” You looked up at her, truly valuing her opinions and advice – she was already a trusted friend, one you could speak your mind to. 

Of course, you had Din. But to have something sperate from him… it felt good. Healthy. You both had your separate friendships away from each other… for moments like this perhaps. 

“I can’t think of anything but saving him. And it’s easy to sit here and ask myself what I’ll do, before we’re even there… but when I’m in there, when I’m walking through that Cruiser to find him...” You shrugged slightly, “I don’t know what I’ll do. And I might not have the time to make that decision when I’m there.”

Ahsoka nodded slowly, listening to what you have to say, “Then whatever happens… We’ll deal with it afterward. Whatever you choose to do... I believe you are strong enough to take it. And if not… then we’ll deal with that too.” 

Gratitude warmed the cold feeling in your chest, spreading through you and you looked at her with new appreciation, “Thank you…” Those two words were heartfelt, all the emotion and thankfulness pumped into there. “For this, helping me… and for everything you’ve done.”

She inclined her head slightly, bumping her foot against your thigh, “You needn’t thank me… It’s been an honour, to help you and train you. After everything that’s happened in my life, the mistrust I had for those I once believed in… I never thought I could get over that hole. But you’ve shown me that it’s not all the way I believed. Things are changing… I’m learning that now. So… thank you.” 

You were about to answer, but Boba’s deep, gravelly voice came from the cockpit, “Time to gear up guys. We’re about to hit the same co-ordinates from the distress signal.” 

~~~~

~~

“Sir?” 

Moff Gideon walked over to the young man who had just called for him, seating in front of a holo-screen like the others dotted about the room, “Yes? What is it?” 

The man brought up a radar screen, a pulsing red dot just coming into the edge of it, “They’re getting closer. They followed the Hunter’s trap.” 

Gideon smiled slowly, watching that little red dot slowly creep closer to the centre of the radar, toward his Cruiser, “Excellent. Tell the troops to be ready. Just because we want them here, doesn’t mean we’ll make this easy for them.”

~~~

~~

Boba Fett’s ship glided through the atmosphere, all of you peering out of the windows for any sign, any hint as to where Din might be. 

You’d been in the general location for about twenty-five minutes, travelling right to the edge of each grid square on Fett’s radar. 

“I think… we might have missed him.” Cara spoke the words that you had all been reluctant to acknowledge, her voice quiet. 

You shook your head fiercely, moving to the other side of the ship, “No. You’re wrong. He’s here. I know he is. I just… know.”  

Grogu cooed from behind you, his ears floppy like they had been since you lost contact with Din.

You turned to look at him, heart breaking at the utter sadness in his glossy eyes, “Oh, Gu… I know.” You scooped him up, cradling the little body to your chest and you pressed a kiss between his ears, “We’ll find him… I promise you; we’ll find him.” You pressed your face to his little head, whispering, “Even if we have to do it on our own.” 

His little arms reached up to your shoulders, and you took a few moments just to hug him, giving him comfort but also receiving it in return. 

You felt his hands tugging at your collar and wondered if he was trying to reach for your hair… but then he grasped something and pulled – your necklace. 

The mythosaur necklace that Din had given you. 

You looked down at him, watching as he cradled the symbol in his tiny little hands, gurgling at it but for once, you weren’t sure what he was saying. It itched at you, like you could almost understand him. 

It turns out, Ahsoka did. She gasped a little, looking at Grogu suddenly and blinking in surprise, “Oh, you’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that…” She looked at you with wide eyes, “You can find him.”

You blinked at her, raising an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” You felt Grogu’s eyes on you too, and he tugged gently at the mythosaur charm, “The necklace?”

Ahsoka nodded, “Kind of… You have such a strong connection with him, such intense care for each other that if you use your power… you might be able to sense him, where he is.” She walked closer, “It’s hard to explain… it’s an old Jedi trick. They used to use it to track others or find people in hiding. It’s difficult to do, and not all Jedi could do it but… You know him. Better than any of us.” She took Grogu from you gently, “Close your eyes and focus your mind the way we practiced.”

You nodded, not questioning it. There was no time. 

You shut your eyes, following the breathing exercises she had taught you and dropping everything away from your mind. The ship, the murmuring of the others – the panic. 

All of it fell away until you felt the power flowing through your blood, felt it brush up against every living thing in your vicinity. 

Ahsoka’s voice slipped through your mind, “Now, think of him. The memories, the way he makes you feel, the happiness you feel with him. Think about what makes him your Mandalorian.”

Your power flowed through you, out of you, wrapping around the ship and you were already deep in your mind by the time it started shifting the direction you were facing. 

What makes him your Mandalorian…

You let that question move through you, thinking of his touch, his voice… the way he softened the harsh edges of your mind and eased your chest.

The way you had truly come alive after meeting him, how you saw the galaxy as you had before – something beautiful and wild and begging to be explored. 

You breathed in and out slowly, musing on the way you felt you had also brought light to Din’s life. Not just from the way he told you... but the way he seemed to have mellowed even more since first knowing you. 

He laughed more, let himself go a little… His moments of uptight, rigid restraint had melted into something far softer and… goofier. 

Ahsoka’s gentle praise whispered through the thoughts and memories, encouraging you. For however long, you didn’t know. 

And then you felt it. 

Your power brushed over something… someone. 

Din. 

His essence, his soul, burning like a bright star in your longest night. A sense of comfort, fierce loyalty and determination, all encased in a glittering shell of honour. 

Your eyes snapped up, the ship slowing to a stop and then – there it was. 

Moff Gideon’s cruiser. 

And speeding toward you… about thirty Stormtroopers, ready to attack. 

Mayfeld grinned from behind you as Duru leapt from the control panel, “Time to make an entrance.” 

~~~

~~

When Din got out of here, he was going to tear Haran into little pieces. 

Well.

He would help you tear him into little pieces. 

You had probably more rights than anyone to do so, but he had some things that the cocky shit needed to pay for. 

Hey, maybe you could tag team. 

Din kept thinking of creative ways to take Haran apart, to see if he was as strong inside as the power he oozed on the outside. It would be a fascinating project. 

Maybe when you cut him open, he would be a hollow shell, or maybe there would be some kind of malevolent demon inside him. 

He supposed these thoughts were rather twisted and dark, and that Haran had undoubtedly been through some awful things in his life… but so had you, and you were worlds apart from each other. 

Besides, it was all he could do. Think of Haran’s death and try to avoid thinking of the alternative thing that was screaming at him like a siren. 

That you may very well be on your way to rescuing him. 

Din could tell himself for hours that you wouldn’t heed it, that you’d know it was a trap but… it just wasn’t you. 

You were one of the smartest people he knew, but if anyone you loved was in danger, caution tended to get thrown out the window. 

Sometimes, you were both more alike than you realised. 

Din sighed, curling his fingers into fists and then releasing them again. A few hours ago – or maybe days? – he’d lost feeling in his arm. He couldn’t pop the dislocated shoulder back into place without removing his armour, so it was stuck there, swollen and pressing against the beskar. It had started with pins and needles, and then a cold feeling like ice in his veins. 

It made him feel unsteady, lopsided – though that may have been the broken right leg and twisted left ankle. 

Not only that, but every movement of his head made his stomach roil dangerously, and his breathing seemed to be coming laboured… more like sharp pants rather than deep breaths. 

You were never going to let him live this down. 

He huffed again, but the faintest smile rose to his lips as he imagined you both somewhere safe. 

You’d wait long enough for Din to be suitably healed before tearing into him… and no doubt it would creep up for months afterwards. He could almost hear the cocky tone as you bickered about something and you’d whip that out, “Oh, well, I suppose I could always go an attack an Imp base and get shot of the sky. Stars above, can you imagine doing that? What fun.” 

The thought made him chuckle, just a bit even though it irritated his ribs again. 

Of course, that soft sound seemed like a siren call and seconds later, the door to his cell swung open and the King of Shadows and Death appeared – more like King of Arrogance and a limited wardrobe. 

Didn’t he have anything else to wear besides that cloak?

Or was Din just jealous? His own cape was a bit tattered, and he’d always envied the way you wore your own hooded cloak, blending into the darkness and sweeping around corners like some kind of phantom. 

Maker, his concussion must be getting worse. 

Pushing that thought from his spiralling mind, Din tilted his head back to look up at Haran, “Are you lonely? Is that why you keep coming to see me?” He tilted his head, ignoring the feeling like boulders crashing against the inside of his skull and the bits of light dancing across his vision, “Or are you looking for a bit of nightly entertainment? Because I have to say, I’m hardly in the shape to do so.” 

His tongue felt so heavy his mouth. 

Haran rolled those unsettling eyes as the door closed behind him and he walked over, leaning against the wall opposite, “Yes, Mando. My days are just so meaningless without your shiny head to light the way.” He put a gloved hand to his chest, gasping, “Why, if we weren’t on an Imperial Cruiser, I might just drop to one knee and beg for your hand in marriage, right now.” 

Prick. 

Din turned his head away, breathing shallow as his stomach flipped again, “What do you want? If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a rather busy man.”

Haran chose to ignore him, snapping his fingers together and pulling a face like he just remembered something, “Oh, wait. I can’t marry you, can I?” He looked up at Mando, golden eyes burning through the side of his helmet, “Because you already have plans to do that to someone else, don’t you? 

Din willed himself not to rise to the challenge, not to take the bait. He instead tried counting his breaths, focusing on anything but Haran’s silken words. 

They flowed like water around the small cell, almost irresistible, “Does she know? Does your little princess know that you’ve been carrying that ring around for months now?” He crossed one ankle over the other, “I have to admit, it is a stunner. How much did you have to save for a rock like that?” 

Anger hissed through him, but Din closed his eyes. 

Many jobs. He had saved the credits from… more jobs than he could remember. 

He would bring home most of the credits but would siphon off just a little from the top to add it to the tiny stash he had going. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get a ring with a huge stone like others he’d seen but… he had a feeling that you would love it regardless – at least he hoped. The ring had sat nestled in an inner pocket of his tight underlayer of clothing for a while now, and he could still feel it’s hard press into his skin. Thankfully it hadn’t been crushed in the fall. 

It was new to him. Not just the fact he had reached this point in his life, but the fact he was looking for an engagement ring. 

Mandalorian’s traditionally gave weapons instead but… you weren’t a Mandalorian. And the pair of you… this was different. And he wanted to do it right. 

You had taken on board so much of his traditions and rules… he wanted to do this for you. Do something in a way that you would be familiar with. 

Of course, there was one other major thing that was different – 

“Have you even revealed your face? How do you know she’ll want to marry you? I mean, she loves you now but… What if you take off your helmet and she can’t stand you?” Haran examined his gloves, his words low and almost childlike but that was the point. 

Din gritted his teeth, keeping his body loose – as much as it could be with the pain – “Seriously, are you here for a reason?”

Boom!

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the entire ship. 

It echoed down the hall, but Din could calculate it was far away, deep in the belly of the cruiser so most likely a cargo hold. 

Red lights began flashing outside of his cell, the sound of many thumping footsteps racing past. 

No… no-

Haran’s eyes unfocused and a cold, dark power brushed against Din. Even through the armour, he could feel it. The way it leeched the warmth from him, swallowed what little light was in the room. It had a pull to it, like the silken caress of his voice given life. 

Din shuddered, but Haran hadn’t noticed, instead feeling for something… someone…

His pupils dilated, black swallowing the gold and then he grinned, a cruel, delighted grin and his eyes came back into focus. He stood up, laughing, “Oh, Mando. I’m afraid your luck has run out. Your precious princess has just made her entrance.”

Bile rose up in Din’s throat and he shook his head, “No, you’re lying.” 

Din knew he wasn’t. Knew it because he felt you. Every cell in his body was crying out to leave the room, to be reunited with you. Hell, he could almost smell your achingly familiar scent. 

Haran advanced on him, crouching down and he took off his gloves, revealing a pair of slender hands – absolutely mauled with twisted, marbled scars. 

Din couldn’t stop staring at them, at the evidence of some awful injury – fire, by the looks of it, “What are you doing?” He couldn’t move away, the pain too great and the room spinning. Horror flooded his senses – horror and relief. 

He felt sick at the relief, because the last thing he wanted was you near any of these people, but at the same time… you were coming to rescue him. 

He wasn’t going to die in here – 

That power brushed against him again, slipping through the cracks in his armour and seeking out the injuries as Haran said softly, “The game is beginning.” 

~~~

~~

So, your idea to enter the ship discreetly… maybe hadn’t gone entirely to plan. 

In all honesty though, it wasn’t your fault that you’d been attacked. 

And it wasn’t your fault that the only evasive maneuverer that they wouldn’t be expecting was to lead them on a wild goose chase around the ship and then…. Crash into the cargo hold. 

Okay, so Boba had been going for a gentle landing, but the situation had required some fast thinking and strategy and so… there you were. 

Maybe it hadn’t been what you’d decided upon but… you had to admit, the explosion provided excellent cover for your teams to slip in. 

Amongst the chaos, you weaved around the edges of the cargo ship and you were through into a service passageway, watching Cara and Fennec disappear down a hallway opposite. 

~

The cruiser was like a maze. 

You had no idea how long you had been navigating the halls, but you knew it was long enough. 

Already, you had encountered a few Troopers, but they were silenced before they could raise the alarm – and stuffed into nearby rooms so they would be delayed when they awoke. 

Mayfeld kept pace easily with you and Ahsoka, as you sent out waves of power to sweep the area, “They most likely have him in the cells. But if they know we’re coming… They would have moved him. 

Somewhere more central, where we have no choice but to be in the open and vulnerable to attack. So, we should head toward the front of the ship, maybe.” He kept his voice hushed and his blaster aimed. 

Ahsoka peered over her shoulder at him, raising her eyebrows, “Tell me again where you came from?” She had her other saber in her hand, held in her trademark grip as she moved like a shadow. 

Mayfeld chuckled low, “Impressed?” 

Seriously?

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, looking ahead again, “Please, don’t flatter yourself.” She shook her head, pausing and raising a hand for you all to stop too. 

You pushed your power around the corner as well, combining with hers and you felt it. 

A cluster of Stormtroopers gathered near a service room. They were standing between you and the next hallway and would need to be removed. 

Focusing, you did a rough tally, “Nine of them. All armed.” You worked it through in your mind. You could take them – but there was still enough time for them to raise the alarm. Especially if they were near service rooms, they’d be able to signal to others and you would soon be ambushed. 

Even without power, Mayfeld appeared to have done the same, “We need to draw them away, get them somewhere quiet.” He looked back the way you came, then to the right where there was a dead end. 

Ahsoka sighed, shaking her head, “How? Any noise will alert the others. We need to - ” She broke off, having just seen what you were doing. “Where are you going?” 

You had moved away from the safety of the wall, drawing the hood of your cloak up over your face. “You and Mayfeld get ahead, see if you can find a map or something in one of those rooms.” 

Something dark thrummed in your blood, your palms itching with an intense need to… to make someone hurt. 

Mayfeld rose an eyebrow, facing you as he kept his back against the wall, “Are you crazy? They want you as much as you want Mando! You can’t just walk out there like a party gift.” 

A party gift that’ll explode in their faces. 

Stars above, the very thought almost made you laugh with an unnaturally shadowed delight. 

You indeed chuckled, rolling your eyes, “Exactly. What Stormtrooper grunt would pass up the opportunity to deliver Moff Gideon the very thing he’s doing all of this for? They’ll take me straight to him or throw me somewhere to wait. Either way, it gets them away from you.” 

Ahsoka was watching you, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She didn’t agree with this anymore than Mayfield, but she too knew there was no other way. “Okay.” She ignored Mayfeld’s noise of protest, “Be careful. Try not to draw too much attention if you can help it. We’ll find anything we can and if you’re not back out here, then circle back to find you.” She was still watching you with that strange look – like she could sense something off. 

You gave her a playful salute before pulling out another knife from your boot, rolling your shoulders and strutting around the corner. 

Instantly, the group of Troopers turned around, guns raising as they beheld your cloaked appearance, and the shining lightsaber in your hand, “Hey! Stand down!” 

You dropped the hood, grinning wickedly as you purred, “Hello, boys.” 

~

You moved like a flame, tearing through the group of Stormtroopers and spreading your embers of death, ready to turn into a blaze. 

The whir of the lightsaber was the conductor of your dance, providing a beat as your separated limb from limb. The deadly energy whipped through the air, severing one of the Troopers hands from his wrist and he went down screaming, clutching at the stub at the end of his arm which was smouldering. You didn’t hesitate, whirling and flinging a sharp, deadly knife from your hand. 

There was a muffled, wet noise impact as it lodged itself in his throat, buried in the gap between the chest plates and helmet. 

You didn’t know if Ahsoka and Mayfield were close, if they’d found a map – you didn’t care. 

These men, these followers were standing between you and Din. Maybe they had been forced into it, but as you had said before. They made the choice to stay. 

A yell sounded from behind you and a sharp blow to the middle of your back had you stumbling, the air knocked from your lungs. 

You sucked in a sharp breath but before you could turn, the back of a blaster smashed your skull and you tumbled to the floor, fighting through the wave of nausea and the stars in your vision. The lightsaber was flung from your grip, skittering across the floor. 

A somewhat altered voice hissed against your ears, a knee pressing to your spine, “You think you can waltz in here and take us all down? I don’t care what the boss says.” The muzzle of his blaster now jammed against the back of your skull, forcing your forehead to press against the icy, metallic floor and you bit your lip with the impact, “You are vermin. A monster. People like you shouldn’t exist.” 

The dark creature within you snarled, and you spread your fingers of your free hand, the other caught up underneath you, “Didn’t your boss tell you?” 

You heard him cock his head, “Tell me, what?” He dug his blaster in harder, right against the base of your skull. 

A wicked grin spread your lips, causing them to split further but quite frankly, you didn’t care. The pain only aided in the focus, the hot blood nothing as it ran down your chin, “Watch the hands.” You lifted it from the floor, wrapping the Force around his throat and you gave him only a second to realise what was happening, before curling your hand into a fist and crushing his windpipe. 

He choked, hands flying up to his throat but then he was instantly gone, slumping forward over you in a heavy tangle of limbs. 

You groaned, shifting his body off of you, “Get off of me.” You muttered it uselessly, scrambling up and you scooped up the lightsaber, before turning to survey the hallway. 

Footsteps resounded from both ends of the hallway, and you lowered into a battle stance, adrenaline still humming through your veins and numbing everything else, everything but the fight and the goal – Din.  Along with the cool ice of battle… something heavy and alluring whispered to you, as black as night and hungry for more death. 

White armour burst into your left peripheral and you whirled toward it, flinging a hand forward and then back. 

The Stormtrooper was dragged off his feet, again trapped with the invisible pressure around his throat as he ground to a halt, legs swinging forward with the remaining force of him flying at you. 

He snarled, scrambling at his throat, “You can’t do this. You won’t beat him, no matter what you believe.” 

You rolled your eyes, letting your head fall back with a groan, “When they make you, do they implant some kind of need for all the dramatic bullshit? Honestly, whoever the first one of you was, he must have been an incredible bore.” 

The Trooper thrashed about uselessly, his weapon falling to the floor and you sensed the glare through the black visor, “At least we have hearts. And maybe we’re all the same, but we’re more human than you are.” 

Monster. 

Ah, back to this, yet again. 

Always back to this. 

Your smile was angelic, your appearance anything but. 

Long cloak hanging from your shoulders, battle suit fitted and black as coal. Your boots were stained red, the blood looking like ink on the dark leather. 

As for your face, you sported a wicked bruise to your cheekbone, a long cut across your forehead and with the blood dripping down your chin, the wild fury in your eyes… You probably looked every bit the monster they said you were. 

And you couldn’t care. 

“You think I haven’t heard this one before? How I have no humanity, no soul… I’m an abomination that shouldn’t deserve to live, blah blah blah.” You shook your head, something deadly and shadowed twisting through your blood, humming in dark delight at what you were doing, the devastation you were feeding it. 

There was a name for it. 

You knew what it was, the siren call to step over the line that you were only too pleased to answer. 

You’d deal with that later.

The Stormtrooper choked as you tightened the hold on him, obviously about to speak but then his head jerked, focusing over your shoulder. 

The other footsteps – a pair. One heavy, one light and nimble. 

Mayfeld, and Ahsoka. 

You didn’t bother turning around as you heard them skid to a stop, Mayfeld sucking in a breath at the sight around you. 

The fallen bodies of the Troopers, broken about and still smouldering, the blood coating the walls and the floor, the edge of your cloak trailing in it. The stench of death and the smell of molten plastic. 

Mayfeld whistled low, “Fucking hell…” 

You ignored them, focused on your prey, tightening that leash bit by bit. 

It was like the very air around you was alive, more frantic than normal. Your power flared, tasting the death in the atmosphere, slipping through the ship like a poison and marking where each target was. Every single obstacle between you and your love. 

You could feel their living souls, see them in your mind like glowing stars in the sky. You knew that if you went for them, you could close your eyes and still take them down as quickly and skilfully as if your eyes were open. 

Is this how Haran was so good at killing? So skilled at finding people? 

Without the distraction of sight and sound, you needn’t worry about the expressions on people’s faces, the noises they made as they died. 

With your eyes shut, using this glittering map in your mind… they were merely lights to snuff out. 

“If you follow this path… No one will be able to help you. You will have to make the choice whether to stay on it, or to fight your way out.” Ahsoka’s voice was a soft breeze in the night of your mind, softly lit in the same white as her sabers, of which one you held in your hand. 

A symbol of strength… which you had used to destroy lives. 

Your eyes opened slowly, gazing up at the Stormtrooper ahead of you. 

A choice. 

Seconds ticked by, seconds you knew were slipping away on the clock of Din’s life as you made up your mind. 

The Trooper fell to the bloody floor and your voice was demanding, no room for argument, “Take us to your little master. I except he’ll be waiting.”

~~~

~~

Booted footsteps rang out on the cold metal hallways. 

The King of Shadows and Death could move like a whisper on the wind, as if the air itself parted around him and kept him silent. 

But this time, he wanted to be heard. 

He wanted the Mandalorian to know that his hope had been in vain. 

He merely looked at the guards standing either side of the door and they nodded, one scanning the chip that would trigger the heavy locks in the door. 

It swung open and Haran crossed the threshold, gazing down at the broken Mandalorian, slumped on his cot. He grinned, cocking his head, “Time’s up, Mando. Your saviour has come to rescue you from the enemy walls. Looks like you don’t know her as well as you thought.” 

The Mandalorian growled, dried blood like rust on his beskar, “If you think you’ll walk out of this unharmed, you obviously don’t know her like you think you do.” 

The last time Haran came to see him, he had healed his injuries just enough that Mando wasn’t permanently dancing the line between being awake and being unconscious. He did nothing to remove the pain, or the severity of them, but he had prevented infection. He’d also healed his legs to the point where he could walk – barely. 

What good was a knight who fell before the Queen could finish the game? 

Haran walked over to him, hauling him to his feet. The Mandalorian was the same height as him, so he gauged he was looking right into Mando’s eyes when he whispered, “I think I know her a lot better than you think. I can tell you that she would not have come here peacefully. And she would not have let go the people that stood in her path.” 

Mando shook his head, trying to pull away from him but he was unsteady on his feet, the blood rushing from his head, “No. You’re wrong. She won’t listen to that call, to the... Dark Side or whatever it is. She’s walked that line before, and she’ll make the right decision again.” 

Haran chuckled low, half dragging the beskar-clad knight out of the door, “Oh, I don’t doubt that she’ll make the right decision. But whether or not it’s right depends on which side you’re standing on.” 

The Mandalorian groaned, hating that he couldn’t pull away from Haran, hated the weakness of his body, the unsteady, lurching footsteps of his still fractured legs and the armour that weighed down on his broken bones. “Why are you doing this? Why are you so obsessed with corrupting her? You’ve been living your sick little life for… however long it is now. Surely there’s some other person to terrorize?” 

Haran scoffed, rolling his amber eyes, “You really need to get it through that thick skull of yours – I’m not corrupting her. I’m merely bringing back someone she’s tried to bury.” He looked over at Mando, raising his eyebrows, “Has she told you? About the time she had no code of honour, of mercy?”

The man beside him snarled, his leg giving way for a moment as agony rippled up his hip, his bones screaming, “What the fuck are you talking about now?” 

It was easy to hold him up, despite the weight of his beskar and they walked down the imposing hallways, three Stormtroopers flanking them – whether it was to stop Mando trying something, or stop Haran having his fun, he didn’t know. Or care. 

“There was a time, little hunter, where your precious princess slaughtered anyone who dared stand in her way. She was broken, hungry for vengeance and only to eager to have her fill.”

Mando was quiet for a moment, the heavy scuff-drag of his boots the only sound to be heard – one he probably hated as he moved nearly as silently as Haran did. 

Something like triumph flickered over Haran’s face at his silence, “You truly didn’t know? Oh dear… There’s a lot she hasn’t told you, Lori. Things I’ve seen in her head that I doubt even she remembers she did.” He guided them around toward the corner, to where it would all come to a head. 

And to where his power was tugging him, whispering to him of the state the next hallway had been left in. 

The Mandalorian pushed away from him, summoning some kind of inner reserve of strength. He stopped, the guards pausing behind him and shifting their weapons as a warning. He looked at Haran, the harsh lighting bouncing off his beskar, revealing nothing of the man beneath and Haran wondered if he had revealed his face yet. 

“You seem to think telling me these things will bother me or make me look at her differently. Whatever she’s done, whatever terrible things she’s committed… it doesn’t change the fact that I love her.” He stepped forward, ignoring the guards as they moved too, “I’ll tell you something, Shadow man. There is a light that burns within her, a fire that could rival the very stars up there.” He pointed to the ceiling, “And no ounce of darkness, be it her own past or your own twisted powers, will ever snuff it out.” 

He moved that finger to jab Haran’s chest. “You tried to dump her at the bottom of a lake, and she came out burning brighter than before. So carry on, tell me all these horror stories to try and scare me away.” He shrugged, the rough baritone of his voice steady, ringing with loyalty and truth – and threat, “All you’re doing is making me love her even more.” 

Golden eyes flicked between the visor, assessing. Plotting. 

Then Haran smiled, a sinister, deadly smile as he inclined his head, “I don’t doubt for a second everything you said is true.” He brought his hands together behind his back, resuming the walk and he used his power to push the Mandalorian along. “I believe that you’re willing to throw down the gauntlet to protect her honour every single time someone threatens it. But I wonder… All you’ve heard is stories.” 

He walked around the corner and stopped yet again, his dark power dragging Mando to his side. “What will you do when faced with the truth first-hand?” 

The hallway was carnage. 

A bloody battlefield. 

Multiple bodies littered the stark floors, bright red blood sprayed all along the walls – even the ceiling. The once white armour of the Troopers was stained with the stuff, their bodies bent at unnatural angles, as if a strong power had taken hold of their limbs and yanked them in all the wrong directions until bones shattered and muscles tore. 

The Mandalorian looked upon the scene, the blood coating the tips of his boots. 

A dismembered hand lay just a few feet away and the severed wrist, the tendons hanging out of it... all singed. As if cleaved from the body by something white-hot and burning. 

A lightsaber. 

Which would explain why the hard shell-like armour of the fallen Troopers were marked with black holes and marks, the stench of melting plastic mingling with the reek of burnt bodies and blood. 

This was the work of someone with deadly skill, usually so precise… pushed to the edge, to this. 

Oh, it wasn’t mindless, not by any means. 

It was clearly thought out… maybe even savoured. 

Haran breathed in the smell like he was standing in a field of flowers, “Well. I have to say, I’m impressed. This looks like something I’d leave behind.” He walked through the mess of shredded bodies, a phantom wind lifting the edge of his cloak so it didn’t drag in the blood, “These poor soldiers never had the chance.” He crouched down, pushing the helmet of one Trooper – resulting in the head rolling a few inches away from his body. 

He looked at the Mandalorian, raising an eyebrow as the fluorescent lighting brought out his scars, “Still singing her praises?” 

The Mandalorian was silent, hands clenched at his sides but then he moved, not away from the scene, but toward it. 

Through it. 

Through the blood and flesh until he was standing right in front of Haran, feet splashing to a stop in the scarlet river, “Always.”

~~~

~~

Moff Gideon was waiting for you as you were escorted into a large, open chamber.

He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, with a young girl at his side – presumably his second in command.  There was a sick expression of glee on his face, dark eyes glittering with what he presumed was triumph. 

Next to him, stood Haran, clad in black as always, with that embroidered cloak holding – 

Din. 

Oh, the sight of your Mandalorian threatened to bring you to your knees as you were stopped a few metres away. 

You couldn’t see his body – obviously – but you knew simply from the way he held himself, that he was terrible injured. 

He seemed to be bearing his weight to one side, slumped over even as he stood, and you could hear is laboured breathing from here. 

Oh Din, what happened to you…

You had to admit, a small part of you wondered if there would be anything left of him when you arrived. Not from the possibility of torture, but simply from that terrible fall. 

The thought of tumbling all that way down to the ground, encased in a rock-solid metal shell… You couldn’t even fathom it. 

And yet, there Din was, still alive after something that should have killed him. 

Clearly, the Maker had plans for him. 

Gideon cleared his throat, watching the Trooper grunt retreat to the edge of the room, “Well, well. After all my time spent hunting you… Here you are.” He cocked his head, “I thought you’d be taller.” 

You rolled your eyes, sighing, “Oh stars above, please tell me this isn’t another villain speech. I hate those.” 

Haran’s lips twitched perhaps remembering this exact same conversation from his bunker. 

You flickered your eyes to him, before looking back at Moff Gideon, who was looking at you with… a rather bored expression already. 

“I was told you were insolent and arrogant, and I can see my sources were correct. They were also correct about how to summon you here.” 

He looked over at Haran, “Though it took many years for someone’s ideas to actually bear fruit. Well done.” 

Haran bristled slightly, as if taking praise from a mere human man irritated him. 

You supposed it did. 

Gideon was nothing compared to Haran, power or not.  

“Well, I would hate to disappoint you, of course.” You shot him a sweet smile, venom in your eyes, “If you wouldn’t mind, do you think you could tell me what it is you want before I take my Mandalorian here and leave this dump.” You held up your comms watch, “I have a party in Coruscant I’m due to be at and it won’t look very good if I’m late.” 

You thought you may have heard muffled chuckles from the line of Stormtroopers assembled behind him, but you paid it no heed. 

Gideon bared his teeth at you, eyes blazing, and he brought a hand in front of him to point at Din, “Do you not realise, we have your precious bounty hunter captive? Do you not realise who is holding him?” 

You looked over at Haran, shrugging lightly, “A guy who has interesting taste in fashion?” 

Did Gideon not know about the bunker or the lake? Had Haran neglected to tell him you’d met before?

Haran revealed nothing in his expression, but there was something in his eyes… something ancient… some of betrayal? Of lies? 

Moff Gideon snarled at you, “Insolent creature. You are here because we allowed you to be. In fact, the only reason that happened, is because of the failures of the people I sent after you. Had they done their job, you would have been broken long ago. That disgusting affliction of yours burnt out of you.” 

Heat licked down your spine, and the atmosphere in the room shifted as the three Force wielders within it straightened at is words, the ugly discrimination in his words. 

Dangerous game to play, Gideon. 

You kept your breathing even, feeling the shadows prowl beneath your skin, teeth and claws still dripping with blood from the hallways, wanting more, “Have you ever wondered why you’re stuck here, chasing down women and babies?” You took a step forward, anger and pride for yourself, for Ahsoka, every Force Sensitive person both dead and alive making your voice carry strong over the empty air – even pride for Haran, in some way.  

Gideon rose an eyebrow, “Do tell.” 

“You’re stuck in the past. You believe that people like us,” You motioned to yourself, “You believe we are abominations. Freaks of nature. The Force is nature. It’s the very thing that binds us all together. There is no fear in it, no monstrosity. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you people to understand.” 

The Officer sighed, shaking his head and moving a step closer as well, “Oh, I understand that. I wasn’t referring to the others in this room. I was referring to you. You, my dear, have been sick and twisted from the very moment you were born.” 

Din pulled against Haran’s grip, growling in anger, “I’d advise you to stop speaking.” 

Haran yanked him hard, “Stay quiet.” He spat the words at Din, but you didn’t fail to notice the murderous look he shot Gideon over Din’s head, his golden eyes livid. 

A shaking had taken over your hands, so you clenched them tighter around your weapons, years of abuse playing in your mind. 

But you pushed back against it, for you were stronger now. Stronger because of it, not in spite of it. 

Gideon continued, looking upon you in disgust but there was a sick fascination here too, “You have been marked for death long before you showed your powers. You think it was coincidence that the hunter was stalking you in your miserable little village? She was there on orders.” He looked over you, “A child responsible for the deaths of her parents. You might as well have pushed the blade in your mothers flesh yourself.” 

A roaring took over your head, filling your ears with the sounds of screaming, the stench of blood and the way the light sapped from your life as your parents died. 

But… the world was different now. 

It was bright again. 

Because of Din, your friends… That’s why you were here. 

You glared at Gideon, wanting so desperately to tear out his throat with your power, your hands, or even your teeth – but now wasn’t the time. You shook your head, “You don’t win this time, Gideon. I’m afraid your sad little life will be ruled by chasing me for just a little longer.” With that, you flung your hands wide, making your power explode through the room with a battering impact. 

You felt another wave at the same time as yours, fuelling it – Ahsoka’s. 

You only just managed to keep it free from Din, though Haran had thrown up a hand milliseconds before you, as if sensing what you were going to do – and evidently creating a shield. 

Gideon and the Troopers weren’t quite so lucky. 

The Force flung him through the air, causing his head to smash harshly against a metal beam and he crumpled to the ground, limp. 

Haran spun to look at him, and it occurred to you – he should have protected him too. He was working for Gideon. Or… at least pretending to be. 

Who was really calling the shots here?

No time for that now. 

You used Haran’s distraction to throw yourself at him, activating the lightsaber and unleashing yourself on him with a strangled cry of rage. 

He startled, just a few seconds too late and he pushed Din at you in an attempt to slow you down. 

Perfect. 

Just as you planned. 

You were never really going to engage in battle with him, had never intended to attack him. 

But you knew he would use Din as a shield, thinking you were too blidned in your rage – but you proved him wrong. 

Din careened into you, stumbling against your body and you both nearly tumbled to the floor, but then Cara was there, helping you support his body as he wrapped an arm around you, “You came…” His voice was hoarse, weak with pain and exhaustion. 

The relief and love in his voice nearly brought you to the ground, “Of course I came for you, Din. I will always come for you.” You gave him a watery smile, walking toward the others, keeping one eye behind you as Haran watched. 

Why wasn’t he moving… Why wasn’t he attacking?

“I saw what you did.” Haran’s silken voice called out from behind you, making you pause in your retreat. “I know you feel it. The call to the Dark Side. And I know that you answered it.” 

That would be why. 

You slowed to a stop, forcing Din and Cara to slow too. “How do you know I answered it?” You looked straight ahead, still not turning around. 

Haran sounded as though he took a step forward, “I felt it. I felt it when you allowed the Dark to show you how to get here. You saw the lives as glowing lights, a map to saving your Mandalorian. And the mess you left in that hallway…” He trailed off meaningfully, “You needn’t fear it, darling. It’s not evil. It’s merely… a different perspective.” His voice had melted into the same one that had coaxed you into swallowing the poison, into stepping off the edge. 

Here you were, yet again. Only you weren’t standing on the precipice of a raging torrent… You were standing on the edge of the Dark Side. 

And his words had instantly awoken it, set it pining for a life to be unleashed, untamed. 

Slowly, you turned around, cringing when Din’s broken feet tumbled over each other too, so you slowly let go “A different perspective…?” You cocked your head, voice starting to sound unsure as his seductive baritone filtered through your mind, weaving around it. 

He smiled, that gorgeous, disarming smile that instantly made you lock focus on him, “Yes. Others may tell you that the dark side is evil… But it isn’t. It’s simply using that power in a different way. Using it to get the things that you deserve.”

You swallowed, feet hanging over that metaphorical edge, “You – You promise? I can’t go back to that place. I can’t be a… monster again.” Your voice trembled over the word; eyes locked on his amber ones. 

Din shook his head fiercely from your left, fighting against Cara’s hold as she pulled him away, but he was too weak, “No. Sweetheart, no. Stop listening to him, please… He’s lying to you. You don’t need this. You don’t need that darkness, princess. You’re so good, so strong… please don’t do this.” 

And then you made a decision. 

You ignored Din.

And walked toward Haran. 

Stepping off of that edge. 

Haran extended a gloved hand to you, “That’s it, darling. That’s it… Coming here doesn’t make you a monster, it just means you are claiming your birth right. This is where you belong.” 

As you reached his presence, a feeling wrapped over you, muffling Din’s voice, the sounds of the others around you. You slid your hand through his, gasping a little as you felt your shadowy beast respond to his own, felt them twine around each other, greet each other. 

“I don’t…” Uncertainty still clouded your expression, and you lingered a little, worrying you were making a fatal mistake. 

He saw this, gently drawing you closer and into the circle of his arms, “No one will die. Your Mandalorian, your friends… We will help them leave safely and then… Then we can begin.” He guided your head to his neck. 

Din’s voice, though muffled, was desperate, clawing at you, “No! Cyar'ika, you can’t. Please, I’m begging you. You don’t need to go to him, you don’t need to do this. I love you. I love you for who you are, for every single thing. I’m not afraid of you, of any single part of you.” He sobbed. 

Din sobbed, reaching for you, “Please don’t leave me alone.” 

You were glad your head was pressed to Haran’s neck, because the backs of your eyes burned, shame and guilt threatening to choke you. 

You had to do this. 

You had to do it now before you shattered completely.

You were quiet, and then just… went pliant in his arms. You raised your own to his back, winding around his lean frame and lifted your face from Haran’s neck, nuzzling your nose along his neck, “I believe you.”  

“NO!!” Din fell to his knees beside Cara, shaking his head in disbelief. “Sweetheart, please don’t do this. Please-” The way his voice broke tore through your heart, and you nearly backed out right then and there. 

But you didn’t because Din… He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why you had to do this… 

Haran’s arms tightened around you, one coming up to cradle the back of your head, “Good girl. I always knew you would see the light.” A deliberate, ironic choice of words form the King of Shadows and Death.

Din’s sobs speared though you, each devasted noise threatening the tears building in your own throat. 

Raising on tiptoe slightly, you ran a hand down his back, the other splaying wide, ready. 

You brushed your lips along the smooth line of his skin, breathing in the smell of wind and midnight, “There’s just… There’s one little thing…” 

Haran nodded, his cheek resting against your hair, “Anything. Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

His words muffled the soft sound of an object flying into your hand as you let out a breath against the shell of his ear, whispering, “I will never be your Queen.” 

The sound of a lightsaber activating, not through air… but through flesh. 

Haran’s choke of surprise – and agony. 

You held his sagging body to yours, snarling, “That’s for the lake, you twisted asshole.” You stepped back, letting him fall to his knees, yanking free the lightsaber and savouring the gritted howl of agony as you tore back through more flesh and tendon. 

Those amber eyes of his blazed like molten gold, deadly and furious, “You don’t know the mistake you’re making. You’re throwing away your life with these fools.” 

You bared your teeth at him, raising the saber threateningly to his throat, letting it make the faintest contact, “Come after me again, and I will end you. I don’t care if you’re hundreds of yours old, or the King of Death or whatever else you call yourself. I’m not afraid of you. And I will destroy you before you can do the same to anyone else.” 

With that, you quickly turned, bolting toward your family and friends, “Now!!” 

Ahsoka flung her hands wide at the same time as you, creating a wide bubble of Force energy that blew through the space. 

Every Stormtrooper in the area was knocked flat on their back, instantly out like lights as you threw your arm around Din’s shoulders, trying to get him up as he stared at you. 

“What… I don’t…” His voice was bewildered, dazed with pain and he was heavy in your arms. 

You whimpered just slightly, desperation and anxiety creeping forward, the edge of battle slowly fading, “I’ll explain everything later, we have to go now, Lori. Please.” 

Mayfeld was suddenly there, supporting his other side and then you were all running for the cargo hold, leaving the destruction behind you. 

Even as you ran, Cara and Fennec scouting ahead, Ahsoka behind you aiding with the energy bubble and Mayfeld helping you carry Din… You couldn’t quite figure out how you had pulled this off. 

You’d done it. 

~~~

~~

Haran watched her leave, supporting the Mandalorian and hurrying away with her friends, her power combined with Tano’s to create an impenetrable shield around them all. 

Well… He would have gotten through with half a thought – perhaps a whole one – but any of the other fools in this place wouldn’t stand a chance. 

Many footsteps rushed into the room and then he felt hands on him, pushing away his own, trying to get to his wound. 

He looked down, saw a medic with their pack open by his side, flitting and fiddling. 

“Leave it.” His silken voice was hard ice, enough of a bite there to inform the medic what would happen if they didn’t leave. 

Despite the medics healing instincts, they knew the tone well, and moments later the kit was packed up and Haran was already turning away from the retreating figure. 

Strong. 

She had grown stronger far quicker than even he had expected. He knew it was within her, but he had thought the trauma ran deeper, its claws embedded into her very soul and creating a barrier every time she would try to tap into the power. 

Tano must have taught her how to master her fear, or how to get past it.

Useful, it saved him a job… but also irritating. If she was already harnessing that trauma, it would mean he could no longer use that aspect. 

Haran walked the path she had taken, out to the cargo load, the harsh wind roaring across the space as the tech’s struggled to gain control of the ship again, to remove whatever bug the girl and her friends had slipped in. 

No matter. It didn’t upturn his plans… just meant he had to work with a new angle. 

And fortunately, he had one, courtesy of the would-be Queen herself.

Haran had come across the bodies in the hallway on his way in here, saw the way they were dumped on the ground with their limbs at unnatural angles, their armour shattered from the inside out. 

And if the still smoking scorch marks all over their bodies weren’t indication enough, a sweep of his power had revealed massive internal devastation. 

Haran stood with a gloved hand pressed to the bleeding wound as he watched the steadily shrinking shape of a ship. A mere thought had the hole stitching back together as he extended his fingers out slowly. 

No one on the clean side of the Force would wreak havoc like that of the hallway, regardless of their love having been kidnapped and beaten. 

And that meant simply one thing. And one thing only.

She was being called to the Dark Side. 

And she’d heeded that call. 

Maybe only temporary, but the Dark Side was like Haran himself. Once you let it in, once you got that first taste… it never truly left. She could deny it all she wanted, trick him with it, think it was merely a reaction from the stress of saving the Mandalorian, but it had already rooted within her. 

He could feel it. 

Haran tipped his head back and laughed, his ebony curls dancing across his forehead as the wind tugged and pushed at his tall, lean frame. A lone pillar of darkness, hovering at the edge of the world. 

Previous| Next

[oopskashish]

Hi! can I request a Harry Potter x reader fic? one where Harry gives Y/N a necklace that belonged to Lily in a way to show her how much she means to him? ❤️

Light

A/N: I am so sorry that it took me so long to write this but I was just gathering the best ideas I could think of. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Summary: After the battle of ministry, Harry gives his lover a part of his parents.

Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

Warning: almost death of someone but there are no deaths, fluff, and just emotional in a good way.

The air was strumming with tension as Y/N stood beside Harry, wide-eyed. She looked around as the Death Eaters apparated in the department of mysteries. Each death-eater had their wands at least one DA student.

Harry and Y/N whirled around to see Lucius Malfoy walk towards them. Y/N felt a hand wrap around her arm and she was tugged back. Her back met someone’s chest and she looked up to find Yaxley. She felt the tip of his wand touch the side of her neck where her veins laid.

He held her wrist of the hand which was holding her wand and twisted it, making her scrunch her face in pain, and she dropped the wand.

She was disarmed, without her wand she was an open target.

She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to calm down, taking in a couple of deep breaths.

A chaotic mind is the source of error.

She could hear her father practically whisper in her ear.

She opened her eyes to find Harry having a conversation with Lucius.

“Harry, we will let your friends go if you hand me the prophecy.”

Harry contemplated the thought, looking at his friends and then finally at his girlfriend who shook her head subtly.

“Don’t.” Y/N mouthed.

Harry gave no reaction to her and turned to Lucius. He thought for a moment, looking at Lucius who was looking at him with almost a hopeful expression.

“You will let my friends go?” Harry questioned him.

“Yes, I will.” Lucius says with a satisfied expression. His plan was working.

“Alright, then.” Harry casually shrugged, extending his hand to give him the crystal ball which held the priceless prophecy. Lucius smiled as he outstretched his hand to grasp it.

Just when he thought he had, Harry, accidentally of course, let the ball slip out of his hand. The prophecy fell down and smashed against the floor, the misty cloud dissolving in the air.

“Oops.”

Lucius’ nose flared with anger, just as he was about to raise his wand, a voice interrupted him.

“Get away from my godson.”

Lucius whirled around, facing Sirius Black who delivered a fantastic punch right in his jaw. The intensity of the punch made him fall on the ground.

The order members apparated in the department and started fighting the death-eaters.

Except one, Yaxley.

Yaxley had a hand wrapped around her neck, holding her firmly in his grasp. She tried not to struggle against his grip.

"I will kill her if any of you try to attack us." His voice boomed in the room, making everyone turn to him. Y/N scowled, and looked down at his hand, specifically his watch trying to think of something.

"Don't you dare." Harry seethed out, which was very unlike him. Sirius held him back before he could have attacked Yaxley.

This was a compromising situation.

Or was it?

Y/N slowly grasped his wrist, making him glance at her. She didn't do anything, knowing his grip can't go any tighter than it already was. Otherwise it would affect her in a brutal manner.

"Now, drop your wands." Yaxley said, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Y/N's hand shot up and it gripped his hair. She gathered all the strength in her body and flipped him over her head, letting his body crash on the ground. In process, his grip on her neck had loosened, much to her luck.

She whispered a thanks to her dad who got her innumerable martial arts lessons while she grew up.

"I think not." She quickly reached for her wand and she watched as he stood up to his feet.

"Scared to duel a 15 year old one?" She asks, cocking her head to side. Yaxley was looking at her with a disgruntled expression which was accompanied by loathe.

"Shut up you filthy half breed." He sneered, casting a spell which she easily defended.

All around her people were firing spells.

She was an excellent duellist, the best in her year. She had defeated numerous brilliant witches and wizards in her school but here was a man who was as cruel as he was talented.

His hexes were being thrown at her at the speed of light, and there was no way she could win until and unless she took him by surprise.

Her mind was processing all the spells she has ever learnt from anyone and everyone. She exhales as she casted a spell made by Fred and George which Yaxley, fortunately, missed to defend.

His face suddenly grew blisters which was a perfect moment for her to disarm him.

But instead of Expelliamus, she went with,

"Anaticula!"

A smirk played on her lips when the wand shined very lightly, but it was enough to show her that her spell worked.

Sirius suppressed his urge to smile when he heard the spell he and James used on countless death eaters in the first war.

Yaxley muttered some profanities and casted the cruciatus curse on her. But instead of the curse, a duck came out and it quacked around Yaxley.

"Cute duck." She smiles and before muttering, "Petrificus Totalus" and freezing the man.

She padded her way towards Harry and Sirius, careful of any spells that might hit her. Her eyes widened when she saw Bellatrix appear and cast a spell on Sirius.

She pushed Sirius out of the way and she was hit by a red beam of light which exerted a force on her, causing her to be thrown back.

Y/N was ready to take her final breaths, knowing that the curtain was of death and it will kill anyone who touches it.

But instead she landed near Harry, panting.

None of it made sense but she got up, and watched Sirius duel with Bellatrix now. Harry pulled her to side near a rock.

"Are you okay?" He hastily asks.

"Yeah. What happened-" she was cut off by a sound of crack.

They two of them emerged from their corner to find Voldemort standing there, and all the death eaters apparated to stand behind him.

Y/N forced herself not to go to him and go all Jackie Chan on him, instead she inhaled and exhaled and stood beside Sirius who was heaving heavily.

"Harry Potter, yet again we meet. Now, where is that prophecy?" He asks, looking at Lucius at the end of the question.

Before Lucius could have said a word, Dumbledore and Y/N's father apparated.

"You shouldn't have come here, Tom." Dumbledore says calmly, and gestured Y/F/N to step back.

Y/F/N did it, hesitantly, glancing back at Y/N, Harry, Sirius, and Remus.

He had been a rather close friends with Marauders, especially when it came to pranking. He wasn't exclusively a Marauder since he had a group of friend of his own in f/h/n.

The duel between the two exceptionally brilliant wizards started.

"Sirius get out of here!" Dumbledore tells him. He was about to take Harry's hand but then Dumbledore intruppted, yet again. "Don't take him."

Sirius took a deep breath in and looked at Harry.

"Stay safe, and go behind Remus."

"Padfoot, take my daughter with you." Y/F/N said.

"But I-" Y/N was cut off by Sirius who grabbed her arm and apparated back to Grimmauld place.

"Sirius I need to go there! Dad is there and so is Harry. What if something happens to them? I can't live without either of them!" Y/N started panicking.

Sirius held her by her shoulders, causing her to look him in the eyes.

"I hate this just as much as you do, but I won't go against your dad's wish. They both will be okay, Dumbledore is there. Y/F/N is an excellent wizard, don't worry."

Y/N nodded, and hugged Sirius. Sirius wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rubbed her back.

The two had gotten closer since they both cared a lot about Harry. Sirius had been keeping in touch with her asking about Harry and of course about her well being too.

Sirius, as a matter fact, was a great uncle. She remembered how he had sent an entire set of oil paints, the top quality, as a birthday gift. He had told her about her father and mother's embarrassing moments, as a result for a week she couldn't look at them without laughing.

"Thank you," she says, parting away.

"No need of that, now let's get you a cup of tea." He led her to the kitchen where he told Kreacher to make tea for them.

They sat at the dining table, both of them hiding their anxiousness.

"By the way, that flip was amazing."

Y/N laughs. "Dad made me go to martial classes for a long time. I used to cry when I was too tired to go there but he dragged me if that what it took. By the way, how did I not end being thrown at the veil?"

"Harry used the reverse spell just in time."

"I hate to leave him there, but dad just had to say that." Y/N pouted as she took the tea from Sirius, thanking him quietly.

"Your father is very stubborn." Sirius nods, pouring tea for the two of them. "Good thing that y/m/n is stubborn too."

"Oh, don't say that. Them being stubborn is a nightmare. They can go on arguing for hours what would be the dinner. In the end, there will be a Shepherd's pie and a Cornish pasty."

Sirius chuckled. "That would make a good plater."

"Oh no, I would be probably eating cake for dinner." Y/N says, dipping her biscuit in the tea.

Sirius laughs.

"I can't imagine how is it living with you guys."

"Well, quite amusing actually." She nods. "Where is mum?"

"She is at work, an emergency."

Y/N nods. Her mum was an exceptional healer, and was half of the time at work since it was such a demanding job. While her father worked as a curse breaker.

"Y/N," Sirius keeps his now empty cup in the saucer. "I am grateful for what you did today but it was a very stupid decision. You can't risk your life for me."

"Well, you mean the world to Harry. He would go mental without you."

"He would go mental without you too." Sirius says, keeping a hand on hers. "Promise me that you won't do it, if such a situation ever happens again."

"I am not going to make any promises that I might break."

Sirius was touched by the sincerity in her voice. It reminded him of his own best friend, his brother, who once saved his life during a mission in the order.

But he still gave her a pointed look.

Y/N only shrugged and she jokes. "I can't lose an uncle who gives me the best presents."

Sirius keeps a hand on his heart, mocking a look of hurt. "You only like me because I am good at giving presents."

"No but it is a big reason." She grins. Sirius smiled at her too.

The door opens and Harry comes in along with the others, looking exceptionally pale. He looked beyond exhausted as he padded into the room.

Harry had barely got near the dining table when Y/N shot up from her chair and flung her arms around his neck. Harry reciprocated the hug, burying his face deep in her neck. He sighed in relief as her scent flooded his senses, calming him down immediately. He closed his eyes, letting the tension of his body evaporate away.

"Harry, are you okay? Did that noseless bastard hurt you? I am going to break his ribs if he dares to do anything." She whispers in his ear, making him chuckle.

"Noseless bastard?" Harry mused.

She slapped his shoulder lightly. "Answer me."

"I'm fine."

"Now tell me the truth." She says, parting away. Harry sighs, looking down at the floor.

"He invaded my mind, again."

Y/N clenched her jaw. Harry reached for her hands and rubbed his thumb against her knuckles, calming her down.

He pulled away when Sirius approached him and hugged him fiercely. She looked around and gave Remus a smile who nodded back.

Hermione, Ginny, Ron, and the others were all seated at the table and were being served tea by Kreacher who kept on mumbling things under his breath.

She bit her lip anxiously as she looked for her father, sighing in relief when he came in. Y/F/N strides towards her and hugged her, holding her incredibly close to him.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes dad." She mumbled into his shirt, holding him tightly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he breathes out, "I'm okay."

The father and daughter parted away, and Y/F/N hugged Harry, checking him over in a fatherly manner.

After the death of Harry's parents and when he was sent to the Dursley's, Y/F/N had somehow tracked him down and demanded that Harry will stay with him for the weekends.

Y/F/N and Y/M/N were close friends of Lily, and they wanted to make sure that Harry is alright. They knew about Lily and Petunia's relationship and thus wanted to make sure he grows up with as much love as they could provide him.

Y/N and Harry had been close childhood friends and Y/M/N made sure he get all the love he could while he lived in an abusive household. They were a family, practically, and not even Dumbledore couldn't stop them from being together.

When Y/F/N and Harry parted away, Sirius asked Harry.

"Snape didn't teach you much, did he?"

He shook his head. "He didn't teach me the actual method. He just kept invading my mind instead of teaching me how to actually defend myself."

Sirius and Y/F/N share a look, both swearing on their lives to make sure Snape gets what he deserves.

Sirius then turned to Harry. "I think you should sleep, you must be very tired."

Harry nodded, sagging his shoulders. He wordlessly took Y/N's hand and pulled her out of the room with him.

"Keep the door open!" They heard Y/F/N call out and a few chuckles from the room.

The couple blushed at that. "Don't remind me, father." Y/N said, just loud enough for him to hear.

The couple went to the room that Harry and Ron shared during the summer. Harry rummaged through his pockets as Y/N freed her hair from a ponytail and ruffled them a bit.

"Y/N?" She turned to Harry, who was holding a necklace.

"Yes, love?"

Harry sits beside her and let her take his free hand. "Sirius gave me a necklace over this summer. It belongs to Mum. I want you to have it."

Y/N's eyes widened. "What?"

Harry leaned in and kissed her cheek, smiling softly at her. "You have always been the light in my darkness, and I am sure that mum and dad would have loved you with all their heart. It would mean a lot to me if you keep a part of them with you."

Tears prickled in her eyes after hearing those sweet words and she hugged him tightly, burying her face in his neck. She sniffled, holding back her tears.

Harry nuzzled into her neck, kissing the skin there. He let her collect herself, his gentle touches reminding her that he loved her more than anything in the world.

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" She whispered.

Harry pulled away, just a little to look in those deep beautiful eyes he fell in love with. "I have been surer about anything else in the world."

Y/N smiled and kissed the corner of his lips. She parted away and turned around, gathering her hair to the side. Harry gently took the necklace, holding it as if it was made of stars.

But it was more precious than that.

He clipped the necklace around her neck, and Y/N touched it with her finger tips, feeling the carvings of the metal that had a flower on it, a lily of course.

She turned around and let him pull her into a kiss.

It was divine.

The feeling of tension left their bodies as soon as their lips, and the sumptuous feeling of unconditional love they had for each other filled them up to the brim, flooding their souls.

It was as if the sky held stars for the first time and found the meaning of happiness. The feeling was as ethereal when the sun first shined.

It was a heaven the found in one another.

They parted away, panting. Breathless smiles took over their faces as they looked at each other's lips with so much affection that even blind could see.

They laid down on the bed, embracing each other as the silent promise of being together no matter what was made.

A promise that was fulfilled even when the hell broke loose and the darkness flooded their lives. They stayed together, being each other's light.

-/-/-/-

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[sourwormsaresour]

Do you write for sale or zucchero? 😳

I've never written about them. But just for you, I'll write some backstories about them, maybe throw in a few headcanons. They deserve so much more recognition. 

Btw, the backstories are based on the car conversation they had before interacting with Team Bucciarati.  There’s unfortunately not too much we know about the two but this is what I came up with. :)

Sale was raised in the same poor neighborhood as Gelato. These two don’t know each other well but they have heard of each other growing up. Sale grew up as an only child raised by a single mother and his father, although loving and supportive to the very end, was murdered while working as a mafioso. Sale, who was 9 years old at the time, had to quickly grow up to be the “man of the house” so he could take care of himself while his mother is working; later on, he would strive to work harder and be stronger to protect her and become the breadwinner instead. While a lot of family dynamics in the neighborhood was toxic and abusive, to say the least (mafioso fathers and sex worker mothers oftentimes forced to be together and children suffering as a result of poverty and circumstances), Sale was considered “lucky” in that, despite the similar lives his parents had with other parents in the neighborhood, they genuinely loved each other, strived to provide a loving home and opportunities for their only child, and chose to do so rather than forced into it. Sale grew up angry about the circumstances life put him in and how the world poorly treated both him and his family. Like other children in the neighborhood, joining the mafia was a way to a higher status, better opportunities, and venting that frustration to the people working beneath you. What really motivated him to join was his mother- he vowed that he would take care of her and “be the man his father is” should something bad ever happen to his father. Sale wanted to be in a position where he could help her retire out of sex work, hating how she had to tolerate her clients to get food on the table, and overall did it as a way to express gratitude to his mother for raising him. Even after she passed, he continued his goals of becoming a high-ranking mafioso in her and his father’s honor. He's extremely serious about his future plans, which we can see with how he tells off Zucchero for not investing the 5 billion lira in long term goals but instead on more materialistic short-term things. 

Meanwhile, Zucchero came from a more comfortable background, nothing beyond your typical middle class family lifestyle, and never really considered going into the mafia until circumstances forced him to. Based on the conversation he had with Sale, I think Zucchero was an upcoming Ph.D. student who was going to study astrophysics for his dissertation (He mentions to Sale this quote: “I know more about astrophysics than I do any damn rumor”/ “I don't know where the end of the universe is and I don't know jack about [any rumor] either.”) at one of Italy’s prestigious universities; he and Melone probably rubbed shoulders at one point since both are former Ph.D. students. However, Zucchero's actually an average student at best and doesn't focus on studying at all; he isn’t very bright beyond academia. Zucchero preferred partying and living the fast life over pursuing a stable traditional one, justifying his priorities by saying he's “already super smart because he’s studying a STEM degree” and even uses his college major to flex on other people. The scholarship money he gets mostly goes into funding his partying habits than his school needs. The reason behind this behavior is rather relatable: Zucchero is terrified of growing up after college and has no idea what he wants to do in life. He knows the scholarship money can't fund his lifestyle forever and part of why he pursued a Ph.D. is because it delays his higher education career to avoid going into the workforce sooner. During his college years, a bit of party foul landed Zucchero into some criminal trouble that ultimately compromised his spot in the doctorate program. In desperation, he turned to Passione for protection and cash in exchange for his servitude and finds the fast life as a gangster suits his liking more than facing the adult world with no passion. It’s also why he remains in Passione alongside Sale, as we see in PHF.  

Despite the different lives these two had prior to Passione, Sale and Zucchero get along with each other pretty well- or at least tolerate each other enough to work together. Sale easily saw through Zucchero's BS in being the intellect, yet likes how Zucchero is stupidly down for anything. Zucchero has a slight superiority complex against Sale due to Sale's background but admires Sale for being the actual brains out of the two. 

[linkspooky]

Annie Runs Away (Again).

Annie has suddenly decided she’s a pacifist. Annie is leaving on a journey of self discovery. Perfect timing. You take all the time you need. It’s not like the world’s ending or anything. 

Just kidding. Annie’s not actually acting any different than she usually acts. I’ve said this before, but Annie and Armin are characters who continually exhibit regression rather than development. If you remain the same person more or less throughout the story, that’s not suddenly going to change without impetus. You’re always just the same person, even at the end of the world. 

An analysis on Annie and Armin’s failings under the cut. How they parallel Eremika, and why they can’t get close. 

1. But That’s None of My Business

Let’s bring out my handy dandy Want / Need chart again. 

Want

: something your character desires, because they believe it’ll improve their happiness.

Need

: the lesson they need to learn to overcome their inner struggle and achieve true happiness.

Annie has run away again and again throughout her entire arc. 

Annie’s a survivalist. Her own life comes before anybody else’s. When the chips are down, Annie will always choose to run away and protect herself. When things get hard her response is essentially to find some way to escape, and insist that the ongoing conflcit has nothing to do with her therefore there’s no reason for her to be personally invested. 

The entire tunnel scene is symbolic for this. All Annie had to do was make a choice to confront what she had done. She had to choose to walk into a situation that would be unsafe and even potentially compromise her. 

There was a chance, but Annie can’t even walk into a situation where she’s potentially unsafe. She can’t handle any confrontation. Annie, who is capable fo turning into the female titan, and easily can beat up men twice her size, and yet ultimately that physical strength means nothing because Annie is a self serving coward. 

We know the reason why Annie is like this. It is a pretty good reason. Her father told her that the most important thing above all else was her own survival. Annie was raised like a child soldier, to her all she has is her strength, and her promise to reunite with her father. If one fails, if she’s not strong enough to fight her way out of a situation she falls back to the other and runs. That’s why Annie as a person is both strong, and incredibly weak, she can’t even stand the slightest confrontation. 

Annie says she doesn’t care about being a good person, but she also gets tripped up and coerced by Armin’s words that he’ll think less of her. Annie says she will kill anyone on this island to survive, but she fails just because she spared Armin. Annie is wavering back and forth. She’s contradicting herself constantly, and that’s because Annie doesn’t want to think about who she is or what she wants. Her entire identity is found in running away, and running back to her father, and Annie never tries to be a person outside of that. 

What do you call soemone who blindly follows what their parents told them to do, and is unable to make decisions of their own outside of listening to their parents? 

A child.

The words of Annie’s father have kept her alive until this point, that’s true. However, treating the whole world as her enemy, as something to run away from, has stopped her from connecting to another person and giving her what she needs to grow up. You don’t grow and learn by doing the same thing over and over again. The same ideas that let her survive are now holding her back. 

What Annie thinks she wants is to be left all alone. She gets exactly that when she’s crystallized, and it only makes her worse. She is protected from everyone, nobody is able to harm her, she doesn’t have to interact with anyone and she becomes completely helpless. 

Annie’s path forward relies on confronting the people she’s been avoiding. However, Annie has only ever known avoidance. 

What Annie thinks, is that she doesn’t have to care about other people. However, she contradicts herself because Annie clearly does care. If she didn’t care she wouldn’t have spared Armin. If she didn’t care she wouldn’t let Armin’s condemnation of her actions get to her. It’s not that Annie is a good or bad person, it’s that Annie doesn’t even want to think about if her actions are right or wrong, she doens’t want to have any kind of confrontation at all so she runs away. 

Annie’s arc has always come about by her realization that there are other people who exist besides her in the world, and who have other wants and needs outside of her. If Annie was truly capable of living alone she would have just stayed in the crystal after all this time, but she obviously hated that. 

The only way Annie can move forward is if she gets closer to other people, but she can’t do that if she’s running away from them. I’ve said this again and again, the micro informs the macro. Characters decisions on a micro-level  have greater consequences in story. Annie is not able to rise to the occasion, because of her personal weaknesses, namely that she can’t be close to other people.

Once again we have Annie insisting that she just doesn’t have anything to do with this. Annie is someone who is perfectly capable of fighting, and strong in some ways but weak in others. Any time she has to confront something, she always chooses to avoid instead and runs away. It’s not because she can’t do anything, but it’s because she doesn’t want to have to face the conflict. 

Annie will always try to run away and be by herself because that’s what she thinks she wants, when what she needs to do is grow up and learn to be her own person outside of her father’s words for her. Like. She even says she wants to die peacefully. As if she’s accepted death rather than trying to struggle to live. Which is why she even physically runs away from Armin, the one person whose closest to her. 

Armin is the one person who has consistently challenged her to be a good person. As long as she’s far away from Armin, Annie doesn’t even need to think about whether her actions are good or bad. However, being quiet and being at peace is just what Annie thinks what she wants because if that was really the end result of her arc she could have just stayed in the crystal forever. 

2. EreMika Parallels

Armin and Annie mean a lot to each other. Armin is Annie’s connection to her own humanity. Annie saved Armin once and because of that her life has been forever changed since that moment. Armin is the person who looks up to Annie, and sees the best in her and even challenges her to be a better person than she was previously. Armin sees Annie better than Annie even sees herself. Does this sound familiar? it’s like a parallel. It’s intentional. 

Mikasa has always seen the good in Eren. She’s seen the kind little boy who wrapped a scarf around her on a cold day, and gave her the strength to fight. Eren is always stopped and hesitates when confronted with the memory of the scarf because Mikasa represents his connection to other people. It’s his memories of  Mikasa who always opposes him when Eren insists he’s a terrible person that’s going to destroy the world. 

Mikasa sees the good in Eren. However, their relationship is a complex one. Mikasa has, time and time again, enabled the bad in Eren because she has difficulty looking at the whole picture. 

Mikasa has enabled Eren’s bad tendencies. This is because Mikasa is so codependent on Eren, and so paralyzed by the idea of losing him she’s too afraid to confront him. Annie and Mikasa are both characters who despite their tremendous strength, they can’t seem to whether the simplest interpersonal confrontation. 

Mikasa and Eren have both at some point in the story saved each other. Eren saved Mikasa from the kidnappers. Mikasa told Eren that he was accepted and loved at his lowest point when confronted with the Dinah Titan again, and he promised to wrap the scarf around Mikasa again.

However, they also both have the tendency to ruin each other because Mikasa enables Eren’s worst qualities. She could push Eren to be better, but she’s too fixated on the idea of Eren rather than confronting who Eren really is as a person that she’s unable to do anything to stop Eren until it’s far too late. 

Armin and Annie are too people who could just like Eren and Mikasa, challenge each other to be better people. Eren’s flaw is his independence, Mikasa’s flaw is his codependence. It’s gender reversed in Aruannie, Armin’s flaw is his codependence and Annie’s flaw is her independence. 

The problem with Annie and Armin is ultimately they both tend to be very cowardly people. When they interact they have the potential to make each other braver, or they can run away from each other. 

Let me elaborate quickly on Armin. If Annie’s tendency is to always do what she wants, then Armins’ tendency is to always try to do what other people want. That’s not as selfless as it sounds though because, Armin wants to put all of his decisions on other people. 

Think about the conflict with Connie. If Armin had just told Connie no, or asserted himself as a leader, he could have just avoided Connie kidnapping Falco all together. 

Armin doesn’t want to make choices though. Armin will do anything to put the choice on other people. He physically put the choice on Connie, by just throwing himself into a suicide and forcing Connie to decide to save him. 

Armin believes that he himself is insufficient. There’s a theory going around that Armin is the main character of the story, but even if that is true: Armin does not want to be the main character. Armin will do anything to avoid being the main character of his own life. Part of the reason Armin puts Eren on such a pedestal is because if he treats Eren like the main character, then Armin himself is spared from making a decision. 

Annie doesn’t want to think about other people. Armin spends so much time thinking about other people that his own will gets lost time and time again. Eren continually putting responsibility on others and relying on others around him when everyone needs him to take responsibility and step up is his own version of running away. 

If part of the reason that things got this bad, was the total failure of leadership. Everyone acting powerless. Floch even says humanity needs a devil to lead it immediately after he creates the situation that kills Hange, and puts Armin in charge once more. 

If Annie’s first instinct is to always run away to protect her own life. Armin’s first instinct is to always throw himself away in some kind of suicide plan. However, this creates far more dififculties than it actually solves. Reiner even yells this at him, how would it help for Armin to throw his life away in a sacrifice at this moment to buy time if he was there best chance against Eren.

Floch believes that humanity needs a demon to lead them. This is an idea that’s been built up since the death of Erwin. It’s not Eren who is the demon however, it’s Armin. 

However, just as Annie consistently runs away when she’s cornererd. Whenever Armin has to act responsible for other people he always reacts by saying he couldn’t possibly live up to Erwin’s legacy. But that’s just the same behavior. That’s just running away. Annie values herself too highly over other people. Armin sees himself as expendable and much lower priority therefore refuses to step up to any responsibility placed on his shoulders, or make decisions he can put off onto other people. It’s different motivations but the same behavior, consistently running away from each other.

This is something they both do, and they can either confront this behavior in one another or they can run away from it. 

If Armin had challenged her to stay and fight Annie probably would have stayed. he didn’t so she didn’t. Armin calls himself a bad person who has killed comrades, but he doens’t really want to make the decisions that Erwin made and so he avoids that. 

In order to get closer, Annie and Armin would both have to confront themselves and admit things about themselves they don’t really want to think about. Which is why Annie runs away, and Armin lets her. Annie could challenge Armin to be better and call him out, but Armin doesn’t really want that fight right now. It’s something they would have to work on in order to be closer. How can you expect two people to be close, if they are continually running away from each other?

AruAnnie, and EreMika are two completementary sets of people with similiar flaws that could help each other or ruin each other, and right now we’re seeing the regression and not the development. 

[evenifitrains]

Basics: Name: Charity Burbage. Pronunciation: cha-ruh-tee burr-bed-ge Meaning:  Latin origin, meaning dear and beloved. Birthday: August 7th. Age: 22. Pronouns: She/her. Sexuality: Pansexual. Siblings: Perry Burbage, Merrick Burbage, Walter Burbage and Lucile Burbage. Parents: Nick Burbage (muggle) and Mia Burbage (pure-blood). Both deceased. Other Family: Two grandparents (maternal), one uncle (maternal) and one aunt (paternal). Languages: English. Current Residence: Kingston, London. Hometown: Londonderry, Ireland.

Wizard Fun: Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw Year of Graduation: 1977. Occupation: Secretary for the Muggle Liaison Office. Pet: One ginger cat named Iago. Blood Status: Half-blood. Species: Human. Patronus: Dolphin. Boggart: Standing by and watching her house burn down again. Amortentia: Vanilla, her old farmhouse when it rained, old books, herbal tea. Wand type: Yew wood: Yew wands almost never embrace an owner who lacks courage or skill, that much has been clearly established. Interestingly, they are known to grow into adult trees when buried along with their partners Thunderbird-feather Core: The feather from the tail of a Thunderbird makes for a wand skilled in Transfiguration, well-able to sense danger and even cast curses on their own, but are, for all these reasons, exceptionally hard to master, for all their sheer power. Affiliation: Neutral.

Appearance: Height:  5’4 Hair Color: Light-brown. Eye Color: Brown. Typical Hair Style: Just grazing her shoulder, spelled to curl up at the ends. Fashion Style: Comfortably rich. Preppy dresses, cardigans, headbands, red lipstick. Distinguishing Features: Calculating eyes and a constant almost smile. Scars on her hands from cigarette ash. Personality: Fiercely loyal, smug, not afraid to ask for what she wants, attentive to those she loves most. Positive Traits: Protective, empathetic. Negative Traits: Know-it-all, egotistical.

Quick Facts: Theme song: Femme Fatale - The Velvet Underground. Queen of Disaster - Lana Del Rey. Head-canons:

Only uses ribbons to tie her hair.

Always has two different lipsticks in her handbag.

Talks in her sleep.

Is almost determined to prove she hasn’t been traumatised by her childhood. Buys candles, uses the fireplace as much as she can, smokes.

Cannot whistle.

Buys lots of hats, but rarely wears them.

Amazing liar, but can always tell when someone is lying to her.

Tendency to notice every single little detail about everything.

Incredibly small handwriting.

Has a horrible sweet-tooth.

Likes to make direct eye-contact, especially when the other is uncomfortable with it.

Rather mean-spirited.

Knows a lot of constellations and always points them out.

Can be overbearing to those she loves, isn’t afraid to tell them the hard truths.

Bio:

Charity Burbage is the youngest of five children born to Nick and Mia Burbage, and the only child to be given such a pompous first name. She and her siblings were raised in Northern Ireland, sharing a farmhouse with her fathers side of the family. For muggles, they took the news of Mia’s magical status surprisingly easily and seemed to be more excited to see the magical potential of the children than Mia was herself. On Charity’s fifth birthday, she demanded a cake just like one she’d seen in a commercial. Her older brothers and sister took her out to a nearby lake while they waited, running around and playing and testing out the new toys she’d gotten that morning. They were very harshly interrupted by the sound of the town’s one and only fire-engine barreling towards their property. They all ran so fast that Charity remembers it more like flying. There was nothing left of their house or belongings by the time they arrived. She can’t properly remember what exactly had happened, always too hesitant to make one of her siblings relive it. Something about the oven being faulty.

All five of the Burbage children survived, and their aunt Nora - but being only freshly twenty herself, she could not look after them. So they were sent to live with their second set of grandparents, lugging their un-charred belongings all the way to Surrey. Her grandparents were both of pure blood, and they tried their hardest to love the children even though they were not. Her mother’s decision to accept her father’s proposal had caused a ridge in the family, but luckily that grudge was not put onto the children. They essentially assimilated into pure blood society, only interacting with the muggle world when absolutely necessary. Charity remembers how quickly her older sister lost her accent and started speaking like the adults around them. As the youngest, Charity was often overlooked. Pushed aside in favour of her older brothers who had already started representing the family name at Hogwarts. She quickly learned that disruptive behaviour was her only surefire way of being seen. As a result of this, she was quite often pawned off to be babysat by her uncle, a tough man who wouldn’t bat an eye no matter how much mischief she found her way into. The only thing she’d liked about that man was the large book collection he had in his study, so the two of them quickly came to a compromise. If she left him alone, she was welcome to which ever books she pleased. By the time she was ten, he started ordering them in especially for her as she’d finished with all the others. It was no surprise to him when she was sorted into Ravenclaw.

Hogwarts was nothing special to Charity, appearing exactly as it had in the books on her shelves and the stories from her siblings. What she really loved were the other students. Watching them learn. No two students were the same there, even the children from the ridiculously long lines of pureblood families. She must’ve offended her siblings with the amount of times she blew them off in favour of listening to her peers. She especially loved the muggle-borns, catching up on the world she’d been forced out of. The books on muggle culture here uncle owned were terribly outdated and had never helped quench that thirst she’d had since the night of the fire. The combination of this and her 100% grade in Muggle Studies led to the revelation that she wanted to do this for the rest of her life - study muggles. Her grandparents weren’t thrilled, spending weeks and weeks trying to talk her down. The compromise they eventually came to was: “you’ll be a secretary for some kind of muggle office, a secretary is a proper job for a respectable young lady to do.” Charity took it and ran, moving in with her uncle before they could change their minds. She applied for any business that had ‘muggle’ in the title as soon as she graduated, giddy with the right to decide her own destiny for once and spending every spare second pooling over muggle media. Of course, she knew a secretary was not expected to know much beyond typing - she’d learned that at the secretarial classes her grandfather had gifted her. But Charity Burbage would rather die than not be knowledgeable.

She sides with the order, but quietly. Her career is too important to her to involve herself in politics, having seen people being fired for doing such. She knows it hypocritical, to capitalise off of muggles and yet stand silently by while a threat to their freedom lurks. But she knows she’ll be of more help to them the higher up she climbs.

Wanted Connections: Twin Flame: The two of you are exactly the same. Or couldn’t be further apart. Either way, you fit together perfectly. The line between romantic and platonic are always a little bit blurred for you two, ready to do whatever the other needs. Charity doesn’t need her game face around you, she feels safe to say and do whatever she wants. Workmates: You both share the same passion for the muggle world and don’t do much else other than talk about it. You have witnessed to full front of Charity’s drive, and perhaps fallen victim to it too. Maybe you are closer to rivals than colleagues. Friends: You can put up with her arrogant appearance enough to get to the girl underneath. She would do almost anything for you, things you’d probably never expect from how she acts. You’re probably a muggle-born or half-blood. Maybe a pureblood with a good personality, but Charity has yet to find one of those. “Victims”: Despite her great desire for a relationship, Charity has little patience for dating. She can be elusive and detached and excruciatingly picky. She leaves a steady trail of peoples she’s hurt - sometimes deliberately - do you resent her for it?

[therenlover]

It’s Always Been You (Part Three of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: After a month of adapting to his new universe, Peter Maximoff can confidently say that he likes his new life more than his old one. Sure, he misses home sometimes, but he’s been far too busy flirting with his new roommate to spend time crying over the things he’s lost. Everything is smooth sailing until a strange journal in his roommate’s study leaves him with more questions than he knows what to do with. Now he’s on a mission to discover who he’s really living with before she has the chance to turn against him.

Tags: Angst, Secrets, Exposition, Pre-Relationship, Predestination/Soulmates, Post-Wandavision

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language, Brief Mentions of Torture/Past Trauma, Minor Character Death

Word Count: 8600~

This has been crossposted as a two-chapter fic on my AO3 under the same name

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A/N: For this fic series, the events of Endgame take place in Late September/Early October, so Wandavision takes place in late October. Also, Thor is about 3500 and Loki is about 3000. This has no bearing on their appearance or stories, it’s just older than they are in MCU cannon. 

Peter couldn’t tell when exactly the mirage started falling apart.

It hadn’t come down all at once but instead dissolved in slow waves that culminated into a disastrous reveal when the pieces stopped fitting together. Part of him wished he could go back to living the lie when every day was filled with the sweet rose-tint of ignorance. Unfortunately, there was no way back to the way things were before, only a long road forward.

Not everything had been bad. In fact, most of the first month was quite the contrary.

After his disastrous run-in with the Sorcerer Supreme, a man he now knew as Stephen Strange, Y/N had taken him on a tour of the city, pointing out all of the places he should avoid at all costs. The list wasn’t particularly long, but once he knew where to stay away from he felt fully comfortable to roam the city at his own leisure. That opened up a whole new window of opportunities for Peter to have fun.

The city itself wasn’t as scummy as it had been when Peter was living there at X-Mansion. He still vividly remembered the last time he and Jubilee had taken a trip into the city, watching the prostitutes roaming around Times Square as they passed through on the way to some deli Kurt had recommended to her. Now, everything felt slightly safer and much more staged for tourists. Besides that, though, much to Peter’s surprise, there were very few changes. Of course, there were the massive new skyscrapers run by what he had gathered to be either the rich good guys or the rich bad guys (he hadn’t quite been able to figure out which when Y/N had explained it to him) but if he just pretended they weren’t there, this new New York could pass for his old New York pretty easily.

Strangely, Peter found he enjoyed living in this universe’s New York more than he’d enjoyed living back at the X-Mansion. He had freedom now. Freedom to roam the city with no curfew, freedom to get food from the kitchen at all hours of the day, freedom to spend as much time as he wanted lazing around the house playing Space Invaders in his room… life in the brownstone was paradise. Every moment was crafted to meet his exact needs. Flawless. Picture perfect in every way... Too perfect.

If Peter was forced to pinpoint where things started to go wrong, it would be the first time he noticed how Y/N’s whole universe seemed to bend at his whims.

He hated to say that Y/N was the epicenter of the problem. In fact, she was what, in all honesty, gave Peter the most happiness in his day-to-day life. Sure it was nice to spend time alone in his room binging twinkies to keep his blood sugar up, but that seemed pathetic when he compared it to Y/N knocking softly on his door and offering a plate of whatever delicious meal she had come up with at the time. Some days she would lure him out of whatever project he had taken on to show him new movies he had missed in the time jump between universes. On other days, when Peter was feeling cooped up in the house, she would take him to Central Park for cheap hotdogs so they could spend the afternoon watching the seals (which had been Peter’s guilty pleasure as a local ever since he moved into X-Mansion). No matter what, Y/N offered Peter exactly what he didn’t know he needed at every turn looking damn good as she did it.

Now that was a whole different bag of worms that Peter didn’t like to look into too deeply. Y/N was just… stunning. Everything about her seemed to call to him, a perfect siren’s song luring him closer every time he saw her. She never failed to make Peter laugh. She also took time out of her day to help him learn new things, like how DVDs worked, with all the empathy in the world. Even though she was beautiful to look at and wonderful in every way, Peter found himself attracted to the smallest things about her more than anything else. Her smile, her cooking, the way she danced to her record player when she thought he wasn’t around.

Peter had trouble putting the feeling into words. He could only imagine it was the first stages of love.

The real kicker was that she liked him! Liked him in a way he had never been liked before. It was as if, in her eyes, he could do no wrong. She laughed at his jokes and pulled him closer when he gravitated to her side and came home with little gifts she found during the day that he always found he loved. Peter’s flaws weren’t chided but instead embraced. He always felt cared for at her side.

There were some imperfect things about Y/N, though.

They weren’t large, not at first, but as time passed the small fissures in her facade grew into gaping cracks. They served as the stems from which all of his current problems grew. The biggest original fissure was just how jumpy she was.

99% of the time Y/N was cool and confident. Peter thought she wouldn’t be out of place working as a lawyer or politician. That should have been the first flag in and of itself, but that didn’t matter. What did matter is that the other 1% of the time, which seemed to be triggered randomly by things Peter said or did, she was like a deer in headlights. She would freeze, panic, and only return to normalcy several minutes after Peter either dropped the subject or clarified whatever he said. Once Peter caught on to how strange that was, other odd things about Y/N began to show through in day-to-day life.

Things like knowing facts about Peter that she shouldn’t know.

The first time she brought him home his favorite candy he assumed she had just guessed correctly, but then she brought him a VHS of his favorite movie. And bought his favorite foods when she went out shopping that Peter was sure she hadn’t bought before. And took him to a fancy Manhattan leather store to buy a very obviously custom-made silver leather jacket that she just so happened to see in the window.

He would always thank her profusely, just glad to get things he enjoyed, and remark on how odd it was for her to know him so well after such a small about of time. Y/N would just smile and chalk it up to intuition. Intuition could only count for so much.

Y/N did other, smaller strange things as well, but Peter couldn’t say he noticed them much until after he confronted her. He simply assumed she only ate at certain restaurants because she was a picky eater, and avoided cars because she wanted to save the environment. She could have just been an average person who just so happened to use gilded silverware and have a spectacular, museum-quality collection of odd, assorted antiques sitting around her perfectly-furnished, historical brownstone that she was able to comfortably live in while working a relatively low paying job…

Peter had never been known for his smarts, but looking back, even he was disappointed that he hadn’t seen the signs sooner. Love is blind and it also blinds. His eyes only opened when he found the journal.

The illusion fell apart on a Wednesday afternoon.

It was cool, with the crisp late-autumn breeze leaving a slight chill present throughout the day. The sky had turned grey, not from rain yet, just from the general gloom of the season. Peter didn’t mind. He was looking forward to the first big thunderstorm in his new home.

Y/N had left for work in the morning with a spring in her step and a smile on her lips. On her way out the door, they had flirted a little more than usual, and as a result, Peter had been thinking about her for the rest of the day. He was too busy thinking about the way she had ruffled his hair while she passed him on the couch to do anything of value with his time but much too bored to stand still. His compromise? Snooping.

There was a little study on the first floor that served as a workspace and library for the household. It wasn’t off limit’s by any means, but it was the last place left that Peter hadn’t explored since moving in (besides Y/N’s room, of course). Something, whether it was boredom or suspicion pushed Peter to go inside and explore. He promised himself it would only be for a minute.

Once he stepped inside, his plans changed.

The moment he walked past the door’s threshold it was like a wave of warmth had washed over him. Every bit of the autumn chill that had made its way into the old bones of the rest of the house was seemingly absent from the library. Peter quirked up an eyebrow. Slowly, he stepped back out of the room.

Instantly the chill was present again.

He stepped forward. Warm.

Backward. Cold.

Warm.

Cold.

Warm.

Cold.

To an onlooker he would have seemed crazed, speeding in and out of the doorway with his powers trying to find a logical explanation for the phenomenon. To Peter, though, it was like he had finally cracked the code. This was proof… okay, so a room being warm didn’t prove anything, Peter didn’t even know what it would be proof of, but something about it satisfied the constant anxiety that had been pooling in his stomach in the weeks since he had moved in. From that moment on he was fixated on finding out what was so special about the library and what it had to do with him.

Once he had steeled his emotions, he finally re-entered the room for the final time, letting himself acclimate to the comforting heat that seemed to radiate from everywhere inside while taking a look around.

At first glance, it was just a nicely decorated office. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined 3 of the 4 walls, with the remaining wall opposite the door left free to make room for a small, mahogany roll top desk that sat proudly in the center of the room on the matching wood flooring. There was some decoration on the far wall, though. Above the desk, spanning the entire length of the wall were 5 large portraits of men. They seemed to loom over the room, their eyes boring holes into whoever entered, but something about them seemed more melancholy than threatening.

“Creepy,” Peter whispered to himself as he took another step into the room, gazing up at the paintings, "really fucking creepy,"

The first portrait seemed to be the oldest of the group by far, with the paint piled on thick as if the artist had to correct themselves multiple times over while they worked. It featured a Greek or Roman soldier, dressed in shining gold armor while they bared a wolflike girn and held up a jug of wine towards the painter. It wasn’t period accurate- Peter was pretty sure a typical canvas wouldn't have held up since the greek days, and that realism didn’t really exist in paintings back then -but there was a life in the soldier’s eye that made him wonder what circumstances had inspired the subject to pose as he did.

The next three portraits, in comparison, were a bit bland. They were all pretty formal and seemed to have been done around the same time. All three frames held their own well-dressed dandy with small differences separating them. The first man had a little Gomez Addams pencil mustache, the next wore a military uniform and a sly smile, and the last was dressed in an ill-fitting suit while looking about 5 minutes from death. There could have been more differences, but Peter brushed over them quickly in favor of the final painting.

Portrait number five was, very obviously, the newest of the collection, featuring a modern man, probably 18 or 19, posing goofily on a chair Peter recognized as Y/N’s preferred sitting chair in the living room.  Surprisingly, that wasn’t what caught his eye. Peter found himself gaping at the man’s face.

It was almost like looking through a funhouse mirror. Peter saw echoes of himself in the subject; the silver-blonde hair, the cheeky smirk on his face, the skid marks on the bottom of his worn sneakers. Hell, if it weren’t for the light five o’clock shadow dusting the man’s jaw Peter probably would have mistaken it for himself.

Something about the painting was both hypnotizing and sickening. Its pull was so strong that Peter only noticed he was getting closer when he knocked into the desk, sending a pile of papers falling to his feet. As he gathered them he could feel the eyes of the men above him on his back, urging him to look closer, dragging him into their strange gravitational field. Peter probably would have been more worried about the paintings before he saw the papers, though.

There, written in Y/N’s handwriting with brilliant red ink on the first page of a small, leather-bound journal, was one word: Magneto.

Peter’s heart stopped.

Nobody, especially in a whole other universe, should know about his father except him. It was a secret he was sure he hadn’t mentioned even when the FBI had interrogated him. Hell, Raven had taken the secret to her grave even despite her complicated relationship with Erik.

A deep pit of rage began to burn in Peter’s stomach. Who was Y/N? How the hell did she find out who Magneto even was? Worst of all, why didn’t she mention it to him?

Without even thinking about what he was doing Peter opened the journal to the next page and began reading. He was going to find out what Y/N was hiding if it was the last thing he ever did.

October 4th, 2023,

I returned from purgatory today. “The Snap” has been reversed and Thanos has been defeated, thankfully with little cost. If that was death, I hope I never have to face it again. Tony is still weak, as am I, but both of us will live to see another day thanks to my gifts. I hope Howard knows I fulfilled my promise and protected his son.

While I was in the in-between, the grey place between worlds, I saw Magneto again. He seemed strangely at peace with himself. Hopefully, this means there will be no trouble with him in the future.

Once we hold a proper funeral for the lost the real work begins. Tonight, though, I am glad to be alive.

His father’s name appeared, but the rest of the entry was confusing. Peter kept reading.

October 7th, 2023,

We held the funeral today. I still despise Thor with everything within myself, but he and I held a small memorial for his brother once Clint had been properly buried and eulogized. He offered a poor apology for the hostile takeover of my home, but I accepted nonetheless. It’s what Loki would have wanted. Besides, his bastard father is already dead and his home has been destroyed, so Asgard’s power over Alfheim is nonexistent. Perhaps now that things here have calmed down I’ll visit my mother and father again...

I tried talking to Wanda but she refuses to speak to me. She doesn’t understand that even though I foresaw Vision’s passing, I couldn’t stop it. The same goes for her brother. If I were her, I would hate me too. I’ll try calling her again later this week once she can properly mourn. Until then, all I can do is wait.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

He had to reach out and steady himself on the desk to keep from wobbling when he was reminded of his time in the Hex. His memories of the time were misty, clouded around the edges as he was puppeteered through a charade, but the pain, both mental and physical, was still sharp even a month later. If he pretended it had never happened life was easy but when he accepted the week or so he spent in Westview it took his mind to a dark place. Unfortunately, there was now no way to both ignore his time in Westview and pull the wool out from in front of his eyes.

He trudged forward, stomach in knots, praying that Y/N hadn’t been involved.

October 9th, 2023,

Steve almost destroyed our timeline this morning.

He had originally been assigned to return the stones to their respective places in the past, but thankfully I saw his bullshit plan before he was able to put it into action. It took both Sam and James to restrain him, but Natasha returned the stones and was able to come back to the present before he could escape. He’s still mourning Peggy and has decided to hang up the shield for the moment while he figures himself out, but James is there for him as he has always been. I am jealous in the best of ways.

Wanda still hasn’t taken any of my calls, but Stark insisted I shouldn’t worry.

I will return home today for the first time since I was revived. It scares me. My visions always get clearer when I’m there. I’m afraid that somewhere in the past five years something terrible could have happened that I never even knew about. I suppose the only way of knowing is to wait and see. Hopefully, I will be able to shelf my powers for a couple of decades soon. Seeing and preventing the future is tiring.

October 22nd, 2023,

Pietro visited me in a dream today.

He was dead, bleeding through his clothes as I held him and wept, and yet he was there sitting next to me too. I apologized like I always do. This time, though, he forgave me.

I don’t fully understand what the dream was supposed to signify but he rested his head on my shoulder just like old times and told me he knew. I asked what he was talking about and he said he knew he was going to die when he did, and that it wasn’t my fault.

I turned to ask him why he was telling me that and he was gone. I held his body until I woke up.

Nothing is clear to me yet, but something has changed. There’s been a shift in the energy of the world. Maybe Pietro was trying to warn me… or maybe things are finally falling into place. I can only wait.

October 25th, 2023,

Wanda has a whole town hostage.

She’s wielding chaos magic.

Pietro was an omen

This is all my fault.

Peter clutched his chest as he fought for air. His head was spinning

Y/N could see the future. When taking that and whatever light-based magic she used at the museum into consideration, Peter had no clue what she was capable of. Hell, she might have even more power hiding up her sleeve.

Worse than that, she knew his real name. She had never called him Pietro, not once, and yet she wrote about him like she knew him. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was writing about this universe’s Pietro, but he shut it down quickly. She would have told him if she knew something about his counterpart. Right? Right? He pocketed the idea. Y/N could be capable of anything.

Underestimating her could prove deadly.

There was one last journal entry, boldly written in the same red as the others but scrawled much messier as if it had been done in a hurry. Peter had to force himself to focus on the words as he shook from a healthy mix of fear and rage.

November 1st, 2023,

Jimmy called me today. Peter is here.

Well, not here yet, but he’s here. He called to ask if I could take in a superpowered individual who he had in witness protection. The moment the words reached me I could see them walking in, Jimmy and Peter. My Peter. I accepted, of course. Only 5 hours left to go until they arrive. Surprisingly, journaling is doing little to calm my nerves.

I shouldn’t be this afraid. I know the outcome. I’ve been preparing to meet him for almost 3000 years now. Still, I can’t help but think the next 5 hours will be the longest of my whole existence.

His room is already set up, as it has been for a long time, but I should dust before he gets here so it doesn’t look like I was waiting for him. If I know anything, I know that Peter cannot know about what I am or what he means to me. This burden shall be mine to bear alone.

Is it selfish to hope that he never goes home? Even if it is, I deserve to be a little bit selfish.

Four and a half hours left. Just a little more time until he’s home and safe. I’ll be counting every second.

The journal fell from Peter’s hands with a dull thud.

At that moment, the front door opened.

“Hey, Peter! I’m home, and I brought dinner,” Y/N’s voice was bright as she stepped past the threshold, “where are you?”

“The study,” he called back, “we need to talk,”

Peter could almost hear Y/N’s breath hitching in the other room. Then, silence. All of the warmth that had flowed so abundantly from every nook and cranny of the study moments before seemed to drain away, leaving the room lifeless and cold. All the while the eyes of the painted men watched on like sentinels above the world of man.

A minute passed, maybe two, but soon enough Y/N had appeared in the doorway, eyes cast down to the floor where the journal had fallen from Peter’s grasp. She smiled sadly. “I’m guessing you found my journal,”

He didn’t give her the indulgence of a verbal reply.

“How much did you read?” She whispered, walking past Peter and sitting down on the small, rolling office chair that rested in front of the desk.

“All of it,” he muttered back.

Peter had never been one for confrontation. It was in the nature of his power to want to run from things, and run from them fast. He ran from his bullies, he ran from his father, he ran from his universe… this time, though, there was nowhere to run to.

Strangely, he found that even if there were, he wouldn’t want to run from this.

Y/N slowly wrapped her arms around herself, gripping the soft knit of her sweater sleeves. “I assume you have questions… I’ll answer whatever you want me to. Once you know the truth, we can decide where to go from there,”

Peter couldn’t help himself from blurting out his first thought.

“What the hell are you?”

A small laugh escaped from her lips. It was an awkward thing, loud and crass against the quiet words that had been exchanged moments before.

“What am I,” Y/N chuckled. Slowly, she lowered her head into her hands. “Peter, I’ve been asking myself the same question for a long, long time,” She scrubbed at her eyes with her fingers. It was like she was trying to forget something terrible that she’d seen, her hands desperately finding purchase against her eyelids as she laughed at nothing.

Peter gulped. “Are you…. are you not human?”

Y/N gave him a scathing look that told him his question was a stupid one.

“Well, if you’re not human, where did you come from? Are you an alien?”

Humorless laughter continued to ring out against the cold walls.

“Are you going to let me answer your original question first, or are you going to keep speculating?” She sighed, lifting her gaze to meet him. Exhaustion danced across her face, like all of the life had been drained from her in the short time she had spent speaking to him after she got home.

He stopped himself from questioning her further for the moment in favor of deciphering the sad look in her eyes. It wasn’t hard to believe that he had been mesmerized enough by her beauty to ignore all of the suspicious things she did. In all honesty, he still was.

“I wasn’t born,” Y/N started, hugging herself tighter, “but I didn’t spontaneously appear one day either. I was created. My mother and father are… well, to put it plainly, fae royalty. They were the first fairies, high elves who had evolved to become conduits for life energy, but they were lonely. They wanted a child of their own, an heir who would be powerful enough to protect the realm from invaders, so they found the largest source of energy available: the embodiment of the sun, Lugh.”

Her leg began to bounce, her foot tapping ceaselessly against the wooden floorboards. Peter didn’t quite notice, though, too enraptured in her story to notice much of anything else.

“They combined their life forces with Lugh’s light and created a child with capabilities beyond anything the nine realms had seen up until that point. It stored massive amounts of magical energy within its soul and accomplished all of the typical fae magical feats with no problem, but it was also connected to all the life around it. Elves who met the heiress said that they felt calm in its presence, and felt compelled to give her whatever she desired when they looked into her eyes. They named the child Puck. That child was me,”

“So you’re a fairy?” Peter asked.

“Fairy, fae, elf, freak of nature…” Her voice trailed off into nothingness as she closed her eyes, “I’ve never quite fit into any of the labels I was supposed to,”

“But why do you look so…”

“Human?” Y/N’s voice quivered, “Yeah, after living here so long keeping my human face on is second nature,”

Peter couldn’t tell if he should be terrified, enraged, or intrigued.

As gently as he could manage, he padded over to Y/N on her chair and cupped her small, soft cheek in his hand. She leaned into the touch without a second thought, squeezing her eyes shut and letting a few tears fall from her eyes. His voice was soft as he perched down at her level.

“Show me?”

Y/N gave him a short nod before pulling her face away. Both of them winced minutely at the loss of contact. Slowly, though, the glamour around Y/N’s face melted away. Once it was gone, she was finally herself.

Her ears were pointed, sloping in a soft horizontal line through the strands of her hair. Her eyes were different, too. The pupil was larger, more doll-like, but not by very much. The largest difference was, admittedly, the scars.

Y/N was mostly covered, bundled up in her sweater to fight against the cold, but her hands were littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Most were old, pale divots in her flesh, but there were a few new ones too, trailing pink and red in angry lines across the meat of her calloused palms. The scars didn’t seem to stop at her hands. Specifically, the largest and most wicked of all the scars was a thick gash that ran all the way down from the top of her cheekbone to the base of her neck. The skin looked as if it had been eviscerated, torn completely through, but somehow it had healed up relatively well.

When Peter met Y/N’s gaze, her face was full of shame.

“Isn’t it atrocious?” she muttered, revealing little, sharp incisors hidden beneath her full upper lip, “You can’t blame me for wanting to hide this from you, Peter, not after seeing me like this. This isn’t the kind of face someone wants to wake up next to in the morning,”

Peter had a hard time finding the right thing to say in response.

He was still angry, and rightfully so. Y/N had been keeping the truth about what she was away from him and still had many more secrets up her sleeve about how they were connected. If he wanted to get the truth out of her he couldn’t get away with going soft so early in the game.

That being said, he still felt for her. His heart ached as she hid the scar on her cheek with her hand. She had been so kind, so outgoing, but now she was a shrinking violet doing her best to disappear from his view.

Peter’s gut said to push forward, but his heart urged him to take her face in his hands and kiss her until the pain went away. In the end, he followed his gut.

“I don’t care about what you look like,” he said, standing up and moving to lean on the doorframe, “I care about answers,”

“Of course you do,” With a heaving breath, Y/N’s face morphed back into its human form, “everybody always does,”

Suddenly, a book flew off the shelf to Peter’s right and landed directly in Y/N’s outstretched hand. “How-” he gaped.

“A retrieval spell,” she muttered, “Now where was I…”

She searched through the pages for a moment before landing on an illustration and turning it out towards Peter. It looked ancient, hand done with some sort of brown ink and captioned in a language he couldn’t begin to understand. The illustration itself was easier to decipher. It featured a child in a crown holding up a sword in front of what looked to be an army.

“Because I was created instead of born I was able to skip all the messy parts of childhood, but that meant I had to skip all the fun ones. From the day I was born my parents had me trained to take the throne. I learned combat, diplomacy, etiquette… my parents weren’t equipped for fighting against the Asgardians who always seemed to be eyeing our land, but they were determined to make sure I was. I was a machine of rote motions until I saw you for the first time,”

Peter froze. “Me?”

Y/N cracked a smile. “Who else? I was less than 100 years old then, still a child at heart, and one night when I fell asleep I dreamed of a silver-haired man who looked nothing like any of the elves I knew in a strange room filled with mysterious artifacts. It was like seeing the world through brand new eyes. My gift was so magical back then, so new, a source of joy. I kept seeing you wherever I went, flashes of your life behind my eyes during the day and full prophetic dreams at night… things didn’t stay that pleasant for long, though,”

Her eyes began to well up with tears.

Peter considered reaching out to comfort her, but his confusion held him back. She blinked the tears away before she continued.

“I started seeing terrible things happening to you. I saw experiments, broken limbs… even death. They wouldn’t stop. No matter how much I tried to turn them off they just wouldn’t stop,” her voice trembled and her shoulders shook as she spoke. “That’s when my parents sent me away. They claimed I couldn’t let the citizens see their future leader as someone weak, so I was taken into isolation until I learned how to control what I saw. It took me almost 350 years of silent study and meditation but I was able to master my foresight. I didn’t just see you anymore, I could see anyone’s future if I put my mind to it, and I could control when I had my visions. They only let me out to fight in the war against the Asgardians, who had taken the chance to attack,”

“So you’re telling me that thousands of years before I was even born you just… saw me in the future?” Peter’s voice wavered. Y/N shrugged and turned the book back towards herself, searching through the pages once again.

“Yes and no. It’s hard to explain,”

“Well try!” his voice came out in a sudden shout. Y/N flinched. “I just want to know what the hell is going on here! Because, the way I’m seeing it right now, I got kidnapped out of my home because someone decided I was predestined to play house with an elf instead of staying with my friends and family,”

He regretted his tone the second he stopped shouting.

Y/N, despite her reaction, seemed almost unphased. In fact, she seemed to be shaking less than she had been before.

“Y/N… I’m sorry-”

“Don’t,” she said sharply, “don’t apologize. Not to me. This whole mess is my fault,”

Peter went to open his mouth again, to find something to say, but found himself speechless. He was speechless a lot around Y/N. She turned the book around again.

This time the illustration seemed to be of a woman on a throne. There was red ink on the page too, not just brownish-black like the last one. It was splattered across the woman and at her feet.

“I fought Asgardians for 50 years on the front lines, killing a great many of them in the process. Even Thor, their golden boy with his stupid magical hammer, was no match for me. I saw every move they made before they ever made it, so once I diminished enough of their troops they pulled out of Alfheim and returned home with their tails between their legs. When I returned home I was revered as a great hero and it was like I had never failed my parents in the first place. Their precious progeny was home victorious and prepared to reap the rewards. My teenage rebellion kicked in, though, so instead of taking back my place in the palace I demanded my parents let me go to earth as my reward for winning them their war.”

“Is that how you got your scars?” Peter asked.

Y/N sighed, closing the book and returning it to the shelf with a wave of her hand. “Yes.” Slowly, she raised her hand and touched her cheek where her scar would have been. “Some came later, but the worst of them are from the final battle. I only let my concentration slip for a second, but that was enough time for Thor to summon lightning with that damned hammer of his and get a good hit in,”

“I’m gonna be honest, your whole backstory sounds pretty shitty,”

She barked out another laugh as Peter allowed himself to smile. “If you think that was shitty, the next 2,500 years of history won’t be pleasant to listen to,”

“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you,” Peter said, but it was an empty threat. Sure, the rage he had initially felt was still there, but what had been at a boil when Y/N came home was now just a low simmer.

She offered him a soft smile back. “I wouldn’t dare. Now, that’s enough about my past. If there’s anything else you want to ask, now's the time,”

Peter busied himself with cracking his knuckles. “I still don’t really get what’s so special about me to you. Like, yeah you saw some bad stuff happen to me when you were a kid, but it’s been a really long time since then. What makes me so special?”

The smile fell from Y/N’s face.

“That’s… well that’s a good question, Peter,” She wrung her hands, standing to take a step towards him, “I don’t think I’ll be able to say it… can I show you instead?”

He quirked his head to the side. “What?”

“Can I show you?” Y/N gently tapped her forehead, “with my power?”

A soft ‘ah’ escaped Peter’s lips before he stepped forward, bridging the gap between them. “Do what you need to do,” He didn’t say he trusted her, but he didn’t need to. It went without saying.

She reached out a hand and touched Peter’s forehead without another word. Then, the wave hit him.

Seeing Y/N’s mind was like the first time he had ever run at full speed, an endless barrage of emotions and images blurring as he rushed towards a focal point. It felt like an eternity before the motion stopped, but once it did he found himself looking out at a rolling sea with the weight of an arm around his shoulders. In a trance, he turned his head to look at whoever was there.

“I suppose this is it for us, my dearest Lady Puck?” The man asked, running his free hand through his long black hair. His tone was light yet thoughtful. Peter easily recognized him from the first portrait on the wall.

Without any effort, a response poured from Peter’s… no, Y/N’s lips. “Y/N, Loki. My new name is Y/N,”

“Ah, yes. Remind me again why you’re renouncing your godliness and going to live among the common rabble?” The man’s words were suddenly mocking, “Oh right, you have to assimilate to prepare for your darling Peter,”

“Don’t say it like that,” The Y/N of the past pulled her knees to her chest.

Loki nodded. “Forgive me. I’m just taking this a little harder than I should be. Who would have thought that I would fall in love with my mortal enemy?” He paused, “Will our paths cross again,”

Y/N shook her head no. “You will return to Asgard and remain there for as long as I can see. I think this is where we diverge,”

Peter watched from his position of backseat driver as Loki leaned close to Y/N. “Well, all good things must come to a close at some point,” He stroked her scar, smiling softly, “but don’t think that I’ll let you go to just anyone. I know this Peter is just a puny mortal, so expect me to come back and find you once he appears. Consider me your own personal Mjolnir! I will determine if he’s worthy of your heart,”

Giggles escaped from Y/N’s lips. “Loki! Don’t you dare,”

“You couldn’t stop me if you tried, darling,” He growled back, before capturing Y/N’s lips in a kiss. When he pulled away, he smiled his sharp-toothed grin. “Fly free, Lady Puck. I’ll see you again,”

A deep, foreign ache in Peter’s heart told him that he never did. Then, Loki was gone, blurred into the flood of memories and feelings in Y/N’s mind. The second time was easier than the first, but he still felt an acute nausea as he was thrown into another memory. This time he seemed to be much closer to the present.

Y/N was sketching something on a canvas, penciling in soft, rounded lines as the man with the pencil mustache lounged on a nearby chair, tie crooked.

“So tell me about this Peter,” he asked, taking a long puff from a cigar.

“Well, everyone, where I’m from, says he must be my soulmate. He’s witty, and fast, and has this phenomenal shock of silver hair,”

Peter, despite what he’d just seen in Y/N’s memories, was still shocked at her words. Soulmates?

“But you’ve never met him, so how do you know?” He asked, “Look, sweet cheeks, I’m not one to judge, but how do you know he’s even real?”

Y/N scowled, letting her pencil slip and adding an unwanted line to her sketch. “Howard, have I ever been wrong before?”

“Well no, but-”

“Exactly,” Y/N abandoned the sketch in favor of walking over and sitting at the foot of Howard’s chair. “Besides, even if he isn’t real, I know enough about him that he might as well be,”

“Whatever you say, sweet thing,” He chuckled, offering her his cigar. She accepted it thankfully.

“Anyways, it’s like I can feel him getting closer and closer,” Peter could just feel Y/N’s grin as she spoke, cheeks flushed, “I just can’t wait to finally meet him.”

“I’m guessing that means you’ll have to give up helping me with my little projects,”

Y/N took a long puff, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “Not exactly. We still have time left, Howard. Besides, I don’t do much to help, I can’t even touch any of your materials,”

Howard snorted. “I still can’t believe you’re allergic to silver and iron of all things. I didn’t even know that was possible,”

“You’re just mad it means you have to buy me expensive jewelry instead of the cheap shit you’ve bought for other women,”  

“You know me too well,”

They both laughed and Y/N handed Howard back his cigar.

In the blink of an eye, Peter was transported again. It was almost like riding a bike after a long time, where the deeper he delved the more comfortable he felt. This time, instead of nausea, there was a strange warmth in his chest.

Y/N stood at the edge of a crowded dance hall as the men from the 3rd and 4th portrait approached, drinks in hand. Peter was beginning to see a pattern.

“A sidecar for the pretty lady,” the bigger of the men joked while leading the group to a small table.

Y/N accepted the glass gladly, taking a long drink. “Thank you, James”

The small one sat across from her and took a long drink of his beer.

“You too, Steve,” she amended, earning a smile.

“Now doll,” James leaned in close, his forearms braced against the table, “Steve and I wanted to thank you for the little favor you did us last week. Didn’t we, Steve?”

Steve nodded quickly. “You really are a knockout gal’ Y/N. You didn’t have to, but you did, and we couldn’t be more grateful,”

Y/N shrugged. “It was nothing. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,”

“We never doubted that-”

James jumped in. “We just wanted you to know we were thinking about you, and Steve brought up that it would be nice to return the favor. I was thinking maybe we could help find you a beau, anybody you want, and by anybody, we mean anybody, not limited to conventional partners”

Y/N’s face began to flush as she started laughing, offering each of the men one of her hands. “James, Steve, I love you both to death and I would never want to make you feel like I felt anything else, but no. No way,”

The two men joined her in her laughter, but Steve stopped a little quicker than the other two did, looking down at his hands. “We just noticed that you don’t get out much. You’re beautiful Y/N, really beautiful, and it’s not fair that you have to be alone,”

“Oh, Steve” She gave his hand a squeeze, “you’re incredibly sweet, but my heart already belongs to someone. He…” Y/N’s voice trailed off, the ambient noise in the bar suddenly deafening. Peter could hear his own name, whispered gently from the depths of her mind.

James gave her a look of pity. “Oh, doll… did you lose him overseas? Is that why?”

Y/N was shocked but quickly covered for herself. “Yes, how did you know?”

“You’ve just got that faraway widow’s look in your eye,” James responded.

“Sorry for your loss,” Steve added quickly.

Y/N looked down and noticed her glass was empty. She stood suddenly. “It’s alright boys, it’s alright. Now, which of you is gonna do me the honor of joining me for the next song?”

Peter was pulled from the memory gently the moment James shot her a wolflike grin, drifting through the collage of colors and feelings for a moment before he heard his name, whispered from within the darkness.

There was a strong pull towards the light, dragging him out of Y/N’s mind, but something was calling for him to go deeper, delve further to find… well, he didn’t know yet. In a split-second decision, he threw himself towards the voice only to find himself strapped to some kind of chair, screaming.

No, Y/N was screaming. It was an atrocious, wet sound, and Peter could taste the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. He felt no pain physically, but he could feel the memory of pain, the phantom sensation of torturous, searing agony burning through her veins. Her screaming cut off suddenly, and Peter was once again pulled from the memory and into another.

“Prinţesă?” A man asked, and Peter looked up to find his doppelganger from the final portrait looking down at Y/N. He looked worse for wear, with dirt and dust coating his face and hair. Around them, the sounds of shooting and crumbling buildings rang out in the streets. Y/N was gripping his sleeve like a lifeline. “What are you doing?”

“Please, Pietro, don’t go,” fat tears ran down Y/N’s cheeks and Peter felt a pit of dread drop into his stomach. “You can’t go,”

“I will be right back for you,” Pietro reassured her, “and then once Ultron is defeated we will return to Stark’s compound with Wanda. Things will be good from now on. No more Hydra, no more sneaking around, just you and me and the whole world waiting to be explored,”

Y/N gripped his sleeve tighter. “You don’t understand! You can’t go. I can’t lose you like this. Not now. Not after I've only just found you after all this time!"

Pietro laughed softly. With a grimey hand, he wiped the wetness from Y/N’s face. “Draga mea, you do not have to worry about me. I am faster than those stupid machines.” Suddenly, a child’s wails filled the air. Pietro looked around, searching for the source, but Y/N didn’t budge, almost as if she expected it. “You need to let me go, I need to go help that child,”

Y/N shook her head no. “We need to go, Pietro, we need to get out of here. I can fly us off before it hits and then we can run and never look back. Please, come with me Pietro, before it’s too late,”

He yanked his arm away from Y/N’s grip, puzzled. “And leave these innocents to die?”

She nodded furiously, sobbing silently as she held herself. “Are their lives really so important that you’d throw yours away?”

Pietro backed away from Y/N slowly, disgust spreading on his face. “Yes,” he spat, “and I thought you agreed,” Then, he paused, “We will talk about this later. I am disappointed in you Y/N,” ...and then he was gone before she even had the chance to say goodbye.

The gunshots that followed were the loudest of all.

Then, Y/N was running through the streets, searching frantically for any sign of Pietro. When she found him, he was already getting cold.

"PIETRO!"

Her wail was deafening as she fell to the ground, scooping his body into her arms and hugging it to her chest.

“I can fix you, don’t worry Pietro,” she babbled, spit running from her mouth as she tried to push life energy from herself into him, “Don’t leave me alone now, not after all this time. I can’t lose you like this. Just hold on a little bit longer,”

No matter how much energy she poured into Pietro’s body, it just drained right back out. That didn’t stop her from trying, though. Somewhere in the distance, Peter could hear someone wailing his name, but he held onto the memory, gazing down at his dead doppelganger’s empty eyes.  

Y/N’s babbling didn’t stop, even as the ground beneath her began falling down. She ran her fingers through Pietro’s messy hair and held him closer to her chest.

“It’s okay Pietro, you’re safe now. Nothing can hurt you anymore. Le ni meleth, Pietro. Everything will be okay now. I’ll be with you soon, nin melda. Wait for me. I am so sorry,” As an impact destroyed the street around them, Y/N pressed a soft kiss to Pietro’s forehead, and Peter was thrown forcibly from her mind.

“Peter!” Y/N wailed, hands shaking as she pressed a scarred palm to his forehead and pushed his sweat-soaked hair away. “Peter you have to wake up now, you have to wake up!”

He shot up, heaving in a breath that soothed his burning lungs. It was a shock to be back in his own body. Slowly, Peter realized he wasn’t standing anymore. Instead, his head had been resting on Y/N’s lap while he splayed out on the cold wood floor.

As he reacclimated to his body, Y/N wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed.

Once he had enough air in his lungs, Peter only had one question; “What the hell just happened?”

Y/N cried louder, rocking back and forth. “You died! I messed up and you died! It’s all my fault, all of this is all my fault,”

Peter pulled himself up into a sitting position. “Y/N,” he said firmly, “You need to calm down and tell me what just happened,”

She shook her head no, clawing at her hair as she dribbled onto the floor.

In a moment of weakness, which was probably warranted, Peter broke. “Y/N!” he shouted, “Get it together! What. Happened.”

Y/N stilled, eyes dead. “I was trying to pull you out of my memories,” she mumbled, still trembling, “but for some reason, I couldn’t get you to let go. I kept trying and trying but it wouldn’t work. Then you just… collapsed and your heart stopped. I was trying to heal you, but I had to keep the connection between us going while I did so you wouldn’t get lost in my memories and- and-” her words devolved into quiet sobs as Peter slouched against the wall, lifting his hand and finding that his cheeks were wet too.

He wanted to comfort her. To tell her it was okay, that he was okay. To make sure she knew he wasn’t angry anymore, that he understood… that he loved her too. Somehow, though, he couldn’t find the words. All he could do was stare forward and cry as the vision of Pietro’s dead body danced behind his eyelids.

When Y/N finally quieted, she stood silently. “What did you see,” she whispered.

“Pietro,” Peter wheezed back.

Y/N nodded, wiping her face.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. You were never supposed to see that.” She walked towards the door, opening it up and pausing in the doorway. “Jimmy’s number is next to the rotary phone in the den and my bank card will be on the side table in the mudroom. I… goodbye, Peter. I’ll let myself out,"

Peter turned, reaching a hand out to try to stop her from leaving, but she was already gone, so he just let himself go limp, crying for a man he never met but knew better than he ever wanted to.

-----

Elvish/Sindarin Translation: 

Le Ni Meleth: I love you

Nin Melda: My dearest

a/n: Thank you so much for reading!!! The word count really got away from me, but at least now all of the exposition is out of the way! Expect the next part to be out either today or tomorrow.

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thanks! <3

[cutegirlmayra]

I'm a simple person with simple needs: angst, dark sonamyy, hurt/comfort. Please Mayra only you can do this (claps hands in prayer)

(NOT MY ART! Found here (x) Please support the artist!)

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN, do not send me any! This also means Commissions are closed too. (I’ve got a waiting list, sorry!)

Asks that follow the Blog Rules are okay though (x)

Find this prompt discussed on Pajama Blogs (x 26:11)

Prompt:

Due to a Chaos Rift that shook the very fabric of space and time, the Master Emerald being severed in two and trying to attempt to mend it back into one again was Sonic.

Since he was the only one that had connected so many times to the power of Chaos, channeling it into his very core, it was almost like he was a being of pure, controlled chaos energy.

However, this was not the case.

As Knuckles performed the act of combining the Master Emerald’s power to link it to Sonic, which was whole at the time, it ended up reversing the effects...

Instead, once Sonic was perfectly linked to the Master Emerald, the Master Emerald didn’t combine it’s energy to match Sonic, but Sonic’s soul ended up matching the Master Emerald...

Two Sonic’s were created, one with a darker hue and the other with a much lighter hue than the original Sonic.

They both seemed off from Sonic, one possessing more of an anger and the other a quiet justice that sporadically meant being protective over his friends.

This meant that Darker Sonic, the one with anger, also was more emotionally unstable and his actions didn’t seem to make much sense other than lashing out.

Lighter Sonic, the one with a serious look always to his face, valued heroism almost to the point of excessivism. Although not as emotional as his dark brother/other half, he was almost stoic but deeply loyal and passionate to his idea of ‘right’ and extremely merciless in destroying what he considered ‘wrong’.

Unable to stand each other, the two would often fight unless separated. It was almost as though the two conflicting sides of Sonic’s personality and very being were constantly at odds with each other, resulting in Knuckles never being able to get them to work together to conjoin back into Sonic--and consequently--bring the Master Emerald back into a whole state of being as well.

Chaos, the God of Destruction, tried to fight the two Sonic’s into joining together again, shoving them up against the other and using his power to force a fuse, but Amy was the only one to hear Darker Sonic state that Lighter Sonic would never accept him, and therefore, never merge successfully back into what they once were.

She felt she had found a clue... but as they defeated Chaos in his weakened, torn state, they vanished...

As everyone tried to find the Lighter Sonic, Amy... went for the Darker.

She knew he was staying in an abandoned mansion somewhere in the woods, one he would talk about back when he was dealing with being a werehog... she had heard his ghost stories and about a camera flashing to help him fight, then his frustration and tearing through the home... but she wondered if that’s where his other self had run off too...

She wasn’t wrong...

Creaking open the door, after passing the gates, it was clear the ‘ghosts’ that used to live here were too afraid to re-enter the home. Unable to fully communicate to her, they played charades to retell the events that had occurred. In his emotional coldness, Darker Sonic must have gone into a fury and kicked the three out of the mansion, wanting to be alone...

Amy put a finger up to her mouth, worried about him... the Lighter Sonic seemed to be the hero-side of Sonic... but he also seemed crueler.

She didn’t want to believe that this Darker Sonic was apart of Sonic’s true self either... he seemed too unstable and emotional... but she’d rather try and reason with that than stoic stubbornness...

She wondered if the Chaos Rift had split and twisted Sonic’s personality traits... their was no way Sonic could be so torn between these parts of himself all the time... wouldn’t someone break under all that stress? Did he really, truly struggle with two sides of himself..?

Did he discipline himself to act one way, but truly desire another? Or have the tendency for it?

She shook her head from her thoughts as she passed the gate and had already walked through the door, peeking in to see what she could find.

It was once a lovely home... she could tell by the woodwork, the remains of the furniture... it could have been a very luxurious estate...

“...Sonic?” She called out quietly, seeing something turn it’s head in the dark.

Leaning rather relaxed but frighteningly still on a banister upon the large staircase that split into three,... was his shadowed self.

Sonic was too free-spirited to have internal conflicts this bad... right?

Was chaos energy promoting such division? Was the Chaos Rift more than just some attack Shadow used back then... did it actually continue to chip and crack away at the Master Emerald every time it was used to create... this?

Shadow was already fine with never using such an ability again, but everyone was convinced this Sonic was like the evil tendencies of man within Sonic,... but Amy couldn’t help and see some suffering in him...

Lighter Sonic had dismissed her in a cold way... and she knew that couldn’t be... exactly... her Sonic either...

Could she see... Sonic in this light?

She froze at the foot of the three-splitting stairway... her hand up by her chest as she scanned his form delicately... careful to try and read his body language and figure out what was going on.

“...Sonic?” she called again, but he didn’t respond, only huffed and quickly sped to the far right stairway, raising a hand to the rails.

“Amy Rose... I should have known you wouldn’t know better.” He mocked under his breath... But he turned his face away from her, suggesting that maybe he thought she was in danger of himself... it almost seemed like the mock was a double-edged sword cutting into his own pride.

“I’m here... to talk.” She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head and trying to see him in the light. There wasn’t much of it... but some open windows on the bottom floor made her seeable, so... if she could get him to come down...

“Talking only ever ends with someone being proved right.” Darker Sonic gestured out his arm, haphazardly. He took two powerful steps down the stairway, eyeing her as he moved to the center and let go of the rail. His shoulder pointed to her intimidatingly, as though a warning... “And I’m not here to be proven anything.”

The harsh growl to his voice made her realize he was still compromised, and she closed her eyes to inch away. “I know you’re not bad, Sonic... So I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” She tried to be brave, taking her shaking hand by her chest and gripping it strongly with her other one, but it made her look more afraid...

“If you are Sonic... then I know there’s no evil in you. Not even a little bit.”

She jumped back when he sped all the way down to her, standing directly to her face with a strong presence of critique.

“Of course you would say that... while everyone else follows like lapdogs after my other half... you would come to the unwanted side.” He smiled as he moved closer, but she immediately paced herself back and adverted her eyes.

He stopped then, standing tall. “...Are you afraid?”

She shook her head, “I could never be afraid of you...”

A smile crooked to the side of his muzzle, but disappeared quickly. He moved forward again, “Then why not try to convince me... that I should fuse with my other half... and not the other way around.” he reached out to her, and she looked at his hand to see what he’d do.

He smirked and suddenly gripped behind her neck, pulling her back as the door smashed through and Lighter Sonic walked bristly into the room, dusting himself off in a pompous way from the dust and debris.

“Give her back.” He stated without much tone or even emotion. “Kidnapping never was something I admired.” he joked, but it completely lacked Sonic’s charm.

Having Sonic’s charm, Darker Sonic lowered his eyes and held Amy out in front of him, “So like you to jump to conclusions... As though you actually care about her.” Darker Sonic then threw Amy over his shoulder, pointing accusingly to his Lighter Self. “Let’s end this! I won’t be repressed anymore!”

“...You’re so impish.” Lighter Sonic shook his head, “Rash, a real bore. Let her go and I’ll prove I’m the only Sonic that need remain.”

“Now you sound like Metal.” scoffed Darker Sonic, letting Amy roll off his shoulder and arm to land to the floor.

She wasn’t hurt, just spun up a bit as she landed on her hands and knees.

When that happened though, Lighter Sonic’s expression finally changed and he twitched to hold a hand out to her, “Can’t you let her down a little easier!?” he demanded, “She’s a girl, after all!”

“She’s taken worse tumbles.” Darker Sonic stood in front of Amy, as though showing he wouldn’t let Lighter Sonic play the hero this time. “All you see me as is a villain to control... A urge to suppress... You’re embarrassed by how you are!” he hunched himself down, “Well, I’m not gonna take the backseat this time... I’m you, smart-one! And you can’t get rid of me that easily!” he took off and rammed a fist into his blocking arm.

“You’re endangering my friends... you think that’s acceptable!?” Lighter Sonic threw a kick out that Darker Sonic flipped over and landed with a bit of style.

“I didn’t do anything...” Darker Sonic grumbled as Lighter Sonic disregarded him and headed over to Amy, looking at him from over his shoulders as he was still rearing to fight. “Don’t ignore me!” he shouted out, which was like a loud boom that caused Amy to plug her ears.

She had never heard Sonic’s voice with such ferocity before...

Lighter Sonic bent to a knee and took her arms, helping her up. “You should get out of here.” he checked to make sure she was fine, and then like before, completely turned away from her.

It was strange... though he seemed caring, he didn’t really express it well. The Darker Sonic...

She remembered him reaching out to her, then pulling her to him to get away from the door blasting open...

They both cared... but in different ways, expressed that they didn’t want to hurt her...

Then they clashed into each other, Chaos energy slashed through the air as they collided each time, cutting some wood in the mansion and making the ghosts cower and the girl shriek at her home being so torn up.

Amy emphasized but she didn’t know what she could do... She knew that Darker Sonic had taken the two pieces of the split Master Emerald with him... so she started up the stairs, bracing against each deadly beam of light that exploded from the two’s fighting.

She had already learned there was no way to reason with them to stop fighting... from the previous times they had clashed, it was just no use no matter what anyone did.

How did Lighter Sonic know to come here..? Was there still a sliver of connection between the two..?

That would mean...

As she tried to climb the stairs, Darker Sonic saw her and immediately rushed to stomp a foot down by her reaching hand.

She gasped, withdrawing her once reaching hand as the blasts got so forceful that they shoved her to the ground.

“Where are you going?” He seemed so angry... but there was hurt in his eyes. “You’ll find nothing up here!”

Lighter Sonic then tackled into him, rolling and crashing them through the already rotting wood railing as they and the splintered remains of that side of the stairway gave out.

“Sonic!” Amy cried out, seeing the stairway collapsing and rushed to jump to the edge as half of it came down.

She pulled herself up and breathed hard, looking down to see them throw off the rubble and continue pounding into each other in an alarmingly hostile rate.

She then wondered... could it be Sonic?

“You almost hurt her!” Lighter Sonic argued, getting a punch in before Darker Sonic returned the same.

“You know full well I wouldn’t do that!” He then shoved against him, and they were evenly matched as their arms gripped the other’s shoulders and tried to push them back.

They gritted their teeth, one looking overly justified and the other with unbridled rage.

“Sonic... your emotions... your ideals... they clash too often, don’t they?” She whispered to herself, realizing that Sonic was a good man, but one that was like the rest of humanity... constantly dueling the two sides to yin and yang. One with passionate cause and the other with selfish needs.

She quickly continued her climb, though she desperately wanted to fall down with them and unlock them from their deadly feuding, she knew she couldn’t match the chaos power they both wielded at the moment.

Darting from room to room, she threw the doors open, not bothering to close them as the Sonics naturally followed in their brawling, trying to reach her.

“No!” Darker Sonic reached out to her but was blocked off and hit back by Lighter Sonic.

“Amy, get out of here!” Lighter Sonic gestured a hand out that slashed across from his chest, “It isn’t safe!”

Darker Sonic actually took the initiative and bolted pass Lighter Sonic, attempting to grab her and take her out of the mansion and warzone himself, but Lighter Sonic quickly intercepted.

They brawled down the hallway in vicious rolls and slams against the sides of the wall as they continued to pursue Amy, both with a similar goal but different ways to go about it.

‘There’s Sonic...’ Amy felt her eyes get watery in her fright at the mansion not able to handle the two fighting Sonics powers, but another part of her was determined to put them back together again.

She finally found it, at the end of the hallway, she burst open two large doors that revealed the Master Emerald on a balcony... upon closer look... she marveled that there was still a small piece that was conjoined, not severed yet.

She nodded, realizing this meant that they were, both, Sonic.

She turned around and spread her arms out, seeing the Sonics tackle into the balcony room and used her hammer to separate them from their wrestling, childish squabble and threw each of the other to opposite sides.

“That’s enough!”

The two panted but got up from the ground.

“This doesn’t concern you...” Lighter Sonic went for a gentler approach, but there was still somewhat a condensing hint in his actions. “Just leave this to me.”

“Stop!” Amy shoved her hammer towards him, making him pause in his pursuit to her. “I’ll get to you in a minute.”

He was stunned to hear that, his eyes actually emoting the look of being talked back too.

She glared at him, “I’ve had enough of your self-righteousness for one day.” she then looked to Darker Sonic, who was holding his arm and spat out to the side of himself.

“My thoughts exactly..!”

“And you...” Amy stepped in-between the two, making sure she could only see one side of Sonic at a time. “I never thought I’d say this to Sonic... but you need to calm down.” held out her hand without the hammer in it, gently trying to appease him looking tenderly towards him. “You’re hurting... you don’t want to fail, but you hate not being the hero... even though at times, you’re just a boy, and you want to do things your way, not the heroic way that everyone idealizes you to be.”

He looked up as though confused how she knew that.

“You were happy... weren’t you? When I was the one to turn my attention to you instead of to him, right?”

He remained silent, as though ashamed as he calmed his breathing, and looked away.

His eyes were scanning the floor wildly... as though worried she could see right through him.

There was a gentleness to the Darker Sonic she hadn’t seen before... but after putting the two on different sides of her eyes... she could start seeing traits line up.

“You’re neither good nor bad, either of you!” She looked back to Lighter Sonic. “You are duty bound, that’s why you hate the selfish freedom the other desires to the point of not listening to reason, but enacting your own idealistic views only makes you suffer too.” She saw him pause and as though swallowing his pride, lower his head and stare intensely at her.

“You can’t pretend you know me...” He seemed to be letting the words bounce off of him, or trying too.

While Darker Sonic was taking it to heart.

Realizing she couldn’t get through to Lighter Sonic so quickly, she turned back to the vulnerable side, “You both admitted you didn’t want to hurt me, right? Is that the only thing you two have in common?”

She saw the piece that was still intact, way at the bottom of the emerald’s pointed center... she knew the real Sonic was still poking out somewhere... and she had to find it.

Otherwise... she didn’t want to imagine what would become of him.

“It’s not all reputation, is it?” Amy looked to Lighter Sonic, seeing Darker Sonic close his eyes to shut this all out, as though too shy to admit and ashamed to admit his jealousy over the praise and admiration his other self, a mask he put on to be adored, always seemed to receive. “And you, carefree and usually always up for an adventure... you’ve been angry too long.”

She was trying to comfort both, but the hurt between both sides was so immense... he had been playing both sides all his life... how could she mend something so incredibly torn and damaged?

“But if I know anything about Sonic... it’s that his natural self is a hero.”

The two turned back to her, their heads moving as though that hit something deep within them.

She closed her eyes, trusting they wouldn’t punch each other out for at least a few seconds while she spoke. “The Sonic I admire... is like the wind. He can be cold at times, but also warm and inviting... he races through the fields and enjoys every second of his life. There’s never a dull moment, and as long as you can keep up, he’ll carry you along for the ride... He’s kind, but he’s also a force to be reckoned with.” she gestured her hammer and hand out to each of them, then looked at her own hands. “One hand grips a powerful speed and anger...” she grasped her hammer, “The other one... can’t stand to hesitate and leave someone in need. It can’t help but want to save and lift others up.”

The two seemed to be stilled a moment... and behind Amy... the torn Master Emerald began to respond to Sonic’s soul... it began to fuse slowly it’s torn self into a glowing, invisible torch that was repairing itself.

Amy turned around to see it, and both Sonic’s instinctively raced to either one of her sides, holding a hand out as though defending her from the sudden heat and lighted sparks from the Master Emerald.

Looking at them, she smiled.

Looking at each other, a slow roll of their eyes, they parted immediately. Walking away, Lighter Sonic put one hand to his hip as though trying to remain cool, while the other folded his arms and tsk’ed to the side of himself, not wanting to play nice.

Amy sighed, seeing that they still were a bit different... but very much the same.

“Will you at least try and find a happy medium?” She moved towards them and took their hands.

Darker Sonic let her gently sink her hand into his folded arms and coax out, very gently, his hand...

Lighter Sonic pulled away, sharply, but seeing Amy’s hammer disappear from being pointed at him... and now her hand pleading for his approval... he looked away and lightly placed his hand to her own...

Lighter Sonic looked nervous and tried to distance himself from the emotional tension... but also the overwhelming love that Amy was showing to both conflicting sides as Darker Sonic used his other hand to flick his own nose, sniffling as though trying to not look dorkish either.

Amy giggled at their familiar responses, “I think I see you for who you truly are now, Sonic.” she liked this, not having him hide his emotions, but being unable to stop his two sides from revealing themselves. “There’s a saying.” She gripped both their hands in a loving embrace, jolting them down a bit in her newfound cheeriness at them not fighting anymore, but actually listening. “That there’s two wolves inside the heart... and the one you feed, will be the winner and devour your heart.” She put their hands together, “However... Some asked, why not starve the two wolves? And another few asked, why not feed both equally, keeping an equilibrium between the two...”

The two Sonic’s saw their hands glowing... much like the light from the Master Emerald, slowly healing.

They finally looked at the other one of them... and Amy saw a neutral expression in each of their eyes...

She smiled and looked to each of them before back down to their hands, placing her hands below and above them, making sure they stayed together.

“But you know what the chief said? Feed your heart... and it will be too large for the wolves to devour.”

The Sonics looked back to her.

“I heard a different tale.” The Darker Sonic stated, “One is good and the other is bad.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too.” Amy nodded, “But in this case.” She raised her head, “I think the wolves are just our conflicting personalities. One side of me, for example, loves to stay at home and get some chores done. Strange, for you and maybe most, right?” She giggled, watching the mending of the Master Emerald slowly increase in speed, and noticed at the corner of her eyes the two Sonic’s delicately intrigued and hanging off every word she uttered, as though this was the missing meaning they had always longed for in their chaotic inner-life. It gave her courage to continue, hoping that her words would feed Sonic’s soul, and let it form as one again. “But I enjoy cleaning, tending my garden, or even going out to shop for little things I may need in the week.” She then clasped her hands more firmly, but with added love over the two’s hands, as they looked down to action.

One acted a bit surprised, but the other grew flustered and adverted his eyes at her newly adjusted strength for keeping them together.

“However, sometimes I don’t have the energy for staying indoors all day or going through sales racks... sometimes, I really want my life to be less boring, more exciting, and so I race along after you and the others, wanting to do my part to be... even a small change... in helping the world be a better, safer place to live in.”

The Sonics... together... smiled.

In a strange noise, their voices seemed to overlap each other when they chuckled at her words, and she knew by the look of the Master Emerald that if she just kept their hands together for a bit longer... the Master Emerald would fuse his heart together again.

“Those two wolves... don’t devour me.” Amy stated, “Neither one is bad, it’s just the one I choose to pamper that day.” She nodded to her words. “Sometimes I don’t want to do either of them, and that’s not bad either! It doesn’t mean I’m lazy, but lazy days aren’t a bad thing too.”

She watched as she removed her hands... and both Sonics kept their hands on or under the other... letting them remain together.

“You two aren’t wolves,” She put her hands up to her mouth as she giggled more prominently now, “You’re just stubborn hedgehogs that don’t know what to do with yourselves! One of you wants to be aloof and peaceful, while the other wants to fight bad guys and save the world with his friends. Neither is bad, and both of you... are the sides of Sonic’s heart.”

She placed her hands to her chest and closed her eyes as the two Sonics happily stepped in unison towards each other, and with the last light of the Master Emerald fusing itself together, Amy kept her eyes closed with the giant beam of light till it faded.

“...Amy..?”

Amy slowly opened her eyes, and looked up to see her beloved’s face again.

“Thank you.” He stated, earnestly, putting a hand to his hip and looking tenderly towards her. “I never knew I needed that... pep-talk... thing.” he admitted, but goofily moved his hand in a funny way.

She giggled again, and he chuckled to her laughter.

“Let’s let the others know it’s all good now.” He nodded in the direction that made most sense, but then also tilted his head as though changing gears. “I thought no one would accept the silent, selfish desires of my heart like that, Amy... but you’ve shown me that I’m not bad for wanting certain things... I just want them... at different times.” his gentle smile was the one she loved to see, his new humility and self-awareness made him open but complete again, and she was overwhelmed with her feelings once again.

“Ahh!” She squealed in delight, covering her face and twisting her body away from him, lifting her leg up slightly and letting the tip of her boot keep her somewhat balanced.

“H-huh?” He looked curiously confused at her behavior, and leaned towards her, turning his body left and right to try and see why she was acting this way. “What’s the matter? Amy?”

“You’re so handsome!” she cheered, then parted her hands to flirtatiously lean her nose up by his, but still watching him pull back and not daring to touch hers with his. He made a face but she found it funny, seeing him wincing his mouth back like that, “Especially when you’re thanking me~” she teased, and he looked away, groaning at her antics and then rubbing his nose slightly with a wink towards her.

“You would still be you, even split in two, wouldn’t you, Amy?”

“Oh, one part would definitely be all over you, that’s for sure.” Amy leaned back and put her hands behind her back as Sonic suddenly looked a bit frightful.

“O-oh?” He was definitely turning sheepish, starting to walk passed her as the Master Emerald and him were still linked, so it up and lifted itself into the air and floated after him. “You don’t have to tell me the rest of it.” He kept his head down and eyes closed as Amy trotted off after him.

“Well, actually, without my self-restraint, I’d have probably carried you tied to the chapel by now.”

He groaned again as she skipped after him.

“Hmm... Maybe I should split myself. But would that mean you’re only married to a part of me... or..?” as she thought teasingly out loud, he finally turned around and gave her a scolding look, shaking his head as though she was taking the joke too far as Amy then laughed at him.

He seemed to give up and throw his arms up, shrugging, “Remind me to make sure that never happens to you then...”

“If I’m ever linked to the Master Emerald... and Shadow breaks his promise--which I know he wouldn’t!--but if he did... would you... do what I did for you and help put me--and the Master Emerald, of course--back together again..?” she asked, cutely, as he stopped to think a second.

“Ah! Really! You have to think about it!?”

“No... not that.” Sonic mused as he suddenly grinned back to her, “Just thinking... is there even a part of you that wouldn’t be all over me?”

Amy blushed and held her tongue after that, as Sonic laughed and laughed while making it out of the mansion, apologizing in a deep, forward bow to the ghosts, and then taking Amy’s hand to help her keep up his fast pace as they made it back to Knuckles to cut off the link.

Amy wanted to ride the Master Emerald, so he helped her up on top of it, and although it did float a little closer to the ground, she was able to hang on as Sonic took off at lightning speeds...

Later, when Amy was dusting off some of her home, the doorbell sounded off.

Leaning on her home’s sign, Sonic jokingly pretended he was looking at his nails.

“Which part of your heart are you feeding today, Amy?” He acted as though uncaring, but Amy was already growing in excitement at seeing him there, at her home, unexpectedly. “The part that likes to clean all day... or the side that likes a little excitement every now and then.” He put his hands behind his head, smiled cheekily to the ground with his eyes closed, before turning his head to her with a proud look on his face as he opened one eye to a subtle ‘winky’ expression~

[tangent101]

Corruption at Blackwell Academy

Nothing does better to help point out the corruption at the root of Arcadia Bay than their pride and joy, Blackwell Academy. This private high school has, according to Max, one of the best art programs in the country and in many ways works more like a private college than a high school (including having dorms). But there is a dark heart beating in Blackwell, and that is the Prescott family. This heart has tainted the academy and the surrounding community.

When Max ventures forth into Arcadia Bay itself, she mentions that a lot of businesses have shut down. It used to have a thriving fishing industry but that has collapsed, while businesses supporting fishing have also dried up until there’s only a few areas which still bring in business - and these businesses naturally have Sean Prescott’s strings attached to them, such as the gated community he’s trying to have built. 

Further, it seems the Prescott Manor is located at the heart of Arcadia Bay, even as Blackwell is at the “head” (the high point) of the community. While I’m a bit surprised it’s not oceanfront property, thematically it makes sense for Prescott Manor to be where it is - a hidden property we never see, but which ultimately touches everything around it. 

Seeing that Blackwell itself plays a prominent role for the game (with over half of the game set at the school), it makes sense that we’d see the worse of Arcadia Bay’s corruption (and the Prescott influence over it) at the school, and we easily do so with Principal Raymond Wells himself. 

On the surface, Wells seems to be a typical administrator. He’s one of the few black characters in the game, and the only one in a position of authority. But with Max’s first encounter with him, we get our first taste of how far Prescott corruption has taken hold with Wells accusing Max of “having something to hide” off of the most flimsy of reasons... and while on the surface he takes her claims of Nathan having a gun seriously, he never bothers to send his head of security to search Nathan’s room. 

Seriously. If David Madsen had searched Nathan’s room, he’d have found information on Nathan’s gun (if not the gun itself), the photograph of Chloe in a compromised position, and more. The game would have gone far far differently in that case. And it would have been a reasonable precaution. If Max was lying or mistaken about the gun? Then Wells would have been in a position to force Max to formally apologize to Nathan for her words! Meanwhile he’d have looked effective at his job! Instead he pulls Nathan in for a quick verbal warning and that leads Nathan to assaulting Max in the parking lot.

We also learn from Chloe that Wells is a drunk. Now Chloe isn’t exactly the best person to talk to about these things. She refers to the school as Blackhell and got expelled, so she may be prejudiced about this. But we actually get to see Wells drinking whiskey at the end of Chapter 1. Further, in Chapter 3 when Max and Chloe search his office, you find he has several bottles of liquor hidden away. And trust me, if you tried drinking on the job or even just at the job after you were out for the night, and weren’t working at a bar... then you’re going to get written up at the very least. 

Drugs and alcohol are quite evident in Blackwell, both among the administration and the student body. We can find a known drug dealer’s RV parked in the Blackwell Academy parking lot at one point. We learn that Rachel Amber (beloved icon and the lost Lenore of Life is Strange) was a drug mule for said drug dealer. We learn that Nathan Prescott also deals and distributes drugs at Blackwell (and Chloe accuses him of that when we first encounter Chloe and Nathan in the Blackwell bathroom). 

Several students end up drugged by date rape drugs that were acquired from Frank Bowers (who never thought to consider their possible use for sexual assault apparently). One student admits to getting high before class, and at the End of the World event, the Vortex Club is full of students drinking alcohol and getting high off of various drugs (many of which Nathan provided). In fact it seems clear that Nathan’s popularity among the jocks is due to his being the middleman between Frank and their own drug habits.

David Madsen is another sign of the corruption at Blackwell. He is not a wise choice to have as chief of security for a school of rich teenagers. When we first meet him, he yells at Max for not leaving the school promptly when she leaves the bathroom. Excuse me? What is it women do in bathrooms? If you were in the middle of something when a fire alarm went off, would you just pull up your underwear, fix your clothes, and leave? No. You’d clean up first. And that takes a minute or two. If David were given any actual training, he’d have just treated her decently and told her to evacuate with the rest of the students and faculty.

(That’s another thing. There is a set procedure in place for fire alarms. Students and faculty are to line up outside so that the fire department knows everyone is safe and no one is trapped in the building. This was not done. Sure, part of this is to get the game moving rather than show boring realistic details and it could be claimed it happened “after hours” but you still should have seen the remaining students lining up with teachers. The laxity of Blackwell (suggesting that the fire alarms are misused frequently) is just another sign that Blackwell is corrupt and Wells an inept administrator.) 

We see additional evidence that David is one of the worse choices for head of security at Blackwell at his accosting Kate Marsh and accusing her of being involved in something (later on we learn he’s blaming her for drugs at Blackwell showing once more he is a tool and an utter idiot). The girl is hysterical, there is a write-up in her file from the nurse that David should have known about, and he confronts her and baselessly accuses her of something. There is a legitimate reason why Max can accuse David of being responsible for Kate being on the rooftop of the dorms at the end of Chapter 2. He helped drive her there.

On a related note, additional corruption in Arcadia Bay can be found in its police force. At one point in Chapter 3, Max can talk to a police officer at Two Whales Diner, Anderson Berry. Berry admits outright to being on the take. More specifically, Sean Prescott did Berry’s family a favor and that he can’t get out of it. Nathan goes on further to state his father owns the police... and seeing that in LiS2 with the Sacrifice Chloe end that David is worried about Nathan getting out of jail three years after killing Chloe... he’s probably right. (Minimum sentence for involuntary manslaughter is 10 years, no parole. Boy’s getting out on appeal. Fortunately, Save Chloe is a valid option and has Jefferson locked away.)

No discussion about the corruption of Blackwell Academy would be complete without talking about Mark Jefferson. This predator has a couple dozen folders filled with photos of women in compromising positions, having most likely been drugged and then photographed while semi-conscious. While the fine folk at Dontnod have stated that Jefferson did not touch his victims sexually... it is clear that this was a metaphor for rape. You have a date rape drug used on two girls (Kate and Chloe). Both girls are messed up as a result of the drugging and subsequent encounters. Kate is suicidal and being blamed by society for what happened to her. Chloe is adversarial and confrontational and even states she would happily see Arcadia Bay turned to glass (one thing that some victims of sexual assault say sometimes is that they hate the world.) You even have the Dark Room and its vinyl-lined extra-large sofa. Yes, that is not at all suspicious.

Mark Jefferson is a popular and attractive white male teacher in a position of authority over students. He has taken one student (Nathan) under his wing and is coaching him in his ways (do note that Chloe is assaulted by Nathan using the same tools Jefferson uses on his own victims). There are rumors going around the school that a missing student, Rachel Prescott, was sleeping with Jefferson and this is not considered a bad thing. There’s no investigation of these rumors (half a year after Rachel disappeared). There’s no official denial of those rumors or any word at all. If a teacher in any decent school had that sort of accusation against them, I don’t care how popular the teacher was, there’d be an official investigation and the rumor mill would mention that. 

It’s clear that Jefferson has done this to several students at the very least. If we assume that Jefferson was teaching at Blackwell for the past three years then he’s been preying on teenage girls for that entire time. The write-up for Jefferson shows that in the late 2000s he taught in several schools before settling down in his hometown of Arcadia Bay. (It’s odd how many characters in LiS were born in Arcadia Bay. The only two students whose records we have who were not were (amusingly enough) Nathan and Victoria. Go figure.) So it’s possible Jefferson was preying on students for four or five years, and may even have been at Blackwell Academy when Max’s family had to leave.

Getting back to Nathan, there are multiple examples of the corruption of Blackwell in regards to Nathan. We already know of how he’s dealing drugs at the school, providing various drugs for the jocks, alcohol for the Vortex Club, and the like. His school file shows he’s assaulted students and teachers, and it is strongly implied that Max’s English teacher is out because of Nathan. (Oh, hey, more corruption! Most schools require students to be in class even when the teacher is out sick and provide substitute teachers. When there is no substitute available, the principal or vice principal will fill in as the substitute teacher.) Nathan’s files however are sealed and his official student report shows him to be a “good student” without any problems. Suspicious? Suspicious.

When I first started writing about the Corruption of Blackwell, I was thinking along the lines of the $5,000 in cash found in the desk drawer of Principal Wells. It was just the tip of the iceberg, but it still smells fishier than Arcadia Bay’s docks. Yes, the money is marked as “handicapped fund” but legitimate businesses will use checks to finance construction. That includes schools. If there is a bake sale or the like to raise funds? Those funds are put in a bank account. You don’t go paying cash for business unless it’s under the table - at least, not when you’re a legitimate and popular private school. 

Amusingly enough, the money for the Handicapped Fund gets used to put in a handicapped ramp at the school. But the ramp is being built for the Prescott Dormitory. (Oh, hey, the Prescott family again!) Do note, Blackwell Academy is built on a hill. To reach the school from the street, students have to walk up a couple flights of stairs. If you go to the parking lot, you have to climb a flight of stairs in a narrow enclosure to reach the school - if you use a wheelchair you cannot access the school at all. 

David Madsen’s map of Blackwell Academy (for placement of security cameras) shows no means of reaching the dormitories from the parking lot. In fact, the parking lots are placed poorly and students checking into Blackwell have to trudge across the entire school with their belongings, up a flight of stairs and down another flight of stairs. It is poorly designed and I can hear the griping of every student and parent on moving day about how it’s messed up that you can’t just park the car next to the dorms.

In short? Putting a handicap ramp at the dormitories makes absolutely no sense. Students in wheelchairs cannot reach the ramp because when they get off from the street in front of Blackwell they have to climb a flight of stairs. If they park in the handicapped spaces in the parking lot, they have to climb a flight of stairs. They cannot get into the school itself because of more stairs, so installing a handicap ramp at the dormitories makes absolutely no sense at all. (If Blackwell was interested in becoming ADA-compliant, the first ramp would be at the parking lot, followed by the school itself.)

Let’s look at this further. We know that Sean Prescott has a construction company (Prescott Development) seeing he’s pushing a housing development, Pan Estates, a gated community that will be built in the “deep forests” near Blackwell. He’s run into some problems with local protests and the like keeping him from just building everything he wants. So Principal Raymond Wells gets $5,000 in cash to build a pointless and useless handicap ramp that workers at Prescott Development can use for a quick job. Further, cash is often used to pay undocumented workers. Prescott is spending some money for a fluff job to keep his undocumented workers paid and busy. 

If Max and Chloe take the money, there is no investigation. There was a break-in at the school. The police could easily lift Chloe’s fingerprints from the scene and arrest her for the theft. They most likely have her fingerprints on file seeing she has been arrested in the past for various minor crimes (such as vandalism). So why would there be no investigation unless there was a reason to keep the money hushed up? 

As I said, the corruption at Blackwell and Arcadia Bay goes deep. The Prescott family is at the heart of it... but at its head is Blackwell Academy. I truly feel for Max in this. She really wanted to go to Blackwell. A favored photographer of hers was teaching there, her best friend lived in the town, it was her childhood home! And she goes there and finds skeletons in the closet, bodies in the junkyard, and signs of corruption everyway she turns. Talk about a coming of age story... maybe Chloe was right. Turning the town to glass? It may have been for the best. It allows Max and Chloe to leave and make a life for themselves. It would be a better life than what they had back in Arcadia Bay.

[wickedmilo]

SURVIVAL TIPS | MILO & WILLOW

PLACE: A bookstore TIMING: Way, way back when Milo first became a vampire SUMMARY: Milo and Willow accidentally cross paths, and realise they both have the power to distract each other from their problems WRITING PARTNER: @willcwthewisp​ CONTENT WARNINGS: None

Milo couldn’t remember the last time he had unironically set foot in a bookstore. After graduating uni, it all felt a little pointless. He had books, though they were at his parents’ house, far beyond his reach now. And reading felt too trivial considering the latest developments in his life. Why would he ever need books? What could they possibly have to offer him? But this evening, against his better judgement, he had been struck by the overwhelming urge to go to a bookshop. To steal back a semblance of the normalcy belonging to his previous life. With Harsh’s constant, and unexpected support, he was feeling more in control than ever before. Though his grip on his cravings remained tenuous at best, he figured he was capable of a short visit. After impatiently waiting for the sun to set, he had hurried into town, slipping quietly through the familiar door. The bell above him rang out, announcing his arrival, and the sound caused a wave of nostalgia to wash over him. Maybe he missed this more than he thought. Once upon a time, before he had allowed himself to spiral, he would come here. His mom would find new books for him to study. His dad would nudge him away from the children’s section, towards the classics that were technically beyond his reading level. If it’s easy, then what are you learning, Milo? You need to be challenged. He could still hear his tone, the exact way he would make not being able to choose his own stories sound like a privilege rather than a frustration.  

Drifting through the various sections, taking in the new sounds, and scents he had never been able to appreciate before, it wasn’t long until he found himself standing where his parents used to encourage him to stand. They would search through the shelves, talking amongst themselves to determine which novels were best suited for their son. Even now that he had a choice, he was drawn to the books they had selected for him. Maybe it was a warped sense of loyalty, maybe he missed the simplicity of having every decision made for him. Gently running his fingers along the spine of Great Expectations, he wondered whether Charles Dickens had lived in a world of vampires, and ghosts. Certainly Edgar Allan Poe had to have known about the existence of the Supernatural. It made him want to revisit the tales, search for any hint that might indicate the world had always been this confusing. Finally pulling Great Expectations from the shelf, he turned to walk towards the seating area, completely unaware of the person walking in the opposite direction. He stumbled backwards the moment he saw them, very nearly walking into them. A sheepish grin on his face, he did what he could to hold his breath. Harsh had already warned him doing so would draw attention, but he didn’t see any other option when people got so close. “Shit- I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” 

Willow was to the point of desperation when it came to finding the book she was looking for. For some unfathomable reason it wasn’t available anywhere that she could find online. Maybe it was simply so popular that most sellers had run out of it, but either way she’d ended up braving the trek to the bookstore after hearing they had a copy in stock. Books were one of the few ways she’d managed to stay sane in her self-appointed isolation, filling her head with stories of the outside world that she couldn’t bring herself to experience anymore. But she should have known going out into public once again was a terrible idea, and that became clear the moment she nearly collided with another being. Her eyes widened in alarm at the severity of the close call, already imagining how she could have sent the young man standing in front of her flying through multiple shelves of books.  

“Oh god-” Willow gasped as if she’d been startled at a haunted house, hand clutched to her chest as she took a few, healthy steps backwards to put some space between her and the stranger. “No, no- I didn't see you there either, I’m sorry.” Her nerves had been set on edge by the near run in, and she was doing her best to steady her breaths, trying not to think about the ten million ways this interaction could go poorly if the stranger got too close. “I was just- I wasn’t watching that carefully where I was going, I guess.” A lapse on judgement on her part. She should know better than to walk blindly when she was a walking disaster waiting to happen. 

Milo was already tense, doing his very best to hide it. But it made him feel a little better to hear the stranger’s heart pounding in her chest. Clearly he wasn’t the only person who had been caught so off guard, and clearly he wasn’t the only person so panicked by the close proximity. The relief didn’t last for very long though. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the sound of her pulse served as an unwelcome reminder of how dry his throat felt, the new reality he was desperately trying to ignore. Before he could take a further step back, the woman had done so for him, and he watched her curiously, wondering whether she might also a reason of her own to keep her distance. “Are you okay?” He asked, genuinely concerned for her. “No- I wasn’t looking either, it was my fault as much as it was yours!” He insisted. If he had been more careful, as careful as he should be given his current situation, this wouldn’t have happened. But he was already tired of being careful. Was one evening too much to ask for? One evening of reading books in a bookstore like a regular human being? “I, uh-” He held up his copy of Great Expectations, still holding his breath between sentences as though such a desperate gesture might be able to fix all of his problems. “I was distracted too…”

“Oh- oh, I’m fine!” Willow tried to assure, not wanting the young man to think he’d startled her too badly— even if he had done just that. “Are you alright?” she asked out of politeness. He didn’t seem very shaken, but it was only in her nature to ask in return. Forcing a chuckle, she clutched the book she’d fetched to her chest, as if it could protect her. “I think we’re gonna have to either agree to disagree, or just let me take the blame.” She wasn’t particularly in the practice of letting the guilt fall on someone else when it came to situations that involved herself. “Oh, are you reading Great Expectations?” she asked as she took in the title and cover of the book. It wasn’t one of her favorites- mostly because she’d been forced to read it in highschool, but it was still a classic and staple. In her opinion, it had ghosts that weren’t really ghosts, and that was something she’d been drawn to. 

Smiling at the woman’s insistence that she really was okay, Milo allowed himself to relax as much as he dared to. It wasn’t easy, trying to find a balance. Trying to stay aware of his surroundings, while also staying aware of himself. He could only hope one day it would become a part of his routine, something he did without even needing to focus. “I am.” He answered quietly. He wasn’t sure how true that was, but he sincerely appreciated the question. “I mean, if you want to take the blame I have a track record of avoiding responsibility.” He teased, laughing quietly at the fact that he was being entirely honest now. “I’m not going to try and stop you.” Glancing down at the book in his hands, he stared at the cover for a moment too long. There were so many childhood memories connected to it that it was difficult to look away from. “I guess so.” He grinned, offering her a shrug. “My parents made me read it as a kid… I’m kind of missing the simplicity of that, you know? My biggest worry being how quickly I could get to the end of a book.” Finally tearing his gaze away and looking back up at the stranger, he realised he had yet to introduce himself. “I’m Milo, by the way… So, are you going to tell me what you’re reading? Hopefully something far less cliché.”

Part of Willow was glad that the young man hadn’t insisted on taking the blame as many people were often wont to do. Generally that just resulted in a tiring back and forth until they found some sort of compromise, or forgot what they were talking about altogether. “Perfect,” she settled the burden of blame with a chuckle, her smile still warm. “Glad we agreed on that as easily as we did.” He seemed nice despite her nearly running headlong into him. Her head tilted curiously to the side, listening closely while he spoke of his parents and books. “Oh- well that’s...sweet in a way. And it makes sense.” She could certainly relate to wishing for a simpler time, often thinking of the days she’d been able to walk free without fear of breaking someone in half via telekinesis. “Books are a good way to forget the world for a bit.” They were her favorite method of escaping behind painting. “Oh- I’m Willow,” she replied quickly, a little embarrassed that she’d forgotten to introduce herself in the first place. “I don’t think Great Expectations is necessarily cliché,” she offered politely with another little laugh before continuing on. “But mine’s called ‘Leave the World’.”

Amused by Willow apparently being grateful he was readily allowing her to take the blame, Milo realised he was genuinely beginning to enjoy her company. His smile only growing as she talked about the ease of the decision, it was refreshing not being seen as somebody argumentative, or petulant, even if the context could barely be considered serious. “It was a pleasure discussing business with you.” He replied, feigning sincerity as he caught her eye. Raising his eyebrows as she called his actions sweet, he wasn’t sure he would use that word but perhaps from an outsider’s perspective his explanation could be seen as sentimental. “Yeah, you could probably call it that.” He admitted, absentmindedly tapping his fingertips against the cover of the book still in his hands. “I don’t know… I hadn’t really thought about it. I don’t even know why I came here really, I think I might be looking for something that’s just... impossible to find, you know?” His old life, his humanity... Realising the stranger was right, his smile softened into an open, and unguarded expression. Books were a good way to escape, however briefly. And though there were no hidden doorways here allowing him to step back into the past, maybe a brief escape would enough for now. If achieving one was even possible. Maybe it needed to be enough. “Leave the World?” He couldn't say he had ever heard of it. “I don’t suppose there are any tips in there? I could use a vacation from this place.”

The younger man’s words brought a laugh to Willow’s lips, and she was grateful for the bell-like sound as she reminded herself how few and far between interactions like this had been. Sure- she’d talked to people in her self-imposed isolation, had even seen a few humans here and there, but there was nothing that could replace the actual company of another living and breathing person. “I hope I don’t have a bill coming in the mail for this business talk,” she teased back. Her shoulders relaxing another inch while she let herself slip a little further into comfort. 

The expression on her face took on a more sincere air as her head tilted curiously to the side, a gentle nod of understanding shaking it in the end. “I think...a lot of people feel that way, if we’re being honest.” And she didn’t see any reason not to be. Even ghosts were looking for something that seemed impossible to find. After all, that was why they’d stuck around in the first place. “But I also haven’t met anyone that hasn’t eventually found what they’re looking for. Sometimes you just need help, you know?” That was the job of the medium or exorcist in her mind— to extend that helping hand when someone needed it. “And sometimes the answer isn’t what we expect, but I think you’ll get there eventually.” Another chuckle shook her gently before she gave her answer. “No tips in there unless you’re looking for ways to survive and deal with the apocalypse. But if you’re looking for some ‘vacation’ books I can take you to some of my favorites?”

Milo laughed too, his eyes shining. “I wasn’t going to but now that I think about it my rent is probably due.” He teased, unable to help himself. He could hardly consider their conversation business talk, but he was enjoying it more than he would ever have expected to. Although he liked his time alone, socialising had always come naturally to him. He had no issue with talking to people, getting to know them when their paths somehow managed to cross with his own. He missed this, he missed making new friends. His smile fading somewhat as Willow became serious again, he appreciated her honesty. It made him sad to know what she was saying was probably true, but it also helped him to feel less alone. Sometimes he just needed to be reminded of that fact. “Yeah, I guess you’re right…” He murmured, knowing the sense of relief would be temporary. How long until he convinced himself otherwise? Until his own mind erased Willow’s wisdom? “It’s easy to forget sometimes, you know? Especially when your problems are so… specific.” He admitted, offering her a hesitant shrug.  

A smile tugging at his lips again, the mention of hope was comforting, regardless of the fact that everything felt pretty hopeless right about now. He was more stable than he had been, though still not used to his new life, still close enough to his old one to actively grieve for it. “You really think so?” He asked, knowing his longing would be obvious in his voice. He made no effort to hide it, too distracted by the mention of finding answers, by the sound of Willow’s heartbeat, by the book in his hands still reminding him of his childhood. “I really hope so…” Maybe she was right. Harsh was helping him now, and things were getting better. The progress was slow, but it still counted as progress. “Thank you.” His smile became more genuine as he felt a strange rush of affection for the woman he barely knew. Apparently she believed in him, apparently she was convinced one day he might actually be okay again. “Hm, I think tips on how to survive might be more useful to me than vacation books.” He was only half teasing. “But if you’d be up for the company, I’d love to see some of your favourites.” 

“Well- you’ll just have to send over the prices so I can get a look at them. My sister’s actually better with stuff like that anyway, so I’ll probably pass them on to her,” Willow chuckled. It was true though. Meg had needed to negotiate quite a few contracts along with her manager when it came to her spot as a blossoming celebrity. She’d missed this as well. Even though she’d always been a little more on the quieter side, Willow had always loved seeing a new smile wherever she could find them. Her warm expression shifted into concern another time as Milo continued to speak of his problems. She might not have the abilities to go along with being a proper medium, but she’d still been raised as one, and along with that came a compassion geared towards helping. “Well if you ever need reminding just message me, alright? I’m easy enough to find on the town forums. My full name’s Willow Finch if you want to search me, though.” Maybe she was coming on too strong when it came to being helpful, but it’d always been hard for her to draw that line. If she wanted to help, why shouldn't she make sure the other person knew it without a doubt?  

“Of course I think so,” Willow repeated with another soft smile, already happy to see the smallest flash of hope enter into Milo’s eyes. “I haven’t met a person yet that couldn’t find what they were looking for. Even if it took time. And even if it wasn’t what they were expecting.” The poor guy. She could practically feel the desperate wanting in his voice, could recognize it because she herself was on a seemingly hopeless quest for answers when it came to her own problems with telekinesis. There had to be an end...right? But a smaller voice in her mind reminded Willow that endings weren’t always happy. Nevertheless she brushed it aside, and turned to start on her way towards her favorite section of the store. “Come on- I think we can find some books that fall into both categories,” she finished with a grin over her shoulder. 

Milo continued to smile in response to the joke, leaning into the way this woman seemed able to distract him from his problems, if only for a brief moment in time. He could see she was being genuine, that she actually wanted to help, and he wasn’t used to that. Not anymore.  “I hope she doesn’t take a cut of the check?” He teased, his smile growing as she insisted she was always going to be there if he needed a reminder that all hope wasn’t lost. It was an odd thing for a stranger to offer, but given his life as of late, he didn’t feel as though his gauge on what was normal even functioned anymore. It had been permanently shattered when he woke up as an official member of the undead. Slipping his phone from his pocket, he held it out to her, encouraging her to plug her name and number into his list of contacts. “I might take you up on that, you know…” Why not? What did he have to lose by making another hesitant friend? “Willow Finch… your name has superhero vibes, has anybody ever told you that?” His eyes were shining as he was reminded of who he used to be, the kid who spent his free time split between the comic book store, and the many questionable establishments White Crest had to offer him. He was still very much that person, but nothing felt quite so simple anymore. He only wanted things to be simple.  

His smile fading when Willow insisted he would eventually find what he was looking for, some sense of peace, some way of being content with what he had become, maybe even some level of control when it came to fighting against the bloodlust continually scratching the back of his throat, he was impatient, but he was also happy just to believe that the answers were out there. He would find them, and maybe, just maybe, he would be okay. Surprised when she started to walk away from him, he faltered before hurrying to fall into step beside her, holding his breath as her movement caused the smell of her blood to permeate the air. He didn’t know what she meant by both categories, surely survival books and vacation books were on two very different ends of a spectrum. But he didn’t care, he wanted to understand, he wanted to follow her. Because, for some reason, she made him feel like there was hope, like he existed as more than some miserable outcome, and that was proving to be incredibly rare. 

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel supplemental: The Ecumenes and the Gods

Roughly 250 years ago, the world was tightly-linked by teleportation magic. People could visit any city on the Jewel in the blink of an eye, and the idea of national borders was pretty meaningless. Instead, there were distributed, nonlocal governments that competed for citizens.

(If you've read any of Terra Ignota, you'd recognize the hive system.)

The death of teleportation magic has shattered the world into local polities with their own governments, but the six Ecumenes still hold varying sway over the population to varying degrees. Their individual law systems are still largely recognized by local governments, and their cultural impact is felt the world over.

The Ecumenes are, of course, churches of the gods. Below are their profiles, and overviews of their legal systems.

Eman, Windspinner, is the God of Freedom.

Eman is the Ecumene for those with no Ecumene- those who feel no need for the law to protect them, or can't stomach the restrictions of other gods. (Analogous to Blacklaws, in Terra Ignota.) No law will protect you if someone wants you dead, or tries to steal your things- but if you're a dyed-in-the-wool anarchist and believe in your own ability to navigate the world without an authority above you, the Ecumene of Eman will... do nothing whatsoever for you, because it's barely an organization. Typical adherents of Eman are either self-assured warriors, unrepentant violent criminals, or both.

Eman, the god, has a total commitment to autonomy and asks nothing of his worshippers. His clerics do, as is their ultimate inviolable commandment: whatever they want. Typically, though, the sort of person whose mind is similar enough to Eman's to be capable of channeling his divinity as a cleric... cares a lot about the freedom of others, and goes about trying to prevent other authorities from unlawfully enforcing laws on Emanites.

Andra, Veilpiercer, is the Deity of Understanding.

Andra is a pretty standard deity of wisdom and knowledge and all that- nothing unexpected there. They just want to know everything, and value learning new things!

The governance of the Ecumene of Understanding is very interested in empiricism. They want to know what the best form of government is, and do that, instead of picking one way of doing government and sticking with that no matter how badly it backfires. So they run experiments!

Under Andra, there's no such thing as a law that doesn't have an intended outcome, a standard for measuring whether it met that outcome, and a deadline to measure the outcome by or else repeal the law. As a result... the legal code is constantly changing based on heated arguments between politicians and armchair legal theorists (between which there is little distinction) over whether targets were met. And what this means is that the legal code is in constant flux, and you basically need to be a part-time lawyer to keep up with the laws governing you.

Making matters worse, teleportation and long-distance communication broke, and so geographically distant Andra polities now need to work harder to stay in sync. The Ecumene of Andra, therefore, is the major force behind the building of roads, and the sponsoring of adventurers who do the hard work of forging through the wilderness to deliver messages. They sponsor the Deathseekers' Guild, a brotherhood of monster hunters that take on the most dangerous prey they can find.

Typical adherents are academics, adventurers, and people who think they're smart enough to keep up.

Diamode, Fruitbearer, is the Goddess of Family.

Diamode has a plan for you! You go to school, obey your parents, graduate and get married, buy a house in the suburbs, have 2-3 children, care for them, retire, be cared for by them, and die. That's the plan. Their legal code encourages filial piety and conformity to this perfect way to live your life. Tax breaks for married couples, credits for having children- be fruitful and multiply! It's sort of the bastard child of Confucianism and protestant Christianity- it would absolutely be the most popular ecumene in the US, if that were how such things worked.

Typical adherents of Diamode are... there's only one typical adherent of Diamode, because the whole point is being the one way Diamode wants you to be.

Iska, Peakstrider, is the Goddess of Triumph.

Iska values self-improvement above all else- becoming Better, developing skills, climbing that ladder. There's no point to living if you're not trying to be the best at what you do! If it makes you stronger, it's the right thing to do!

Unsurprisingly, this is a popular goddess amongst warlords and merchants, who like having a divine mandate to enrich themselves at the expense of others. Iska only cares that you're winning- if someone else is losing, that's not her problem. They get whatever they deserved for being worse at whatever the conflict was about!

Iska's legal system is based on a sort of complicated virtue-ethical rubric. The winner of a legal dispute isn't the person who acted least criminally- the winner is whoever is the better person. And the criteria for who's "better" are set by people in power in the Ecumene of Triumph, which means "better" tends towards "more like the people in power", and "less like the enemies of the people in power". It's a fairly degenerate system, full of lots of infighting.

Ccorde, Skyholder, is the Goddess of Harmony.

Back when the gods were creating the world, Ccorde was responsible for keeping them all on the same page. She arbitrated disputes and authored compromises that would keep the gods on-task and creating something stable. She's... the reason the world isn't a Snarl, if you're familiar with OotS. She wants everyone to get along.

Everyone who's a god, anyway. She kinda likes it when people get along, but her number one priority is making sure people don't fuck up the world she worked so hard to broker. She has a lot of rules around how people are allowed to change and interact with nature, and she leans towards the hyperconservative with respect to the environment. She wants this world to be exactly the way it is, forever, and is annoyed by ways in which it changes.

Unlike most of the rest of the gods, Ccorde is fairly active in the management of her Ecumene. The rest have all moved on to the latest hot new world everyone's obsessed with, leaving Ccorde to conduct the busywork of keeping all their boring old worlds running smoothly. It's thankless and borderline futile work- big things like teleportation magic keep breaking, and she can't fix them on her own.

Typical adherents of Ccorde are druids, naturalists, and other hippies that love animals and being in tune with the environment and stuff. Ccorde's Ecumene is also one of the more competently-run bureaucracies around, and has a lot of non-ideological adherents despite its strict rules. Because the system works, dammit- without demanding as much from you as Diamode.

Karou, Heartlifter, is the God of Joy.

The Ecumene of Joy are hedonists. Hedonic utilitarians, to be precise. They eschew other considerations in favor of the basic observation that people ought to be happy and if your government doesn't help its people be happy then what the fuck is even the point of a government?

Implementing those principles, though, can be a bit of a mess. Working out complicated legal codes is boring and not fun, so their system for resolving legal disputes is "have a cleric of Karou personally evaluate what course of action would result in the most utility on net".

In the real world this would be a disaster- a system immediately captured by power-hungry narcissists who set themselves up as the people who decide what course of action is best. Luckily for the Ecumene of Joy, they have a pretty decent selection process for their leaders.

See, in order to be a cleric of any god in this world, you need to fulfill a specific requirement. What a cleric actually does is channel divinity, see. The gods are busy people! They don't have time to personally investigate each and every little issue their clerics bother them with. They're just people, ultimately- they don't have the spare brainpower. So they have to borrow brainpower- specifically from people who are, cognitively, near-identical to themselves. The more like a god you are, the more easily that god can borrow your brainpower and instantiate themselves on your hardware. Casting divine magic, in this setting, is literally becoming your god for a little while in order to do something your god wants done. That's what it takes to be a cleric!

Since you can't cast divine magic without being totally in sync with your god, you can't be a power-hungry selfish bastard and also be a cleric of Joy- because Karou isn't a power-hungry selfish bastard. He's the god of hedonic utilitarianism, and will make a good-faith effort to resolve a dispute happily every time.

(It doesn't always work, though, since Karou is not the God of Being Correct About Predicted Consequences All The Time, and clerical error is always a source of difficulty for the Ecumene.)

Other Gods

The six Ecumenes are the only organized god-worshipping organizations that run governments, but there are loads of other gods- they just don't involve themselves in legislation. It's fairly common for someone to belong to a particular Ecumene just for the government, but worship one or more other gods as a matter of personal faith.

Alanala, Waveracer, for instance, is the Deity of Tides, with dominion over the surface of the waters. They're commonly worshipped by sailors, for obvious reasons- and in particular, the Lastwave clan that controls Oyashio.

Lolth is a classic- Webstretcher, Goddess of Spiders, is worshipped by the drow. She's known for dark rituals and cannibalism and other evil type things. (The drow diaspora regards these as hateful rumors, and insist that Lolth is a benevolent figure who promotes togetherness. The consensus among right and proper elves is that this is a smokescreen and that the blood libel is super true. Hrm.)

And... ?????? ? What's this symbol? It's on the bracer that's bonded to Saelhen, but it doesn't represent any god Looseleaf's ever heard of. Maybe not all the gods show themselves to the people...

[chromatic-lamina]

rascal: law and robin brotp fanfic

I have a lot of brotp Law and Robin in my fics, and one fic with them as a couple. I like the brotp interaction. Two cynical and supportive friends, but the writing is mostly in my multi-chaptered works, which are dark or canon divergent or both.

Anyway, I’m going to include an excerpt below. Robin’s painting Law’s toenails while they both chat about current and past loss and love. It’s from a three-chapter work that I don’t think will make much sense without knowing the rest of the world that it comes from, but hopefully this interchange can be followed and strikes a chord with some. I know the LawBin fans are thirsty. Post canon with canon-verse history and elements. This is an older piece.

🐞

Law sat back in the garden recliner in Robin’s backyard, a book over his face. He wasn’t in danger of burning easily in the late morning sun, but had no intention of making himself prey to melanoma. Robin perched on the edge of the recliner, holding one of Law's feet.

He'd spent the night at Robin’s in anticipation of the tea-towel convention they'd be visiting today. She’d spent the night trying to share his enthusiasm as he sat, tattooed arms spread on the table, poring over catalogues. His inked hands pointed out designs featuring disproportionate tulip-ensconced windmills, and disembodied body parts that had less to do with Dali and more to do with morticians.

She assumed all the creators were outliers. Commemorative tea-towels hadn’t quite taken the art world by storm yet, but they did remind her a little of Ryuunosuke, the very cute but badly drawn dragon that had struggled and succeeded in taking them all to the top of Zou. 

That was last night though and now, soon, they’d head off to gossip and gander with the convention organisers, the Dishcloth Dames, once she’d made Law pretty.

“These are so cute.” She pulled at the few black gnarly hairs curled on Law’s left big toe.

“Freak,” Law mumbled, moving his foot.

Robin laughed, righted Law’s foot and wiped the brush over the nail of his big toe.

“When did you last clip these?”

“What’s it to you? You’re the one who wanted to dress me up.”

“You’re the one who’s letting me. You’ve got old man’s feet, by the way.”

Law arched his bridge and Robin slapped it, held it down.

“The sexy surgeon’s pedes don’t please? You said they were cute?”

She studied languages. She had no difficulty with Law’s fancy Latin terms.

“Mmm. I wouldn’t go that far. But I guess you got those tattoos to distract from your tootsies.”

The ink on the bridges of his feet matched that on the back of his hands. She felt the arc of the bone against her palm as she admired the designs, although it was one of the more simple ones to adorn Law and, historically, definitely not his favourite.

“And yet, there you are, making them all presentable and shit.”

“Does Marco like them?”

“He’s got his kinks.”

“And . . . ?”

“They remain in the bedroom,” Law grinned. At times he thought the Phoenix liked every part of his body, though they’d never had a deep conversation about those particular extremities.

“Ah, you’re no fun.”

“I’ve been told.”

Law felt her move to the next digit.

“What colour are you painting them?”

“Tch.”

As if it could be anything but black.

“Well, you sent Chopper out for the colour once,” Law said to her silence.

Bubble gum. Robin snickered, remembering. Law peered at her from under his book, her shoulders rose and fell with laughter. He liked that violet t-shirt.

.

Law seemed so disinterested, and therefore, Robin guessed very trusting, when she or anyone else painted his nails. He usually paid little attention to the colour, or even the action. It was something that pleased those who found it amusing to decorate him. Just so long as they let him read whatever he was researching, he indulged them. A small compromise for a larger gain.

No way in hell could someone he didn’t trust do this, though it had been done. Robin knew that trust was hard won. Law told himself that he let them all think he was vain this way so he could go for their jugulars some other time. Plus, he liked giving the Dishcloth Dames even more to gossip about.

.

Thinking of Chopper, Law laughed as if the sound was rationed—a clipped exhalation. The tanuki reminded him of his navigator.

“Bepo. Lord, Bepo got it into his head once to paint me. Maybe he wanted to practice so he could surprise some lucky Mink in the future, and who better to be his chump than his ferocious captain?”

Robin turned to him for a second, curious, before proceeding to the next toe. Her extra hands manipulated Law’s foot for the best access. Law’s own hand kept the book in place. She liked that silver band he sometimes wore on his wrist—a solid link—a flash of sky reflected in the metal.

“His fine motor skills aren’t the best. You’ve seen his maps. Shachi and Penguin thought I’d amputated my own toes without the benefit of a Room.” A rumble lifted Law's chest and then dissolved. He smiled easily. The book didn’t cover all of his face.  “He even dabbed a paw print on my heel.”

“He chose red?” She loved that flash of teeth.

“Mmm. So. I guess it’s black?”

Robin finished the last toenail and told him not to move his feet about for a while. She then drew up the recliner next to his, lay on it, leant on her side and looked across. Law could be asleep for all she knew.

.

“Oi, talk to me endling. Of course it’s black.”

Law’s lips twitched. Only Robin could get away with that.

“So needy, terminarch. How am I meant to do that without moving?”

They may as well have just called each other Flevance and Ohara. They did at times, but neither could be feeling too off-colour when they did, or the devil fruits would come out to play. The town names as nomenclatures were off-limits to anyone else.

“Take that book off your face at least. I know you can’t read it like that.”

“Your makeup bag’s not nearby, is it?”

“Just the toes today, Dr. Death.”

Good. He was only happy for modification to go so far. He sighed, grumbled, but lifted a hand and picked the book up by its spine, and rested it—still spreadeagled—on his chest. He blinked into the sun, then tipped his head her way. Not the most comfortable of positions.

“Can I sit up?”

The grey of Law’s irises were sometimes shot through with gold. She wondered what his parents had looked like. “Give it a few.”

He turned his face skyward again, his arm over his shut lids.

.

“How about Luffy?” she asked. Luffy was before island living, before Law’s casual feet days. If they’d ever played around with nail polish, she’d never seen the results.

Law groaned.

“He approached my nails as if they were made of seastone, his hand was that shaky.” The softness in tone betrayed the annoyance in his words. “For some reason he thought a pearly pink would suit? Maybe it reminded him of marbled steak or something? Of course, he had absolutely no patience.”

Law scratched at his sideburns with his spare hand.

“He slapped it on, forgot to cap the varnish, jumped on me, bringing the sheet with him, or whatever we were lying on, wherever we were. It smeared over everything; our clothes, or more accurately, my clothes. You know, Luffy somehow always escapes his own chaos—and then he declared the whole thing stupid and boring, as if I’d dreamt up the activity and forced it on him.” Incredulity hissed through the back of his teeth.

He tapped his earrings. "Somehow the polish even managed to get on these. Nami-ya probably talked him into the whole thing for a bet."

“And you let him?”

Law didn’t need to look at Robin to know her expression; amused and bemused.

“You choose your battles.”

“Mmm.” Her captain could be quite domineering. She wondered if they were the same earrings. It wouldn’t surprise her. She’d kept the same jewellery over the years, but added to her collection with each pirates' haul. The ones that Luffy didn’t somehow swap for food.

.

She sat up and twisted her neck. They needed to get going soon.

“Phoenix?”

“Still trying to unearth his kinks?”

“Now that you bring it up.”

Law’s smile, the one Robin and only a few others ever saw, made her lips curve.

“I paint for him at times. I mean, my own nails. He’s got a lapis grounding stone, and his flames are blue when he’s in Zoan form. I try to match those shades—a balance between the two. Other times, I paint for myself.”

“Does he notice?” Marco had a grounding stone? But then again, they all had their talismans.

“Sometimes.”

“You don’t tell him?”

“Not always. Other things are more pressing.”

“Does he know you’re a freak?”

“I thought that was you.”

.

Law paused for a second. He tipped his face Robin's way again, his hand still protecting his eyes. How come she got to sit up?

“The dogs have never liked it. And you know, all that waste. It’s not really hygienic in the clinic either.”

“You operate with your toes?”

Law laughed. “When I do my hands . . . It’s not hygienic.”

.

Robin cast a glance at her back yard – the trees that offered privacy from the neighbours, the small pond. She enjoyed life in the New World now Luffy was pirate king.

“The dogs don’t like it, but Bepo can handle it?”

“Well, he’s a freak, too. Minks wear makeup, right?”

Robin nodded. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Makeup?”

“Being a freak.”

“To the contrary, some of my best friends are freaks. You can’t all be Chopper.”

Law calls Robin a freak and gets away with it. heh. Perhaps. Anyway, I’ll put the link to the AO3 story as the source (just edited it in. This post has been up for long enough).  It’s actually about dogs and links back to another story, and is kinda sad, and features Robin, but is about Law and Marco, and there’s plenty of humour too. If you want to read it, be my guest. It’s an older one, written a few years ago. T-rated.

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I thought about WandaVision

Y'know, it's kind of crazy to think that it's been over a year since we've been given any content involving the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Marvel Studios announced so many great movies, on top of new TV shows that actually impact the story, way back in the summer of 2019. But then 2020 happened. Resulting in everything, and I mean everything, we were promised getting pushed back for another year. So, when it was finally announced that the series WandaVision was, at last, ready to be released, fans were both excited as well as skeptical. Because the first thing that would reintegrate us back into this franchise would be a show about how two Avengers are stuck in a sitcom. It might be new, long-awaited content, but it also doesn't sound all that interesting. Could a story involving two characters who have yet to stand on their own be enough to carry a brand new adventure? Well, for eight whole weeks, fans were given that answer. And personally, I will admit that WandaVision might have been better than anybody could have ever expected...for the most part.

(Final spoiler warning if you haven't seen the show yet)

WHAT I LIKE

It Just Goes: This is easily the best way the series could have started. We are given no context about what is going on. We're just shown that Wanda and Vision are currently stuck in a sitcom, and that's it. By making it a mystery, fans are given this sort of interaction with the series as they find clues and come up with theories about how and why this happened. Sure, some assumptions were more far fetched than others (did people think Mephisto was confirmed just because of one misinterpreted line involving the Devil?), but it still makes the show a ton of fun to watch. Plus, even when we're given answers, it's only tiny pieces of the puzzle. We're always given a chance to figure out the bigger picture, resulting in an image that is, I'll admit, somewhat satisfying to see. Just as long as you ignore the crybabies who get upset that their favorite theories turned out to be wrong.

The Homages are on Point: I also love how straight the cast and crew play with the idea of two superheroes being stuck in a series of sitcoms. Everything they use fits in the era each sitcom takes place in. With things like camerawork, set design, special effects, acting quality, tropes, and even theme songs, everything works as a proper homage than just having two episodes in black and white and the rest in color. Each new sitcom that Wanda and Vision are rebooted in feels so genuine, to the point where they seem like they could be actual shows that could have existed. Seriously, my dad showed me stuff like The Dick Van Dyke Show when I was a kid, so trust me when I say that the very first episode nails the style that it's honoring. Not only is it charming as all forms of hell, but it also works in making these moments when characters break from the spell (get it) all the more jarring and even disturbing at times. Because when you're so keen on watching what seems like a fun and cheesy sitcom, you feel a bit unsettled when a character suddenly acts in a way that's a tad foreboding. Still, it's fun to watch and is easily the central hook for what makes this show work.

The Comedy: The homages also nail the comedy that came from each type of sitcom. The jokes fit with each period, from the cheesy and charming 50s to the cynical and dry 90s and early 2000s. It's another thing the writers play straight with, and I think it works. The only jokes made by most stories like this are just pointing out that these serious characters are stuck in a silly sitcom. Instead, the writers tell jokes that work for the period it's in, and it is all genuinely funny if you're used to those types of goofs and gags. If you didn't laugh, that's because the comedy isn't trying to reach out to you. It's reaching out to the people who actually watched these types of sitcoms. Or, in my case, the type of people who had their parents show them these types of sitcoms. And even then, I still think there are these lines and deliveries that are still funny even if you don't get the joke. For example, there's this brief moment with Vision and a toy baby that got a genuine chuckle out of me for how absurd it was. I wasn't expecting to laugh that much, but on top of the many surprises this show gave, being funny was definitely one of them.

“My husband, and his indestructible forehead”: He...hehe...hehehehahahaHAHAHAHA! AH! HA! HA! HA! 

*Slowly starts sobbing*

>Squeaks<

I see what you did there.

Paul Bettany as “Vision,” “Vision,” and Vision: Can we give Paul Bettany a round of applause for basically playing three different characters, each with their own varying levels of emotions and purposes? Because goodness gracious, this man is a champion! I've seen tons of people praise Elizabeth Olson for her performance as Wanda, and to be fair, she does do a fantastic job...aside from one blatant issue (which I'll get into later). But as great as Olson is, Bettany still deserves some credit. Throughout most of the series, he has this level of comedic-timing that I didn't even know he was capable of, by going ham or just having a dry wit. Seriously, was someone going to tell me that Paul Bettany can be funny, or was I supposed to find that out for myself? On top of being hilarious, Bettany delivers such raw emotion that none of us would have ever expected from this character. That screaming match “Vision” has with Wanda shows the very first time that any version of him has ever been angry, and Bettany does a great job at making that moment as jarring as it needed to be. And that's just from playing one version of the character! I didn't even talk about how he nails the naive yet still wise Vision from the flashback in "Previously On" or the cold and robotic "Vision" from "The Series Finale." Bettany has range, and WandaVision is a great show that proves how. One just needs to have the right amount of vision to see it (HhhhhhhhhhhHA!)

Developing Wanda: But as great as Paul Bettany, and to a lesser extent, Vision, is, Wanda Maximoff is clearly the star of the show here (And yes, I know that it's Wanda who's the character and Elizabeth Olson is the actor, but...I'll get into it!). If WandaVision has taught me anything about these Disney+ shows, it's that we are finally going to get some long-awaited development to characters that are starved from it. And Wanda definitely needed it. Don't get me wrong, Wanda was great in past movies but wasn't that compelling of a character. Here, trust me when I say that the opposite is true. 

We are given a deep dive into not only Wanda's morality but also her psyche. The writers really play around with how scary Wanda can be. As well as questioning if Wanda has the capability of being evil. Because, yeah, what she did was not right. True, our "heroine" was going through some rough s**t, but that doesn't excuse the amount of torture Wanda put the people of Westview through, no matter how unwittingly. Just look at that scene where everyone grills Wanda about what she's doing to them, not only pleading for whatever compromise they can get and even begging for her to kill them instead. That is dark! That is the darkest concept the MCU has ever offered, and the ending of Avengers: Infinity War exists!

But, while it doesn't entirely excuse everything, there is a reason why Wanda did all of this. You see, throughout WandaVision, Wanda goes through the five stages of grief. It all starts with denial as she pretends to live in a sitcom that she created where Vision is alive, and they get to even have kids together. Soon comes anger when she destroys anything and physically harms anyone that tries to bring her back to reality. Next, there's bargaining as Wanda strengthens her hex and expands it to keep outsiders out and keep Vision in. This leads to depression as the weight of all of Wanda's actions finally sinks in, and she's forced to realize the damage she's causing. Until all of it ends with acceptance, as Wanda finally, finally, gets to say goodbye to Vision. Something she never really got when Thanos ripped the mind stone out of Vision's forehead. It's both incredible to watch as it is fascinating. Wanda, through the course of her own little spin-off series, just went from a decent character to one of the most intriguing to dissect in the MCU. And we have this show to thank for it.

The Commercials: These commercials offer three things.

They're more homages to classic television, each product and filming for each one honoring how commercials looked in each era.

They offer more of an insight into Wanda's psyche as we see how each commercial shows bits of her history, regrets, and deepest desires. You see all of the above in the Lagos' paper towel commercial.

There are neat bits of foreshadowing of what's to come, like how Hydra Soak ends by saying it's for "your inner goddess" or how the 90s commercial ends by saying Magic isn't meant for the weak.

With all of that, these commercials are as fun to analyze as they are disturbing as hell.

The Dinner Scene: This was the moment it was clear that WandaVision wasn’t going to just be fun and games. The second that "Mr. Heart" starts screaming at Wanda about why she and Vision came, it becomes clear that the whole wacky scenario our heroes are in isn't as harmless as we all thought. And when "Mrs. Heart" playfully tells her husband to stop it when “Mr. Heart” starts choking, only to desperately scream at Wanda to stop it, audiences begin to piece together that the people of Westview are prisoners--no--victims. As for Wanda? She's the unknowing dictator forcing them to do what she says. And it was this scene that I knew I was going to really enjoy this show.

The Blip Scene: And it was this scene that made WandaVision skyrocket into top-tier MCU territory! As much as I love Spider-Man: Far From Home, I will admit that making a joke with the concept of something like the blip might not have been the best move. But showing the chaos of everyone coming back all at once? On top of showing the confusion that a person would have from being told that a five-second nap was five years? Yeah, that's more in line with what we want.

Returning Characters: Not only was I surprised by the fact that these pretty minor characters in the MCU made a return at all, but I was also shocked to find out they work better in this series than they did in their respective movies. First, there's Monica. Not only is she reintroduced as a brand new hero (with, admittingly, confusing superpowers), but she also works as the anti-Wanda. Both characters had someone they care about dearly die without getting a chance to say goodbye. The difference is that Monica doesn't have the abilities Wanda does and is instead forced to quickly accept that her mom is dead and won't come back. She even admits that she would bring her mom back if she could. But that just makes Monica the perfect person that Wanda needs. A person that understands where she's coming from and tries to convince Wanda to do the right thing, no matter how hard it is. Monica's methods may have been a tad bit sloppy, but she is still ten times more intriguing than that little girl who screwed around with the color scheme on Captain Marvel’s suit.

Then there's Jimmy Woo, who is both funnier here than in Ant-Man and the Wasp, and actually shows signs of being a competent FBI agent. A step up, I might add, from the hilariously incompetent character we saw in his previous appearance.

And also, Darcie is here...and still slightly annoying...but at least she still has a couple funny lines here and there! Which is more than I can say with Thor and Thor: The Dark World.

In my opinion, it's a good move having these characters with pretty small roles in vastly different stories make a return. It shows that they are not limited to their one little corner of the MCU. And that they can branch off into taller tales that suit them perfectly. It's pretty cool, and it makes me wonder what other small characters could make a triumphant return.

Billy and Tommy: These two are...fine. Billy and Tommy give me Zach and Cody vibes sometimes, the kids playing them do a decent job, and they both offer some great emotional moments. The problem is that out of the list of characters that WandaVision introduces and reintroduces, there's not much to talk about with Billy and Tommy. Honestly, the only reason why I briefly mentioned that I like them is that I don't want dozens of people crucifying me for not saying anything about them. I don't hate them, but I don't much care for them either.

Evan Peters as Quicksilver: Although I would have loved it if it was Aaron Taylor-Johnson who made a return, seeing Evan Peters in a good Marvel movie again is more than worth it. He plays a much more fun version of Quicksilver while still nailing the sibling relationship the character has with Wanda. In a way, it's a lot like how Marvel cast J.K. Simmons as J Jonah Jameson at the end of Spider-Man: Far From Home. It's admitting that no one could have played the character better than this one actor and briefly making fans happy in the process. While also not doing something crazy like having it be the exact same Quicksilver from the X-Men movies. Only f**king idiots would believe something like that...

...

...But hypothetically speaking, let's say some people were stupid to believe that. While making an outrageous claim that the writers "lead them on to doing so." In which case, I will say the same thing that one would say when friend-zoning someone: "Nobody led you on to s**t. You were just too busy focusing on what you wanted to see instead of what you needed to see."

Because there was no evidence that it was the same Quicksilver other than the fact that it was the same actor. And, hypothetically speaking, if there were dozens of crybabies who were upset about it not being the same Quicksilver, then I have so much more respect for this character being nothing more than a boner joke. Because you did this to yourselves...hypothetically speaking.

Retconning Wanda’s Powers: ...I'm ok with this. Retcons happen all the time in the comics, as well as in movies and television. It's just a matter of making the retcon believable enough where there are few holes in what you're telling people. As for Wanda apparently having magic this entire time, but the mind stone amplified her powers? I can buy that. Besides, it's an acceptable excuse to make Wanda as powerful as she is in the comics (from what I've been told), so like I said, I'm ok with this.

“I can’t feel you…”: ...That's fine. I didn't need my heart anyway.

“Vision’s” Talk with “Vision”: Forget the horrible CGIed battles. I want more of this!

Now, I put both Visions in quotation marks because while they're both the same character, they're also...not the same. Which is, funnily enough, what this scene is: A philosophical discussion between two versions of the same android about what makes them both/neither the definitive version. One may look the same, and the other may be the same body, but neither "Vision" really is the true Vision. However, the fact that these two stop their fighting so they can have this discussion in the first place helps secure that while different, they are still the same. It's a thought-provoking discussion, and it is ten times more interesting to watch than Wanda and Agatha's CGI fight in the sky. Although it is kind of odd that White-Vision just peaces out the second Hex-Vision gives him a reboot. But hey, that's for the future movies to deal with.

“Thank you for choosing me to be your mom.”: >Deep inhale<...Girl.

Wanda Saying Goodbye to Vision: >DEEPER INHALE< HOOOOOOOOOOO BOY! I did not expect this much emotional turmoil from f**king WANDAVISION!

Joking aside, this is a well-handled scene. It's incredibly emotional to see these two characters say goodbye to each other as their arcs come to a close. "Vision" peacefully leaves knowing who he is in the world, and Wanda can finally start moving on as she gets to say goodbye to her one true love. It's as bittersweet as it is beautiful.

WHAT I DISLIKE

MCU logos flashing in every episode: You know how CinemaSins has this bulls**t excuse about how the MCU opening logo wastes time to get to the good stuff? This is the only instance where that's applicable. Because the opening logo was cool to see again for the first episode, but having it play in every single one after breaks the immersion when trying to binge the series. It's for a couple of seconds, sure, but after a while, it does get pretty annoying.

Elizabeth Olson as Scarlet Witch: Now, to be clear, I have no problems with Elizabeth Olson's acting ability in this series. She juggles being funny, heartbreaking, and threatening so well that I am likely to laugh and cry with her as I am to s**t my pants while in her presence. Elizabeth Olson does a great job with this character. The problem? Well, in the comics, Wanda Maximoff is Roma, and Elizabeth Olson...isn't. This means that WandaVision, and the MCU as a whole, has a bad case of white-washing.

I could go on about the issues this brings, but I am not as educated about this subject, and all I know is just stuff that seems like common sense. For instance, I believe it is more than reasonable to hire an actor of a specific race or ethnicity for a character who is of a that same race or ethnicity. But that is as far as my knowledge and personal stance goes, and to expand on it would be too much of a risk because I have no right to criticize the representation of something I am not a part of. So instead, I'm going to point you to @earnestdesire‘s blog and Jessica Reidy’s article on the subject. They do a great job at discussing the issues with Olson’s Wanda and pointing to the issues the MCU has in representing Wanda and Pietro's representation in the comics. And they do it in a far better way than I ever could have. So check them out to truly see why, despite doing a great job, Elizabeth Olson should not be the person donning the suit.

It Was Agatha All Along: AND I STILL F**KING HATE THAT!

I know, I know, I am in the minority on this one. And I still don't understand why! To me, Agatha has all of the problems that Hans has in Frozen. Sure, there are hints if you pay more attention during a few select scenes that are slightly questionable. Like how she refers to Wanda as "the star of the show" or coincidentally shows up with a dog house for Sparky. However, much like how Frozen didn't need a villain like Hans, WandaVision didn't need a comic book villain like Agatha. The story was perfectly passable as a personal conflict involving Wanda's grief where the only obstacle was the director of S.W.O.R.D. and his agents. There is nothing Agatha adds to that.

"But she helps Wanda find out what happens!" Yeah, but Monica could have done the same thing by actually breaking through to Wanda and calmly asking what happened. From then on, they could have worked things out together by having Wanda retrace events that transpired through the information that Monica knows as well.

"But Agatha helps Wanda realize what she's doing is wrong!" So could Vision! He could have shown up, did that mind-meld thing to the townspeople, and Wanda would finally learn what she was doing was wrong through the person she trusts the most.

"But Agatha helps Wanda learn that she's the Scarlet Witch!" Ok...but did that need to happen in this series? Because when you think about it, when the central conflict is all about exploring Wanda's grief, throwing in this narrative about becoming the Scarlet Witch has little to do with anything. Meaning that if you cut it from the story, little would change other than cutting a CGI battle that everyone agrees is the worst part of the series.

The most Agatha adds to the story is a secondary conflict that could easily be cut, and the overall quality would stay the same, if not better. And that is a problem. Agatha needs to add to the central conflict in a way that no other character could have. Like, give her a reason to be involved in Wanda’s life that goes beyond feeding off her magic and leading Wanda to her destiny. Because as is, even if you argue that Agatha is a good twist villain, she's a villain that really didn't need to be here.

Director Haywood: But as much as I don't like Agatha, I think we can all agree that Director Haywood is the worst villain in the MCU. Because one issue that Haywood has is a lack of motivation. For instance, why does he try so hard to write off Wanda as this supervillain? It was never explained, and for something so bizarre and crucial to his character, I feel like it needed to be. It would be passable if he was motivated out of fear and ignorance, but Haywood goes so far as to misedit security footage to prove his point. And I don't get why.

Is he sexist?

Did Wanda not show up at his kid's birthday party?

Did he secretly want to use Vision as a sexbot and didn't want Wanda to get between them?

I don't know, and I'll never know.

Plus, on top of having no motivation, Haywood is just forgettable. Agatha may piss me off to no end, but at least I'll remember her. I honestly forgot Haywood's name half the time, and I'm willing to bet that you did too. Case in point, his name isn't even Haywood. It's Hayward. And in the off chance that you didn't even know about that misspelling just proves my point about how forgettable Hayward is. While it's one thing to be hated, it's another to be forgotten. Because that just means that you left so little impact that you aren't even worth getting upset about.

------

And that is what I thought about WandaVision. If I had to base this off my usual score, I'd have to give the show the same 7/10 that everyone else gave it. Because there's a lot that I love, but the stuff that I hate is so problematic that it takes the WandaVision down on a couple of notches. It's still a fantastic series with a solid story, a great message, incredible acting, and phenomenal character development. It's just that not everyone is going to be willing to tune in as much as you might think.