#and i saw someone else talk about Hero needing to make a choice out of love instead of fear and I’m like hell YES you’re so right

[strangersynth]

bc you have things to say doesn't always mean you needa say them let alone it also doesn't always mean it's your place to say them kwim

[comicaurora]

Just saw the announcement about Heartwood Coven, and I'm super excited!

I know that when you're exploring a genre, either for the first time, or just the first time in a while, sometimes inspirations for new Trope Talks emerge, and as a fan of spaces adjacent to Magical Girl media (Kamen Rider, mostly, but Ultraman, Super Sentai/Power Rangers, and Garo also exist, just to scratch the surface), I honestly find it kind of difficult to think of any tropes in the space that don't just devolve into little trivia factoids, or a 'Yup, that sure is a thing they do!', despite being in the space for decades. But I also know you have a keener eye for media tropes than I personally do.

So, all that is to ask, are there any tropes in that space that have caught your attention recently? This isn't even specifically asking about a potential future video, just in general.

The ingredients for a Sentai/Magical Girl story are very distinctive, especially when compared to other superhero genres!

Comes As A Set! Everyone in a thematic team has acquired their powers the same way, and the powers are very minor variants off of each other - one character might have The Specialest Version where their powers are strongest and their heart is Most Pure, but everyone else will be running at the same power level with almost no specialization. This sounds obvious, but almost no other superhero team does this. Even the X-Men, whose powers are all Being Mutants, come across as a seriously varied menagerie with wildly disparate power levels. Everyone being The Same Thing In A Different Color is pretty unique to this space!

Monster Of The Week: Not the only genre this appears in, but one of the only spaces where it's straight-up down to a science. The big bad of a series like this will only make a real appearance in the grand season finale. Until then, the team will be fighting their lieutenants' minions at a rate of one per episode. The big bad doesn't even usually deign to make the minions themselves, since they're much too busy standing in their recycled animation evil lair. The minions will have unique gimmicks, but will share similar levels of thematic and structural closeness with one another that the heroes do - they'll all be kaiju, or walking evil spells, or disgruntled citizens gifted thematically inconvenient superpowers. Where are these minions coming from? Sometimes the answer is "they cook em up at home" and sometimes it's "they corrupt innocent people so the heroes have to go nonlethal." It doesn't make much difference in the execution, so it's mostly dealer's choice.

So Many Wonderful Toys! These heroes aren't afraid to accessorize, and the merchandising department also says we have to. When the formula needs mixing up, just give someone a new weapon or vehicle or mech or powerup macguffin. And unless you're only giving the upgrade to the Designated Specialest Pure Of Heart one, make sure to bring enough for the rest of the team, because this is a good way to bring in a round of powerups for everyone and give them some new stock animations to reuse every episode!

There's Only One Way To Win And It's Teamwork. My personal gripe with a lot of these stories is that, by nature of the formula, the characters usually end up becoming largely interchangeable in a fight, because nobody is allowed to win before they do the Big Finisher they always use. And if the Big Finisher is "the most specialest pure of heart character remembers their job and blasts them with the Friendship Laser" that means the rest of the gang is basically on minion-punching duty and repeating "no way! my attack had no effect?!" Every fight has to run through everyone's big canned moves, usually one at a time, and since none of them will do any appreciable damage then they'll combine their giant robots or wait for the leader to bust out the Friendship Cannon and the fight will be over. I think this one's genuinely kind of a weakness of the format; it's pretty rare for a single non-leader character to get a day in the limelight or end up having the exact ability the week's bad guy is allergic to. Nobody gets an individual chance to shine unless the writers intentionally break the formula to make it happen.

The Sixth Ranger! You thought your team of five color-coordinated thematically linked cool guys was complete, but surprise! There are more colors/planets/dinosaurs than just the starting five, and some powerfull badass with unknown morals and a frightening reputation has just turned up wearing your team's matching outfit! Because the team comp is so ironclad compared to other superhero formats, this is always very disruptive and kind of a big shakeup that could restructure the whole status quo, unlike in typical superhero teams where individual attendance is optional and it's not a dealbreaker whether or not Wolverine is in this week.

And Your Friend Steve: someone's will they/won't they significant other is constantly hanging around the fights, in or out of a secret identity of their own, and their main contribution is to get kidnapped by the big bad, brainwashed by the big bad, or kidnapped and then brainwashed by the big bad. Outside of their busy schedule their main narrative role is to reinforce the Secret Identity concept that would otherwise risk slipping out of relevance. It's easier to remember your identity is supposed to be secret when Your Friend Steve keeps turning up at fights.

Bumbling Minions, Serious Boss - this is just an observation on my end, but it's quite common for the villain's crew of lieutenants to be somewhat more comedic than the main Big Bad - whether they're just a couple wacky minions or the comedy comes from how flustered they get when they inevitably lose, comedy is derived from them experiencing the wrath of their evil boss after the good guys win. But all this levity drains away as the lieutenants get whittled down and the finale approaches, and even if the villain has seemed clownish in the safe confines of their lair, when they actually go on the warpath and become the main present threat, they stop being funny entirely. Or, failing that, they get usurped by a new, worse villain, and they become the cartoonish lieutenant to the new guy. Villain chains of command get complicated.

The magical girl equivalent of the shonen anime Super Saiyan transformations is Pretty Dresses. The escalating ornate-ness of a magical girl's Pretty Dress corresponds one-to-one to the Bigness and Glowiness of a Super Saiyan's hair and reflects the reality-warping power contained within. Sailor Moon in a lacey bridal gown with gauzey diaphenous wings and a tiara is the kind of threat Goku would save in his contacts as "new sparring partner"

[nat-without-a-g]

You know who he CAN try to kill to get out his anger while doing the only thing he knows how to do?

SCAM ACTUALLY FOR THAT PROPHECY SCAM

so how do we think Lark is doing after getting back from Heaven? like of course he's happy that everyone is safe, but...

the prophecy was a lie. Hero and Normal never needed to be trained. they never needed to be in DADDIES HQ. code purple could have been avoided.

more than that though, Lark was hoping so bad that he could redeem himself for unleashing the Doodler by killing it. but he didn't manage to do that, and a group of kids saved the day instead. the thing he dedicated his entire life to is over. there's one thing he's good at, killing monsters, and there aren't monsters to hunt anymore. I just can't imagine he's handling any of it particularly well.

[abilouwrites]

WRINGING MY HANDS IN MY LAP

AND YOU DONT KNOW IF YOU’LL MAKE IT BACK

I don’t appreciate uncertainty, growing up confident and sure of how my life was going to turn out. That I would become a doctor; or a nurse maybe.

I didn’t expect to fall into a committed relationship with someone I was so sure I wanted to marry at twenty four. I never wanted to date a hero; it’s common within hospitals. Finding a fling with a sexy injured hero. I didn’t except it to be for me.

Yet it was. I fell in love with him, “so you’re leaving?” I ask as he walks out of the shower. Just after dropping the bomb he would be leaving for a secret mission early the next week.

“No” he states, pouring himself a glass of wine and joining me at the stove, “I’m just going on a mission. I dunno when I’ll come back” he restates, but there’s a change. He changed his words.

“No. You said ‘I don’t know if I’ll come back’ Katsuki what does that mean? Are you going to die?” I ask, clicking the stove off and turning to face him, “let me rephrase it” I clarify, “do you think you’re going to die?”

He looks uncertain, damp hair brushes through his eyelashes, it makes me scared. The uncertainty on his face, the way his lips are turned down and sucked against his cheek, “I don’t know” he admits, “I wasn’t told much about it. Just that it was dangerous. But all of my away missions usually are”

I feel like throwing up, “they couldn’t have picked anyone else? Anyone?” I ask, “I don’t like this” I shake my head and take a sip out of my glass. I feel sick to my stomach, like whatever happens it’s not going to end well.

“I’m a hero, it comes with the job. If you can’t deal with that, maybe we shouldn’t” I know where this is going to end. I know he’s going to say we shouldn’t be together.

“No. I’ll.. I’ll be ok” I murmur, I find myself shutting down. Sitting and observing instead of listening. I’m not mad. Scared maybe, “what happens if you don’t come back?” I ask. My knees brought to my chest as I sit in my dining room, watching him pass me the plate of chicken

“I’ll come back” he says, “I promise”

“No. That doesn’t work for me” I tell him, picking at my dinner, “I need to know what happens. If you don’t come home. We’re not married” I explain, “you have no legal ties to me”

“You’re in my will. Im not stupid” he retorts, it’s like the thought never crossed my mind. But he’d never told me.

“But you never told me this, how am I supposed to know when you never told me ‘hey y/n. I put you in my will, hope that’s ok!’” I groan sitting up from the chair, “it’s like when you put me as your emergency contact without talking to me first”

It’s so frustrating when he does this, does something and doesn’t talk to me about his choice. Then gets upset when I become frustrated, it’s a never ending cycle of this, “I’m going to bed. I have to work tomorrow” I mumble grabbing my phone from the counter and walking to the only bedroom in my little apartment.

I feel when the bed dips, his arms instinctively move under and over me. Like a prolonged hug, I don’t want to move. I feel him plaster soft kisses against the nape of my neck, “I love you” I hear him whisper, “and I’m going to come back, and then I’m going to marry you” I listen, allowing the words to soothe me. Comfort me. Allowing myself to imagine me. In a white dress, with a ring on my finger. I want to picture it.

God I wanted it so bad.

It’s been a year, and each night it’s the same dream. Kirishima with a sorrowed look on his face as I walk out of the patients room to where I’ve been called. I knew it when I saw his face, closed eyes and a lip quivering underneath his teeth. My heart sinking into my stomach, “tell me it’s not what it is” I begged, holding onto his wrists as he guides me into an ‘on-call’ room. Sitting me in the chair and gently gripping into the plush of my thighs. Repeated apologies of how he couldn’t have saved him.

Except each time I keep waking up, just as he bows his head at my knees and tells me the love of my life. The only person I ever thought I could marry. Died. And somehow— he keeps thinking it’s his fault. Even if it wasn’t— and as much as I want to blame him. I can’t.

I’m heaving, wailing and crying once again. Four in the morning; crudely awoken from my sleep by the haunting memories. I shake as I pull myself out of bed. Trembling down the hall.

I hate this feeling, so empty even though I feel like I should’ve gotten over it. I should’ve grieved all I had to grieve. But I can’t.

I was stiff and uncomfortable at his funeral, picking at my skin and sitting in the back-row. His mother pleaded I sit with her. I wanted to, but I was just a girlfriend- a girlfriend he wanted to marry.

I knew he wouldn’t come home, deep in my heart I knew he wouldn’t return to my little apartment, no matter how badly I wanted him too.

[synergysilhouette]

"Batman: Caped Crusader" review

Binge-watched this show, and I wanted to be one of many people to share my thoughts on this--plus I was spurred on by getting a wish of mine granted from the show. Make sure to check out the show if you can!

The animation is beautiful--I know this is a weird comparison, but soemthing about the animation reminds me of 2010s Scooby Doo animated films, and I kind of adore that.

The voice acting was...fine--I can't tell if it was poor performances or poor direction; Hamish's Bruce Wayne sounds too raspy/rugged some of the time, like he's still playing Batman, and many of the other actors felt like they were just reading lines rather than performing lines, not enough emotion. IDK if they're more used to live-action work, but voice-acting is a different ballgame, since your voice is all you have to convey the character. A lot of performances fell flat for me, but it wasn't 100% unbearable, just underwhelming. I have some people I'd recommend instead (both familiar to the role and otherwise), but I don't wanna start anything.

LOVED Harley (but not her costume)--Jamie Chung had one of the better performances in the group, and I really LOVED the angle they did for Harley; I feel like the media often flanderizes her as the goofy crazy chick, so seeing her actually utilize her psychology skills (like I've been asking for!) is so satisfying. That said, the outfit has GOT TO GO. Gold and black is gorgeous, but it ples in comparison to her black and red look. And a weird nit-pick; when I first saw the stills, I was under the impression she was wearing a carnival-esque mask rather than face paint, and I find that idea a lot creepier. I wish we'd gotten more of Harley's antics--and even seeing her get close to Bruce in the way she did with Barbara and Renee--before revealing her as a big bad to the public. And I appreciate that she isn't 100% evil; she is doing what she believes is a noble cause, just doing it in an illegal and unethical way. I needed a backstory!

Not enough Batman--Maybe it's just me, but it definitely felt like there were some episodes where Bruce and Batman were supporting characters and more focus was on the GCPD. While I don't mind it too much, I enjoy superhero shows for the superheroes, not the heroes; this is why I had a love/hate relationship with "Gotham."

Batman (and Bruce) isn't quite likeable enough--In earlier incarnations, Batman was more kind and caring before becoming more emotionally closed off with time, but here he's that way from the get-go. Not to mention that Bruce Wayne puts on a facade around everyone, even people he trusts (he probably did that anyway; I can't remember), and his session with Harleen really frustrated me because I don't expect his walls to come down immediately, I don't expect them to be this high this early. I wanted him to be a bit warmer and transparent, rather than curt and cold like he's usually seen in the show. I feel like this is an issue often seen in comics, too; people prioritize Batman's "coolness" and thus push his feelings to the wayside.

Using underrated and familiar villains--I'm sure the real experts are gonna chew me out for this one, but as someone who got into comics in the 2010s and didn't catch up on the acclaimed 90s series, it was fun to see villains I loved and villains I didn't know; one of the best things a popular property can do is use underrated characters, since it helps the show feel original and fresh (thus why "Teen Titans" is so enjoyable; the whole franchise is underrated).

Too modern for the 1940s--I can't put my fingers on it exactly, but the vibes feel too modern; I assume the 1940s was for aesthetics, but since everything else feels updated (from the way people talk to Harley and Renee seemingly being open about their feelings for each other), I don't think it was a wise choice to have it both ways. I see no reason not to have it in modern-day, but I suppose you'd have to get more creative with technology.

Barbara and the Robins--First off, I should've gambled with someone that Jason would be a redhead; I'd have made SO MUCH money. Secondly, I'm not crazy about how all four kids are orphans; If I recall correctly, both Carrie and Stephanie's parents were alive when they joined the Batfamily. In any case, I'm confused on why Barbara is significantly older than them when they're all supposed to be within the same age bracket (I think; someone has told me otherwise since posting this, so I could be wrong). Not to mention, a part of me worries that because of the quartet's young ages and Barbara getting so much screentime as a lawyer, we won't get any of them as Robins or Batgirls unless something drastic happens, and/or we get a time jump.

Overall, I think my biggest gripes are the voice acting and how Batman/Bruce Wayne is written. That said, I enjoyed the show overall. IDK why HBO Max dropped it. Hopefully season 2 will introduce Poison Ivy, Catman, Tim Drake, Ghostmaker, and Gardener, since the finale already showed us a certain someone who IS coming to Gotham.

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number Neighbors Pt.32

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

Nat tells you everything about what happened a month ago, including some details you were probably not authorized to know. She seems determined to get you to understand her no matter what and you’re endeared at how important it is to her that you know absolutely everything. 

You take note of the fact that you’re definitely past Avengers Tower and are now in what looks like rural New York. There are more trees and greenery around and you’re curious about where you’re going but you focus your attention on Natasha for now.

You listen to her story diligently and with as much empathy for both sides as you can. You can understand why none of the other Avengers wanted to be the government's lap dogs but you also understood that fear was a powerful thing. You subconsciously rub your healing scar at the thought.

When she finishes her explanation she seems to look at you expectantly, waiting for your response and you take a moment to formulate the right words in your head before speaking-

”You left me with no contact and I’m trying my best to understand your situation but it doesn’t stop the fact that I was still hurt by it” It’s a painful truth but if Nat could share her vulnerability with you than you could do the same.

”I know. I know and I’ll spend however long you need me to making up for it. I’m sorry Y/n. You have to know that it hurt me so much to hurt you.” 

“You’re already forgiven”

”That was fast” She seems surprised and even a little amused at the quickness of your forgiveness and you shrug

“If I'm honest, I forgave you the second I saw you. I missed you, Nat. I’m just glad you’re home safe” Her eyes hold a look so full of admiration that you have to force yourself to look away. If she keeps looking at you like that you’re not sure what you’ll do.

To distract yourself, you urge her to continue her story and resist the need to pull her lips to yours. You hope she doesn’t notice the way your eyes subconsciously go to her mouth when she begins talking again but your chances are slim with a super spy.

If she notices she doesn’t say anything and you have to wonder if it’s due to the presence of someone else nearby. You can’t help but be a little frustrated- would you two ever get a moment alone together? To say what you’ve been itching to say since you found her again?

Natasha tells you about being lonely and drafting argument after argument with Clint. Waiting for the right moment to come back. 

“Honestly we thought it was going to be another half a month at least but I rushed the process.” You might be hallucinating but you’re pretty sure there’s a light blush on her cheeks. “ Even if the argument wasn’t perfect there was something important I had to come home to.”

You nod in understanding, you’re sure it’s not easy being in her position “Yeah, the world needs its heroes” 

She gives you a look that seems to say ‘That’s not exactly the reason’ but you can’t think of any other reasons for her to rush something so important to them. The risk seems to have been worth the reward for her.

Seeing that you’re not understanding, she drops the look and continues with her story “Anyway, with the government facing so much heat from the public combined with our statement they had no choice but to agree or they would be out of heroes the next time aliens came knocking on Earth’s door.”

You resist the urge to first pump the air at the news. Surely that meant she would be around often right? At the very least you could visit her as a friend, even if every part of you was madly in love with her.

Much to your surprise, the car eventually pulls into a large gray and white building in the middle of nowhere surrounded by trees. The driver drops you off at a side door before pulling off to another part of the building and you stare in awe at the huge building with the Avengers ‘A’ printed on every part.

You’re admiring the sheer amount of space around the area but before you have the chance to gawk any further Nat is guiding you inside of the building to be met with glossy cement floors and very modern interior design.

“You’ll have time to look later” You can’t help but read into her words. That meant she wanted you around for longer right? Maybe this whole thing wasn’t one-sided after all.

A robotic feminine voice from above makes you jump in shock and Nat glances at you in amusement at the action.

“Miss Romanoff, welcome back. An unregistered person is accompanying you, shall I register them in the database?” Nat is seemingly unfazed by the voice of God coming from the ceiling as she speaks freely to it.

“Hey Friday, She’s my guest, feel free to register her if you’d like. I know how Tony is” She mumbles that last part but you still hear it anyway.

“Creating guest profile… Scanning… registering Y/n Y/l/n as Natasha Romanoff’s guest” You flinch when it says your name, briefly wondering how it got that information and you turn to see Nat smirking at you.

You glare at her obvious pleasure at your confusion and try to brush off how freaky a voice from the roof talking to you is.

“Sorry I’m not used to rich billionaire tech” You huff a bit childishly and Nat just shakes her head with a chuckle, placing a hand on your back and guiding you to a set of double doors. The two of you are about to enter when you hear the sound of two familiar voices. The same voices from inside your apartment.

Noticing your obvious discomfort, Nat stops and steps in front of you, her hands finding purchase on your shoulder 

“Are you okay?” Truth be told you feel a little shaken but if Nat wasn’t weary about what was behind this door then you shouldn’t be either. Worst case scenario Nat was there to protect you from whoever those men were.

You nod your head, unable to bring yourself to speak and she takes a minute to observe you and rub your shoulder in reassurance before she opens the doors.

The doors lead to a living room space with a kitchenette attached to it and sitting at the island table are two roughly familiar faces. One of them was none other than Clint Barton aka The Hawkeye, and the other was Steve’s friend Bucky. He was still pretty new to the group so you didn’t know much about him but much to your surprise the voices from your apartment were coming from them.

When Clint's eyes land on Nat he grins from his seat and pats Bucky on the back but Bucky’s eyes immediately fall on you, his face paling as he struggles to make eye contact.

Your eyes widen as you realize not only were you being stalked but you were being stalked by a trained assassin and Avenger. What possible reason could he have been following you for this whole time?

“I told you she’d recognize you” Clint has the heart to fix you with an apologetic smile as he talks to Bucky and to your credit Nat seems equally confused.

“What’s going on here, boys?” She narrows her eyes at the two of them and Clint raises his hands in surrender, not wanting to be a victim of her wrath. 

“Well I was watching over Y/n like you asked me to but imagine my surprise when I found someone else doing the same” You take a minute to register the fact that Natasha asked Clint to keep an eye on you and you struggle behind finding it endearing and being uncomfortable.

All this time you were worried about getting kidnapped, you were actually safer than you’ve ever been in your life. At least you don’t have to worry about being stalked anymore as it seems that mystery was solved. It’s a large weight off of your shoulders. You decide to count it as another positive to add to the tally for today. 

Nothing could ruin today for you and the feeling of Nat’s hand settled comfortably on your lower back only further cements that statement.

A sigh draws your attention back to the group and you along with everyone else, stare at Bucky expectantly for an explanation.

“Listen, Steve wanted me to find a way to check up on you but when I started digging the only lead I could find was Y/n” It’s weird to hear him say your name as if it’s familiar and you wonder how many other Avengers know of your existence. “I thought if I watched her long enough she would lead me to you but I wasn’t getting anywhere so when she went out of town I might’ve..broken into her apartment to look for signs”

“-and that’s where I found him when Y/n had the unfortunate timing of coming home” Clint is the only one who seems to find humor in this situation but it’s clear from the look on Bucky’s face they had been bickering about it before you came in.

“I thought she was gone!” Apparently done with pretending you’re not in the room, Bucky turns to you with an apologetic look on his face “I’m sorry” 

You’re not quite sure what to make of this situation but there’s still one question nagging at the back of your mind

“So were you guys in the SUV’s that followed me as well?” 

Shaking his head no, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at your statement “I prefer to tail people on foot. It’s easier to blend in” His assurance only fuels the confusion in the room and everyone’s heads whip to the door before you can even sense anyone coming. Stupid super spy senses.

The door opens to reveal none other than Tony Stark sporting a guilty look on his face- well as guilty as a playboy billionaire can feel.

“That would be me.” Your eyes widen in surprise at the confession. “Really it’s shameful that neither of you noticed. I think you need more training” He makes his way to the kitchenette, opening the fridge and perusing the contents until he pulls a container of blueberries and begins snacking on them, completely unaware or just disregarding the eyes glaring at him.

“Why were you following Y/n, Stark?” Nat is the first to speak, she seems irritated at the fact that not only one, but two of her coworkers were stalking you and if you’re honest you’re a little irked that they would use you to try and get to Nat. 

He rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated that you aren’t following “Oh come on, you guys didn’t think you were the only ones who thought to check her phone records?” He shakes his head in disappointment. “Clint’s attempt at hiding your phone was commendable but I don’t need the actual phone to hack into the records” he turns to Nat once again “Your little firewall was cute though”

“You’re still on thin ice Stark”

He raises his hands in surrender and places the berries back into the fridge, talking to your group with his back turned as if he isn’t in a room full of irritated super spies and assassins. “Well imagine my surprise when I find out not only is Nat’s little ‘boytoy’ a girl, but she’s also already in my system”

“Wait wait- what do you mean?” It’s your turn to speak up and your head is spinning with all the new information you’re receiving. If you’re honest you’re still craving the nap you were robbed of earlier.

Tony seems to acknowledge you for the first time since he walked into the room, his eyes scan observantly up and down your body before he quirks a brow and you wonder if everyone feels this small in his presence “Friday runs automatic background checks on everyone who enters my elevators. Obviously”

You realize he’s talking about when you and your friend attended his part at the Tower and he gives you a tight-lipped smile when he sees you’ve caught on 

“ I was worried you were an over-obsessed fan or something but a quick little peek into your text messages told me everything I needed to know. So I had Happy tail you but Natty here was nowhere near her girlfriend. So cold of you to completely ghost her like that Nat, really?”

“Good to know everyone here respects my privacy” Nat rolls her eyes and Bucky averts his gaze from the two of you, clearly uncomfortable with the situation he got himself into. 

You can’t help but notice the fact that Nat doesn’t object to Stark calling you her girlfriend and you’re sure you must look crazy as you blush in a room full of suffocating tension. Maybe they’ll think you’re a nervous blusher.

”Yes well-” Tony gestures at himself as if to say ‘you know who you're dealing with’ “Imagine my surprise when you came back claiming you would get the government off of our asses- I thought it was because you liked us but clearly you had ulterior motives.”

Before you can question what he means, Nat huffs and turns to drag you out of the room. You’re grateful to get away from the stuffy tense environment but as you're leaving you turn back to see Tony smirking at you for some unknown reason. His eyes hold a playful but knowing mirth and you wonder if you’ll ever understand what goes on inside his head.

Pt.33

A/n: Imagine Tony Stark reading every text message you’ve ever sent. Mortifying.~ Starry

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[ameagrice]

Capsize

percy jackson x f!reader

chapter thirty-three: run, girl, run!

That night, you sneak up to the Big House again, when all is quiet across camp. The balls of light floating around the camp store allow you to sneak past without falling down the hill, grateful to see the lights of the house still on.

He must have been expecting that you couldn’t just get in bed and fall asleep with so many things on your mind. You climb the steps of the porch, and slide in slowly through the open doorway. It’s warm again tonight, the air is hot and humid, but inside the Big House it feels homely as ever, cool. Chiron stands, reading through an old and tattered book in his hands. He looks up when you walk in.

“Hi,” you say.

“It’s very late,” he replies, snapping the book shut. “You want to know if I’ve considered what you asked, don’t you?”

You nod. It’s not like you’d asked anything else. “But I want to know what happened to Chris Rodriguez, too. How Clarisse found him. Why he went down there.”

Chiron sighs, like he’s tired, and waves a hand to the couch. You don’t hesitate in taking a seat.

“It started after you left with Percy for the summer…”

You spend the remainder of the night flicking through all the books in the house, on Ancient Greece, the gods, Daedalus mainly. Chiron talks as you read, of how Clarisse blew up an entrance to the maze somewhere in the country, of how it simply moved a few yards away. He talks of Chris going insane from what he saw down there, from what Luke’s men had him do. Chris currently resides in the basement, the only place he feels safe enough without panicking to high heaven. He refuses to come out, but at least nothing can hurt him down there. Clarisse was scarred from the maze itself, and vowed never to step foot in there again. It makes sense—the few hours you were down there with Percy were creepy enough.

“I dreamed of Nico, and Percy did too. He’s trying to raise the dead, and someone is guiding or helping him or something,” you offer over a cup of hot tea and The Odyssey. You close the chapter on your mother. “He misses Bianca. Makes sense, but…he needs help.”

“The boy is troubled,” he agrees. “He has been led astray.”

“We can get him back. He doesn’t have to end up in trouble. You thought Percy was the only child of the Big Three who would make a mess of things. Then Thalia turned up, and left. But now there’s Nico; do you really want him running loose, led astray?” Chiron tilts his head. “We all heard about the ‘dangers’ of the children of those three. Although I really doubt Percy could wreak havoc. He misses his mouth when he eats pizza.”

Chiron laughs, but it’s missing something. Does he think of all your failures in the past? Is that why he doesn’t want you to go on this quest? You wouldn’t blame him, because all you’ve done so far is evade your own death and cause other people’s. Not directly, but your choices spurred theirs. At least that’s how it feels.

“I know you think I’m not right for this, but I need you to trust me.”

“It isn’t that you’re not right for this,” he deflects. “It’s that things in our world are getting worse, and sending heroes off to fight these battles have more risks than before. You know what happened to Chris and Clarisse. I’d like to avoid that from happening to anybody else.”

“Well, sometimes we can’t change fate. What’s meant to be is meant to be.”

It’s like you’ve shot him. He stills, blanching. Chiron recovers his expression quickly, and gives you a tense smile. “You should go, now. It’s been a long day for you.”

After breakfast, Chiron called a council meeting. You and Percy headed down together, chatting about what it could be. A distraction, obviously—you both knew what it would be about. You met up with everyone in the training arena, compared to the usual meeting at the ping pong table. Mrs O’Leary chewed on a giant dog toy, bounding around the arena as you discussed the fate of everything.

Juniper the tree nymph accompanied Grover, Travis and Connor sat beside each other, Charles Beckendorf and Silena, and Lee Fletcher, a son of Apollo. Quintus and Chiron, by the sword racks, led the meeting at first, passing over to Clarisse and Beckendorf for input.

Finally, they turned it on you. Clarisse, addressing you properly for the first time, demanded your thoughts. “What do you think about this?”

You inhaled, sitting up straighter on the bench. All eyes turn to you, listening intently. “I think Luke knows about the entrance to the Labyrinth, and he’s probably known for a while. Think back years ago to when Percy was poisoned; the monster came out of nowhere, and so did Luke. The maze moves—maybe he lost it for a while, hasn’t used it since. But he’s definitely trying to get back inside camp, now, using the maze. He was here longer than anyone, wasn’t he? He probably knows it like the back of his hand.”

“The cave entrance has been there a long time. Luke used to use it.”

You raise an unimpressed brow to Juniper. “You knew about this? And haven’t said anything?!”

Juniper’s youthful face turned green in embarrassment. “I didn’t know it was important. Just a yucky old cave.”

You see Chiron rub his hand over his forehead in stress, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing—Luke’s been doing this under his nose for years it sounds like.

“She has good taste,” Grover defends.

“I wouldn’t have paid any attention, except…it was Luke,” she blushes further. You wave your hand in her direction, somewhat agreeing. Luke might have been good-looking, but he’s still a psycho.

Grover huffs. “Forget what I said about good taste.”

Quintus polished his sword as he spoke. “Interesting. And you believe this young man, Luke, would use the Labyrinth as an invasion route?” He raised his eyes to you.

“Definitely,” Clarisse came to your defence. “If he could get an army of monsters inside Camp Half-Blood, just have ‘em pop up in the middle of the woods without having to worry about the camp’s boundaries, we don’t stand a chance. He could wipe the place out easy. Probably been planning it for a while. He’s been sending scouts into the maze. We found one. You know…”

“Chris Rodriguez,” you mumble.

“Ah, the one in the…”

“The one in the what?” Asks Percy.

Clarisse glared at him. “The point is, Luke has been searching for a way to navigate the maze. He’s looking for something.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Probably Daedalus’s workshop.”

Percy shifted beside you. “The guy who created the maze.”

You hum in response. “He’s considered the greatest architect of all time. If the legends are actually true, his workshop should be in the centre of the maze. Except…the maze always changes so…where’s the centre meant to be. If Luke managed to find it, he could easily convince Daedalus to help him navigate his own creation.”

“The thing is,” adds Clarisse. “He wouldn’t have to stumble around watching for people or traps. He could navigate and go anywhere he wants safely. First to Camp, and then—well, Olympus.”

The arena turned very silent. Mrs O’Leary even grew quiet. Beckendorf straightened up on the bench, running a strong over his face. “Hold up. You said convince Daedalus. I thought Luke was—kicked off a cliff? Isn’t Daedalus dead? Shouldn’t Luke, in theory, be very dead?”

Your jaw drops. How stupid can you be? You chide yourself, looking at Chiron for some guidance. He’s watching you too, but doesn’t offer any sort of help.

“In theory, they both should be dead. Extremely, extremely dead. Uh—but Luke is not. Definitely not. And Daedalus…well, nobody really knows. People have said that towards the end of his life, he went down into his maze and stayed there. Others have said different. There are a lot of uh, disturbing rumours, stories. But long story short, he might still be down there.”

You’re aware of Travis staring at you from the other side, but you can’t bring yourself to look. You’ve barely spoke to him thus far, for being so caught up in everything. “We have to go into the maze. We have to find this workshop before Luke does. If Daedalus is alive, we can convince him to help us, not Luke. If, for some miracle Ariadne’s string still exists too, we make sure it doesn’t fall into Luke’s hands.”

“Why don’t we just blow up the maze?” Came Percy. “Block Luke off from the outside?”

You give him a gentle look. “Clarisse tried. The maze just moved.”

“It’s not so easy, stupid,” Clarisse snapped. “We tried in Phoenix. The best thing to do is to stop Luke from navigating it. Which means, we get down there first.”

“We could fight,” Lee said. “We know where the entrance is now. We can set up a line of defence and wait for the army to come through. We’ll be ready, waiting.”

“We will certainly set up a defence,” agrees Chiron. “But Clarisse is right. The best thing to do is for our side to move first. If they come through here…we won’t have enough to defeat them.”

You stand. “We have to get to Daedalus’s workshop first, then. Find Ariadne’s string, stop Luke from getting it.”

“But if nobody can navigate it,” Percy reached for your elbow, getting your attention. “What chance do we have down there?”

“I’ve been reading about it. I know more than we did before. We’ll be fine.”

“From reading about it?”

You clenched your teeth. “Yes.”

“That’s not gonna be enough.”

“It’s gonna have to be.”

“It isn’t!”

“Are you gonna help me or not?” You exclaim. You’re suddenly aware of everyone watching, listening to you argue. Mrs O’Leary violently ripped the head off her toy—EEEEEK.

Chiron cleared his throat. “First thing’s first. We need a quest.” Your heart stopped. “Someone must enter the Labyrinth, find the workshop of Daedalus, and prevent Luke from using the maze to invade.”

“Well,” Clarisse waved a hand in your direction. “We all know who should lead this. She’s got my vote.”

Much to your surprise, there was a murmur of agreement. Under the watchful eyes, you shift on your feet, hip to hip, uncomfortable, edging back to near Percy. “But you’ve done loads for this, too. You should be a part of it.”

Clarisse shook her head. “I’m not going back in there.”

Travis barked a laugh. “Chicken, Clarisse? Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

She got to her feet, cheeks aflame, and visibly shaking. She pointed in Travis’s face. “You don’t understand anything, you hear me? I’m never going in there again.” She stormed out of the arena.

Travis sheepishly voiced, “I didn’t mean to—”

Chiron raised his hand. “The poor girl has had a difficult time. Now, do we all agree who should lead this quest?” Everyone nodded, every hand went up. You scarcely believed your eyes. Travis offered you a tiny hint of a smile, albeit a nervous one. Chiron, at last, turned to you directly. “Very well. My dear, it’s time you visit the Oracle. Assuming you return to us in one whole piece, we will discuss what will happen next.”

You’ve been up in the attic before. You spent the whole month before the summer break trying to get the mummy to talk to you. You don’t stop to offer assistance to Clarisse in calming down a frantic Chris in the basement, crying his heart out. Instead, you place your hand on the banister and trail up the four flights, to the attic where the Oracle sits waiting. You wind up the narrow set all the way to the top, an attic full of relics of years passed from heroes who passed through the same walls.

You walk slowly over the dusty floorboards, to the window behind the Oracle, and you watch for a little while the figures in the distant training arena, one figure in particular pacing nervously. Percy, pacing up and down the arena. You absentmindedly pull on the ends of your hair, before moving back and turning to the mummified girl, who seems to know what you want before you open your mouth. The room grew darker, and dark green fog spilled from the Oracle’s mouth. She came to life in a way you’ve seen only once before, this time just as scary as the last when she’d wandered out of the house. Her eyes open, dark, broken holes, and she spills the prophecy you’ve waited so long for.

You shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze,

The Traitor, the Dead and the Lost one raise.

You shall rise or fall by the Ghost King’s hand,

The child of Athena’s final stand.

Destroy with a hero’s final breath,

And may lose a love to worse than death.

Cheery.

You want to grab the nearest baseball bat and scream. The child of Athena’s final stand? Worse than death? Why, oh why, did nothing work out for you? Frustrated tears burn your eyes. You’re unable to stop them, a sudden fear at your line, undoubtedly. You find yourself lowering to the floor, where you sit for a while, trying to think. You can’t make anything positive out of this one. Somewhere downstairs, the floorboards creak, and you jump to your feet, dust scattering in the air. You wipe your hands across your cheeks ridding them of tears and give yourself a minute to calm down before you tear out of the attic, back down to the arena. You must look a little out of touch, or something.

“My dear,” Chiron says. “You made it!”

You find your spot next to Percy on the bench, collapsing heavily and stare at the floor.

“Well?” Asked Quintus.

Turning your head ever so, you look at your best friend, who sits wide-eyed and waiting for you to say anything. “I got the prophecy. So…I’ll lead the quest to find Daedalus’s workshop.”

Chiron scraped a hoof against the floor. “What exactly did the prophecy say, my dear? The wording is important.”

Taking a deep breath, “Uh…well—it said you shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze…the dead, the traitor and the lost one raise—”

Grover perked up. “That’s Pan!” He proclaimed. “It has to be!”

“With the dead and traitor,” Percy, ankle touched yours. “Not so much.” I’m here, his touch said. I’m listening.

“And? What is the rest?”

“You shall rise or fall by the ghost king’s hand, the child of Athena’s final stand.”

The murmur of excitement dropped. Everyone looked uncomfortable. Because you are the daughter of Athena attending.

“Hey, we shouldn’t jump to conclusions!” Silena urged sweetly. “You’re not the only child of Athena, it could be anybody!”

“But who’s this ghost king?” Beckendorf asked.

You had your suspicions, alright.

“Are there more lines?” Asked Chiron. “It doesn’t sound complete.”

That’s because it’s not. “Um, something about destroy with a hero’s final breath.”

“And?”

Feeling suddenly tired, you stand to make your point. “Look, I have to go in. I’ll find the workshop and I’ll stop Luke. I need help, though…” He must have expected it. Was that not why he was pacing, earlier? Percy’s bright eyes did not waver, set on your own. “Will you help me?” The last line worried you, but doing this without Percy worried you more. You didn’t think you could do it without him.

He didn’t even hesitate. “I’m in.”

You smiled. “And Grover. You, too. You need to find Pan, and we’ll need your help.”

“I’ll pack extra recyclables for snacks!”

“Two companions,” assured Chiron. “Are you sure on your final choice?”

You nod. You want to take Annabeth, too, but you’re not risking more than three ever again. Not this time. Not when the prophecy talks of a child of Athena’s last stand. You won’t do it to her. “Mhm.”

“Very well. Let us adjourn. The members of the quest must prepare themselves. Tomorrow at dawn, you will enter the Labyrinth.”

You tried not to cry again, you really did. But the lines were going round and round in your head, and the sudden hurry to go make a new weapon was nagging, and you couldn’t find your spare flashlight, and packing your things made you doubt you could do this. Which was why when he called out from the doorway, you melted. You paused looking through the wall of books for anything that could help you along the way.

“Knock knock?” He tapped on wood.

You turn to him, putting down the books on the side. “Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you.”

“You okay?”

“Just trying to do some more research, find something useful. Just in case. But, uh, nothing can seem to agree on anything. So…yeah. I know a bit but I just feel like we need more.”

He closed the door with a small thud, coming closer. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry so much.”

It’s all you ever do. Does he know you’re always on high-alert? Does he know you’re overthinking?

You shift on your hip, rubbing your hand over your arm. “I wanted this so badly.”

Percy’s bright green eyes keep you balanced, and he smiles reassuringly. “I know. You’re gonna do great.”

You’re so grateful to him. “I’m just worried I’ve made the wrong decision. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. Or Grover.”

“Hey, we’re your friends. We trust you. We wouldn’t want to miss this.”

You shakily exhale, throat closing up. Uh oh. “It’s just…” you almost gag as the words get stuck. Percy’s smile fades, replaced with a concerned frown.

“What is it? Is it the prophecy?”

You gulp. “I’m sure it’s fine,” you utter quietly.

“What was the last line?”

You squeeze your eyes shut before the tears can hurt anymore, and without any thought, you hold your arms out to him. And he comes right to you, just holding you. He’s warm and a solid figure in a shaky world. Percy’s hand awkwardly pats your back, and you can’t help the way you squeeze your arms around him.

“Hey,” he mumbles. “It’s—it’s okay.”

You’re shivering. He smells soapy, and cotton fresh, yet distinctly boyish. You shove your face into his shoulder and hope he doesn’t feel the tears soak in his shirt.

“It sounds weird,” you muffle into his shirt. “But I know this is right. I need you and Grover with me. It feels right.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” he sighs. “We’ve had plenty of problems before and we solved them all, right? We can do it this time too.”

“This is different. I don’t want anything happening to you.” You slip up. “Or to Grover. Or me.”

“Try not to worry so much,” he pats your back a final time. “We’re gonna be alright. We’ve got each other.”

When you finally part, Percy avoids your gaze, trailing his fingers across the maps laid out across the table you stand beside. “About your prophecy…the line about a hero’s last breath—”

You wipe your nose. “You want to know which one of us. I don’t know, Percy.”

“No, something else. You didn’t give us the last line, earlier. Hero’s breath should rhyme with the last line. Was it something like—did it end in death?”

You stare with hot eyes at the book on the table. “You should go, Percy. Pack your things. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He stands quietly for a moment, before putting his hands in his pockets. “Okay,” he says. “Just…try to sleep. See you tomorrow.” And he leaves you standing there to think about what you’ve done.

It’s easier said than done. You manage archery that afternoon, and news spreads pretty quickly of what’s coming tomorrow. Annabeth brings you back some food from dinner, and helps you pack your bag. Your siblings wish you good luck, Malcolm saying he’ll pray for you. Annabeth provides you with an extra flashlight, and then Clarissa, which makes three. You don’t know how long you’ll be down there, she says. It makes your stomach churn even more. You set out your outfit for tomorrow and pack a good few. The brief time in the maze the other evening was cold, so you lay out a pair of jeans, a tee and a jacket.

You lay in bed that night and raise your hand to pull back the curtain above your head, watching the stars. It might be the last time you ever see them.

When morning comes, you find yourself gearing up to go, after breakfast, backpack over your shoulders, accompanied by Annabeth past the cabins and into the woods, where the entrance last was. People had set up tents and would take it in turns to watch over the entrance, should anyone come through. Percy and Grover already stood waiting when you turned up, Chiron and Quintus standing with terse smiles.

“Good morning!” Chiron tried to be upbeat, but you couldn’t help the nerves. You couldn’t even smile. “You’re all here, at last.”

You want to tell him you’re shaking to your very core with nerves. You don’t.

“Take care,” Chiron offered. “And good hunting.”

“You too,” Percy nodded.

You follow after Percy and, after a few brief words from Chiron, a goodbye from your friends, and a last look at the woodlands, you find yourself facing the darkness.

“Goodbye sunshine,” said Grover miserably. You trudged forward after Percy, dropping down into the eery space that was the uninviting maze. “Hello rocks…”

It’s not unfamiliar in feel, only in…sight. Where the walls were brick last time, and cool to the touch, they’ve changed to smooth stone, dewy and threaded with hanging vines. Under your feet, tough ropes of them tangle and lead down the pathway.

Beside you, Percy breathes out slowly. You hear Grover’s teeth chattering, and your flashlight provides a good look at your billowing breath in the cold hall. You’ve inside, now, fully—the opening above has disappeared, closed up, and your friends are gone. You’re alone in here, the three of you, and already the claustrophobia is suffocating.

“Alright,” you start, sounding more positive than you feel. “Anyone have any suggestions, first, or can I just lead the way?”

“Lead the way!” Grover prompted. “Because I haven’t any idea what we’re doing.”

“That’s lovely, Grover, thank you for that.” You take the first step in the darkness, voice echoing. You shine your flashlight around, doing a quick circle of your surroundings.

“Oh, damn, it’s like something from a horror movie.”

“And thank you for that, Percy,” you smile sardonically. “Keep your eyes peeled for any clues.”

“This isn’t the crystal maze,” he laughs.

“I think I’ll give you over to the monsters personally.”

You really tried to keep your place in the maze. Left, left, straight on, down the slope, left again…you only got about a hundred or so metres before you were hopelessly, completely lost. Nothing looked at all as it had last time, as if you’d entered a completely different part of the maze. You backtracked following your memorised turnings, but stopped at a dead-end; the maze had changed completely in such a short amount of time. It was scary, and you could feel anxiety threatening to swallow you up, suffocating with every turn. Because not only were you terribly lost with a jittery Grover humming a tune every five minutes, but you’d forgotten about the threat of monsters around every corner, and the possibility of getting split up down here.

“So, new idea,” you voiced. The three of you stopped for rehydration, the tunnel growing warmer the further you walked. “I say we stick to the left wall. That way we aren’t getting split up, and we’re not losing contact with the wall itself, so it cant physically change.”

Percy nodded, raising his hand to your head and dunking you in light spirits. “Good idea.” He quickly lost his sense of humour when, shortly after voicing the brilliant idea, the left wall literally fell away, the bricks disappearing as if they were never there. “Well then.”

You kept walking the long hallway, changing from that of a metal container to a red-brick chamber, with holes in the ground every few steps. It was like playing a dangerous game of hopscotch, except you really didn’t want to relax. At the end of it you entered a round room, with eight different tunnels open and looming branching off the main circle you found yourselves in. Behind you, you watched with your own eyes as the entrance changed from red brick to yellowing, floral wallpaper and rotting wainscoting groaning quietly. Queasiness irritated you. You ran your hands through your hair with a stressful sigh.

“Which way did we even come in?” Grover hummed uneasily.

“Just go back. Turn around the way we came.”

Except, now it had changed, everything blended into one, a huge confusing mess, and nobody could decide on what to do or where to go. You swept your flashlight over the eight tunnel archways, like train tunnels, but none of them offered any differences…at first glance, anyway. Finally, you closed your eyes and stopped the flashlight—opening your eyes, you’d stopped the light on the left-middle tunnel. “That one.”

Percy entered your line of sight, looking unsure. “How can you be so sure?”

You shrugged. “Deductive reasoning.”

He gagged on a laugh. “So you’re guessing?”

Readjusting your backpack, you nodded to the tunnel and took off. “Just come on.”

You’d never do anything by chance again. The tunnel soon got so low and cramped that the concrete walls pressed against your shoulders your hips, bent over and trying not to hyperventilate. Unfortunately, Grover wasn’t doing the same thing. His erratic breathing happened to be the loudest thing in the tunnel.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” he whispered. “Are we nearly there yet?”

You had to admit that you were getting fed up with it as well. Percy remained quiet and composed—once, he smacked his head on the ceiling and bit back a series of words.

“We’ve been down here, like, five minutes,” you offered. “Calm down.”

“Why would Pan even be down here anyway?” He rambled. “I mean, look how dark it is! This is disgusting. What does the god of nature want with a place this dank? This is the opposite of wild!”

Just when the tunnel became so narrow you were about to call it quits, it spilled open into a huge room full of old mosaic tiles in golds, reds and blues, like something from an old Greek book in the Big House. And it was Greek—upon closer inspection with the tiles closest to you, they showed a myriad of images of the gods: Aphrodite in a white chiffon, all done up pretty; your mother in battle, wearing all gold; Ares in feast, at a table drinking dark wine. You leaned in closer, running your fingertip along the pictures.

“This is beautiful.” You straightened up. The ceiling, though dirty and dark, glittered in gold and silver, and an ornate three-tier fountain sat empty in the middle of the room.

“What is this place?” Asked Percy, tilting his head back to look up. “Ancient Greek?”

“Looks like it. Kinda reminds me of Olympus, the last time we were up there.”

“Before you guys came to camp,” Grover joined you, looking around. “We went up to Olympus in winter, before the solstice. Only the grounds but…it was amazing. Looked a lot like this.”

“How can it be here, though?” Asked Percy, “it’s so…out of the blue.”

“The labyrinth is like a patchwork blanket. It grows itself, decorates itself—it doesn’t end.”

“You’re making it sound like it’s alive.”

“It basically is, Percy. Look around.”

“Can we stop talking about it being alive, please?” Begged Grover. A groaning noise came from the tunnel before you. “Oh no,” he moaned.

“Alright,” you said, “onward.”

“Down that way with the noise?” Grover grimaced.

“Exactly that way. Things are looking older so…maybe that’s the way to Daedalus’s workshop. Since he’s old and…whatever. Shouldn’t the workshop be in the oldest part of the maze?”

Logically, it made sense. Literally, it didn’t. The maze didn’t abide by any rules of thumb. The maze soon went back to playing with you (and your sanity) as it turned into modern caves decorated in spray paint, and then a restaurant-esque room full of gleaming mirrors. Every few feet, the maze changed, the tunnels shifted, and the floor beneath your feet turned from cement to metal and back to cement again. Through a wine cellar Dionysus would adore and out into a basement, you were slowly losing your mind. It didn’t matter how much you backtracked or memorised, the maze just didn’t care, and kept changing, changing, changing. At one point, standing in a wooden warehouse, you could have sworn you heard voices on the floor above, but then again, you’d been down here for far too long.

The first skeleton you found appeared far too quickly for your liking.

“Oh, man!” You waved a hand in its direction. “Should we consider this a marker? We’re so far into the maze we’ve got dead bodies?”

Grover gagged. “Milkman!”

“What?”

“A milkman,” he reiterated. “They used to deliver milk.”

“Thank you, Mister. Obvious,” Percy smirked. “But that was like…a million years ago. What’s he doing down here?”

You shrug. “Some people just wander in and get lost. Like us, I guess. Some probably come exploring on purpose and never make it back. In fact, like a bazillion years ago the Cretans sent people in here as sacrifices.”

Grover gulped. “He’s been down here a loooong time.” The skeleton’s hands were frozen clawing at the wall, like he’d died being dragged. “And it smells of monsters down here, too.”

“Well, they’re probably everywhere down here.”

“Yeah…sure smells close, though.”

“We can’t just abandon ship, guys,” you try, “we need to head deeper into the maze. There’s definitely a way to the centre, we’re just going about it the wrong way.”

Percy cleared his throat, prompting your attention. “Maybe there isn’t a right way,” he suggested with a shrug. “I mean, it is a maze, and you said it’s always changing. Maybe the workshop moves with it?”

You hum, and try hard not to think that he might be right. “Nah. We’ll find it. We’re close to something; I can feel it.”

You could, in actual fact, feel the upcoming challenge the way your demigodly instincts always helped you to, like a weird feeling up your spine, a lingering over your shoulders. Your stomach was tightening just as you crawled through a metal air shaft, and came out…

In the tile room. Again.

Getting to your feet with a groan, aching from the constant ducking and diving, you almost yelled in anger.

“We’re just going ‘round in circles!” You yelled and span in one to get your point across. Percy came up after you, casually at first, and then Grover. Percy paled. Grover shrieked.

Spinning on your heels, you weren’t the only ones in this room anymore. You screamed, scrambling to shove yourself behind Percy, back-to-back. You fumbled around for your dagger.

A Greek hero, or what was left of him, sat at the fountain. He wore old armour, bronze and gold, only it was rusted with something you didn’t want to think about. His gold-blond hair lay messed and thick, like he couldn’t stop pulling on it. He lacked an eye, a wound, and looked like he’d been in agony for a very long time. The stuff of nightmares, honestly. A Greek horror.

The personification of struggle.

Percy stiffened at your back. His hand raised and caught your forearm, fingers tight around you, shaking.

“Come on!” A voice like honey drawled, though it was thick with sadness and triumph together. “You guys…what are you doing? You’re going through wrong way, you know. Turn back.”

You couldn’t turn back. You’d already made that mistake. He was trying to confuse you, that’s all. His voice grew louder and more aggressive, more persuasive, and got closer. You tried to block him out, and slow your heart rate. In your mind, you thought of all the songs you loved, humming the lyrics.

“Hey!” You heard Percy. “Leave her alone. Leave us alone.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Riptide was drawn. You really hoped you didn’t have to fight this guy. Though he was obviously an old spirit, or an old and minor god, you didn’t doubt he was powerful. Being down here was a nightmare enough without having to fight.

“Poor thing,” he drawled, like you would a hurt puppy. “Weak, bitter. But persistent. Only hurt lies ahead, you know? You can turn around, now,” he called your name. Percy’s fingers danced along your arm, a distraction. Being under fire made your skin crawl, and the aggression in the hero’s tone had brought on an anxious stomach ache.

Percy raised Riptide. Just when you thought you were done for, a scalding light filled the room, like a floodlight had suddenly appeared. Your heart skipped way too many beats; Grover raised his hand to shield his eyes. When the light died off, you kept your eyes shut.

“Are you causing trouble for these heroes?” A woman’s voice called into the terrible scene. You slowly unclenched your jaw, opened your eyes slowly, and shifted to peek around Percy’s shoulder, ever so slightly inching so you didn’t see the bloodied Greek. She stood tall and proud, beautiful brown curls the colour of chocolate dancing down her spine in a long braid threaded with gold ribbon. The plain, white dress she wore turned to rainbow when she moved, and you thought of oil on a river, the way it moves under sunlight, shimmering. Her milky skin was flawless, and you had the sudden feeling that you knew this woman, somehow.

His voice, mellowed now, shook. “No, milady!”

Liar. You exhaled shakily.

“I see,” she crooned. “Well, you’ll let them be on their way then, yes? You’ll leave them be, from now on? Leave these heroes to me. You’re creating unease.”

The woman turned to face you, Grover and Percy, and made direct eye contact with you first. She smiled, and it was like taking a chill pill, a strange and sleepy calm that washed over you. Whether the boys felt it too, you couldn’t say, but you were glad of it. The anxiety fell away, your heart slowed, and you became aware of the grip you had taken on Percy’s jacket, at the base of his spine, scrunched between your fingers.

“You must be hungry,” she nodded. “Come. Sit with me, let’s talk.” She waved a perfect hand, and the room came to life. Candelabra chandeliers lit in warm yellow, and the dirt fell away from the room. The fountain sprung to life, trickling water, and a pretty table and chairs set appeared waiting, the length of the table filled to the brim with sweet sandwiches cut in small triangles, and tiny plates holding delicately decorated chocolates.

You didn’t realise you’d gotten so hungry. How long hadn’t you eaten for? Time passed so different here, it could have been a whole day, or two. Grover got right to pouring the lemonade, adorned with fresh strawberries, gulping it down like he’d never taken a sip of it before. Understandable, in your eyes.

Gradually, you unclenched your stiff fingers from Percy’s jacket, hand falling away. “Who are you?” He asked, approaching the table.

You didn’t sit like the boys, but instead reached for a sandwich, and then another, and another, and another. Standing opposite each other, you blinked as she spoke with pretty, gentle eyes.

“I am Hera,” she smiled. “Queen of Heaven.”

Ah. That’d be the familiarity, then. Godly hierarchy. You didn’t feel unnerved up close to her, but so much more relaxed than before. She took the pitcher of lemonade from your still-shaking hands with the gentleness of a mother, and you didn’t even stop her from pouring you a glass. You thanked her quietly, and she reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“What are you doing in here?” You asked, lacking formality. Hera hummed softly, before snapping her fingers out of the blue. Instantly, you got cleaned up—your hair fixed itself without effort, feeling cleaner and less sweaty, tied back in a low bun. The dirt abandoned your clothes. The sweat and dirt cleaned off of your face.

“I came to see you, naturally,” she replied. The boys at the table shared a look.

You frown heavily. “I thought—I didn’t think you really liked heroes. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

Something changed about her, but you struggled to place it. She waved a perfect hand. “Oh, water under the bridge! Because of the little…spat, with Hercules? Goodness, so long ago. I had so much bad press because of one little argument!”

You wouldn’t call attempted murder an argument, but hey-ho. You can’t stop the words flowing out of your mouth. “Didn’t you try to kill him, though?”

Hera laughed, though it wasn’t funny at all. She flicked an imaginary piece of dust from her dress. “Oh, dear, no. Greek myths, am I right? Hercules was my husband’s son by another woman; my patience ran thin, I’ll admit. But Zeus and I have come out the other side, we have an understanding. Especially since that last incident.”

Percy choked on his sandwich, red in the cheeks. You bug-eyed him, a warning. Hera dropped her hand from your hair where she’d been, dare you say it, admiring you. It wasn’t uncommon—your family’s friends and even strangers commented on your luckiness. You wanted to call it more of a curse.

“You mean when Thalia came into the picture?” Percy just couldn’t help himself. Hera’s eyes turned frostily on him.

“Ah, Percy Jackson, isn’t it? One of Poseidon’s…children. As I recall, I voted to let you live at the Winter Solstice. I hope I chose correctly.”

She turned away, like Percy wasn’t worth her time, and her eyes shone like she’d hit diamonds on you. It wouldn’t be a good idea to shy away from a goddess, any of them, never mind Hera, so though you didn’t particularly like the attention or extra care that she wasn’t providing the boys, you didn’t move away. Who knew what dire consequences she’d send your way? Grover spied you looks every few seconds, like making sure you were alright.

A sunny smile plagued her. “Anyway, I bear you no ill will, my girl. I appreciate the difficulty of your quest. Especially when you have old Greek troublemakers to deal with. Brave girl.” Brave, though you hid like a child.

“Why was he here?” You shoved a chocolate in your mouth. “I felt like I was dying.”

“Hmm, he likes to do that. The minor gods…they enjoy causing trouble, scaring young heroes. The minor gods, you three must understand, have always despised the very small roles they play. Some I fear have little love for our Olympus, and can easily be swayed to support the rise of my father.”

Kronos. Luke’s new best friend.

“We have to watch the minor gods. They give lip to Olympus, and yet—”

“That’s where Dionysus went!” Exclaimed Percy. “He was checking on the minor gods.”

“Indeed.” Hera stared at the fountain. “You see, in times of trouble such as these, even gods lose faith. They put their trust in the wrong things. Petty things, should I say. They stop looking at the bigger picture and turn selfish. But I’m the goddess of marriage; I’m into persistence and perseverance. You have to rise above the arguing and chaos. You have to keep your goals in mind, demigods.” Spoken like a proud soccer mom.

“What are your goals?”

“To keep my family together, of course! The Olympians. Right now, the best way to do that is by helping you—the ringleader of the quest! Zeus does not allow me to interfere too much I’m afraid, but once every century or so for a quest I care deeply about, he allows me to grant a wish.”

Like something from a Disney movie. You’re Cinderella, and she’s the fairy godmother.

“A wish?”

“Before you ask it, darling, let me give you some advice. I know you seek Daedalus. His labyrinth is as much a mystery to me as it is to you! But if you wish to know his fate, you should visit my son at his forge. Daedalus was a brilliant inventor, there has never been a mortal Hephaestus admired more. If anyone would know about Daedalus’s whereabouts, it’s Hephaestus.”

You consider this carefully. For anything, you could wish anything at all. But…

“How do we get there, then?” You ask. “That’s what I wish for. I want a way to navigate this maze.”

Hera’s shoulders drooped, and she looked disappointed. “So be it. But you ask for something that has already been given, I’m afraid.”

You blanch. “Huh?”

“The means is already within your grasp!” She spared a look over her shoulder…at Percy. “With him. Percy knows the answer.”

This time, you run cold. Unimpressed, you offer another, “What?” Percy sits up straighter in his seat, fumbling like a fish out of water.

“I do?” He panics.

“But you’re not telling us what it is,” you pry, being careful. “That’s not fair.”

Hera shook her head of pretty hair. “Getting something and having the wits to use it are two different things, darling. I’m sure your mother would agree.”

The floor vibrated as thunder rumbled from high above, reverberating all the way through. “That would be my cue,” Hera beamed. “Zeus is very impatient. Think on what I have told you,” she aimed at you, “locate Hephaestus, and the rest is smooth sailing! You’ll have to pass through the ranch I think, but don’t stop, and use all the means at your disposal…however common they seem.”

She pointed across the room, where two doors had appeared. They flung open, revealing two dark corridors.

“And one last thing,” she clasped her hands together. “Try not to run into any more troublemakers. The minor gods are unlikely to give you an easy time, and, well, I won’t be back. Farewell, my heroes. And good hunting, as they say!”

She waved a hand, and turned into a puff of white smoke. The food and the table disappeared, Grover and Percy falling off of imaginary chairs. The fountain stopped running, the walls turned grimy, and the room became dark again.

All that aside, you were pretty mad.

“What sort of help?…”

“Well,” said Grover. “She said Percy knows the way. That’s something at least.”

You round on your friend, whose cheeks are pink. “But I don’t!” He protests. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Honest.”

You sigh deeply. “Alright. Whatever. Which way now, then?”

“Left,” said Grover, getting to his feet and hurrying along to the entry. “Because I hear something big coming from the right.”

Percy caught your wrist in his hand. “Left sounds good. I vote left.”

Together, you disappeared into the dark corridor.

AYO what do we think of this one then? Honestly I got a bit stuck, but I think it turned out alright. I had to replace Janus with my imagination (though after the day I’ve had it’s LACKING) because he creepy fucker scares me as much as the cat in the hat does.

taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx

@rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress

@distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky

@emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @tojismassivemantiddies

@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @i-love-books-and-the-bible @obxstiles @mxltifxnd0m

[bokettochild]

Febuwhump Day 18

@nancyheart11 you asked me for a Twilight Whump for this one, so I did my best! He wasn't talking, but it's a little tastier with the spice of another perspective >:)

I hope you enjoy!

Rating: Gen

Wordcount:

Summary: They talked about wandering off alone, but that doesn't exactly stop certain people (AKA Twilight) from not doing it again. Maybe Warriors is taking it too personally, but Mask's pup is giving him a headache. He just wants all his little brothers safe in one place, is that too much to ask?

(Note: I have not proof written this. My apologies, but half my keys aren't working, so typos are probably there.)

-

  They do not run off alone, they just don’t! It’s not so much a rule as something that everyone understands, so why in Hylia’s name is it still so hard for the others to actually do? Warriors resists the urge to hiss at himself; he is not Mask or Wild, he is not a feral little creature that can’t use his words, but by Hylia’s Wings does he wish he could get away with it sometimes! 

They’d talked about this! Not at length, and yes, his opinions had been very quickly dismissed in favor of discussing the ability of their enemy to shapeshift, but he’d expressed his disapproval with running off alone in the middle of a battle! 

But who really listens to him anyway? 

No, the captain stops in his tracks for a moment to shake off that thought, that’s not fair. Most of the other heroes listen. For Wind it’s second nature, and Time too, most days, listens without thinking about it. Even as an adult, the other respects his experience in leadership and knowledge of fighting and working with others. Four, even for his faults when it comes to actually working with and not simply around other people, still hears him out when he speaks. Sky and Hyrule both respect him for his title of knight and the work he’d put in to earn it, and even Legend, who despises soldiers, will respect his decisions and follow the plans he’s set. Yes, there's some disconnect, which is to be expected when working with a new team of people that aren’t accustomed to each other just yet, but they’re trying. Most of them are trying. 

Twilight and Wild are their own story. 

The captain’s teeth saw against each other as he ducks through the underbrush, following the faint trail left by big paws and the even bigger tracks of a moblin. How can a person be so determined to keep others in line and behaving, to keep others in the group safe and obeying the rules, and yet they themselves trod all over them? 

Granted, he is also currently separate from the group, wandering off alone, but he’s not the only one and everyone else knows what he’s doing. He’s tracking Twilight while the rest collect themselves and make camp. Wild had offered to do it, but after the last time, he just can’t trust the kid to actually come back; Wild’s proved where his loyalties lie, and it’s with the rancher, not their group. When asked to make the choice, they all know what it would be. 

He told the champion to stay. 

He doesn't know if he’ll be listened to, since that’s also the other point of struggle here, but he’s done all he can. He’s a good tracker, used to picking up the slightest sign of enemy activity, and his reasoning of being their current medic and thus the best choice in the case Twilight had gotten injured in some way, seems to be reason enough for most of the rest. There’s offers of course, to have someone go with him as backup, but looking over the tired men and boys in camp, he turns them all down. They need the rest, and time to recover from their own injuries and exhaustion. As a soldier, he’s been trained to push his limits, his exhaustion, his pain, his physical abilities, and ignore all barriers until his assignment is completed. The others may be heroes, ones who’ve faced odds that soldiers could never imagine, but they’re not likely to have experienced that sort of pressure and he wouldn’t want them to. 

They need their rest. He can get his once his duty is done. 

Now if only Twilight wouldn’t make it so hard by having wandered off to Nayru knows where! 

A hand drags through his hair, disrupting it, but it doesn’t matter. Yes, there’s a small voice that hisses to fix it, one that sounds a bit like Proxi, but these heroes care even less for how he looks on any given day than for what he says.  

Still being unfair, Link. They aren’t all bad. They’re good kids. 

Sure, they’d probably all take offence at being called kids but that’s what they are! The youngest are very young and even Time, their eldest, still looks to him through force of habit for guidance and aid. At most, he’d say the oldest most of them could be is twenty, early twenties for the rancher and skyloftian, but that’s still young enough to still be tripping over themselves in an effort to understand adulthood. They are, in his mind, still kids, and they’re mostly good ones, so he really can’t go lumping them all together as not giving a darn when they very much do. Not about his looks, thank Hylia, but about what he has to say? Most definitely. 

Again, it’s just Time’s pups who don’t. 

Goddesses, they take after their old man to an extreme level! It feels like just yesterday he was chasing down the little scamp, explaining the importance of comradery, of trust, of teamwork. Just yesterday, he was tilting brilliant blue eyes up to meet tired ones and asking, nearly begging, for the kid to please just give his way a chance. 

He sort of doubts such methods will work on his kid’s much older pup though.  

Twilight and Wild are similar in that they are stubborn, but they’re also much older than Mask had been, and neither is desperate for the stability the young boy had sought. They have Tie and each otehr, their own little bubble, separate from the rest of the heroes, and while both have an obvious respect for his skill, that’s about where their respect for him ends. They don’t look up to him, don’t admire him, don’t see him as anything more than another hero in their group, which is nice as far as not needing to babysit them goes. He’s glad that they don’t need him to keep an eye on them, that they’re stable enough mentally and in their perception of themselves that they don’t need someone else to support them, and if they do, they’ve already found that in each other. Still, having even the smallest of ways to get through to either of them would be nice. 

He’d thought that experience with the army would help connect him with the champion, that maybe a bond with Time could be something he could connect with the rancher about, but so far, no dice. 

His feet skid slightly on some leaves, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. Right, he needs to find Twilight. He can worry about driving home the idea of not running off alone when he’s sure the other is still alive. Granted, they didn’t see the black lizalfoes, or anything they think might have been another form of the beast, in this last battle, but it doesn’t take the most powerful of monsters to lay a hero low, especially if they don’t have anyone to watch their backs. 

The paw prints change to boot prints with the same seamlessness as they’d become paws at the beginning of the trail, and blood, crimson not black, spatters on the ground in an arc that indicates a swinging blade right where the moblin’s feet shift into a spin to face its pursuer. The trail of blood falls to the left of the trail, which means it could be delt by the left-handed hero or by the opposing monster, but considering the sudden turn, his money is on the rancher being the injured party here. 

By habit, his hand falls to his bag, assuring himself he’s got his med kit close at hand. 

By the three, these boys could save themselves so much pain if they just covered each others’ asses! Next time they get to the ranch or any place where they can stop for a little, he’s asking Time to help him arrange a training session for these kids. Maybe with their unofficial leader’s support, he can even get the two pups in on the session. As is, he’s sure Wind and four will be willing, and Sky will most definitely be his most valuable asset in teaching them. Good grief, whatever the Knights Academy on Skyloft is teaching, they're doing a great job, because that boy melds seamlessly in with whomever is closest to him!  

That may or may not be why he keeps close to the skyloftian, but who can blame him for wanting the assurance of having someone to watch his back when he’s so busy trying to keep an eye on all the others all the time? 

Twilight could have used the same, and blood specks along the trail as he goes. The steps become distorted, shuffling over each other in what’s clearly a break from the chase to fight. Here though, seven or eight paces from the initial blood spatter, more footprints join the mix. A bokoblin- no, two of them. The rancher’s steps disappear for a short moment, but with some looking around he finds them again. A flip or a throw landed him behind his foe, but he’s pushed back, heels dragging as they shuffle backwards into the woods as the enemy presses forwards against him. 

More tracks join the mix; an ambush. 

He grits his teeth, pushing forwards, ignoring, for the most part, the trail of the monsters in favor of following boot prints that press heavily to the dirt at the heel and toe, running, now pursued rather than the pursuer. The rancher will have known to try and limit the area of approach from his foes by darting into the trees. At best, he’d have circled around to pick them off from behind, but the prints don’t indicate as much. The speed of the different monster types will change have changed the tides of the fight though, with the bokoblins moving faster, prints fading out entirely as they likely fell and faded to miasma, leaving behind a moblin trail that continues, joined by more of its kind. He’d estimate at least three, maybe five of the creatures.  

Not great odds for one already injured rancher. 

He picks up his own pace. There’s no sounds of battle ahead or anywhere close by, not that he can hear. Granted, cannon fire in the war has definitely damaged his hearing enough that he could just be missing it, but he chooses to believe that there’s nothing, if only in the hope that Twilight will somehow be headed back along the trail towards him already, instead of being even further out, still in the middle of a fight. 

He doesn’t stumble across the rancher walking along the path though. No, he follows the fight, the footprints, trailing through the trees until there’s nowhere else to go. A wall of earth, steep enough to be a struggle to climb for anyone currently being chased, rises up and the footprints spin about to face those following after. He doesn’t keep track after that though, because the moment he sees fur and brass armor that catches the fading light, he knows his search is done. 

“There you are, rancher.” 

The urge to steal Time’s thunder and call the other man a pup- not with the affection of the now older man but with all the ire of its original connotation among his own people, is strong, but he resists. That would be considered out of line without context, and he doubts Twilight even knows the source of the nickname he so values from his mentor. 

Knowing it means a young person who’s annoying but not yet unbearable, yet, would probably kill some of that magic. 

So, he bites his tongue, keeps his impulses to himself, and moves to the side of the younger man, who’s currently slumped against a tree, breath strained but still there as dark eyes, a shade or so darker than Time’s own, flutter slightly with an effort to stay open. 

“Cap’n?” 

Darker or not, there’s definitely a lot of Time- of Mask, in the rancher’s face, and it makes staying mad with him a bit of a challenge when he’s looking so pathetic. “Got yourself in quite the situation, haven’t you,” he hums, kneeling at the younger’s side and taking his time with a once over. The rancher’s tunic has taken damage, but his concern is where crimson leaks from the tears, not where blades have slashed through only to be halted by chain mail. Yes, the bruising won’t be fun, but his concern is something he can fix, anything that Twilight will actually need help with. 

There’s a wince from the other. “Not my intent.” 

“Never is,” he unclips the bag from his belt, eyes falling on a nasty looking gash just below the cut off of the chainmail’s sleeves. There are some light scratches over browned features and an injury to the leg that leaks slowly into the earth below, but the rancher’s armor looks to have done its job well.  

“The others?” 

“Fine.” He keeps his attention on slipping the bracer from his brother’s arm, on unbuckling and sliding away the leather, the underlying glove, and then rolling up the sleeve to get at the injury he needs to treat. Wound care fills his mind, not answers, not talking. That can come once he’s assured that the other is alright. Much as the man drives him mad, he’s still Time’s kid, and still a fellow hero, still a brother, still someone who doesn’t deserve to suffer just because he’s particularly good at being stupid and reckless. 

“Wild?” 

“Fine.” He repeats, sucking in his cheeks as he sees the damage done without fabric blocking the way. Claws do so much more damage than blades, and the chances of infection are higher too. Not as much as with bites, but it’s still not preferrable. 

“The kids?” 

He huffs, turning to grab for his kit, looking for anything he might have to quickly clean the wound. “You’d know if you didn’t run away mid battle.” 

Hurt crosses sloping features briefly, not for the prodding at the wound site, but from his sharp tongue. Regret stirs briefly at his heart, but like his ire, he pushes it down to keep his head clear and his mind focused on his work as their team’s current medic. 

“Yer upset.” 

The urge to tell the kid ‘no shit’ is very strong, but he bottles up that too. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the wound, on wiping it down and looking for anything that might have gotten into the cut.  

Twilight’s ears flick back, not appreciating having his words ignored. If there’s one thing the rancher is accustomed to, it’s answers when he speaks. Wild always answers, Time too even if it’s not verbal, and the younger ones always respond to. Being met with silence, both verbally and in body language, must be new to him. “Did somethin’ happen?” And when he still doesn't answer, “Wars, what’s goin’ on?” 

“They’re fine, now hush.” It’s a deep cut. Not as bad as the axe wound, but not light by any means either, and it will need stitches. He keeps his needles in a bottle, clean and ready for use, for this reason. Mask used to fuss that it was a waste of a good bottle, and the thought lightens his heart just slightly as he pulls it out and grabs the needed supplies to close the wound in the rancher’s arm.  

“No, Wars-” there’s a straining from the body beneath his hands, but Twilight doesn’t successfully pull himself up, and his face flashes white for a moment before he slumps again. It seems the mighty rancher has spent all his strength in fighting alone, nothing left to use to so much as sit up by himself. 

“Stay still,” he sighs, pushing down, entirely unnecessarily, against a shoulder. It’s for the sake of the man’s pride, he tells himself, to pretend to play along that twilight can get up on his own right now. “Let me work.” 

Work and bottle up his frustrations enough that he can talk afterwards. 

Twilight, however, has no such intentions of likewise staying silent. “Captain, what’s goin’ on?” 

“I said stay still.” 

“Are they hurt?” Blue eyes bleed worry, the same desperation his mentor used to let slip, sometimes still does when it’s his pup in trouble or hurt. “What happened?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Why are you actin’ like this then?” 

The urge to growl again rises, and again he shoves it down with pursed lips and clenched teeth, focusing his energy on starting the stitches and hoping the pain of them will be enough to distract the younger man from his line of questioning. It doesn’t work though. 

“Wars?” 

“Twilight,” his voice snaps without his allowing it, eyes flicking up to meet midnight blue, “I’m trying to focus. Stitches aren’t easy, believe it or not.” 

They’re familiar and he’s done more stitches in his life through human flesh and zora scales than his baby sisters have in their needlework projects that Maither gives them. He won’t admit that though, not if it gives him an out from having to talk. Honestly, some days, he really misses having Proxi around to speak for him when he’s stressed. She was always much better at that sort of thing than he was. 

Twilight falls quiet at his words though, but he still feels those eyes fixed on him, searching his face even as their gaze is broken with a flinch or a huff of pain as the needle pressed through flesh and pulls the two edges of the cut together. He has to stop a few times to dab away blood and clear the area for the next stitch, but he’s quick about his work. In and out, twisting the thread together to close the wound, moving on to the next stitch and watching as the flesh pulls together again over where blood leaks out. 

He's done before he’s ready to talk again, but bandaging is something they’ve all done, and he can’t say that actually takes so much focus as to stop him talking, and Twilight knows it, already pressing again with the questions. “Wars-” 

A scoff escapes, puffing hair out of his eyes to clear them, even though having it to hide behind would be much more preferable. “You really are Time’s pup, aren’tcha?” 

A tick. “What does that mean?” 

He ties off the ends of the linen wrap, tight enough to hold but not so much as to cut off circulation. “You’re a worrier and a fuss pot.” 

Heavy brows crease in answer, but Twilight doesn’t actually have a foot to stand on when it comes to opposing his words. Instead, the rancher just stares at him, waiting until Warriors turns his attention to the injured leg, arm finished. 

It’s only once he’s gotten a start on treating the cut there (this time from a blade) that the rancher’s voice rises again, guarded and wary. “You’re mad at me,” 

He doesn’t answer. 

Rather than guess why, Twilight pushes ahead. “I couldn’t let that moblin escape. We don’t know what’s out here, and letting it terrorize a village jist wouldn’t do. You know that, Wars.” When there’s no answer though, the country accent keeps rolling, pitching slightly, straining. “There was a whole ‘nother camp out here, one that might have attacked us in the night!” And then, when still no answer sounds from his lips, “You would have done the same.” 

“I would not.” He clips, snipping his thread and briefly glancing over at wide eyes. “I would have attended to my men and then pursued the enemy when we, as a team, were capable of doing so Wandering off on my own is what nearly lost us the war. So, as a rule, I won’t be doing that again unless I absolutely must.”  

That shuts the rancher up, recognition dawning in midnight eyes that falter and fall as he turns his attention back to tending wounds.  

There’s no more pushing done by either party, and it’s quiet as he works save the hisses and hitches of the younger man’s breath in pain as stitches are laid and bandages wrapped. That done though, the quite is almost overwhelming, even to him, and he finds himself sighing at it, crouching before his pup’s pup and resisting, with a lot of effort, the urge to hook a finger under the other's chin and lift that gaze to meet his own, like he’d done with his own kid what feels like only yesterday. Instead, he keeps his hands to himself, but gentles his gaze all the same. It’s not that hard, not when faced with familiar features drawn up in a soft scowl that, were it Mask, he’d teasingly call a pout. “I’m not mad,” a disbelieving look meets his own at the words, but he pushes his tone a bit firmer with the next ones. “I’m frustrated, but we can work over that later, preferably after we’ve all had dinner and some rest. For now, we should head back to the others, before your cub starts thinking we’ve dropped off the face of the world or something.” 

A furrow forms between dark brows, too sharp teeth, wolf teeth he muses to himself, gnawing at the other's cheek lining. It’s a bad habit, and he’s sure the man knows it, but he doesn’t correct it. That’s not his place. 

He can guess what’s troubling Twilight though. “Can you stand?” 

A huff, a little smile that’s flustered enough he can guess the answer. “Not really.” 

He knew it. He doesn’t hold it against the other though, instead, shifting to kneeling at the man’s side, shuffling about as he must before giving a waring of his intent. “I’ll carry you then.” 

Alarm flashes clear as day over the rancher’s face. “Cap, I don’t-” 

“I’m stronger than I look,” he assures, although it doesn’t seem to do any good. No doubt, twilight’s staring at his slighter frame and remembering his own bulk, but honestly, he’d served for years in the army. If he couldn’t haul an injured soldier any distance, he wouldn’t be worth the rupees he earns. 

Getting Twilight up on his back with no help from the weakened rancher or anyone else is a bit of a mess, and there’s some slipping and struggle which the rancher no doubt sees as proof that this is no good, but despite protests, he keeps at it until the other is slung over his back. Twilight is heavy, much more so than the other boys would be, but it’s not his first time hauling an Ordonian to safety, and the bulk of his brother just means he moves a bit slower than he would otherwise. 

Twilight’s grip around his neck is weaker than is ideal, but in the long run, it’s probably better that way, because it means his breath doesn't get cut off as he heads back to camp. 

Like he said, once they’re there, when they’ve had something to eat, and probably after the rancher downs a potion from his cub’s bag, they’ll need to talk. This time, he will not accept having them change the subject or redirect. This time they will discuss going off alone. 

After though. After they’ve had time to catch their breath. And he supposes, shaking his head, after Twilight wakes up again from the doze he’s apparently fallen into. 

Good grief, the man even snores as loud as his mentor! 

[postsforposting]

Saw a post about the Logan backstory that DPW might be referencing. The bits I want to talk about:

Mysterio tricked Logan to slaughter everyone in the Old Man comic run. But that plot, at least to me, doesn't make The Worst Wolverine. It probably makes the Most Tortured Wolverine -- the story of a man slaughtering his own family with his bare hands because he was mind controlled. Which inevitably created a power vacuum so gigantic that the world basically collapsed as supervillains take over the world. But the title of Worst Wolverine should belong to the Logan that completely abandons his most important moral value: to be the protector. The title of Worst Wolverine doesn't go to the man who got brainwashed and killed without knowing. The title goes to the Logan who killed indescriminantly and didn’t want to stop.

That would be true if this story is about Jesus and God (anchor being) saving the world. But Wade isn't Jesus. He's anti-Jesus, because he's an anti hero. Not Satan, which is the opposite of Jesus, but anti-Jesus. Perverted Jesus. A Jesus who saves by killing rather than offering (after) life. A Jesus who doesn't offer eternal life, but eternal death: killing those who need saved.

Logan is not a failed, coward of a god, but an anti-god. Again, not Satan.

This Logan isn't the worst version of Wolverine. He's the perversion of that character, a perversion of God. God saves living people if they agree to join him; people are saved in the afterlife--ie, saved after death. From the worse fate of eternal torture. If the worst of a good person is someone who doesn't help when they could because they're wallowing in their own self doubt....

An evil version would be a villain, selfish, laughing all the way, doing it for kicks because he hates everyone else.

An anti version is one who does the bad thing for the right reasons. Reasons no one else understands or agrees with.

A Logan who wasn't mind controlled while he killed everyone, fully knowing what he was doing, and freely chose to do that. Like the way Magneto is an anti-hero, trying to save his friends by killing other people. It's the anti version of that if Magneto "saves his friends".....by killing them.

Hear me out here: Wade knows he's fictional. Wade's most defining trait, when he chooses to become anti-Jesus, is that he does not want to be a slave. He succeeds in avoiding Francis. But when he becomes Deadpool, he learns he's fiction--and thus controlled by someone else, by god, by us. That's also slavery. He "escaped his fate" only to not escape his fate.

He and everyone else in the world are slaves of god. God of that world deliberately makes people suffer for his amusement: blorbo torture, because blorbo is not real but merely a toy--a slave.

How does one escape that? Get written out of the narrative. To escape slavery by author-god, you cease existing. Die. Only then will you not be a slave.

Eternal death as salvation. He only kills people who...deserve it.

To silence the voices in your head that control you...the anti version of IRL Jesus's eternal life via death.

Wade does the same thing: he kills those who are suffering from god the most, those who are damned to the fate he escaped from Francis. Who are being made to do evil things, who don't have a choice in the matter.

Villains. Like Francis was going to make him do.

Deadpool likes this Logan because this Logan IS him: Jesus and god are the same entity, just as Logan and Wade are.

If Jesus saves those who are damned.....who does god save? Everyone else.

If anti-Jesus saves those who are damned....who does anti-god save? Everyone else.

See how you can say two different things with the same sentence, if only your assumptions are different?

What can you do if you're a fucking liar like Wade, then? Say one thing and mean another, just like a double entendre. Let alone what you can say between the lines.

Wade only kills people who deserve it, because the most needy are who Jesus saves.

If anti-Jesus saves by killing, does anti-god save by allowing villains to live? Protecting and reforming them, getting them better lives? Because as god he's responsible for that?

God thinks everyone COULD be saved, if only they obeyed. Doesn't actually reach down and free anyone, does in fact demand obedience. Anti-god....thinks everyone deserves to be saved. Thinks no one should have to obey.

Wade's a fucking liar, but so is Logan: he couldn't have them thinking he wanted to be there, ie sent them away when they asked for help. Did he say no when he wanted to join them and just wouldn't admit it? Or did he not want to be with them at all, which is an equal interpretation of "incapable of telling them he wanted to be there".

Did the humans come and hunt mutants? Whose bodies were piled up? Is that truth or lie?

Was it really that he wanted to save the villains from slavery, it was too late, and it was the bodies of the villains he's upset about?

Worst Logan's world hates him because he slaughtered his friends, who were beloved by the world. He turned on the Xmen for killing people who attacked them. Did he kill them? Or did he just leave?

He ruined his world and did something unforgiveable: I think he killed them all himself. Lotta kids didn't get to grow up because of him, yeah? If he killed everyone in the school.....

Told them they looked ridiculous in their jammies they wore to....keep people alive, to kill villains, to kill people who were enslaved.

He couldn't help trying to save people, being there when it mattered most. Nobody understands why he did it, as not even the TVA are privy to the fourth wall....so they hate him. He's their worst. He earned that title by their books.

But Wade gets it.

Look back at what Logan does and does not say. Sure you can read a "he's a coward" between the lines....but you can also read anti-god, once you know he's a fucking liar.

Edit: "got you, fuck face": this isn't the good guy you think he is, this movie isn't what you think it is, and neither am i. We the audience are the fuck face

I also think Logan tried to tell his X-Men that this was all fictional. They're supposed to be all about helping people.... But they don't ever rehabilitate anyone. God would be disappointed they didn't actually want to help.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Was musing on that "Villain Marinette's mock Gabriel" thing and had a fun thought.

There's actually perfectly good in character reasons why a villainous Marinette would be more dangerous than Gabriel without making him look like a joke. I'll be using my Lady Glasswing as a basis for this:

Noroo:

Gabriel regards & treats Noroo like a blend of animal & tool; there's no respect or mutual communication, he does not engage with Noroo at all unless he as to.

Marinette's relationship with Noroo is more akin to "Oh my wonderful, life changing, power granting wish fairy who comforted me in my lowest moment & gave me a path to saving my parents, I love you!"

It'd take a long time for their relationship to sour & before that, & because Noroo as an empath gets too caught up in their handlers emotional state, the two talk and theorize and otherwise collaborate a lot. As a result she has a really intimate understanding of her powers and limits early on.

Though some of her experiments & ideas, and especially results do eventually get Noroo like:

Noroo did not know they could do that and would rather not have known thank you!

The other reasons would be fairly straight forward as well:

Lady Glasswing: I suppose its true what they say, necessity is the mother of invention.

Or in other words, Marinette's not living in a fortress manor, with someone else to take care of all her needs, able to just sit around at home all day and is vastly, vastly more limited by her youth.

This forced her to get creative right out the gate, especially as she knew she'd be going up against a fully trained Guardian.

In contrast, Gabriel's plan for 90% of Seasons 1 & 2 was basically "Eventually I'll hit on the right combo of smart, strong & special to win, why hurry?" He tried a few gambits like the tv stunt, spying on Lila, Audrey.

But overall, it wasn't until Heroes Day & then when Nathalie was dying that he really got experimental with it and we saw how quickly he started doing bonkers shit like fusing people together and & orchestrating Chloe's breakdown. He just didn't feel that pressed to do so before hand.

Nothing left to lose:

The above also ties into a big difference in their approaches. Gabriel, regardless of the nature of his care for his son, Nathalie, nominal friends or fashion empire. Is invested in them,. It could be possessive & toxic, or more nuanced, but he has things to lose.

Marientte?

Her parents are dead or comatose, her grandfather wants nothing to do with her & sucks, her grandmother dips out 90% of the time cos she can't handle grief. She can't even speak the same language as the other side of her family who are not in the same country & she feels isolated & alienated from her peers & humanity.

She's very much pinned everything on "Fix my parents through any means necessary & all will be right again" and if she dies trying? Well she doesn't really care about that does she?

So, even ignoring that this pushes her further faster, it also means she's more willing to get stuck into it. Often joining Akuma in battle or using Familiars, pulling go big or go home schemes are her standard. She really only retreated once there were too many heroes around for her presence to be anything but a detriment.

Meanwhile Gabriel even though he had tons of advantages over Ladybug & Chat Noir, especially early on avoids risking himself as much as possible, Only leaving his base when he thinks he's already won or has no choice and as a result simply has less experience or otherwise, zealous drive by comparison.

So yea, end results?

Communicating with one's Kwami is good for growth.

Limits can foster creativity while no limits can inadvertently stifle it.

A disregard for one's self and others, while especially noble, is a good teacher if you survive doing it long enough.

Notes:

Though I do still like Marinette making a jab at Gabriel-Moth.

Marinette: Limits foster creativity, I mean look at Gabriel's original work compared to the repetitive, sterile dreck he puts out now that he has nothing but time and money.

Gabriel (Seething) What a... Fascinating perspective.

GET HIS ASS

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

BNHA 428: This chapter made me annoyed and yet it was still somewhat better than I expected?

Himichako. I like it, it's a good ship- not one I'm crazy about, but the vision is compelling. I mean, the loved girl on hard times who admires honesty but represses her feelings + hunger motifs, and the formerly wealthy and rejected girl who's honest to herself but masks her sadness from others + drinking motifs? Being so similar at their core from selfishness, bleeding love, admiration and imitation? Yeah, why not, sign me up, it looks fun.

(plus Ochako needed a subplot that would shy away from Izuku because oh boi her writing is messy-)

Then the ending annoucement happened and I immediately went "oh no" when I remembered that tidbit. But. Yesterday, I remembered this page from 424, which in hindsight makes sense:

Shoto moving forward and choosing to not dwell on his past anymore, because he wants to know the man he wants to become alongside his family of choice.

Spinner feeling so much grief for Tomura inside his room, his extra Quirks add up to it. Further gut points as it was all because of AFO, but the wrong person is getting the blame.

Ochako looking lost and dissatisfied, not really saying anything about Himiko's status; then her hidden injury which left a scar that'll never go away, nothing can change that.

And then, well, a sky with a chance to fight for a "bright future". Which is the most ambiguous you can get for anything, really, sequel or not.

(sidenote: is it me or the panel where she's touching her stab wound looks like a tangent line?)

Okay so, I went into the chapter, with Pikahlua's translations. It was A Chapter alright-

If it wasn't the antepenultimate chapter, the "filler" would've been welcomed. But I guess it means we should focus on the smaller details, I guess? Like that 1st year saying Izuku filled him with courage and Izuku immediately thinking of Spinner's pain? Yeah he hates himself and that people call him a hero, when he considers himself a murderer, and will never forgive himself for failing Tenko, therapy for him and everyone in Class 2-A please- yeah it was a fun detail. Also the throb of hiding your pain of "defeating" someone you wanted to save but in the end everything is miserable but everyone else is happy and you don't wanna be a bother. Fun.

Also I wasn't the one to point the out, but looking at the uniform (U.A. uniform blazer for boys + the tie with a dot for girls), the student who's a Izuku fan is probably trans/gnc, which I appreciate a lot :D (Damn Izuku attracts so many queer people I wonder if that's a sign- /hj)

Also, I guess Class A stating "[Bakugou], Midoriya and Todoroki were at the heart of it all" then focusing on Ochako is good foreshadowing on how her own battle wasn't fully recorded? It's like saying in the end her fight didn't matter, but the other ones went "well", so she's trying (and slowly failing) to keep her sadness at bay because, well, everyone's happy, so who cares? Another "throb".

I thought since the Todoroki family issues are out in the open, didn't they record the whole thing? Then I re-read it, they only saw the family stopping Touya from exploding. So they didn't see Shoto trying to talk to Touya, which means none of the LoV were humanized. Fuck's sake.

After that, I get focusing on the first years and civilians wanting to help and all, but it feels like a repeat of everything seconds before Jakku, so I assume it's a way for them to pretend things are normal? But not-quite-quoting Katsuki (<- which I will point out for my sake is very much alive and well and- oh boi LFtR will kill me) and Edgeshot here because it made me smile:

"Will you...go back to the way you were?" "I plan to attain something greater than what I was originally!"

So, yeah I suppose he'll be fine eventually. (Best J. really loving Edgeshot even as a worm, honestly, goals)

Again with Izuku remembering saying "[He'll] bring it all back" and apologizing for "not keeping his promise" and others telling him to not blame himself and they can reconstruct as many times as it takes. Again, gave me a little smile, but not for long-

Finally, Ochako pretending things are fine. Hello there, Sports Festival/Provisional License!Ochako I missed you- /hj (I miss the dorms era in general, actually.)

So... *sigh* Full disclosure: I wasn't looking forward to Himichako as we were getting 5/10 pages for the "conclusions" in the previous two, I thought Ochako would be off about Himiko being depressed about the League. But since she's MIA, red flags are now red herrings, and it's better than the dead outcome. If Ochako got another person dying in her arms that'd just break her character.

A blood transfusion takes hours, she couldn't been doing that for more than 20min, if it was gonna kill anyone it'd be Ochako. Either Himiko ran away or got arrested, and Ochako feels guilty because she doesn't know if she's dead or not. Not great, but until I see a corpse she ain't dead. Besides: Touya, Shoto, Edgeshot, Katsuki, Toshinori, Ochako herself, all physically hurt unlike her, and yet they live.

And then we have Izuku showing up. I'm upset he used OFA embers for this, but eh, it's Izuku, do I expect anything else?

Rolling with the assumption Himiko died (like our POV characters), Izuku would need to face his own failure in Ochako- Failed to save two people like she failed Himiko, but it'd be so. Empty. Ochako was true to herself, while Izuku gave nothing but "I want to save that crying kid" while fighting Tenko. The most they can do is bond with "failing" and "this isn't what we fought for". This is not really a moment where he can be a shoulder to cry on, it'd come across as hypocritical /neg.

The only way it could make sense it without being shallow on Mr. Control = Repress Your Heart's part (as he didn't open up to the two people who died in "his watch") is Ochako telling how Himiko loved yet seeing him repressing this part of his is idiotic? She likes people who are true to themselves, which Izuku hasn't been for ages, leading to him realizing something. I thought it'd be through a DvsK3 but. I'll take it, two chapters left, I just want his thoughts (and for them to talk but that can happen in the last one).

They only recorded Shoto stopping Touya from being a suicidal bomb, Ochako floating a bunch of Twice!Himiko clones and Izuku entering a coccon, popping out armless, getting them back, punching Tenko to death. The "I want to save [them]" wasn't registered, it makes sense they're (well, Izuku and Ochako mostly) weirded out about this, dissatisfied like most readers are (sidenote: why when it comes to the trio either Ochako or Shoto get sidelined? So much could tie their stories together and yet-)

It's still a tough pill. I'm not a villain stan, just wondering if those fights were for nothing- the humanity of Tenko and Himiko? Can't be proved for anyone else, since they weren't recorded.

And I don't know if anyone saw the same thing, but those "city lights" look like the bubbles from Ochako's awakening, maybe we'll get a Blackwhip or Entrance Exam callback? Maybe it's what the tagline meant by "hidden feelings", since she unlocked it to reach Himiko and doesn't think anyone would understand why. I hope it's just a nice visual though.

If Himiko is truly dead though... You know, I headcannoned the characters were telling the story through confessionals/recordings to register it to the world so they'd learn from that, but I guess the interviews Aizawa was talking about seemed more likely, which. Well it's something, but I thought it'd be everyone instead of just Class A. Idk. The idea the LoV didn't change anything, or that they did change things but don't get to see it, is bitter.

So uh. Yeah, those are my thoughts. I'm not sure how to feel about it, on one hand I want Izuku to finally open up but on the other, it feels like it'll be at Himiko and Ochako's expense by involving him in something that's theirs now. And there's a chance we'll get the "nothing is fine" from Ochako- god I'm fearing the discourse next week already :DDDD

... Man, and this is a bad timing to be in the fandom, considering the LFtR episode airs this Saturday (which will be yesterday by the time this post goes up and I'll be crying about that instead-), so uh. Yeah, this fandom will be emotionally devastated for two reasons XD

Okay, so I'll try ending this on a more optimistic note: I think Himiko is alive, and Ochako just doesn't know it, which is why we're getting 0 confirmation and a breakdown. Izuku's confrontation with her can make or break this plot, but as long as 1) we acknowledge the emotional, different stakes between the Himichako fight and Tenko vs. Izuku one and 2) it doesn't end in a confession (and let's be real, it won't), then we're probably good (sadly, if you disregard the LoV status). I still think it's an ass pull for the camera battery to go out though.

But no matter how this goes: C'mon, two chapters left now, this one was wasted on the first years, smh, let this sequel hopium be a reality I wanna know who's the 425 guy, not the poor first year who's gonna replace Shindo Yo in fanfics- /hj

[casanovawrites]

random sentence prompts  ━ from various tv shows, part 17

i’m so tired of missing you.

stop giving me reasons to walk out.

sometimes the most persuasive argument is saying nothing at all.

you act so cold, it’s really hard to know you have any feelings.

this is who you’ve become. you can’t wash it off. it’s in you.

i feel like i lost someone i was with my whole life.

everyone’s kind of an asshole at 18.

fine. do whatever the fuck you want.

i am at the end of my rope. please.

everything that used to make sense doesn’t anymore.

this isn’t gonna be the last time you get exactly what you want and realize it isn’t what you wanted.

all you talk about is leaving this place.

sometimes i get angry, and i’m sorry.

“maybe” to me is the same thing as “no.”

i’m not okay, am i?

how about i just sit here with you until you’re ready. okay?

that’s why they call it a rock and a hard place. not a rock and a soft, comfy pillow.

you don’t get to judge me. i’m doing the best i can.

what happens next, that’s on me.

broken people don’t survive here.

it’s not your fault. you wanna feel like shit, fine. but feel like shit because your life is fucked. 

you wanna talk about what can and can’t be real? that’s the part you wanna focus on?

i haven’t heard good gossip in hours, and i need a good hit real bad.

not everything can be on your time.

if you wanna date people, we gotta stop hanging out with each other. it’s just math.

respectfully, i’ll die trying.

you help me, i help you. that’s the way it goes. 

i’m gonna put this as delicately as possible. how stupid are you?

all we can do right now is wait.

i saw something that wasn’t there. that’s not the first time that’s happened.

in this fucking ugly world, that kind of love does not exist.

i’m still your friend, i’m totally your friend, but you can be a little cruel.

that woman will eat you alive.

between you and me, i have seen some really crazy shit lately. 

you had so much respect for me that i started to learn how to respect myself.

i’m not someone who falls for fucked up, unavailable people.

when i’m mad, i don’t listen well.

welcome to your worst nightmare.

i don’t know what to do, and that really freaks me out.

you have no idea how lonely it is out here.

it wasn’t my choice to be this way.

i’m torn between my best future and my best life.

i feel like i’m hanging on by a thread here.

i wasn’t always like this, you know.

people wanna know if you’re a hero or an accomplice.

you should be mad at you.

i don’t like people going through my stuff.

you don’t have to defend yourself to me or anyone else who really knows you.

there is a fine line between savagery and consequence.

i’m the most clear-minded i’ve been in a long time, trust me.

there are no mistakes, just choices, and you chose what matters to you.

i think you mistook me for one of your little tricks.

i know how hard you work to keep yourself at a distance from everyone on the planet, but it’s not working for you anymore.

guess what, we were never safe.

what part of this is okay?

you just say what you want, not what anyone else wants, then you do that.

do you feel this? most people don’t have this. this is rare.

you’re not living your life. and if you don’t take any risks, you might as well be dead.

i’m not gonna end up sad and alone and full of regret.

let’s be known and gay together.

i pretended everything was fine. i think that just made everything worse.

you won’t be alone, but you’ll still get lonely.

i’ll tell you what i’d like to do next, i’d like to fucking murder somebody. you, maybe.

i’m turning into somebody i can’t stand.

i’m not gonna lie, you drive me crazy sometimes, but we’re in this together. you’re not alone.

i need help, don’t i? i’m really fucked up.

i don’t feel like i have anything left to give.

there are always going to be monsters in the world. it doesn't matter where you are. but i promised myself i would never let them scare the life out of me.

you’d be surprised how quickly all this becomes normal.

if you don’t learn from your mistakes, you’re doomed to repeat them, right?

life always seems to have other plans.

my anger’s like carbon monoxide. it’s odorless, tasteless, colorless, and completely toxic, but only to me. i don’t take my anger out on anyone other than myself.

[katsuizu-stuff]

Bakugo saved Deku by making Endeavor realize that Deku being alone is a horrible choice

✦ ✦ ✦

✦ Not wanting to expose Deku’s location ✦

Best Jeanist, Endeavor, Hawks, All Might and Deku were all working together tracking down AFO and this meant that Deku had to go solo. Deku, himself, decided that this was the best option to keep everyone safe

In the process no one besides Endeavor, Best Jeanist, Hawks and All Might knew Deku’s location. And in the process only those people/heroes knew about Deku’s whereabouts

This reason was what made Endeavor not want to give Deku’s classmates/friends his location much less the tracking device

Endeavor was still thinking about keeping every citizen safe along with class 1A

✦ Endeavor’s feelings towards Bakugo ✦

Endeavor never liked Bakugo he couldn’t understand why Todoroki would consider/view Bakugo as a friend and not just as a simple classmate

However, this changed once Endeavor took Todoroki, Bakugo and Deku under his wing for the work study. Endeavor pays attention to the little things hence he saw the potential and improvement that Bakugo was showing while Bakugo was working there. Endeavor’s feelings and perspective of Bakugo changed

✦ Bakugo’s outfit wear ✦

We know Bakugo never wears his tie much less button up his shirt

And yet when the whole class goes to talk to Endeavor he buttoned up his shirt and put on his tie

Meaning he actually was serious about something, he fixed his look so that Endeavor could acknowledge that he wasn’t playing games

✦ Bakugo stepped up and his speech ✦

Todoroki went in heated ready to tell his father to tell him to expose Deku’s whereabouts, “Why haven’t you brought Midoriya back? Let me guess, you’ve got Deku and All Might looking after each other, right?”

But Bakugo placed a hand on Todoroki’s shoulder and stopped him it was a quite sign of ‘I got this’

Once Endeavor saw Bakugo step up he didn’t speak and listened to what Bakugo had to say

“I knew it. I’m sure that sounded like a smart move. And maybe with someone else, it’d be a good idea. But you missed something. You don’t know Deku. If you did, you’d realize he can’t be trusted out there. He never considers his own wellbeing. He just says he’s fine. That type of thinking is what made All Might the symbol of peace, so he can’t be trusted to stop Deku. Listen to me! Something terrible is gonna happen if you let them do this alone.”

Endeavor took Bakugo seriously especially the ending words that Bakugo said, “…Listen to me! Something terrible is gonna happen if you let them do this alone.”

✦ Endeavor’s realization and giving in ✦

Bakugo said it clearly and Endeavor figured out that Bakugo was right. Endeavor doesn’t know Deku, but he does know All Might and he knows that what Bakugo said is true. Endeavor knew/knows that All Might became the symbol of peace through that mindset and thinking and Endeavor, himself, has seen/saw the outcome of what happened to All Might when All Might played it solo

Endeavor remember something Hawks said about Deku, “Jeez, looks like he’s shaken off All Might, as well. Kid’s on his own. If we were faster, maybe we would’ve talked some sense into him. We could be backing him up.”

Endeavor came to realize that no one, other than his classmates/friends, will be able to knock some sense into Deku

Endeavor gave in knowing that Deku does need help and so he ‘accidentally’ pulled out the tracking device that had Deku’s location. It was a quite ‘go help your friend, he needs you’

[class1akids]

What is a story beat ? You said that Hawks sill has a storybeat left probably about Toga / Twice's death?

Sorry if I ask too many questions!… but you wrote this (I really doubt there would be any point in him dying for the narrativ) do you talk about Hawks or Twice ?

I'll take this two together. Story beat is a shift in the narrative. It can be emotional turns, incidents or events, actions, and reactions, or realizations. They can even be small shifts in narrative tone or a character’s emotional arc. 

Hawks' character arc has several different threads, but one important one is his relationship with Twice as a reflection of the tension between a true hero ideal (heroes save / don't kill) and the kind of pragmatic compromises hero society / HPSC taught him as well as Keigo's own perception of Jin being a "good person" and his evaluation of him as the biggest threat.

Basically Keigo's arc goes something like this: idealistic young boy -> groomed by HPSC for efficiency and following of orders -> infiltrates villain organization as a spy -> gets to know a sympathetic villain (Twice) on a personal level -> tries to save Twice in isolation and within the limits of hero society -> fails because he doesn't understand the human bonds Twice values -> he makes the choice to kill Twice as per his training -> aftermath as he's revealed to the public as a child of a villain / a hero who killed someone and his own struggle with the revelations about Endeavor and his own conscience about Twice -> decides to pour his energy into "fixing Endeavor" and avoids facing his own actions re: Twice -> he meets his reckoning on the battlefield when the threat posed by Twice messes up the entire plan via Toga's grief -> Hawks once again wants to deal with it by killing -> he loses his quirk and fails to stop AFO -> with nothing left to protect, he's ready to accept the consequences and stops fighting back against Toga's revenge.

This story-beat parallels Endeavor's decision to finally face Toya (and die with him)

They are both saved by the new gen - Endeavor by Shoto, Hawks by Uraraka. The old generation was ready to succumb to the hopelessness, even Hawks who is a self-proclaimed optimist and someone very much on the borderline between the old gen and the new gen.

So I think the storybeat missing here is some kind of resolution. MHA is an optimistic story and has set up the need for all of society to change so future Twices, Togas and Dabis don't fall through its cracks and so that it can offer villains a credible prospect of re-inclusion into society. Reformative justice if you will.

I don't really think there is a good narrative reason to kill Hawks (or anyone else from the old gen) now in the endgame. Many of them tried to sacrifice themselves - Endeavor, All Might, Edgeshot, Aizawa - but they have all been saved so far. I think that their role in the final part of the story is to get on board with the hopeful direction of the kids.

Since Hawks is the closest in age to the kids and spirit (he is the first one who really tries to save a villain) and since he's also a link between the world of villains and hero society (as the child of a villain and as a spy who infiltrated them), I think it would be natural for him to be spearheading this change. We saw in Ch 323-324 that the public won't necessarily listen to school kids, but Hawks is in a position of authority and if he gets on board with saving the villains, that can be a big push for change (basically it's the same reason the PLF wanted him for - a celebrity for their cause). So this is where the Hawks will save Toga theory comes in. He has the same blood type. There are news helicopters around. The stage is set for him to make some kind of stand that will help change the heart of the public (which was probably already moved by Ochako trying to reach out to Toga and by Toga's self-sacrifice).

I may be wrong of course, but from all the set-up, I'd find it weird if Gunga finished the way things have been left and we'd just skip to the epilogue.

[teenageheartthrob]

Final Exit - Part 5 (Stucky x Reader)

Series Summary: Bucky is injured during a mission. It's up to you and Steve to rescue him, but is it too late?

Category: Angst, fluff

Ship: Steve x Reader x Bucky (Stucky x Reader)

Trigger Warnings: Injury, mentions of death, mentions of drugs, surgery, life-support.

Word Count: 2.2 k

A/N: Y'all I am so sorry this took so long to get out, I had the worst writer's block its honestly shameful.

----------

Steve stood over his lover, the piece he thought he’d lost. He looked so peaceful, so angelic. He could almost convince himself the man beneath him was sleeping, not pumped full of drugs as the case was. It almost made the blond cry, new meaning still too fresh in his mind. 

He was sure that whenever the once endearing nickname “angel” now slipped from his lips, salty tears would follow. Somehow, he also knew that the name would never again be be shared between his partners as it used to be. Not out of spite, or hatred or favouritism, but fear. 

An intense, unshakable and crippling fear. 

The exact emotion that people in your line of work were sidelined for experiencing. 

Since news of Bucky’s survival, both you and your partner had remained in a constant state of anxiety. Unable to see him for over 30 hours, prohibited by doctors in case of a sudden change in his condition, the separation was killing you.

And just as you were separated from Bucky, the captain was still yet to make his way back to you completely, a wound he knew, well, he hoped, time would have a hand in healing; he wasn’t certain of much anymore.

With both of your emotions still so raw, and no certainty to comfort the instability, every part of him ached for you, longed to be close to you, as he used to be. 

But Bucky…

Captain America was no stranger to emotional turmoil but this was Steve’s biggest battle to date. 

An observer would have seen Steve Rogers choosing James Barnes over Y/N L/N, as he spent every moment he was allowed by his brunet partner’s side. But you saw the selflessness in his actions. 

You saw his eyes lingering on your fingers intertwining with Bucky’s when you visited, you saw him re-filling your water when you left the room. You saw him waiting until he was in the right place to talk to you about your argument. 

Steve saw your insecurities, ‘maybe he does love James more than me.’ He observed the way you held yourself, remaining strong for everyone else under the circumstances, himself included. Meanwhile, the symbol of hope of freedom wilted away, petals falling as offerings at the pedestals of you and Bucky. 

The scheduled visits you paid to your partner’s hospital room, ensuring you checked on both him and Steve before leaving were a stark contrast to the hero’s own prolonged sittings, practically glued to the soldier’s side. 

A man, a soldier, a fighter, a friend, a lover, a partner, had just narrowly escaped the clutches of death to miraculously return to the living. Truth be told, there was still a chance he would not make it, but each passing hour gave everyone another breath of hope. 

—

“Ultimately, it’s your choice.” 

Helen Cho spoke softly, as though she was afraid her patient would hear your conversation, through both his medically induced coma and the conference room walls. Still, you appreciated that she sounded as though the conversation was as difficult for her professionally as it was personally. 

“If I could interject,” Dr. Banner raised his hand slightly, drawing your attention. As someone with a scientific background and in intimate connection to the situation, you needed his objective opinion to guide you when you were too distraught to think clearly. “There really is no risk involved here.”

“No risk?!” Steve questioned from beside you.

Banner shot him a sympathetic glance, his presence was similarly valued amongst all the chaos. “What I mean is, if he doesn’t have the surgery, the infection will continue to weaken and…kill him again, yes?” You shivered internally as your already chilled blood ran even colder still at the doctor’s confirmation of Bruce’s explanation. “The risk was before he, well…before, was that his body would be unable to handle the heavy sedation and rigorous recovery process. Forgive me for being crude, but it seems now that whether or not he has the surgery, the outcome could be the same.”

You turned to look out of the window at the end of the room. Agents that looked like ants from where you were standing, ran drill after drill along the compound grounds below you. A melancholy ghost of a smile crossed your face as you realised that if it were any other day, it would have been Steve, Bucky and Sam running those drills. 

Instead, Natasha and a few S.H.I.E.L.D higher ups stood in their places, giving the trainees more hell than your boys likely would have.

Bruce had a point, the situation couldn’t get any worse. You had already lost him once, so you could go into it more prepared if you had to a second time around. You knew you and Steve wouldn’t survive as a couple but it wasn’t like he was really here with you now anyway. His heart belonged to Bucky, it was born with him and a love like that would be buried with him too. 

On the other hand, if Shuri promised you she could do something, as she had over her earlier conference call, rarely, if ever, was that promise broken. 

You realised you were making this decision without Bucky- for him, you and Steve. Honestly, you were relieved, because you knew what this meant for him, and the guttural anger and hurt that would rise from your brunet soldier when, if, he awoke. 

But if there was even a chance of getting him back…tears blurred your vision and the ants turned to mere dots in a sea of green below you. 

“Y/N, Steve,” Bruce tried to reassure you both, “Bucky did the impossible, he came back from the dead. If anyone can survive this surgery it’s him.”

“I wouldn’t be advising you to do this unless I had complete faith in the science and medical team behind it. But we are going to need an answer from both of you. We don’t know how much longer his condition will hold,” Dr Cho spoke, professionalism returning to her voice. 

You nodded your approval towards Bruce after a moments tense silence. You reminded yourself to thank him once more for his guidance, and to possibly ask him to help get you into witness protection if the Winter Soldier survived and came after you.

“Do it,” you heard your blond partner utter resolutely, alternate persona taking hold.

You turned, hoping to meet Steve’s eyes; a quiet confirmation you were doing the right thing for the man you both loved. 

But a glance at where he had stood, led you to nothing but an empty space.

—-

It was three days later when James Buchanan Barnes opened his eyes again, unaware of how much time had passed, and the events that had transpired since he had last closed his eyes. 

But those around him had felt the agonising pain of each passing moment. If not pain for the man himself, then for watching his partners, his lovers, come to terms with what their new life would look like. 

The only way to save James Barnes fleeting life, you had been told, was to remove the diseased tissue, the source of the infection - Bucky’s only flesh arm, from the shoulder. 

You knew once he awoke, he would be temporarily devastated. Mentally, you and Steve would lose him all over again. 

However, his pain be somewhat more bearable, you hoped, thanks to Shuri’s magic touch.

It was during this three day period, that your other partner slipped into bed beside you ritualistically, as though he had been there all his life.

You would spent the rest of your life thanking Bruce Banner, you feared. His knowing smile upon seeing the pair of you together once more revealed his hand in the gesture. It felt like your heart was finally starting to piece itself back together again.

That was when you had the idea.

“I want him in here with us, Stevie. If he’s stable, I want him to stay here. I want him home.” 

After some convincing and heavy monitoring set-up, Dr. Cho left the soldier where he belonged, in the arms of his partners. After all, he was still in the compound, just a different room. 

The first time James re-opened his eyes, he knew he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t in heaven, he just couldn’t be. All it took was the familiar scent of your perfume and feel of fresh linen Steve insisted on pressing, for Bucky Barnes to realise he was home. 

He had made it to three days post surgery, his chances were looking optimistically good, and both you and Steve wanted your partner where you could still reach out for him at night. 

---

The new arm was vibranium, like the first replacement. The super soldier’s body and the serum inhabiting it, was less likely to reject the material that way, Drs Cho and Banner informed him, as he lay in his bed like a fucking vegetable. 

They were weening him off of the anaesthetic and codeine cocktail they had been keeping him on, and his body was yet to catch up to his brain it seemed. 

Bucky quickly realised that he’d zoned out of about half of the conversation. 

“But there have been some improvements compared to the other model.” But that got his attention real fast.

Millions of receptors along the length of the vibranium acted in much the same way as nerves in the skin. He would be able to feel everything. 

Since the loss of his left arm, James’ most heartbreaking obstacle with his replacement was the lack of sensitivity. 

He had basic sense when it came it touch, but fine material such as rice through the palm or yours or Steve’s soft hair through his fingers, that was something he lacked. 

It drove him crazy every now and again, and was usually a contributing factor to the beginning of a spiral regarding of his own life; what he had lost and what he used to be.

But there was a price to pay too. The super soldier would still feel pain in that arm during missions; something you firmly believed he had seen more than enough of for the two, now three lifetimes he had lived. 

Shuri assured you that in time, once he became used to the overstimulation from his new limb, she would be able to update the left limb to match right one.

Almost every person that saw him wore a bullshit smile, as though that would somehow fuel his recovery. Bucky saw right through them, and as people talked down to him as though he was a child, all he wanted to do was grab them by the throat and drag them down to his level. 

But that wasn’t going to happen. 

He barely had the strength to stand up on his own, or tolerance to stay awake, preferring sleeping as an alternative to a limited supply of pain medications that could send his already fragile body into some form of arrest. 

So James smiled the same smile back, with the hopes that they got the hint to fuck off. 

He heard things during these visits, things he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to.

Doctors hushed whispers to Tony about medical clearance and when he would be fit for active duty. Conversations between you and Steve when you thought no one else could hear. 

Hushed voices in the darkness. 

Bucky heard almost every one of them, his anger sobering into something much more desolate. 

“I need him to be okay this time, Steve. Because I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s not.”

His girl. All he wanted to do was to hold you, pull you back into his orbit and realign the three of your lives into one. Permanently he hoped. 

---

Both you and the your blond counterpart had him wrapped between you that night. He couldn’t even remember how the comment pierced the silence, but it didn’t nonetheless. 

“I saw a light,” the brunet started, and felt your holds on him stiffen, “I came back for you, doll. Couldn't leave you two here with all the stupid.”

The captain chuckled tearily and Bucky was aware of a larger hand squeezing his own, he actually felt it.

As the two were temporarily lost the safety of each other’s embrace, you looked at both of your boys, a weight lifted at seeing Steve slowly returning to himself. 

You vowed to never let yourself forget how grateful you felt in that moment. 

Unbeknownst to you and Steve, Bucky made a vow of his own in that moment. The soldier had often experienced phantom limb syndrome and he was certain he would again now. 

But the greatest heartbreak James Barnes had ever felt, was waking from a dream time and time again; his calloused thumb twisting cool metal so delicately against the flesh of his ring finger, only to realise that it was not this reality he was seeing before him. 

Bucky would be able to feel his wedding ring on his finger, and slip matching ones onto the hands of the two people who had saved him in every life he had lived, who he loved more than anything. 

A confession of his love and unity, his vow to you both. 

----------

Okay I swear there's one more part and it will be out quicker than this last update was!

Taglist:

@maryam0831

@royalwolfimports

@pono-pura-vida

@scarlettflame19

[specialagentlokitty]

Sherlock x reader - choices

So Sherlock fakes his death but he and reader were in a relationship. After he faked death, she found it hard to move on, but after a year she dated a guy, and that guy turned out to fall for him, she liked him but she knew loving someone else is hard. So when he was about to propose that day Sherlock appears? - Anon 💜

Looking at your boyfriend from your side of the table, you smiled softly as he handed you a menu.

“I’ve never been here before.” You said.

“Me neither, I’ve heard it’s really good though.” Ryan smiled.

You hummed, looking at the menu, not really paying much attention as he spoke to the waiter about choices of drinks.

Once he managed to get the waiter to leave, you placed your order for food and he cleared his throat as he looked at anything but you.

“Is everything alright Ry?” You asked.

“I.. I have something to talk to you about..”

He started to fiddle with the hem of his napkin and you titled your head a little bit.

“I know after what happened you found it hard to love again, and I know even now you’re still having a hard time with it. But I love you so much (Y/N), I really do, and I know I’ll never be him but I was wondering if-“

Ryan was cut off by the waiter coming back, setting a plate down in front of you with simple writing on it.

‘I’m back.’

You frowned and looked up, only to nearly fall out of your chair as you found the face looking back at you to be one you never thought you’d see again.

“No.. no…”

Ryan jumped up and stood in front of you, holding his arm back to keep you behind him.

“Oh please you know you don’t need the hero act.”

“I.. I need to go…”

You spun around and all but ran out of the restaurant, you didn’t even bother to get a taxi, you just ran down the street until your couldn’t run anymore.

Then you finally got a taxi straight back to your flat and you slammed the door shut, locking it, and then you shut all the windows and locked them.

Your phone chimed and you pulled it out to see you have numerous messages.

John: we need to talk.

John: right now we need to talk I’m coming over.

Ryan: I’m not sure what happened back there but I think I understand. Call me or message me to let me know you got home safe. I love you.

Sherlock: it’s rude to run away from someone.

Sherlock: I’m coming over.

Sherlock: John said you moved again.

Sherlock: I know you’re reading these.

Sherlock: stop ignoring me.

You tossed your phone aside and just sat on your bed, head in your hands as you tried to process everything that was going on.

A pounding on your door knocked you out of your head.

“(Y/N) it’s me!”

Getting up, you made your way to the door and opened it, there stood Mary, John and Ryan.

You let them all in without a word and closed and locked the door again.

As you turned around John hugged you tightly, and finally your tears fell free as you hugged him back.

“John.. I.. I.. I saw him.. he can’t.. he can’t be…” you sobbed out.

He shushed you and lead you to the sofa and sat you down, Mary made you some tea and Ryan just sat with you, holding your hand lightly in his.

“I know. He’s just done the same to me.”

You sniffled and looked up at your best friend, shaking your head a little.

“I.. I can’t…”

“I know. I know you can’t. It’s okay.” He said softly.

Mary sat down next to John on the table and she smiled softly at you.

“If it makes you feel better John didn’t let him get away with it. He’s currently treating a bloody nose and a split lip.”

You cracked a small smile and looked at John who just nodded his head with a little smile of his own and you sighed.

Leaning back, you rested your head on Ryan’s shoulder as you just tried to process everything.

“I watched him jump…”

“Maybe he had a good reason?” Ryan offered.

Was he upset that your ex mysteriously risen from the dead? Of course he was, but he also knew how much Sherlock really meant to you.

You scoffed, shaking your head a little.

“No, no there’s no reason he didn’t tell us. And Mycroft? Jesus of course Mycroft would’ve been part of it…” you mumbled.

It made sense, Sherlock wouldn’t have been able to pull this off without the help of Mycroft.

Mary and John stayed for another hours before they had to go home, but Ryan stayed with you.

He ran you a warm bath, he made your favourite drink and ordered your favourite food since you hadn’t had a chance to eat at the restaurant.

And he held you in bed as you cried, all the unwanted memories coming back up to haunt you.

You didn’t dare leave your flat for the fear you would bump into Sherlock somewhere.

You ignored his calls and texts, you ignored Mycroft, only messaging Mary, John, and Ryan when he was at work.

Days slowly turned into nearly a weak, and you were sitting in the sofa when the door opened so you turned to look at Ryan who was with Sherlock.

“Wait! Wait! Please, just talk to him.” Ryan sighed.

He walked over and knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in his as he gave you a gentle smile.

“I love you, okay? I love you so much, but I know you can’t love anyone like you loved Sherlock. Just hear him out okay? It’s up to you what you want to do, if you want to be with him, if you want to just take a break, or be with me that’s your choice. No matter what I won’t be angry, and even if we’re not together I’m always going to be here for you.” He said gently.

Ryan stood up, kissing the top of your head he walked to the door and nodded and Sherlock who gave a nod back and closed the door.

He wasn’t really sure what to do now, so he decided to walk over and sit on the sofa opposite from you.

He looked up at you, you refused to meet his gaze. You couldn’t even look at him.

Even after all the stupid things he had done, you had always looked at him, but you couldn’t even meet his gaze now, and something inside of him hurt at the thought of it.

“I watch you jump…” you whispered.

“There’s a good explanation.”

“A good…”

You stood up and walked over to him.

“A good explanation?! I watched you jump Sherlock! I watched you his that floor! I had you blood on my hands!”

You went to slap him but he quickly jumped up, dodging your hand as he walked around you, hands in the air.

“I had to do it. I couldn’t let Moriarty win.”

“I don’t give a crap about him Sherlock! I give a crap about the fact you didn’t tell me! I blamed myself for your death! I thought about everything I could’ve done to prevent it!”

“Why would you blame yourself? You never made me do it?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sat back down, looking at your hands as you balled them into fits, resting your forehead on them.

“I blamed myself because I thought I could’ve done something to help you… I wondered how I didn’t see the signs…”

Sherlock watched you for a moment before he slowly approached you, taking a seat next to you on the sofa.

“There’s no good reason for what you did.. you faked your own death…”

“I did it for you.”

You looked up at him.

“I did it to keep you safe. John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, I did it to keep you all safe, especially you.”

“I don’t care Sherlock… I.. I don’t care. I cried at your grave every day, I thought I’d never love someone ever again, I thought I’d I loved someone they’d leave too…”

Sherlock sighed.

He didn’t know what to say, because he knew nothing he said could make the pain he made you feel away.

No amount of words could fix that damage.

“I… I’m sorry (Y/N).”

You looked at him. Never had he apologised for anything.

“I have no right pushing my way back into your life, none. I know that. But I’m a selfish person, and I don’t want to come back if I can’t see you again.”

“Sherlock you can’t just expect it to go back to the way it was. Not after this… maybe you can with John… but not me… not after what we had…”

Sherlock nodded his head.

“I know. But you’re the better part of me, the human part of me. The part of me that tells me when I’m being rude or unfair, you’re the part of me that I don’t want to let go because I can’t.”

He reached out and touched your hands lightly, pulling away before he clasped your hands between his.

“I never wanted to hurt you, in fact you’re the last person I want to hurt.”

Sherlock looked at your, staring for a minute before he sighed.

“He was going to propose to you tonight. He loves you a lot. You don’t know who to choose, and that’s okay. Just think about it, he’s a good man, you deserve that.”

Sherlock kissed your forehead, lips lingering there, his hand coming to hold the side of your face as he pulled away.

“I know you need time to think, I have a case but I’ll be back.”

Sherlock left the flat and stood in front of your door.

He didn’t know how to tell you that every night he thought about you, every day he pictured your smiling in his head.

You were the only thing that kept him going through everything, the only reason he carried on powering through everything that had happened.

All he wanted to do was hold you, never let you go again because these past two years were unlike anything he had experienced.

Sherlock never thought he could care for anyone like he did for you.

Sherlock Holmes was so deeply, madly, in love with you it drove him mental.

But he knew after what he did he didn’t deserve you to forgive him.

He hoped you would choose him, but he couldn’t read you like he used to able to, you had changed so much, all he knew is you still loved him. But you loved Ryan, and you didn’t know who to chose.

Did you choose your first love? The one who broke your heart and trust? The one you were so deeply in love with?

Or did you choose you second love? The one who picked up the pieces of your broken heart? The one who would hold you every night when no one else could?