#and somehow i survived it all???? like i straight up never died

[sleep-nurse]

just had the craziest experience in minecraft what the fuck was that

[hotchscoffeecup]

how do we carry on?

pairing: hotch x bau!reader

rating: m

word count: 4.8k

genre: angst, hurt no comfort

summary: emily was your confidant, your best friend. when she dies at the hands of ian doyle, you find comfort in your boyfriend, aaron. when you find out that she’s alive and that hotch had known all along, your world falls out from under you. can you and hotch come back from the decision he made for the good of the team?

*if this gains enough traction i might follow up with a pt.2 to give it a happy ending*

The criss-crossed lines of the tile floor blur together as you stare blankly between your feet. The tops of your thighs have gone numb from digging your elbows into them, using your cradled hands as a pillow for your forehead. You couldn’t go home, not until you knew.

Rossi had offered to go on a walk and get a coffee, but shitty lukewarm hospital coffee was the last thing you needed. You hadn’t meant to write him off, you just couldn’t justify doing anything to distract from the fact that she was on that operating table, that Emily’s life was literally hanging in the balance.

The rest of the team was no better off than you are right now. Penelope’s knitting needles clack relentlessly, the scarf inside of her purse growing as her hands keep busy so her mind doesn’t focus on how hard she’s trying not to cry. The last time you’d poked your head up, Derek hadn’t moved from the waiting room windowsill where he’d been standing still as a statue staring out at the cityscape. If Spencer didn’t stop shaking his leg, you feared he would wear a hole straight through the tile. JJ exits the waiting room as often as she returns, her liaising days quickly coming back, making her their only link to the operating room. Hotch’s behavior is no different. His cell rings every ten to fifteen minutes, no doubt the Bureau wanting to know how the hell this could happen. It’s the only sign that time is actually passing and you’re forced to accept that you’re not stuck in some fucked up purgatory-esque hellscape where time stands still, torturing you as your dear friend’s life teeters between worlds.

What you wanted, what you needed was for him to hold you; to place a kiss against your temple and tell you that everything would be alright. It had to be alright.

He couldn’t show favor to you though, not now. The team didn’t know about your relationship with him, though you believe a few have their suspicions. You’re all too observant for your own good. Not much goes unnoticed by anyone. So when JJ walks back into the waiting room, everyone shifts toward her to try and get a glimpse into her facial expression and body language for any sign of an update regarding Emily’s condition.

Instantly, you know something is wrong. JJ’s eyes flit from one person to the next, not lingering very long on anyone. Spencer is the first to stand and you follow suit. You close in, forming a small half circle. Behind JJ, Hotch stands in the doorway, brow straight as he folds his arms across his chest.

“JJ?” Her name is an anxious plea on Penelope’s lips.

JJ’s eyes drop to the floor as she presses her lips together. She takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes, yours the ones they land on as she speaks. “She never made it off the table.”

A choked sob echoes from Garcia as she falls into Derek’s arms, his features fixed as he stares ahead though his knuckles flush white as he holds tightly onto Penelope. Rossi pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he mutters something to himself; a prayer, maybe. Spencer envelopes JJ in a desperate embrace, as if clinging to her will somehow make her words any less true. Afterall, how can they be? Emily can’t go down, not like this; not after all she’s survived.

Someone says your name. Your brow dips, but you don’t respond. You need to see Emily. Your feet move of their own accord, guiding you through the waiting room. Someone grabs your arm and you tug away from their grasp, set on pushing onward and finding the OR.

Someone repeats your name, and you can’t help but latch on to the deep tenor that belongs to Hotch. You halt in your tracks and close your eyes, tears leaking over your eyelids and down your cheeks.

“I need to talk to Emily,” you say, your voice small.

The way Hotch says your name is laced with pity and you hate the way it sounds on his tongue. He pulls gently on your arm in an attempt to reel you into him, but you resist. You bite your lip to still its trembling. Yanking your arm free, you press on into the hallway and stumble toward the double doors that read in bold letters: Authorized Personnel Only. Fuck that. You’ve got a badge, that’s authority enough. Before you can push through, firm hands twist around your arms.

You push back, but their grip tightens. “Stop,” Hotch urges authoritatively. You turn into him and pound your fist against his chest, a sob cracking free from your mouth. “She’s not gone,” you cry. “She’s not gone. She’s not—” Your legs tremble with the wave of grief that crashes over you and you can’t hold your weight as it does so. Falling to your knees, Hotch reacts. His arms fold around your waist, catching you as you collapse into the wide plane of his chest. Your ribs ache as your lungs inflate with each rapid, sobbing breath. Your vision turns fuzzy at the edges as you try and fail to slow your breathing. It feels like you’re dying as the waves of grief assail you over and over again, battering you, body and mind, in an unrelenting tumultuous current of sorrow and pain as the wicked reality sets in. Emily is dead. You barely feel Hotch’s hand in your hair cradling you against him. As he murmurs apologies and sympathies in your ear, you don’t see the weighted look he exchanges with JJ.

•

The funeral comes and goes. The day is too beautiful for Emily not to be there to see it. You sit on the porch at Hotch’s house, breathing in and out as you watch the daffodils dance in the afternoon breeze. You smooth the fabric of your dress down over your knees, the satin wrinkled from the way you clenched it during the service.

Your phone buzzes in your purse. The number of messages and phone calls you’d ignored continues to rise, but you can’t bring yourself to express any gratitude for their condolences. You can’t bring yourself to feel anything except the crushing weight of grief.

You picture Emily sitting beside you on the wooden porch swing. Last Summer, you’d sat here with her as the team gathered for a Fourth of July Barbecue. Jack had made invitations and delivered them to the team at the office. He’d been so excited and so were you. It was around then that you and Hotch had begun to toe the line between colleagues and something more; a morning coffee dropped off at your desk here, an extra visit to his office there. You’d sat here with Emily watching as Rossi backseat barbecued Hotch on the grill. She’d caught you smiling at him alongside the fondness in your gaze. She’d clocked you from a mile away.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Her laugh had tinkled from lips, ringing like a morning bell.

“What are you talking about?” you’d asked, trying and failing to school your features into a mask of indifference.

“I’ll tell ya, it’s a big swing, but if you hit it, that’s a home run for sure.”

You’d nearly choked on your lemonade, coughing and gasping; drawing the attention of the others.

“Wrong pipe!” Emily had called while pointing at you and clapping a hand against your back. “She’s good!” In a low voice she’d added, “Though I’m sure with him, it’d be just the right pipe.”

You’d elbowed her in the ribs and bust out laughing together. For the longest time after that, she’d been the only person that you’d confided in about your burgeoning feelings and relationship with Aaron. Through that, she’d quickly become your closest friend on the team.

A couple of kids shout at one another, laughing, as they ride past the house on their bicycles; shattering the memory. You dip into your purse and withdraw your phone, pressing a button and powering it down. The screen door creaks on its hinges and Hotch steps down onto the porch, the planks shifting beneath his weight. He sits beside you and offers you a mug. The scent of coffee reaches your nose and you accept it, thanking him quietly. Aaron had taken his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He stretches an arm around your shoulder and draws closer to you. He kisses the side of your face and stares out at the yard.

“It was a beautiful service,” he offers.

“Aaron, don’t.” You close your eyes and take a breath. You hold the coffee with both hands, rubbing your thumbs up and down the warm ceramic. “Please don’t make small talk with me about this like it’s all so fucking normal.”

He sighs and apologizes. “I just wish I could make all of your hurt go away.”

A shudder runs through you and you nestle in closer to him, taking a sip of your coffee as you do so. “I don’t think it’ll ever go away.”

•

Her brown eyes stare back at you, though the photo paper could never capture the light that flared within them when she was alive. Of all the faces you could have seen up on this wall, you’d never anticipated hers being one of them.

Every day you stop by her portrait on the wall of fallen heroes. People talk about her less and less around the office. The team doesn’t stop, though your conversations are stilted and often end in awkward silences; no one really knowing how to carry on once the conversation slows to a natural end. You speak often with Spencer about the ways in which you’ve been grieving, the sleepless nights and early mornings. Derek is reserved. He’s angry above anything else. He feels betrayed by Emily and a part of you understands that. She’d not told any of you after all. You’d be remiss if you’d not also spent some of your time grieving in anger. Of all the times you’d stayed late after work, gotten together to hang out on weekends, or gone out for drinks, she had never indicated anything was wrong. You had told her everything, confided every one of your fears and hopes into her and you’d thought that the street had been going both ways. God, you’d never been so wrong.

“Conference room in fifteen,” Aaron says as he walks past you, hand grazing your back as he does so.

You smile tightly and nod, glancing once more at Emily’s photo before making your way to your desk in the bullpen, ignoring the fact hers still sits empty and unoccupied beside yours. How has it been three months already?

•

“Emily!”

Your eyes dart around the room frantically searching as your heart thunders in your ears. You feel the organ pounding against your ribcage, threatening to break free of it. It only takes a second for you to realize it had been a dream.

Aaron rolls over and sits up, threading an arm around your back and rubbing your hip with his fingers. “Another nightmare?” he asks, words tinged with sleepiness.

You nod, yawning as you rub your eyes. The dreams are further apart, but at least every other week her face haunts your subconscious. You can’t help but wonder if it’s some sort of self-punishment as life goes on and the days get easier.

In reality, you don’t know if it’s easier or if you’ve just forced yourself to become numb to it all, compartmentalizing the pain of losing your best friend because if you didn’t you don’t think you’d be able to leave the house and do what you do day after day.

“Are the appointments with the therapist helping?” he asks.

Another question you don’t know the answer to. On some level, yes. Talking to someone who knows nothing about you or her or anyone else on the team is good. You don’t have to walk on eggshells, worried you're going to dig open a wound the others are equally fighting to heal by talking about her or how much you miss her or wish she was here. On another level, you don’t open up fully to the doctor. There are some layers of this injury you don’t want to see heal and scar over. If you do that, it’s like you’re telling Emily that you’re over her death, as if it’s something as easy as that, something you just get over. No, some things need to stay fresh, to serve as a reminder that Ian Doyle is still out there. The man who took your best friend away from you and your BAU family is breathing and she’s not. You clench your fists, the sheets balling up in your hands as your resentment burns deep inside you. Yes, that’s it, the idea of him walking around thinking he’s gotten away with this is enough to stoke the flames simmering deep inside you.

You take a deep breath, mentally imagining the flames subsiding, and they do. They dial down, but they don’t disappear. You glance down at Aaron, who snores softly beside you. His fingers still curl around your hip and a faint smile graces your lips. He tries, you know he does, but this is exhausting for everyone. He bears the brunt of it at the office. He fought to be the one to meet with the team and conduct the grief interviews, not wanting a stranger to come in and sift through your friends’ and colleagues’ pain over what happened. God knows how much bureaucratic red tape he had gotten tangled in right after the fact, the higher ups demanding how such a blunder could occur right under their noses. Aaron had put out the fires though, as he always did. Reaching around his back, you withdraw his hand from your hip and tuck it by his side, not before pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

You glance at the clock before lying back down. 4:15AM blinks back at you on the digital clock face. In forty five minutes the alarm will go off and it’ll be another day at the office. Settling down into the pillows, you press your back into Aaron’s body, yours molding against the planes of his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His arms slinks around your waist and pulls you in as if you can get any closer than you already are. He tucks his chin over your shoulder and his lips brush against your jawline.

“I love you,” he whispers and you relax into the safety of his embrace.

“I love you, too, Aaron.”

•

Nights are hard when Aaron is gone. Pakistan is nine hours ahead and all Hotch has to communicate with anyone is a satellite phone, the number for which you don’t have access to. Whenever Hotch calls, the caller ID flashes the word ‘Unknown’ across your screen. There have been several times you’ve missed him due to being asleep or at work. Each call missed feels like being sucker punched. Every time you talk, a part of you worries it’ll be the last time. You didn’t use to have this fear, not until Emily. Despite staring death in the face on a week by week basis, most of the time playing Russian Roulette with the Grim Reaper himself in each unsub you cross paths with, somehow you never thought he’d actually take someone you love from you; that he’d take down one of the team. You never thought there’d be a last conversation with Emily, and now she’s dead.

Dead. The word is a heavy stone, sinking from the cusps of your mind to the pit of your stomach. It sits there, a persistent ache idling deep inside of you. It never relents and it never allows you to forget.

There are nights you dream that Aaron is dead too, that somewhere far away and beyond your control, he’s dying on the ground, bleeding out, and no one knows. You don’t even know what he’s working on and he can’t say; despite your relationship there are still levels in which Hotch’s clearance supersedes your own and the need-to-know red tape keeps you out. Afraid to close your eyes and dream of his unseeing, you stare at the blades of the ceiling fan whirling lazily overhead of the bed you usually share with him.

“I miss you,” you whisper to no one; and you don’t know who you’re talking to anymore.

•

“He’s back?” your heart flutters in your chest, equal parts excited and anxious at the prospect of Aaron’s sudden return. You push off your desk and swivel in your chair to stand, rushing down the hall and leaving Reid behind as you make your way hastily to the conference room.

The door is cracked and a gleeful sound eeks past your lips as his tall frame comes into view. You slip in before anyone else arrives and throw your arms around you. Inhaling deeply, his familiar teakwood scent envelopes you just as his arms do. You move to pull away, but his arms tighten around you.

“A second more,” he whispers, and there’s an edge to his voice.

You write it off to jet lag and sink into his embrace, though you notice how slight he feels against you. Finally, you pull back and cup his face in your hands. The scruff of his beard is prickly and you laugh as you take in his rugged appearance. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this much facial hair.” You swipe your thumbs over the hair on his lip and he tilts his head, kissing the inside of your hand. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before lifting them to meet yours. It's then you realize how tired he looks. The bags under his eyes are puffy and purple, almost as if they’re bruised. His forehead is creased, brow furrowed; definitely not how you pictured him upon reuniting.

“Aaron is everything ok—”

“I need you to know I would never hurt you,” he says quickly, interrupting you.

You purse your lips, brow pinching at the sudden admission. As your lips part to speak he directs a pointed look at you, the depths of his brown eyes wavering. “I love you,” his voice cracks, “so much.” He swallows, his throat bobbing as he does so. “Please remember that.”

There’s a hollow feeling in your gut, a chasm opening wide where every anxious and painful thought that you’ve tried to keep buried since he’s been gone begins to claw their way out as a thousand different outcomes play out in front of you. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer your question as the rest of the team trickles into the room, sitting at the round table or standing as suspense fills the space. It’s tangible. Everyone’s posture is rigid and tense in anticipation of whatever it is he has to say.

“Seven months ago I made a decision that impacted everyone on this team,” he begins, eyes firm.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably beside you. Rossi leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin.

“As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood,” Hotch continues and your ears prick at the sound of her name. Why would he bring her up? No less, her condition the day you all lost her. You all know this.

“…the doctor’s were able to stabilize her.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out as you raise your eyes to meet his. They meet yours for the briefest of seconds before flitting on to the others.The next words to leave his mouth sound far away, interrupted by the blood now pounding in your eardrums. “She stayed there until she was well enough to travel…given identities…”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel as though you may choke on it. Air doesn’t seem to be able to bypass it and you have to remind yourself that you can breathe even though it feels like all the oxygen has vacated your lungs.

Penelope is the first to speak. “She’s alive?”

Spencer’s brow quirks as he tries to rationalize what’s being said to him. “We buried her.”

You did. You helped carry the casket. You felt the weight of her dead body and watched it sink into the earth. If that wasn’t her, what the fuck or who the fuck did you actually put in the ground?”

“As I said I take full responsibility for this decision,” Hotch continues, eyes downcast. “If anyone has any issues they should be directed towards me.”

The blood pounding in your ears is deafening. When Hotch looks up, you search his eyes and can’t help wondering if you know him at all. All of the nights you literally made yourself sick from crying and he held your hair back as you dry heaved over the toilet and your body spasmed from the grief of losing your best friend, he’d known that she was alive. For a moment, you think you may be sick right there at the round table at the thought of it all. Derek is speaking, his voice tight with anger but you don’t hear him. Heads turn and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as a haunting feeling creeps up the back of your spine.

Turning around in your chair, everyone else stands but not you. If you do, you know your knees will buckle and fall out from under you. Spencer and Penelope are on their feet, moving briskly to greet the ghost of Emily.

Except she’s not a ghost. Her skin is not the cold blue-gray pallor of death, but pink and bright, the blood beneath her flesh very much pumping through a heart that’s beating. Her dark brown hair is sleek and shining, her bangs grown out and styled; her part now to the right. You watch her arms fold around Spencer and the way he squeezes her in turn. Penelope follows suit, tears streaming down her cheeks as she smiles widely. Derek stares on, features fixed in a cross between anger and shock. Emily approaches him with apprehension. An apology leaves her lips as she draws him in for a hug and his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she turns to you, your muscles tense. Those deep brown irises flicker back and forth across your face, searching for a reaction. You don’t give her one. Instead, you push past her, avoiding any and all physical contact with her, and dip out of the conference room.

You hear Garcia call your name and Derek shouts about having a case. You don’t care. You bypass your desk, not even bothering to get your purse. Your keys are hanging on a carabiner on your belt loop. Ignoring the elevator, you shove your way through the entrance to the stairs and move down them so quickly you’re surprised you don’t lose your footing and tumble down them. Down and around you go, your footsteps echoing as your heart slams against your ribcage. You slap your badge against the keypad that lets you exit the building, ignoring the greeting from the security guard at the front. As you push through the front doors of the office building, you barely make it to the bushes before you fall to your knees and retch.

•

A car door slams followed by the double beep which locks them. You close your eyes and inhale deeply as you prepare to face him, hands clenching around the sweater you were packing. A tear slips free from your eye as you breathe out and look toward the ceiling, as if the answers to why all of this had to happen are written up there. This is not how your reunion is supposed to be. You’d pictured his homecoming for weeks; thought about the outfit you’d wear to dinner and the lingerie you’d bought to wear just for him when you both got home, opened a bottle of wine, and made up for all of the time lost while he was away. That is how tonight is supposed to go.

Now you’re leaving, and you don’t know if you’ll be coming back.

The lock on the front door jiggles before the gears click into place. It squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. Five beeps follow and you can picture his fingers pressing against each button on the alarm system. His keys clatter as he drops them on the table. As his footsteps edge closer to your bedroom, you count each one. The sound that usually means safety and security, now sends a shiver of anxiety throughout your body.

He appears in the doorway, eyes rife with exhaustion and the bags beneath them puffy and swollen. His cheeks are flushed and his nose is pink, as if he’d been crying. Maybe he had been, god knows you had. His eyes flit between you and the bag you’re packing. His lips part and a small sound of desperation slips past them.

“Baby, please—”

You hold up a hand, curling your fingers into a fist. Your lip curls as you speak. “Don’t,” you breathe. You swallow the lump that quickly forms in your throat as you drop your hand, zipping the bag shut.

The inner corners of his brow draw upward and you can hardly stand to look into his pleading gaze.

“You have to understand—”

“Understand, what? Aaron?” You ask sharply, struggling to hold back the thick hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

He places a hand on his hip, fingers tucking back the fold of his unbuttoned shirt as his thumb hooks into his belt; a gesture you’re all too familiar with as he does the same thing with all of his suits. His other hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose. He pauses, inhaling as he tries to find the words. After a moment, he scrubs a hand over his face and turns his gaze to yours.

“I wanted to tell you so badly,” he says. When he looks at you there are tears in his eyes. “I hated myself, watching the agony this decision put you and the team through. I wanted to tell you and take away your hurt, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to the team. Just because you’re my girlfriend, I can’t—” He turns his hand and slams his hand against the doorframe causing you to flinch. “Dammit!”

Your voice is soft, but sure when you speak. “You can’t bend the rules.”

It’s what you’ve always worried about, both of you. You always knew the job could come first, especially with him being the Unit Chief. You always understood that that meant no preferential treatment and that is something you never would’ve asked him to do. You just never anticipated it happening like this, a complete and total life altering mind fuck.

Aaron drops his hand and it slaps against his thigh in defeat as it falls to his side. “What was I supposed to do?”

You cross your arms over your chest, fingers curling over your biceps to try and still your shaking hair. You hang your head and a curtain of hair falls across your face, “I don’t know, Aaron.”

He kicks off the doorway, moving towards you with his hands outstretched. It happens without thinking, the way you flinch away. Pain flashes in his eyes and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the stomach the way it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

His hip is close to yours, his body angled away from you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulder as he looks down. “Don’t do this,” he whispers.

Your lip quivers, chin wobbling in response to the tears you’re trying so desperately to hold back. “I have vacation I’d been saving.” You pick up your bag and throw it over your shoulder, not daring to look up at him because you know if you do you’ll shatter into a thousand shards of glass at his feet.

As you move toward the door, you pause. For a split second, you entertain the thought of dropping your bag, running across the room he’d chased you around so many times before, and throwing yourself around him. You consider all the things you want to say and scream and cry about; all of your anger, sadness, betrayal, grief, and love. You crave him so terribly in that moment because his have always been the arms you’ve run to when things become too much to bear.

Instead, your chin dips toward your shoulder as you speak, but you don’t raise your eyes to meet his. If you do, you don’t think you’ll be able to leave. “My gun and badge are in the safe.”

As you make your way down the hallway, you have to bite your knuckles to stifle a sob just as you hear one leave his lips from the bedroom.

You don’t turn back.

[doloneia]

odydio and boar parallels

good morning evening and night folks i have been pondering THIS for 12 hours straight and after writing what. appears to be a beautiful essay in my words doc i’ve just decided to throw all my thoughts at the wall instead. love that essay but it is becoming so very well-written academic work and i am so deeply unserious online.

anyways. on the subject of odysseus and diomedes and their shared boar vibes. the thing i kept coming back to was how boars were fucking TERRIFYING in ancient greece. to the point where the calydonian boar hunt (essentially just 30 dudes rocking up to kill a divine pig*) is a whole Event its a whole Heroic Tale. because you think 30 dudes can get that boar without a scratch WRONG two guys die and peleus stabs some other dude in the confusion. boars are ruthless and frankly overpowered as fuck little bastards in ancient greece and of the four i can think of with names at least TWO of them had divine origins somehow (calydonian and crommyonian).

and honestly? ruthless, terrifying as fuck, difficult for a horde of men to stop let alone some guy? got some nebulous relationship to the gods that give you strength? holy shit thats tydeus right there babey. he kills like 49 guys and sends the other one home as a warning. he literally gets married off of Boar Vibes dude. its his whole personality.

and so obviously diomedes, whose entire job for ten years is Bring Honor To Dead Father, is like well shit! time to adopt the whole boar vibe! i mean he’s literally compared to a boar in book V with unending strength truly he is the boar guy junior. he fights hordes of thebans/calydonians/trojans without resting, he cuts down hundreds of men without mercy, he gets athenas favor and despite how well he plays the part he is so tired. he’s ruthless, but does he want to be? he’s skilled in battle, but has he known anything else? he’s favored by the gods, but did he ever have a choice in that?

meanwhile odysseus. odysseus who is scarred by the boar he hunted as a child on his thigh. escaped what is otherwise certain death. marked so deeply by an animal so connected to divine rage that it transcends even athena’s disguise. it is this scar, that proved him equal in combat to that boar, that identifies him to his friends and family. that helps him retake his house and throne. just. the scar itself cements odysseus’ mortality but it also transcends any attempt at concealing who he is.

anyways putting all these thoughts together. i think that for diomedes the boar symbolism is something that doesn’t quite fit. its something that stretches and aches, like an old shirt thats too tight, because its not indicative of him its indicative of tydeus. but tydeus died at thebes, and diomedes has to live up to his legacy, so he tries regardless and it never quite feels right. meanwhile odysseus fights tooth and nail to survive, even when he’s surrounded like a boar by hunters and their dogs. sacks cities and kills hundreds of men and for all the help he gets from the immortal gods, odysseus remains wholly mortal. maybe the real disguise is how diomedes is the one scarred and odysseus is the boar, but neither of them look it.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Replica (Part 1)

Summary: A serf attracts the attention of Perturabo, unaware that she looks exactly like his deceased sister Callifone.

Perturabo/fem!Reader

Warnings: incest (kinda? it's not his sister but she's her copy)

Word count: 1022

This is my first work on Tumblr. I haven't written anything for a long time but I hope that next time it will be better. English is not my mother tongue. So hope that everything will be more or less readable.

Song: Mitski - Washing Machine Heart

“Almost all of my assistants died as a result of one... incident. So we are definitely lucky to have found you among this herd."

You could only purse your lips at that statement. Lucky. In a sense, this was true. Almost all the slaves were immediately sent to hard labor, where only death awaited them. But one of the primarch’s sincere serfs was just looking for a literate slave. So you haven’t really had time to experience all the horrors of a new life before you got a chance to survive yourself.

Still, you continued to think. Why did the Iron Warriors attack a loyal world of the Imperium? If you broke the law, Rogal Dorn would always find out about it and reveal the villains. But like a bolt from the blue, Iron Blood appeared and the assault began. All who miraculously survived were sent into slavery. Almost all the people were from the lowest classes, and only you, the local chronicler, somehow miraculously found your way among this whole crowd.

Your mentor said that lord Perurabo didn’t tolerate illiteracy and ignorance. He didn't want to see such people. That’s why the serfs of the primarch had to do more than just monitor the library. But also carry out other tasks that regular servitors could do.

That's how you start cleaning the primarch’s room. You, three other servants and your mentor briskly huddled around your duties in the hope of not bumping into lord Perturabo. But fate decreed otherwise, and after a couple of minutes the door opened.

“Lord Perturabo,” the mentor spoke by mail, bowing before the primarch. You and the slaves stood near the wall, humbly lowering your head. - “I apologize for disturbing your presence.”

He didn't answer. He didn't even move. Several minutes passed, but he continued to stand in the doorway. Your mouth started to dry. You tried your best not to fidget, so as not to bring down the primarch's wrath. But you still couldn’t shake the strange feeling, as if he...

looked straight at you.

You so wanted to close your eyes and leave this room as quickly as possible. But you could only wait for his order. Goosebumps ran through body. The tension grows. Even your brave mentor became worried. It was immediately clear that such behavior was not characteristic of Perturabo.

“Out.”

A relieved groan almost escaped your lips. It was unbearable to be in this place. Almost suffocating. You hurried after the slaves, continuing to look at the floor. You were almost over the threshold when you were stopped by a huge hand on your shoulder. No. Why? It was your first day. You almost believed that you could adapt to your new life. Maybe it would be better if you died under the rubble. And you never ended up on the Iron Blood.

"Except you".

You almost heard the serfs' thoughts. How they feel sorry for you and how glad they are that they are not in your place. You were still standing when the door closed behind the last serf, and the primarch sat down at his desk, turning his back to you. He didn’t touch the blueprints, instead staring at the table and clenching his fists tightly... as if he was holding himself back from anger.

Startled, you decided to go back to cleaning without waiting for his order. In the end, you managed to overcome your fear, and you were even able to relax. If a mentor were here, he would definitely scold you. But you cannot do your job quickly and efficiently. How could you ignore all these things?

A model of an amphitheater, the structure of Ancient Terra, an unusually shaped clock, puzzles. Never in your life have you seen more skillful work. But most of all, you stayed close to the golden birdcage. It was made so exquisitely and with such love that you kept wiping the non-existent dust off the table. You even saw images of birds and flowers on the bars.

"Like it?"

You shuddered involuntarily when you heard the primarch’s voice. Turning around, you were surprised to see Perturabo. He was still sitting with his back to you, turning his face just a little, as if he didn’t want to see your whole. His eyes shone with curiosity and wariness. He still didn’t touch the drawings.

“Y-yes, very much.” - you whispered, holding the rag to your chest. The primarch continued to glare at you, and you decided to continue the conversation. - “But why is it empty?”

"What is your name?" - Perturabo ignored your question. Confused, you almost whispered your name. Perturabo's face smoothed out slightly. - “Were your ancestors from Olympia?”

You shrugged in confusion. How were you supposed to know? Your family was not poor, but you did not wallow in money. You did not keep records of your family as you did. Perturabo continued to ask you the most common questions. Who you were before becoming serf. As if he was trying to know something that you didn’t understand.

You thought that talking to such an insignificant person like you only disappoints the primarch. But he only relaxed more and more. But when you said that you only have two brothers, he winced. Finally, he turned his gaze to the drawing. Before you could return to work, he suddenly looked at you. There was something in his gaze. You couldn't say exactly what it was.

"Do you wanna take a look?"

Your lips parted in surprise. When you boarded the Iron Blood, you thought your life was over. That you will never see your home world again and will forever be locked in this terrifying place. But here you stand before a primarch who strikes fear and worship into the hearts of humans. And he asks you, YOU, if you want to see his work.

“I'd love to.” - you nodded, holding back your excitement and unrest. You were really curious to know what Lord Perturabo was working on. Perhaps it was your imagination, but a shadow of a smile flashed across the primarch’s face.

Maybe he'll even let you come home.

[thepersonperson]

On the note of sukuna inflicting insane amounts of violence onto those he finds interesting, I wanna bring up the parallel between gojo and sukuna with how in shibuya gojo in the 2v1 goes for hanami first and how many times he mentioned how unique her presence and technique is in chapters before that like he goes for her first bc he believes jogo to be weak (and maybe he expected more from hanami, having survived a hollow-purple from him before and all, but she doesn't respond or entertain him the way he wanted and just dies, also the glee with which he crushes her with his limitless like he expected her to overcome it somehow and the angry/irritated look he has after she's dead and he's left to fight choso and jogo)

I never thought about Hanami and Gojo's relationship that way, but looking closer there is definitely something going on. And I think it has everything to do with Toji.

(Used TCB Scans. Click images for captions/citations.)

Gojo both massively respects and fears Toji for getting past Infinity. He respects him enough to steal his fit and raise his kid free of Zenin nonsense, but he also fears being made that vulnerable again. So Gojo does this thing where he simultaneously looks for other Tojis while mercilessly destroying anything that resembles Toji. The go to example of this is:

The cursed tools capable of piercing Infinity have been personally dealt with by Gojo so another Toji incident won't happen again. It's a reasonable trauma response all things considered. What's unreasonable was his treatment of Miguel whose Cursed Technique (CT) mimics Toji. (Though it doesn't seem like it was ever activated in full during their fight.)

Despite part of that beatdown being racially motivated, Miguel's Black Rope did remind Gojo of Toji's Inverted Spear of Heaven, hence him getting rid of it. So while Gojo has enough respect for Miguel as a strong individual he can trust with training his students, there's that underlying fear from being too much like Toji. (Tbh Gojo being wary of his build is similar to how unnerved he was by Toji's physical prowess too.)

Now that we've established Gojo's weird relationship with Toji ghosts, back to Hanami. The first thing he notices about them is how good they are at hiding their presence and running away. Who else specializes in that kind of stealth? Toji.

So while Gojo is excited to have someone who might be his equal again, the fact that they're enemies has Gojo jumping straight to Hollow Purple to get rid of that threat. I don't think it's a coincidence the damage Hanami and Toji receive looks similar side by side.

And going to their fight in Shibuya, Gojo does something really weird to this curse that resembles Toji—he puts Limitless down. It was a bait tactic for sure, but it's almost like he is forcibly reliving his trauma. Toji first attacked when he turned Limitless off and from behind. And here Gojo turns it off again, and puts his back to the not-Toji.

But unlike with Toji, he senses when Hanami goes for him and turns around to torment and kill them. The cruelty with which he deals damage to Hanami exceeds even that of Jogo. It feels like he's using them as some kind of emotional punching bag where this time he kills the Toji before everything goes wrong.

I think his facial expressions being a more monstrous version of the ones he made while fighting Toji supports this theory as well. Gojo makes weird frog faces during the Sukuna fight, but they're just nowhere near this unhinged.

This could also be why he looks so upset after they're dead. Yes he killed the Toji, but now he doesn't have that rival. (Wow it's just like Sukuna being upset at the toys he broke.)

[raven0usravi0lii]

someone mentioned on one of the dvds for marble hornets (posted on youtube) that it feels very isolated because you never really see anyone else unless they're a part of it

and i think that marble hornets, despite starting it, not being a real part of the slenderverse adds to this

hoodie and masky r kind of separate from it all

they're not the same as the creepypastas (you know, murder obsessed teens) and don't really know about anyone else in their situation (the rest of the slenderverse). not to mention slenderman just straight up traps them, and they can't really go around normal people because they don't fit in there anymore either

can imagine this doesn't really help

like pov u live with an eldritch forest thing who royally fucks up any device if its around it for too long. you've been living with it for like 10 years. you rarely go around real people anymore if not to kill them. you don't have anyone else around you, except for maybe one person, whom you still have a strained relationship with because of, you know, them stalking you, letting your friends die (even though that's your fault isn't it) and then they died (that's your fault too). you were friends at some point but the relationship won't be nearly the same. there's a barrier up that wasn't there before.

you hate the having to do what you do to survive now, but you have no other choice. still raining under the awning whatever

you couldnt really pay the phone bill because you couldnt really get a job, so youre relying on what little it gives you to keep you happy enough to stay. you step out, finally, and check the internet, because it actually *works* now,

and find out there's so many other people who were in the exact same position as you, were fighting as hard as they could to get through it. and didn't make it

but you did, because you joined it and play house with it and a bunch of serial killers to survive

so now there's nothing out there for you and you somehow feel lonelier than before

[jessicalprice]

all hail her excellent braids

Christians: omg first century Judaism was soooo misogynistic but Jesus was like the first feminist because he treated women like people

Jews: what

Christians: like, Jewish men would cross to the other side of the street to avoid having to be too close to women

Jews: hang on do you think there were, like, sidewalks in first-century Jerusalem?

Christians: and Jewish women weren't supposed to be seen in public

Jews: that's not how--

Christians: and men weren't even supposed to talk to women, but Jesus had female followers <3

Jews: first-century Jewish women owned their own businesses and represented themselves in court and, like, how are you imagining business got done if they weren't allowed to talk?

President Jimmy fucking Carter: first century Jews were basically the Taliban

A bazillion seminary textbooks: yup, the Pharisees were obsessed with ritual purity and viewed women as inherently unclean and Jesus upended all that Pharisaic hatred of women and that's why they wanted him dead

Shlomtzion, aka Salome Alexandra, has entered the chat.

Ahem, let me tell you about the Pharisee Queen.

So back in the day, the Pharisees were a tiny, persecuted movement because the King of Judah, Alexander Jannaeus hated them. He straight-up massacred 6,000 of them when they pelted him with fruit after he mocked them by performing a Sukkot ritual incorrectly, which kicked off a whole civil war. He won the war, and slaughtered the wives and children of 800 of the surviving Pharisees as entertainment at his victory feast before crucifying the men. The remaining Pharisees went into hiding.

Just a charming dude.

Alexander Jannaeus was married to Salome Alexandra (Shlomtzion, in Hebrew).

Her brother was Shimon ben Shetach, the leader of the Pharisees. (If you're getting Esther vibes here, that's probably not accidental.

She doesn't seem to have had much power while Alexander Jannaeus was alive, but she managed to help hide and protect the surviving Pharisees.

This doesn't seem to have negatively impacted her relationship with her husband, because he named her--rather than any of his sons--his heir while he was on his deathbed.

He was in the middle of conducting a siege of Ragaba when he died, so like the incredible badass she was, became queen--and would be both only the second queen regnant of Judah and the last sovereign Jewish monarch--on the battlefield, in the midst of hostilities.

She had to conceal her husband's death until she'd won the day.

As soon as she made his death public, she reached out to the Pharisees to make peace between them and the throne, avoiding a popular uprising at his funeral. The funeral went off smoothly, and she immediately began settling other political disputes and enmities.

She also hung out and studied with the Pharisees. We know this because Josephus, an ardent misogynist, absolutely hated that she did this, just like he absolutely hated that she had ruled Judah, and wrote about it.

Josephus had been a Sadducee (main opposing party to the Pharisees), but switched to the Pharisees later in life for political expediency. He never seemed to actually like them, though.

He tells on himself so much.

"Oh, people love the Pharisees because they are humane and flexible interpreters of the law and practice what they preach and this is a BAD THING!"

Literally, on Shlomtzion: "Woman though she was, she established her authority by her reputation for piety."

Like, everyone respected her and did what she said because she actually gave a shit about ethics and somehow this is a BAD thing.

She averted war with Egypt by buddying up to Cleopatra (I am so headcanoning them as pen pals, writing each other to vent about all the men they have to deal with) and somehow this is a BAD thing.

So she takes the throne and manages to keep things running pretty smoothly in a precarious time because she's good at organizing AND military strategy AND diplomacy and here's Josephus on her relationship with the Pharisees:

"She paid too great heed to them, and they, availing themselves more and more of the simplicity of the woman, ended by becoming the effective rulers of the state... "

Ah yes, FlavJo, she sounds very "simple," what with the incredible military and diplomatic skills.

While she wasn't averse to fighting when she needed to, she mostly averted possible battles by fortifying and provisioning cities so well that neighboring monarchs opted not to attack them, so she was also just slaying at project management. She ended a bunch of the foreign wars her asshole husband started, and scrupulously kept to the terms of any treaties Judah was party to.

Her reign was possibly the most prosperous and peaceful period in Judah's history.

She gave the Sadducees (her husband's party) their own fortified cities so they'd stop feuding with the Pharisees, and took the Pharisees from a small, persecuted populist movement in hiding to one of the major political parties.

She set up a system of universal public education, putting the responsibility for educating the kids on the government, not families, to make sure it wasn't just rich kids getting a solid education. She re-established the Sanhedrin (the Supreme Court, basically) and made sure every town under her rule had access to judges.

And then one of her asshole sons, who apparently took after his asshole dad, decided HE would be a better ruler than she was, and DECLARED WAR ON HIS OWN MOM. She died, apparently of an illness, in her 70s.

She died as the last free Jewish ruler.

So then that asshole son went after the other asshole son, and they turned to the Romans for help.

(You want to get occupied? This is how you get occupied.)

Yes, that's right, they committed one of the classic blunders: inviting the Romans in.

THE ROMANS ARE LIKE VAMPIRES. DO NOT INVITE THEM IN.

Anyway, we all know how THAT turned out.

In rabbinic literature, she's almost a fertility goddess figure, or a personification the land itself, or a monarch beloved by G-d possibly moreso than any other, since the rest of them all screwed up and the Jews got punished with war or exile or famine or disease: legend claims that during her reign, rain only fell on Shabbat, so people didn't have to work in the rain. Grains of wheat grew to the size of kidneys, and lentils were the size of gold denarii. The people knew joy like we've never known since and were healthy and prosperous and at peace.

She was praised by contemporaries such as Josephus as having greater intelligence, political skill, and military acumen than the men around her (although Josephus, an ardent misogynist, later decided that it was inappropriate for her to rule), and the stories of Esther, Judith, and Susanna may have been written (or in the case of Esther, edited and codified) in her honor. 

​Anyway, the Pharisees' teachings remained especially popular among women, and the person who saved them (and thus, by extension, Judaism, when they were the ones to preserve it in exile) and brought them to power and was their beloved patron was a woman, and maaaaaaybe Christians don't know the first thing about women in first-century Judaea or the Pharisees and women and should shut up, idk.

All hail Shlomtzion and her most excellent braids.

[mirai-e-jump]

Hero Vision Vol.9 (2003/Winter) ft. Kamen Rider Ryuki Cast Members Pre-Final Episode Interviews (translations below)

Takamasa Suga (Shinji Kido) Interview (page 22,25)

"Recollections, within the calm after the war" Takamasa Suga

After a year of playing the star role of the protagonist in "Kamen Rider Ryuki," Suga-kun finally has time to get back to regular life…

Looking back, from season to season, what were the most emotional scenes that still remain in his mind? On an off day before recording the final episode, we asked him to look back on those passionate days.

...

"I always wanted to die. I wanted to fulfill my role within the show"

...

Suga: (niho~)

If the sound of Suga-kun's smile could be written out, it would look like that. It gives off a calm, quiet and tender feeling. At first glance, the main character of Ryuki, the annoying (?) Shinji Kido, doesn't seem to resemble him, but as the story progresses, we think they are very similar on the inside. It's impressive in the fact that he always tries his best to think about the challenges that appear before him while also moving forward, even when he "doesn't know what to do," he somehow manages to find integrity within the many possibilities, and puts them into action.

"You were so busy this past year, that you didn't even have much time to sleep. What memorable moments will stay with you forever?"

Suga: What made me happy was the movie "Episode Final." I'm very happy I was given the opportunity to play the lead role again, and that it was released nationwide. Since becoming an actor, it had been a dream of mine to do opening day stage greetings.

"However, in parallel to shooting the TV version, the movie was performed within a hellish schedule. It wasn't enough to just act happy or even be "enraged" about it, rather, it was physically demanding."

Suga: Man~ I couldn't understand the reason for anything that was happening at the time (laughs). Filming for the movie would start in the morning, then we would return to the hotel at midnight, sleep for about an hour, and then start filming on location again for the TV series.

"Every day, you had almost no private time. But even so, you said you never felt stressed because "doing the performance in and of itself was fun."

Suga: It's an unusual experience for an actor my age to be able to devote an entire year to a single role, isn't it? When playing a role, conveying the "joy" and "fun" of something was much greater than the "difficult."

"I see. It seems that Suga-kun's "pleasure" is being an actor itself. Then, on the other hand, were there any sad moments?"

Suga: Hmmm…The scene where Ren dies in the TV Special was really sad. While we were filming, I was thinking about everything that had happened up until that point…it felt like it was the final episode.

"There are multiple final episodes of Ryuki. There's the movie, the special, and the main show. As those who have seen the broadcast already know, there was an unprecedented development in the main story where the main character dies before the final episode."

Suga: I always wanted to die. If I could die in the show, then I could fulfill my role within in it…is the feeling I had. I didn't know I was actually going to die until I finally saw the episode's script. I read it for the first time on the travel bus, and cried straight throughout. As for the way in which he dies, it's entirely convincing.

Shinji, who had been in agony up untill that point, was finally able to let go of the burden he carried for so long and die. Shinji followed what he believed in, and in the end death awaited him…or rather, Shinji's Survive, wasn't it? (laughs).

Before, I would've been lost in all my choices, but now I was finally able to choose and follow through with what I believe in…like Shinji, I'm satisfied with it. Shinji had "nothing to point to," but in the end, I think he was able to show off "the strength that comes from having nothing"…is what I feel when filming (laughs). That's the point I hope to get across.

"You said you thought deeply about the theme of Ryuki for a while, and when producer Shirakura explained that among other things, the show was made based on the recent terrorist attacks in New York, you read articles on the subject."

Suga: It's becoming more difficult for people to understand what is "justice" and what is "evil" in the world. The same can be said about the world of Ryuki. I can't say for certain if what Shinji says is right. I can't really say if what Ren says is right either. Even now, I still don't have a clear answer as to what's right or wrong. But, I have a feeling like I'm starting to understand. For this, I think it's important for each and every one of us to ask ourselves, "What is justice?" I hope that through Ryuki, we've been able to convey these feelings to the audience.

"Many of the themes dealt with in ordinary televised dramas are that of love affairs. It's unique because usually, we only see such major themes taken seriously in longer running programs."

Suga: That's right. It can be hard for people to watch things that they don't understand. Even so, it's something that everyone should think about more!

The way Suga-kun makes his strong arguments seem to overlap with Shinji. His manager looked at him and laughed saying, "He seems to have grown a lot as a person over the past year." He was also praised on the set of another production, saying, "You're young, but you're good!" He feels that he has gotten alot out of Ryuki.

Suga: Even after the broadcast is over, I hope people will remember that this show existed and think, "This is what they were trying to say." As time passes and children become adults, I hope that they will still remember.

_

Satoshi Matsuda (Akiyama Ren) Interview (page 27,29)

"As human" Satoshi Matsuda

At a glance, Akiyama Ren of Kamen Rider Ryuki looks really cool. But, he is in fact, a very compassionate person. So what kind of person is Matsuda-kun, who played the role, really like? He says, "I don't like showing my true self," and we felt that there were no lies or bad faith in his words.

…

"In the past, I always looked at the people around me as rivals. It's much easier to think of them as enemies"

…

Matsuda: Good Morning.

The way he arrived made us feel as if an old acquaintance had come to visit. After hearing his voice, the nervous staff on set became oddly relaxed. He seems to be an unusual type an actor. When I told him that he was very natural, he laughed and said, "Yeah, my managers used to tell me that alot, they said I should become aware that I'm a celebrity.

Seeing him with relaxed shoulders, people say, he's a "nice guy," and "looks full of confidence." But what kind of person is the real Satoshi Matsuda?

"You write essays once a week on your blog "Matsuda Lab." Even when we read it, we can't see your true emotions."

Matsuda: Is that so? In the "lab" I intentionally write in such a way that the "image of Matsuda" is not particularly set. I thought it wouldn't be interesting to show my true character. If I did, I would lose the image of playing the role of "Akiyama Ren."

"Since the Fall, he's appeared in the Kansai regional TV program "Asa Cafe," which is an informational program, but he's also an actor, as he acts as the viewer's lover."

"Every 2 weeks he shoots 2 episodes while also filming Kamen Rider Ryuki. The opposite of Ren's character, he plays an upbeat and energetic character that speaks for 30 minutes straight. It's also understood that the script is as long as one episode of Ryuki."

Matsuda: At first I was under a lot of pressure, because all those lines were my lines. The crew comes from Osaka to Tokyo to shoot the program, and if they push back because the scene is NG (no good), they won't be able to make the last train home.

"Although he's busy filming every day, he's had his own TV show and has been featured in magazines and other media, over the past year, his popularity has increased rapidly."

Matsuda: I have to admit that the sudden boom worried me. I never thought I would be on an 8 a.m. Sunday morning show and not be able to walk the streets like a normal person…hmm.

"He had been aware of the recent tokusatsu boom from its start, which is why he took the audition. He had actually hoped this would boost his popularity. Still, he was baffled by the public frenzy."

Matsuda: One time, I was on site with a fever of 40C (104F). With the exception of the scenes I appeared in, I had to sit in a chair and cool my head with ice due to how bad it was. Then suddenly, while laying down, a random fan lifted my head with her hand and took a picture next to me. She and her friends then left saying, 'bye, until next time~." At the time, I got really angry. I was skeptical that such intense fans even existed…

"When something like that happens, I think, "What a weird world we're living in." On the flipside, he also has plenty of supportive fans that are loyal and kind."

Matsuda: I like to play games of catch when meeting with fans. I also write on the official fan site every day, so I'm close to them (laughs). I write at least 30 replies to fan letters every week.

"By the way, when you write for "Matsuda Lab," you don't reply to letters that end with "please reply."

Matsuda: I think that's what makes even the most favorable messages feel dull. I can't help but think they're thinking more about themselves than about me.

"He doesn't acknowledge those who call him "Knight," as he thinks, "they don't even know my name." Matsuda-kun is very sensitive to other people's feelings. Whenever someone offers true affection, he is almost like a cat, looking up at you as if asking, "Do you really mean it?"

Matsuda: I've always been sensitive to other people's feelings. Since I come from a single mother household, I felt as though I had to support my mother and sister. In the past, I always looked at the people around me as rivals. It was much easier to think of them as enemies. Especially when competing……

"Competing? Have you always competed with friends and the very world around you?"

Matsuda: I always thought so. However, when I came to Tokyo……on that day, I realized. I've noticed that "those guys I don't get along with," I ended up getting along with well later on. I thought to myself, "I've wasted time." Since then, I've never made assumptions about other people by our first meetings. I'm having a lot of fun meeting people, and opening one new door after another.

"And Ryuki, which brought you many good encounters, has also come to an end."

Matsuda: By the time this issue releases, the broadcast will be over. I wonder how everyone did…..There's always a discrepancy between the performance I imagine in my mind and the one that I actually do. This has been a difficult time for me, as I've been in a slump for over a month. The TV Special was the one were I made the least mistakes. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that I was able to create exactly what I had imagined in my mind. Where do I go from here? I have to develop into the person I see in my mind.

We're still uncertain of the type of person he is really is, but we really sensed his sincerity.

_

Ryohei x Takashi Hagino Interviews (Page 31)

"Heinous Men" Ryohei x Takashi Hagino

Zolda (Kitaoka) and Ouja (Asakura), arrived as two dark "Kamen Riders." Evil men who fight not for justice, but for the sake of his own desire. Money, appearance and of course, power. They already have these things, but are still hungry for more. And yet……women, for some reason, find men like them attractive? …

"I was certain I was a rider who would die much earlier (laughs)" "Well, it's a good thing you didn't die so easily"

… Hagino: Have you seen the script yet?

Hagino-san called out to Ryohei-san as soon as he arrived at the studio. He appears to be very enthusiastic. It's no surprise, the script for the ending had been delivered just yesterday. From the start, I asked them a very important question.

"Did you ever think that Asakura (Takashi Hagino) and Kitaoka (Ryohei) would be among the last riders that made it to the end?"

Hagino: Ah, no, not really (laughs)

Ryohei: Honestly, until just recently, I was certain I was a rider who would die much earlier (laughs).

Hagino: Well, it's a good thing you didn't die so easily (laughs). Don't you think overall, it expanded the story and made it more interesting?

"Asakura and Kitaoka are very involved with each other, but what kind of relationship do these two really have?"

Ryohei: I think maybe Asakura is instinctive, while Kitaoka is rational? They always get involved with each other because they're complete opposites. That's the kind of relationship they have.

Hagino: "Asakura is the kind of guy who just wants to fight. He thinks fighting has meaning, and will go off like a tea kettle at a moment's notice. So, when he goes to Kitaoka he'll say, "Oi, let's fight."

Ryohei: Kitaoka didn't want to help Asakura with his sentence, so he's the kind of guy who'll fight just for that reason. On top of that, Kitaoka is always provoking me (laughs).

Hagino: Yeah, and no matter how many times I'm caught, I'll just keep breaking out (laughs). In the first scene when Kitaoka and Asakura meet, the contrast between the inside and outside world, with a sheet of glass separating them, was very interesting to see.

"Come to think of it, it was impressive to see Asakura wearing a seat belt while driving the hijacked vehicle as he was trying to escape from prison (laughs)."

Hagino: Yeah, Asakura likes to wear a seat belt or even straitjackets. Even when he sleeps, he needs to be tied to something in order to feel safe (laughs).

"Regarding Asakura's character, wouldn't he have had plenty of chances to kill Kitaoka when he was in person?"

Ryohei: Like when he was on his knees (laughs). But for Asakura, fighting as a rider is far more pleasurable for him than fighting untransformed. That's why he brings out his Card Deck.

Hagino: Asakura naturally chooses to fight for the superior pleasure of fighting. He isn't afraid of dying, much less surviving to the end as a rider.

Ryohei: That's the difference between Kitaoka's and Asakura's fighting style. Kitaoka, who is fixated on living, tries to win by fighting as little as possible.

"Leaving the roles of Asakura and Kitaoka aside, how do Hagino-san and Ryohei-san feel about each other?"

Hagino: This type of question, it's not really a conversation, saying such stuff in front of each other like, "Well, Ryohei-san is (…), isn't he?"

"…No, that is a conversation (laughs)."

Hagino: "Well, Ryohei-san is cheerful and is the complete opposite of me. His character is so loud, that I once told him to shut up (laughs). But, I can't remember what he said in response.

Ryohei: Hagino-san doesn't say much, but his personality is that of a big brother.

Hagino: "Eh?! That's just not true. I'm just lonely. But, Ryohei, he makes everyone feel at ease."

"Do the two of you ever discuss your roles together?"

Hagino: We don't, and it's because I don't want to. If we talk about what we want to do or how we want to do it, how we plan on performing may need to be constantly adjusted. I think it's interesting to see how the two of us have developed separately when we end up bumping into each other. If the action is going to be intense, we'll talk about it beforehand.

Ryohei: I have no prior experience as an actor, so I just have to rely on my intuition. I didn't really understand the process of creating a role. But, thanks to the influence of Hagino-san, I think I'm beginning to understand a little more now.

"Finally, What are both of your future prospects, as well as a message to your fans."

Ryohei: Specifically, I'm scheduled to perform on stage this coming March, and would like to try out the realism of a live performance. I have not yet decided how I will proceed as an actor, so I'd like to challenge various other projects and improve my career in order to decide where I'd like to go from here.

Hagino: Any message for the fans?

Ryohei: "Ah, I will do my best in the future, so please lend me your support.

Hagino: Hey now, answer more thoroughly (laughs). I'll be releasing a photobook, so you'll be able to see Takashi Hagino from various different angles. I would like to play different roles in the future, so please continue to support me! To all the fans of the Ouja, I will show you all the final special attack of Genocider! It's going to be a blood bath…… I haven't seen Black Hole myself because it's CG, so I'm looking forward to the airing, and I'd personally love to put all the fans in that hole! (laughs).

[commander-rahrah]

Talking to the Moon: Part VII

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~5600 Warnings: swearing, blood, some borrowed in game dialogue, violence, nudity, canonical warnings apply!

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here part III: here part IV: here part V: here part VI: here

Summary: Set in Act III, in Cazador's Palace. Continuing from part 6, Astarion has been captured and forced into the seventh slot of the ritual. But there is more conflict then just the physical fight before him. There is still the fight between his broken mind and heart to finish.

Notes: Hi everyone! So, we made it to the big bad fight... Parts of this is based off of how my actual first playthrough went when completing this mission (my character got one shotted and died in the very first round LOL,) along with head cannons that I created months ago as soon as the fight was finished and I finished bawling my eyes out. There is descriptions and some dialogue pulled straight from these scenes, just like the previous chapter, but there is a lot of stuff that I added to read between the lines. I also created a scene for after the fight but before Astarion invites you to the graveyard, as I feel like that poor man needs time to decompress and think before all of that happens! I will include some other quick notes/comments up here, which is slightly spoilery for the chapter - but I wanted you to be aware before you read.

(1) There is a bit of "main character" energy from reader/Tav in this one. As it has been established, reader is blessed by Selûne and this factors in heavily into this chapter! It is a big set up for things to come for completing their own personal arc :)

(2) I know there is a lot of discourse about some people wishing you could hug/comfort Astarion after the fight, and others who believe it is his moment and to just let him be. I agree with both sentiments - so I wrote it in the way that I envision Astarion would be okay with aka he initiates it himself. This is my opinion and characterization for Astarion, and is something that as someone who has touch aversion would be comfortable doing myself.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter and all of the angsty, sad, happy, tender moments it holds. As always, kudos and comments are very very appreciated ♡♡♡

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It was like fire was in his veins, pain seeping into every nook and cranny of his body in a way he’d never known.

He would take whips and chains. Teeth and claws. Coffins buried in the ground again. Anything but this.

Astarion couldn’t help the broken scream that escaped from him, the sound echoing throughout the chamber before perhaps his last words escaped him. They were a desperate shout for you, your name shredding his vocal cords. He could barely keep his eyes open from the pain, but what he could see was the searing red that filled the entire room from the infernal magic. And blurry figures through the tears forming in his eyes — his friends gathering together defensively around you.

His mind was a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts. He wanted to you to run — to know that you would at least survive this… that would be his only comfort before he died. He needed you to run. To be safe. To live.

But that selfish voice in him, the devil on his shoulder, whispered and hoped you wouldn’t. Knew you wouldn’t. That hoped maybe, somehow, you could pull through. That after fighting the chosen of gods, an undead dragon, hoards of enemies… just maybe you could defeat the vampire master. Maybe Selûne was watching, and his prayers would finally be answered all these years later in the form of you.

His heart and mind continued to fight as his body kept burning, the pulling of the red magic on his limbs stretching his muscles and bones, pulsing through every pore of his skin.

But he knew what the answer would be — regardless of what he thought, what he hoped. You said it yourself, you would do anything for him. You would die here for him, if it came to it. And at this rate it would.

He was your undoing. He knew it would come to this and yet he still fell for you. Let you fall for him. Let you kiss him and teach him, comfort and protect him. Knowing it would one day lead to something like this.

An end just as violent and bloody as he was.

Astarion had never hated himself more.

His tears broke free, sliding down his face as he silently screamed from the pain and anguish. His voice too broken for anything more than a fragmented choking sound to come out.

It happened in an instant. A flare of blue magic that cut through the scarlet light around them. Then a loud snap echoed through the cave. A teleportation spell — someone was leaving.

Or coming closer.

Then your scent, so sweet and warm washed over him. His eyes closed as he breathed it in, realizing he was must be slipping into delusion from the pain. His brain, or maybe the tadpole, offering the hallucination as a final comfort before death.

“Quickly!” A male voice hissed with urgency.

The voice broke him from his stupor. Gale? He could barely open his eyes, but he forced them open the tiniest smidge.

You were in front of him, your eyes slightly glowing from the magic everywhere as they focused just behind him. “Darling,” He mumbled in confusion, so unsure of what happened, of how you were here.

You spoke so softly to him. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He looked down to see your hands flashing with their own magic as they cut through the incantations binding him.

He felt the pressure on his ankles dissipate, his eyes flicking to you and the rest of your friends. They were shouting as they launched spells and swung their blades at the beasts and creatures under his master's control. Karlach’s scream of rage vibrated the stone floor as she cleaved through a werewolf like it was nothing.

But where was he? Where was Cazador?

And as he thought it, he appeared. His master’s red eyes piercing through Astarion as he felt the final piece of the incantation snap free, his body started to fall the few feet back to the stone ground he was hovering above.

The ancient vampire must have felt it, the spell breaking, the moment he was free. His eyes snapped to you instantly and if looks could kill… Cazador’s jaw set and his nostrils flared as he took a single step forward with his staff raised.

"Wait, no—"

And just as fast as you had appeared, Cazador was launching a powerful spell at you. Astarion screamed your name, lurching forward to shield you. But it was too late. It was as if time slowed completely as he watched you whirl around, your hair splaying as you turned to him, your eyes widening with shock. And fear.

And then you crumbled to the ground.

“Such a waste.” The ancient vampire snarled from across the dais, waving his staff as he finished the incantation.

Images flashed into Astarion’s mind of your lifeless body in his lap in the Shadowlands, the sound he had buried of your heart slowing until it stopped. You had promised back in the Shadowlands, on that tiny dock — you promised you would stay out of harms way. This wasn't happening, it was a nightmare. It should be him, not you.

No, no, no, no.

“NO!!” His words were echoed throughout the chamber as Shadowheart thrust her hands forward — a blinding, golden glow in her hands rocketing towards you, unmoving on the ground.

It struck your chest where Cazador’s dark spell had hit just mere seconds before — seeping into you, spreading across your body until it radiated with magic. Your unconscious form was raised into the air, floating with a golden outline. The tips of your silvery-white hair waving with a breeze that came out of no where. Then your eyes flashed open — but they were not their usual shade, his newfound favorite color since he met you. No, they were glowing silver, radiating authority and power as they stared at his old master.

You opened your mouth to speak as you remained floating, but it was not just your voice. A female voice that dripped with authority echoed your words, like something was speaking through you. Someone.

Gods, it couldn't be.

“Your reign of terror and abuse ends here, Cazador Szarr. I refuse to let your hate and cruelty fester any longer." You dipped your chin down, your blazing eyes narrowing as you remained locked on the ancient vampire.

Cazador cocked his head, an eyebrow raised at the spectacle of you. Astarion knew the gears were turning in his head, calculating and trying to figure out how he would turn this into an advantage. What he would get from you.

But your voice continued, the second one still joining you as you floated closer to the center dais, closer to the vampire master. "You believe yourself to be all-powerful. You believe yourself to be a blessing, a mercy to the creatures you keep at your feet. A benevolent master who can make himself a God."

Everyone in the room had stopped to watch, the ritual stopped with Astarion freed. Friend and foe both had weapons at their sides, mouths slightly agape as they tried to process what they were seeing. Who they were seeing.

There were not many beings of Faerûn who could say that they had seen a God in the flesh.

As it was Selûne who spoke through you know, who granted you this power, who had created this vision of blinding radiance in this dark, decrepit crypt.

"But what you really are… is a result, from a cycle of venom and greed and fear. And that cycle ends today.” You, she, said it so matter-of-factly. Declared so simply that it was both of your wills, so it would be so. Closing your eyes softly, your hands lifted up like you were summoning something deep within yourself.

Astarion's mouth fell open as light began to radiate out of you, silver and bright like the fullest moon on a clear night. He had become so accustomed to the talent of his friends — Shadowheart's golden light, Gale's purple and blue, Wyll's fiendish red. But this, this was something different. Pure and unfiltered power from the Goddess of the Moon. Then the light erupted, traveling so fast and loud that his elven senses twinged.

It hurled into the Vampire Master, his face mirroring yours from moments ago — filled with shock and fear. Astarion had never seen his master afraid, not in two hundred years. His steps faltered, off-kilter as he reeled from your blinding light that clung to him.

Who was the weak, pathetic boy now?

"NOW!" Your screamed, your voice returning to your own — though Selûne's power and magic still radiated off of you. Determination lined every single one of his friends' faces as they rushed forward to hurl their attacks on the Master and his creatures.

Astarion's hands were steady as his fingers unsheathed the daggers at his side, his stare deadly as he stalked towards the man who had ruined his life, broken him over and over. Cazador was trying to twirl and deflect, but the attacks kept coming as he was blinded by the light that was you. Yet, he still caught Astarion's eyes, still smiled wickedly at his spawn — even though Astarion could smell his terror and rancid blood from here.

"You are going to regret underestimating us, Cazador." He hissed as he flung his magical daggers out. They struck true, one slicing through the soft flesh of his side and the other up across his cheek.

"Agh!" The vampire's knees shook as he tumbled forward, another blast of magic hit into his back. His red eyes flickered up through his strong brow as he remained keeled over, "You don't have the balls to kill me, boy. Or did you forget that every part of you is mine?"

Astarion's nostrils flared as rage flooded through him, his vision turning red without the infernal magic surrounding them. He held his palms open as his daggers returned to them, twirling them in his hands without thought as he stepped forward once more. "You can't be owned by a dead man." He spat, before sending his daggers out once more.

"NOOO-" The ancient vampire's screams filled the crypt, bouncing off the stone floors and walls. With a poof, he turned into his infamous mist but your light clung onto him — illuminating his path as it raced for the sarcophagus nearby.

"No, no!" A deep desire for vengeance flooded Astarion as Cazador tried to escape, his voice a snarl he could barely recognize. His red eyes could focus on nothing else but his tormentor's end, his pain, his misery. He could draw it out, torment the sadistic bastard to match what he had done to him for all those years. A pounding was filling his pointed ears, the steady thump increasing as he chased after the mist. Using his vampire spawn strength he tore the top of the sarcophagus off, shoving it angrily to reveal the beaten and bleeding vampire within. "No, no! No healing sleep for you. Wake up!" He growled, grabbing him by his pretentious, soiled collar and throwing him to the ground.

Cazador weakly fought back, scrambling back onto his knees. He sneered up at his spawn looming over him, "Get your hands off me, worm!"

"I'm not the one in the dirt," Astarion spat, gripping the dagger in his hand so tightly that is already pale knuckles turned completely white. His bare chest was rising up and down, not from breath but with deep emotion. "One last thrust and I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again."

The vampire spawn put on the mask he had mastered for centuries, his face a lethal calm as he suggested, "But if I finish the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone, ever."

If he did this, there would be no hiding, no running. No more fear, for either of you. He would destroy anyone and anything who would come to harm you. Who would stop him? You both could be anything you wanted, matched equals backed with powers that equaled those of the Gods.

His old master only scoffed, "You think me a fool? That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place? The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included. You are simply a means to an end. I made you to be consumed."

"I AM SO MUCH MORE THEN WHAT YOU MADE ME!" Astarion roared, bending down more to scream in his face. He felt the intoxicating feeling of power, control flooding through him when Cazador actually flinched, "You fucking leech." His jaw was set tightly as he breathed in the scent of blood that was filling the room, desperate, primal need suddenly filling him. He was losing his focus, his bearings — what was this all for? Who was this all for?

Safety. Agency. Freedom. Power. Control. Dominance. Ascendancy.

The words were twisting darker and darker in his head as once again his broken mind and heart battled against each other. His hands started trembling as he finally looked away from the ancient vampire beneath him. Looking up to his siblings still bound by the remainders of the spell, up the stairs to the thousands of souls — real, present souls — who were trapped down here for centuries. He could feel his heart starting to climb up his throat as two separate sides of himself battled internally.

Remember who you are, Astarion.

You had said that — so softly, with such a gentle touch as you had tried to ground him. No one had ever looked at him like you did, touched him like you did. His red eyes flickered over to you, and his half-dead heart fluttered strangely. He spoke with less of a bite, the edge disappearing, "If I do this I will be free. Truly, completely free. Isn't that what you want, my love?"

Your eyes looked at him, boring into his soul like no one else had. You stepped forward, so unafraid unlike him. There was no tremble in your hands, nor shaking in your knees. You didn't even look at the vampire master cowering on the ground, the immortal male who minutes ago had killed you. No, your beautiful eyes remained only on him as you stepped forward.

Silver was still lingering in your eyes, but he realized it was not latent power from Selûne. It was tears, threatening to break free as you spoke. The saddest smile spread your lips, your brows tugging in the middle. "I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

When would it end? Cazador had everything, his every whim met, more riches then one could imagine, thousands of spawn under his control. Even if he had completed the ritual, the vampire bastard Cazador was already plotting his next plan for cruelty by taking you. When would it end? Would any of it had ever been enough?

Could he live with himself, if he became that? Could you?

You spoke again, your voice so soft it was a whisper, "Let the cycle end here, Astarion."

His name on your lips struck him hard. It made him feel alive again, blinking back to reality. He shook himself out of the dark daze he was descending into, "You - you're right. I can be better than him." His gaze went back down to the man below him, the stirring feelings in him resolving as his fingers closed on his dagger once more. "But I'm not above enjoying this."

Fear glimmered in Cazador's eyes as Astarion fisted his long hair and plunged his blade into his chest.

And again.

And again.

Astarion imagined every lash, every carving cut, every scream and howl.

Again.

Again.

Every tremble and gulp he pushed down in an alley or tavern or forgotten hallway. Every moment of self-loathing. Every broken thought of wishing for it all to end — for someone, somewhere to just end him already.

Again.

Again.

He was covered in blood, the sticky red liquid splattering over his bare torso, creeping up his arms, neck and face. It was not appetizing, it did not cause a frenzy.

No, only a strange satisfaction.

Like a cleansing of his body and mind. His soul.

Complete catharsis.

Cazador's body had stopped moving long ago, laying mutilated at his feet.

His magical dagger, soured with the blood of his old master clattered onto the stone floor behind him. His trembling fingers losing hold of the blade, then his knees buckled and he was kneeling on the floor. His whole body was shaking, gasps escaping him as choked sobs climbed up his throat. He could not keep it down, not after all these years. Not after centuries of suppressing it, forcing it down to not give him the satisfaction.

Hot tears fell fast down his cheeks, and the howls of anguish, triumph and rage finally escaped.

Astarion wasn't sure how long he knelt in that pool of blood for. Time had no meaning at the moment, all of his senses suddenly turned off as he cried and howled.

“It’s over.”

Your voice. You.

Fluttering his eyes open, he found you kneeling in front of him. Your eyebrows were furrowed, your own cheeks stained with tears.

“It’s over,” You whispered again. You had kept your distance — your hands resting on your thighs, as you too knelt in the blood. Not from fear of him, but to give him space. You couldn’t ask to touch him, not at this moment but you needed him to know he wasn’t alone.

Astarion launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your body as he buried himself into your neck. His cries started all over again.

“It’s over. You’re okay. We’re okay.” You continued the comforting whispers, holding him against you — you started to rock, swaying the both of you back and forth.

He couldn’t stop the sobs escaping him — they had been building up for so long and now these they had broken free he wasn’t sure how to stop. He tried blinking away the lingering tears from the bottom of his vision, taking you in. “You, he—“ He put his stained hands on either side of your face, drinking you in in. “What did I do? What did I do?”

"He's gone. He's gone." You whispered.

Astarion pushed his forehead onto yours, mumbling incoherently, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, M'sorry..."

"Shhhh, my love." You said tenderly, your fingers caressing the nape of his neck in a comforting touch. "I've got you. I've got you."

• • •

Astarion wasn’t sure how he got back to the inn.

The journey back was a blur of healing spells, quick decisions and whispers of worry. He had stumbled back next to you, your arm wrapped around his waist holding him close to you. It was his only reassurance as the rest of the world swirled around him. He hadn’t let you ask — gluing himself to you in a silent answer before your mouth could even open. Now you both were in the group’s room in the Elfsong Tavern— the rest of your companions out for the remainder of the day. He was sure there was an exchange of looks and whispered words about him before the decision was made. He was sure that if he had been really looking he would have seen pity across all of their faces. But he didn't care to. He couldn’t really bring himself to react to anything but what had happened.

Cazador was dead. By his hands.

He was free. Yet stuck. Forever a spawn. Forever fragmented and damaged probably — if how he felt right now was any indication.

But free, nonetheless, he guessed.

You had pulled across the privacy curtains and made him a hot bath, the steam and smell of oils clouding throughout the room. Hints of magic too. Then you asked him in a gentle voice if he would like to get cleaned up, gesturing down at him. Astarion blinked as he looked down at himself and his ruined clothes. The shirt he was wrapped in wasn’t even his own — Wyll had thrusted it at him in that good gentlemanly way he was trained to do since he was a boy. The knees of his pants were shredded from the stone floor he had knelt on. And blood. So much of it. There was red splattered everywhere on him — dried and caked on by now. He wondered if the feeling of Cazador’s blood would linger like the other phantom touches and feelings that haunted his skin. Maybe he would be scrubbing at it long after it was physically cleaned off of his skin too — turning his almost pearlescent skin dark pink.

The vampire could only nod at you, lifting his arms up to attempt to pull off his shirt before wincing. Even with his immortal body and vampiric strength, he was sore. The pulling and stretching of his muscles from the binding magic would linger for a while he imagined. "Help me." He muttered weakly. You averted your gaze as you helped him peel the shirt off of him, your touch the most gentle it had ever been. Astarion was so lost in his own mind that he didn't even realize he had stepped out of his ruined pants, his blood-soaked boots moments later. He barely registered his movements as he crawled over the large wooden sides of the tub and slipped into the water.

The heat of the water instantly warmed his muscles, giving him some reprieve from the physical pain that lingered. It even lifted the fog from his mind as he sat for a moment in the water, watching the water move around him slightly - barely tinting to red before some kind of enchantment cleansed it away. As he watched the blood and dirt drift off of him, he felt the numbing going away too. The tremble in his hands returned, shaking under the water as he blinked back to reality. That feeling from down in the crypt was returning — he felt like he was back on his knees in the puddle of blood, his heart crawling up his throat, his skin hot and crawling—

His red eyes flicked up to search for you, finding you seated near him but with your back turned — trying to offer privacy but to be nearby if he needed you. Astarion’s throat closed up again as he looked at you, the comfort he so desperately wanted. It was almost overwhelming. Just weeks ago, he was trying to wrap his head around why someone would want such soft, simple touches. Why someone would just want to be held, nothing more. Now he felt his body shaking and tears forming from your absence.

“Join me,” He finally croaked out to the back of your head. His voice was a weak whisper — gods, he sounded pathetic.

You twirled in your chair, looking over your shoulder to him with furrowed brows. “Astarion, I—”

But he cut you off, your name was a choked sob from his mouth. “Please,” He begged before you could say anything else.

You immediately relented, standing up, taking off your clothes unceremoniously and sliding into the wooden tub. It was the most he had seen of your body in months, and not at all how he pictured it would go. Astarion felt your knees brush his as you sat across from him. Even just the barest touch had the crawling sensation across his skin calming. He took a steadying breath, before he finally took you in.

Only your shoulders and up could be seen in the deep wooden tub. Red blood had dried all over you, shaped like handprints— his own handprints had smeared the blood that crusted over your soft skin and stained your silvery-white hair. A pang shot through him. “Look what I’ve done—” His wet hands cupped the side of your face, echoing the action that probably put the stains there in the first place. Guilt flooded through him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You laid your cheek flush into his hands on your face. Then you turned your mouth, pressing your lips to his palm gently. Kissing his hands like they weren’t capable of monstrous, violent things. Like they hadn’t been covered in blood moments ago. “Are you?”

He stroked his pale thumb across your cheek before withdrawing it. Instead he searched for your own hand under the water, intertwining his fingers with yours. He kept his eyes on the water, shifting slightly back and forth — thinking quietly. “I don’t— I’m not sure how to answer that, right now.”

“Take your time, my love.” You said softly, squeezing his fingers. Astarion was thankful for your calming presence, but he needed more. He knew once you longed to just hold his hand, and it was a terrifying thought. But now he needed to be wrapped up in you, held so tight he would forget where he ended and where you started. In the small space of the tub, he barely had to move before he was pressed against you. His head in the crook of your neck, his nose pressed into your soft skin, inhaling your addicting scent. His arms around your waist as he held on to you for dear life. Within an instant you had your arms wrapped around him, fingers twirling in the ends of his hair, as you comforted him.

“I— I’ve lived with this all for so long. This pain. Who am I without it?” He whispered into your ear, so afraid to admit such things while looking in your eyes. But you pulled away, just enough so you could see him. Your eyes searching his — and they were so tender and full of deep emotion. Love, he finally realized. His half-dead heart fluttered at the realization. You loved him — even as the broken, undeserving creature he was. But instead of falling into deprecation and self-loathing, he savored the realization. He let himself get lost in it, the feeling of being loved by you. The reality of being loved by you, and it was so good… after so many years of shit.

“You are so much more than your pain, Astarion,” Your thumb stroked his side gently, your hands still wrapped around him as you held him close. “Or your past. But now you can define yourself however you want to be.”

Fresh tears slipped from the corners of his red eyes as he buried his face into your neck once again. His emotions were too intermixed, too hard to communicate out loud now as they all vied for his attention. But instead of numbing himself like had for centuries, he let himself be calmed by you instead.

Astarion stayed in that tub with you until there was no trace of the blood and dirt, nothing left to remind the vampire of him. He had made a silent vow to himself to never speak that name again, to not give the dead vampire master power over himself anymore. You seemed to catch on quickly to that too, the poisonous name had not been on your lips since you left the crypt. There was of course the giant fucking ritual carved into his back. And his fangs and sanguine hunger that could only remind him of who had cursed him to this existence. But one thing at a time. Cleaning off the blood would be a start. Burning those retched clothes that he had suffered in as well…

You both were pruny, but clean, when you finally emerged from the tub. Your beautiful eyes never strayed from his face as the pale elf stood up and slipped out behind you, grabbing your extended hand for support. Damp footprints were left behind as the two of you trailed over to your bed hidden in the corner of the room.

You were lying in bed now, both of your naked bodies wrapped in the warm blankets and each other. There was nothing sexual about it… nothing like Astarion had experienced. To be fair, such thoughts were not even registering in his mind right now. But he was surprised at how much he enjoyed this — simply skin to skin with you, no lust or biting or anything.

It was the most at peace he had felt in weeks. Months. Years, really.

Despite everything else that had happened today.

His pointed ear was pressed to your chest, listening to the steady thrum of your heartbeat like it was his own personal lullaby. But he felt it stutter a few times, your breaths a bit shaky — pushing up he found you scrambling to wipe tears away from your cheeks. Before he could open his mouth, you were giving him a sad smile, "I'm fine." You whispered.

"Darling, you're crying," He said softly back, his thumb catching one of the tears you had missed, starting to roll down your freckled cheek.

"I'm just relieved you're here with me. I was terrified all day, but when he took you — when you were bound by that magic... Gods, I've never been so petrified in my life."

Now you know how I feel. He almost blurted it out, but stopped himself. No, in all of his selfish wallowing these last few hours, he hadn't even brought that up yet — that once again, you had fallen. Taken away from him, from this world. Even if was for just a moment. "I seem to remember having this conversation once before... on a dock in those wretched Shadowlands. What of your promise to me then, hmm? To stay out of harms way."

Your mouth and brows quirked down, "I was supposed to just standby and let you die?"

"I had to watch you die today. Again." His voice broke, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to keep even more tears at bay. "If it wasn't for...," He trailed off. If it wasn't for Shadowheart. If it wasn't for Selûne really — who both powered their cleric but had also done something more. Taken over for you? Imbued you? He wasn’t sure how to describe what he witnessed in that crypt. “What happened today with her? With Selûne?”

“I— I’m not sure," He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, your face furrowing as you thought. "One moment I was with you, and the next... I don’t know. I was there but not. Filled with divine fury and... I wasn't going to allow anything to happen to you. Apparently, neither was she."

Astarion placed his head back on your bare chest, your hand instantly finding the side of his face. Your fingers traced the bottom of his jaw, his strong cheekbones and up to the tops of his ear — before you repeated the smoothing motion all over.

"I will never just standby when it involves you, Starry. Whether it is a physical threat... or something deeper within yourself. I will always shield you, defend you..." You licked your lips nervously instead of finishing your sentence

Love you.

Astarion's mind finished the words instead as you trailed off. He moved his head so he instead shared your pillow, moving so your faces only an inch apart. He studied your face carefully, “Why… why do all that for me?”

Your eyes stared into his, shining with emotion before you lowered your voice into a soft whisper, “You know why, my love.”

His heart fluttered at the unspoken declaration. His cold fingers reached up, curled and delicate as he had ever been, “I can’t help but think— Do I deserve this? Am I worthy of this? Of you?”

“Astarion...." You pushed your warm, flushed check into the palm of his hand, "All you need to ask yourself is do you want this?”

Gods, your eyes and the intimate way the stared into his soul. Your lips, so tender as they pulled into a gentle smile. Your patient touch and desire for him. Your quick wit and sharp tongue. Your big, stupidly kind heart. All of it. He wanted every part of you, to call you his and for him to be yours.

But before he could gain the courage you spoke again, “You don’t need to answer today — enough has happened, my love.”

Hot tears escaped from his red eyes as you displayed your patience once again. He pressed his forehead to yours, a sob escaping him. But it wasn't a cry of anguish, or pain. He wasn't howling with rage and grief. They were tears of overwhelming joy.

The vampire gave himself a moment before letting out a little puff, “Gods, I can’t stop crying. I feel ridiculous.”

“You aren’t ridiculous.”

“I’ve cried more today than I have for my entire life I think. The first one and this one combined.” Despite the crying, he found himself hoping of having yet another life. A third on with you. A chance to start over, all over again.

“I think it’s justified,” You said kindly, "Rest, my love. We will have tomorrow. And the day after that."

At your whispered words and gentle caresses, Astarion finally fell asleep, dreaming of that promise. Tomorrow and the day after that... with you.

Read the next chapter: here

[luvism333]

the maze runner maze diversity ideas directly inspired by this @petrichor-idyllic post!!

ive literally been thinking about it nonstop since omg okay BASICALLY its confirmed in the scorch trials movie that there are a bunch of other mazes aside from the glade and group b. since these other mazes are never touched on there are one million and one ways people could go with them in fanfiction in terms of layout, weather conditions, etc. so i wanted to share some!

petri had tons of great ideas (go follow them right NEOW) and im just here to expand on them. 4 the sake of simplicity im gonna call the “gladers” subjects/mazers since we dont really know what theyd call themselves, and im gonna call the “glade” the centre. i am gonna keep calling new kids greenies bc i think its a funny little name + DISCLAIMER i have not read the books and i also do not have the time or energy to rewatch the movies so if any information is off my bad fr

NOT PROOFREAD

MONSTER IDEAS

a maze with birdbox style monsters so they have to navigate the maze blindfolded

a maze where the monsters are deathly afraid of some sort of metal that wicked wont send them enough of to make clothes or armor (at least not enough to keep every mazer safe) so all the people are heavily pierced. greenies come up piercingless and have to sit in the piercing hut (where they keep the metal) for however long it takes them to let the maze piercers do their job because absolutely no shot are they letting any dumbass teenager go anywhere with their rare life saving metal without it being fused to their bodies. the maze record for time a greenie has spent in the piercing hut is 3 full days and the less time you spend in there when you first arrive the more street cred you get

^ the piercer would probably be the maze leader, im picturing someone who at the beginning was the only person that could talk greenies into getting the piercing over n done with and as more came up the maze just filled with people that would only listen to the one person they trusted enough to pierce them straight out of the box.

a maze with underground monsters. you drop something heavy enough and something shoots out of the ground, jaws wide open. they have treestyle type houses, floating bridges connecting buildings. they dont have runner equivalents bc theyre working on building bridges through the maze and its like a no brainer that they cant go anywhere without a bridge. instead of “someone should try surviving the maze at night” its “we should climb the walls” and everyone thinks hes just as nuts

^theyd have a box but wouldnt it be fucking funny if their greenies just fell out of the sky?? they have a little platform right underneath where the greenies and supplies land (they call it ground zero) picturing wicked somehow forgetting to cushion the platform at first and patient zero falls out of the sky and dies on impact

a maze where the monsters arent giant teen eating beasts but deadly insects. one bite of that one and youll vomit up your internal organs, breathe in gas from that one and your entire body will be paralyzed. accidentally step on that one and your foot will swell to the size of a bowling ball and fucking explode. experiment with how your mazers cope with this - maybe everyone wears layers and layers of bee keeping style clothes outside and all the buildings are netted. do they have disinfecting rooms? do they have some sort of poison that takes the insects out? how to they distribute this poison since they cant just pierce it on like the metal maze?

a maze with the hunger games mutt type monster-mutations made out of fallen mazers

a maze where the monsters arent monsters or a threat at all but contain clues or keys thatll help the mazers get out and are notoriously impossible to catch

MAZE IDEAS

on the wiki page for group b it says their maze went vertical at one point - a maze that is completely vertical, their centre (creatively named The Hole) being like a tube just walled in by heaven high maze structures. you look up and at some point the walls give way to an abyss. most of the mazers have given up hope of getting out because it looks endless - or does it? nobody really entertains the idea that the top of The Wall is closer than they think, that the creators have put in a fake ceiling to fuck with them, but the people theyve sent up dont come back down and when the hole is quiet enough they can hear something alive up there and nobody can say for sure that their little village is any worse than what theyll find if they try to leave

hunger games quarter quell type maze where different sections of it have different monsters or obstacles. the sections with the easiest to bypass obstacles have the most complicated puzzle, the sections that are the easiest to navigate have obstacles 10x as deadly

PEOPLE IDEAS

a maze where 2 people come up in the box at a time (inspired by this thomas fic). theyd have names like box-mate or smth for whoever you come up in the box with (i.e thats jeff, he’s clints box-mate) and everyone is really close with their box-mate, platonically or otherwise. i feel like theres alot of cute potential for this idea, like an alby-equivalent talking to aggressive mazers like why dont you go find your box-mate and chill out. go cuddle or something. greenies often feeling weird about their connection w their box-mate (bc who wouldnt??) and long time mazers teasing them about it “oooooh somebodys making eyes at their booox-maaate muah muah muah”

unisex maze (although all these ideas can be unisex) where the number of boys and girls is slightly or very uneven at any given time. people have bets going around that time of the month every month about whether theyre getting a boy or a girl w things like chores and food being traded like currency. the bonfires on greenie day are just celebrations for the winning party

got this idea from petri but someone alone in a maze!!! just completely isolated for however long, not being expected to survive but making it out somehow. have you guys ever read an article or paper on the long term psychological effects of solitary confinement in prisons? of course itd be different but isolation is literally used as a torture method in some places. humans are not supposed to be so alone!! a lone mazer that sleeps by the thinnest part of the walls at night so they can hear the monsters, have some sort of connection to another living thing. a lone mazer that only survives their maze because they know their monsters like the back of their hand after spending endless nights well hidden in the maze just OBSERVING the creatures because it becomes a comfort to them, seeing something outside of themself move by its own free will. a lone mazer that never stops talking once theyre out of the maze because long silence makes them feel like theyre all alone again, a lone mazer that doesnt talk at all once theyre out of the maze because they cant stand the sound of their own voice anymore.

^ petri had the idea of an animal companion and i think that is a wonderful idea!! they have this fic where the reader had a dog and theyre really cute together. go full on disney princess & give your character a bird or a chameleon or a tiger if youre a jasmine guy. a dog or any predatory animal can conceivably help your character escape the maze - give your character a sloth or a koala or just a really lazy cat. give me a lone mazer whos animal companion is dead weight but they dont have the heart to leave them, who keeps their fat cat strapped to their chest like a baby as they fight for their life. 

person alone in a maze with a baby. ik this sounds so random but wicked wanting to see the effects of growing up in the maze so they send in a carer, someone that looks after the mazers before theyre sent in. the carer raises the kid angry at whoever has trapped their now adopted child in this torture chamber come to find out they used to be one of them

maze where the subjects are supposed to get injured in some way to force them to rely on one another. a subject being deafened by a banshee type monster, a subject getting a limb amputated by medjack equivalents after getting suddenly and suspisciously sick. they dont spend so much time mapping the maze as figuring out how to get all of them through to the very end because they quite literally cannot make it without every single mazer

a maze where the subjects keep their memories but theyve all been altered. some remember wicked as saviours providing shelter for them as orphaned children, others remember being restrained, poked and prodded, a vague feeling of grief and betrayal that they cant explain. others dont remember wicked at all and insist that the maze is a paradise compared to desert wastelands filled with zombie people and viral disease.

your mazers can react to this in any way shape or form. maybe factions/cliques of people with similar memories form. nobody wants a leader from a different group in charge of the entire maze so they dont have one, there not being any rules that apply to every group in the maze because nobody will listen to eachother. everyone thinks the ones that dont remember wicked are crazy and the anti-wicked group have the most reason to become violent, have been the most violent in the past so everyone thinks theyre psychos. it takes them longer than other groups to get out despite having memory because they all take over different parts of the maze and refuse to share information.

mazers that have access to technology. they can make things like recordings and audios but no way of connecting to the outside world and no information aside from what they put in themselves. they learn to program things and make robots/drones to navigate the maze for them, make intro videos for greenies so they dont have to deal with them. instead of track hoes and medjacks they have groups of people that work on different kinds of technology because theyve learnt to automate most of the stuff the gladers do by hand. some work on exploring the maze, some make weapons, some study the monster corpses theyve managed to get, etc etc.

CULTURE/TRADITION IDEAS

the different ways people commemorate dead mazers!! in the glade they cross out their names on the maze walls and in group Bs maze they like sculpt their faces into the ice. give me a maze that tattoos the names of their fallen, whos oldest mazers have the most ink so it kind of goes without saying that the more tattoos you have the more authority you have. greenies being able to tell clearly whos been around longer based on which names they have tattooed. give me a maze that mounts the weapons of the dead on a wall, a maze with a regular graveyard that the mazers visit on slow days

greenie events!!! give me greenie celebrations like the bonfire we see in the glade, parties or games, feasts to welcome newcomers. give me a maze where the arrival of a greenie is grim, one more mouth to feed, one more lost soul trapped. a maze where everything dims down around that time of the month because another person means another month theyve failed to get out. give me mazes that test their greenies to see if theyre of any use to the group because those that arent are dead weight. a maze that holds Greenie Trials, where you have to complete an obstacle course or survive a night in the maze or complete some obscure challenge and if you cant youre tossed to the monsters.

^bonus points for a gally-equivalent getting to say ominous shit like The Last One Didn’t Make It

TATTOO SUBGENRE

because i dont know what else to do with these

maze where wicked programmed the monsters to respond to some basic specific kind of symbol and the people have it tattooed in very visible places, painted on every hut and wall

maze where the monsters are deathly allergic to some sort of liquid so the subjects tattoo themselves with it

maze where you have to be incredibly light on your feet when navigating the maze so people tattoo maps on themselves.

GROUP B

i know im supposed to be talking about maze ideas not mentioned in canon but group b has so much potential their wiki says that group b doesnt have runners, they literally all just go out into the maze in a giant group, AND that their monsters are out day and night PLUS their maze is a frozen wasteland. i imagine any girls that arent strong enough to withstand everything are like pretty quickly weeded out and only the hardasses that adapted quickly enough were left omg the cultural norms that would form?? theyre all absolutely jacked and if a greenie dies nobody bats an eye cause tough shit. no introduction no transition period you come into the maze with us and dodge airborne monsters or you stay here and freeze to death. the creators do send them medical supplies but over time they start to notice the way the group interacts w eachother so they start sending less to see if they can push it even farther, make the girls have to ration their medical supplies. it works tenfold oh you broke your arm and you want a sling, aris?? rachel got her arm CHEWED OFF by a FLYING MUTANT PTERADACTDOL and didnt ask me for so much as a BANDAID

this is like evidenced on the wiki too multiple girls suggesting they just leave aris to freeze to death or get eaten by monsters in the maze because theyre SUSPISCIOUS of him?? like absolutely unprovoked too thomas had a stung glader accusing him of being at fault for the maze an unconscious girl who came at the wrong time who is apparently going to be the last greenie they ever recieve feverishly gasping his name just so much ammo for the gladers to toss him out and it takes the death of like half the glade and an insane gally to get him where aris was upon arrival. they literally punch aris square in the face immediately after they decide not to kill him bc “its the fastest way to remember your name” like how did you guys realise that??? "fastest way” so you admit there are other ways??? why are you giving all your greenies concussions

GEN

because i dont know where to put these

explore the concept of failed mazes. a desert maze where the subjects couldnt survive on the monthly supplies because they couldnt farm any food on their own because, well, desert. a maze where wicked did something like the memory altering maze, purposefully dividing them but they went too far and the mazers killed eachother off hunger games style

test mazes! have you ever wondered why the mazes operate the way they do? why do they send people up once a month? why are the mazers of all different ages? why not make the centre already stocked with food and buildings so the subjects can spend more time cracking the maze instead of learning how to grow crops?

a maze where they sent all the people up at once and without guidance from more experienced subjects they pretty quickly killed themselves off. a maze where the subjects were too young and werent organising themselves or mapping the maze fast enough, a maze where the subjects were too old and lost hope faster and easier. a maze where the mazers had everything they needed upon arrival and nobody wanted to leave.

AND MANY MORE!!!

IN conclusion make ur own mazes people!!!!! get creative w it there are so many different directions you can take it in!! pls feel free to use any ideas thats what theyre here for i dont need credit but PLEASE tag me id love to see anything that comes from this nonsense!!! nd lmk if anybody wants a pt2 because i had a million half baked ideas that didnt make the cut i am filled to the brim with Thoughts

[deobienthusiast]

your name hurts | eric sohn

• pairing: eric sohn x gn!reader

• word count: 1.1k words

• genre: straight angst, college!au, frat boy!eric

• warnings: yall it’s just insanely sad. like there is no happy ending so don’t even expect one

• rating: PG

• notes: i’ve been on an early hailee steinfeld kick so this is based off of her song your name hurts. fully recommend listening to it while reading this

• tagging: @deoboyznet

we’re a half written story without any ending

you left me to figure it out

filled me with ecstasy, left with the best of me

but where’s the rest of me now?

Your life was so simple before Eric Sohn. You could make it through the day without daydreaming about the what ifs. You didn’t have to worry about your heart being broken. But after experiencing life with Eric, you weren’t sure how to survive without him. Eric was one of the popular ones. Striking good looks, loud, contagious demeanor, the perfect fit to The Boyz fraternity. You wished you had taken a different way to your classes freshman year because the moment he laid eyes on you, looking lost outside the frat house, he knew he’d found his next victim. He walked you to class, told you all you needed to know about the school and about himself. He sunk his teeth into your heart, and you let him.

honestly i don’t regret you

i just wish i never met you

part of me wants to upset you, ah-ah

every single letter’s killing me

don’t know why it gets to me

every time i hear that sound

Your time with Eric was nothing short of magical. At least that’s how it felt at first. He made you happy, always bringing a smile to your face. He wasn’t huge on pda and showing his emotions, so i love you’s were given in the form of doing little things. He was a giver, that much was for sure. you loved every minute, but wished you had just kept walking. Why did you let his voice coax you into the frat house? When he broke up with you, you felt like your whole world was crashing down. How could he just end things without feeling anything? How could he be so cold? You thought of all the ways you could get him back. All the ways you could break his heart the way he broke yours. Bringing yourself to hurt someone you loved so much, despite them pretty much proving in every aspect that they didn’t love you the same, was something you could not do.

your name hurts (your name hurts)

i don’t say it no more

it’s like the worst of words (worst of words)

you don’t even know

You stopped hanging out with mutual friends. you kept to yourself, and stayed inside the small circle of friends you had outside of Eric. you begged them not to mention him, not wanting to even continue to be associated with his name. The looks of sympathy were too much. You felt like a wounded soldier anytime someone brought him up. like his name was a bullet being fired from a loaded gun, straight into the already gaping hole in your heart to kill you even more. You knew no one was doing it to be mean or cruel, but it felt like you couldn’t escape him anytime his name was mentioned. You wished he’d become nameless. Maybe then you’d be able to actually move on with your life. Go back to the way things were before him. But honestly, you weren’t sure you even wanted that either.

and this half-written story is horror at best

the kind where the hero still dies in the end

and god only knows, maybe this is a test

‘cause i kinda wanna mess you up

but i won’t, babe, not yet

You felt like you were trapped in a never ending cycle. you’d wake up, barely eat, drag yourself to class, avoid any sort of interaction with anyone unless you needed to talk. Eric had plagued every part of your life. Everywhere you looked, he was there. Every turn felt like he was constantly next to you, watching you, taunting you. It was hard to focus, and you so badly wanted to scrape your mind of the memories. You wanted to shave off the portion of your life Eric was a part of. He had made such a mess of you, that you just somehow wanted to do the same.

wouldn’t say that i regret you

but man, i wish i never met you

that your mama never even had you, oh-ah

every single letter’s killing me

don't know why it always gets to me

every time i hear that sound

The day Eric broke up with you is still burned in your mind. You remember it like it was yesterday. You replay it over and over and over like a broken record constantly skipping and never moving forward. It felt like a continuous time loop that you couldn’t get out of. How could he? He was so calm. So emotionally void. He didn’t seem fazed by the words he was saying. So nonchalant, like it was no big deal. You couldn’t believe it. Someone you trusted so dearly, had looted your entire heart out to. Someone you shared your darkest secrets and deep insecurities with. How was Eric able to just say it meant nothing to him, that it was all for fun. That it was ‘nothing serious’ to him, and he was certain you felt the same. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Never in your life had you ever wished something bad on someone before, but sometimes you just wanted to go back in time to change certain things.

feels like burning on my lips

the ones that you used to kiss

no way you ain’t feelin’ it too

Eric would be lying if he said he wasn’t heartbroken. He fell for you in ways you couldn’t even begin to imagine. You were his everything, but so was his reputation. He had built up a strong resumé of girls who had fallen for the baseball star, only to have their hearts broken. None of them affected him the way you did. After almost two years together, it was either choose you or choose popularity. Now he’s wishing he would have chosen you. You mean more to him than any level of popularity. Now he can’t think straight. He can’t focus. He’s been benched on the baseball team, frat parties don’t hit the way they used to when he had you with him. But the peer pressure of living up to the name he had made for himself was too much. He collapsed under the pressure. “I’m surprised it’s lasted this long Eric”. “When are you going to end things Eric”. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone, and in the end he disappointed the person that means the most to him.

i hope my name hurts, my name hurts

my name hurts you (you, you, you)

Just like you, he can’t stand to hear your name. Because all it does is remind him of all the pain he caused you.

[azures-bazar]

A Man From Another Time

A new one ! No need to remind you about my very strange writing schedules lmao This one came out of a corner of my mind as I asked myself "what if Arthur travelled with Francis Sinclair to 2023 ?"

I think I'll be doing a whole series of Modern!Arthur ! I just love picturing him trying things from the 21st century and being like totally thrilled by his discoveries !

And look at these absolutely gorgeous blue dotted socks

Modern - Arthur Morgan x GenderNeutral!Reader 

Word count : 3.1k

Short summary : Somehow, Arthur has time-travelled with you to your own era, and discovers a world he never thought about. 

A/Note : It’s based on a French experience, forgive me if it’s inaccurate. 

Tags : cute, Arthur being like a kid, modern technologies, where are horses ?, overwhelmed boah, time-travelling, from 1899 to 2023, Francis Sinclair, post chapter 6

******

"Where are the horses ?"

This was the very first thing Arthur asked when you took him out in the city you were living in. His arrival at your place was rather strange and sudden as you woke up one night with him standing in your living room, completely unfazed and scared about something that might have happened earlier on. You had switched all lights on, absolutely terrified by this tall man wearing a union-suit, covered in bruises, coughing blood, unarmed, who looked at you with fear in his eyes. The only thing which made you keep your calm was Francis Sinclair, who was with him, holding him by the shoulders. 

"We need some help here !" Francis had told you

You had met Francis while having a drink at the bar. He had first told you about time-travelling, you did not expect it to be true until he made you go through a door which led you straight to Saint-Denis, somewhere in 1899. Francis was a very peculiar man who had enjoyed playing with your thoughts about time-travelling. You never expected to move from an era to another, being somewhat scared to cause a paradox which would lead to some serious issues in your own time. You had watched many movies about paradoxes and did not want ending up into one of them. 

The very first thing Francis had explained you was that Arthur had a tuberculosis, leading you to rush to your car in the middle of the night to drive to the nearest hospital. Arthur was absolutely mortified when he got inside, not saying a single word, even when you got to the hospital and dragged him inside. He coughed, still shaken and limping. Francis kept explaining him that you were going to see a doctor, but Arthur felt scared by what was happening. He had followed Francis into this strange door leading to your place, and there he was, with all these folks wearing white blouses and masks surrounding him. He had to remain at the hospital for a few days for his health to stabilise itself with the set of antibiotics given to him. You heard his voice for the first time when he got surprised by the doctor’s response to his illness. 

"Tuberculosis has a cure ?" 

Yes, his illness had a cure, there was enough hope for him to survive with the modern medicine. If Francis had decided to leave him behind in 1899, Arthur would have died on the top of that mountain in Roanoke Ridge. Francis had brought him to you right after Dutch had abandoned him, and Arthur was still devastated by this set of events that had happened a few minutes ago. In fact, he unexpectedly tried looking around the room to spot you nearby, afraid someone else was about to abandon him. You could not do that, you could not leave this poor man behind. 

"You’re gonna be okay, sir." a nurse told him. "What’s your name ?"

"Arthur…" he groaned. "Arthur Morgan... I…I was…-"

"It’s okay, you’re okay." 

Tears started streaming on his cheeks as they put an oxygen mask over his bruised face, you had watched him from distance while Francis had explained you the whole situation about Arthur’s old gang falling apart, his father-figure turning against him, his overall sacrifice for his brother. You felt the need to take care of him, Francis did not bring him to you by mistake, he knew you would help. 

"It’s alright Arthur, we’re gonna take care of you." the nurse had told Arthur to calm him down 

You had spent that night next to Arthur’s bed at the hospital, holding his hand while he was coughing, sobbing while remembering these past events, the way Dutch had betrayed him. You had tried your best to calm him down all night long, almost feeling devastated for this man you did not even know, ready to give up a piece of your own freedom to nurse him back to health and, probably, make him forget about his former life. He was certainly going to have some hard time to accommodate to this world, 124 years ahead of his time. 

****

You had been taking care of Arthur for weeks already, Francis having been gone somewhere, leaving you alone with this peculiar roommate. You gave him your room, sleeping on the sofa of the living room in order to provide him with his own personal space and not bother him while you were either cooking, doing your laundry, watching tv or even working from home. For the first few days, Arthur hardly left your room, feeling constantly tired and mostly unable to walk around your place, only making it to the bathroom. These antibiotics given to him were certainly a cause to this permanent exhaustion, but he did not mind. He thanked you for nursing him back to health and being so kind with him perhaps twice a day. 

His attitude was sweet, if not downright clingy at times. Arthur’s overall trauma following Dutch’s abandonment led him to develop a permanent need to have you around him, you could not spend a whole day at your workplace because you knew how much your guest longed to have you with him. After searching on the internet, you had found that Arthur was most likely suffering from a severe PTSD, but you did not mind. In fact, you enjoyed having Arthur near you, knowing he was feeling relaxed by hearing your footsteps, your voice, or by just seeing you. 

Arthur had put all his trust on you since you brought him back from the hospital. Despite displaying his usual rowdy behaviour at times, he still obeyed your rules. You liked his overall presence at home, it made your life more enchanting to know that you were not going back to your empty place, but were going to see Arthur. It certainly brought the two of you quite close, enough for you to start displaying some physical affection towards him., something he had mostly forgotten following his arrival at your place. Sometimes, you would run your fingers in his hair, and he adored that. He adored everything you were doing to him. You were like an angel, his saviour. The one who almost brought him back to life. 

Some moments were certainly funnier than others. When Arthur started feeling better, he finally had the occasion to take a shower instead of rubbing some wet cloth on his body. Poor man spent about ten minutes trying to figure out how your shower worked, absolutely shocked to feel hot water coming of it. You could hear him laugh, not used to this peculiar feeling it gave him. It tickled him ! Sometimes, he would even sing under shower, humming a few old songs with his rather raspy voice. At some point, he nearly broke your hairdryer, not fully understanding how it worked. Oh, and also your coffee machine. Arthur was not good with modern technologies yet. 

You had seen him glance through the window for days, looking around your room, reading some of the books you had on your shelves. Once he felt better, he even walked inside the living room and was absolutely amazed by the TV, looking around to see where the projectionist platform was. He had jumped back when you switched it on, swearing at your TV for being so loud. When he first saw your phone laying on the counter, he took it between his hands and genuinely believed it was some piece of decoration. 

"What’s that ?" he had asked, not understanding what this device was, looking like a very tiny TV screen

"It’s a phone. I’ll get you one, someday." 

"That lil’ thing’s a phone ? You gotta be kiddin’ me !" 

"You can even take instant pictures with it. And record stuff." 

"Instant pictures and record ? But can you still call folks ?" 

Arthur’s rather childish fascination for the modern world was fun to watch. It took you about a week to explain him how your TV worked, how your laptop could be switched on, how he could use your keyboard, having been used to typewriters… or to his own hands. His face, whenever you were switching your phone or your laptop on, was absolutely priceless ! You saw him randomly gaze the ceiling, trying to understand how your light bulb worked from up there. At some point, he kept playing with the switch, being mesmerised by how quick your lights could switch on and off. 

"What a progress !" he exclaimed 

You had introduced him to 20th century music, he seemed to be fond of rock and roll and awkwardly had danced on some songs from The Doors or The Rolling Stones. At least, he was doing much better than the day Francis brought him, even when he was listening to sad songs like the ones from Johnny Cash. His overall fascination for modern music was beautiful to witness, he even shed tears while listening to some songs he found sad. It was so hard for him to accommodate to this world, but listening to modern music made it easier. 

At some point, you decided to take him out to show him the world you lived in. You had bought Arthur some clothes from local thrift stores after explaining him how men were dressing themselves up. He loved tee-shirts and sweatpants, you had mostly seen him wandering around your place dressed in those. Knowing you were going outside to take a walk, Arthur decided to ditch his sweatpants to wear some jeans instead. It suited him well ! You had trimmed his hair every three months, no one would have thought that man was from 1899 at first sight… until he would start talking. 

As soon you left your place, Arthur felt overwhelmed by the world surrounding him. He had not stepped a foot outside your place since you brought him back from the hospital following his diagnosis. His first remark was quick to come, he came from 1899, when cars were far from being as popular as they at your time. Where were the horses ? You took your time to explain him that these shiny metallic figures on four wheels were the equivalent stagecoaches, and that motorcycles could be seen as the modern version of horses. At first, Arthur believed horses were all gone. 

"So you killed all horses ?!" he gasped, looking somewhat angered and shocked

"Of course not !" you chuckled. "We just don’t use them anymore, but we don’t kill them. Cars are way faster than horses, so that’s why they got built. For us to travel faster." 

"What’s the point of goin’ faster if you can’t take time to look around ?"

"Our society makes us want things fast, and cars are one of the tools which allows us to be faster." 

Arthur nodded. What an overwhelming sight, a massive amount of information to process ! He wanted to analyse one of the cars parked nearby and moved on to the road to gaze at the wheels, a bus nearly ran into him as you jerked him towards you. Arthur looked petrified when as the bus passed by so fast, clinging his fists onto your shirt. He was obviously not used to see vehicles move at such speed! 

"Good lord !" he gasped. "I nearly got killed right here !" 

"Alright, I think you’re going to hold my hand." 

Arthur did not respond, he did not even react when you grabbed his hand. You started walking on the sidewalk, keeping Arthur close to you while he kept looked around, nearly stumbling a few times, not looking where he was going. You almost felt like you had a giant child with you as he spent about a third of his time asking you what this place was, why there were green and red lights, why the buildings were sometimes this high, where were the sherifs. At some point, he even stopped your walk to glance at the store, exposing clothes for women. Some casual high-waisted shorts with black shirts.

"So women only wear underwear now ?" he asked. "They ain’t covering their ankles anymore ?"

"Some still do. Depending on your cultural beliefs, you can cover your ankles, your hands, or your head." 

"And women walkin’ around in their actual underwear is acceptable now ?" 

"No. Men and women can’t just walk in their underwear." 

You were not ready to explain him anything about swim wear, he would probably confuse bikinis and boxers with actual underwear. Arthur was discovering a new world, enough for you to smile at him when he was stopping to look at casual things which were not this casual in his time. He even got completely amazed by a screen moving on a nearby billboard, showing an image of a Neil Armstrong going during the landing on the moon. An exhibition about Apollo 11 was currently available in your city. 

"What’s that ?" he asked, pointing at the image  

"What ? The rocket ?" 

"I get it’s a rocket, but why is thy feller going down ? Where was he ?" 

"Oh, that’s Neil Armstrong about to set foot on the moon. There’s an ex…-" 

"Someone set foot on the moon ?!" 

He was shocked by this, as his core memory was still focused on 1899, with electric chairs still in progress and planes being only prototypes. Arthur would have been around 106 years old in 1969, provided he did not have tuberculosis, survived two World Wars, the Wall Street Crash of 1929 and the Military Administration until 1944. You decided to take him to the exhibition for him to learn more about the events which led to the Apollo 11 mission, Arthur did not let go of your hand, asking you several questions about the short movies displayed, spatial suits, even what a rocket looked like. His puppy eyes glancing around the exhibition made your day more bright, he was almost not the same man the one Francis had brought you months ago ! 

After the exhibition, you took a break in the park. Arthur casually took a cigarette out of one of his pockets. He was looking at people walking by, families and simple town folk, dressed so differently than people from his own era. For months, he had not left your place, he barely knew what people looked like and how they behaved. He still tried greeting them, but a vast majority of them did not respond to his peculiar politeness. People did not greet each other anymore, at least in cities, and it somehow made him sad. Arthur suddenly turned back to you and pointed a plane passing above your city. 

"Y/N ! What’s that ?!" 

I"t’s a plane, Arthur." you smiled. "People take them to travel faster. Faster than cars."

"Can we try goin’ on a plane ?" 

"Sure thing, but not now." 

"That’s so amazing ! I wasn’t born in the right era !" 

You wanted to contradict him. As far as you knew, you had experienced numerous financial crises, were on a brink of a new war and had gone through a global pandemic. You deeply wanted to tell Arthur that he was somewhat wrong, but the sheer innocence he kept displaying made you change your mind. In no way could you spoil this moment, stop the discovery of this new world. 

After a day wandering around the city, Arthur felt exhausted. He had not walked this much for weeks, still trying his best to remain in shape while being around your place, carrying the groceries from your car to the kitchen, sometimes doing the laundry for you, cleaning the plates when you were not home while watching TV. He enjoyed watching documentaries to learn more about the your own world and like sitcoms like F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and Malcolm, often asking you to watch these with him. You still requested him to help you to prepare some food, to which he obliged. He loved doing this and secretly loved being with you. 

You ate before the TV, watching an old romantic movie you could not even name. Arthur nearly fell asleep in the process while his arm carefully moved around your shoulders. You smiled as you noticed him slowly drifting into sleep, still strong enough to make a very first move towards you. He had done that before, mostly preferring short embraces or resting his head on your shoulder at times, allowing you to kiss his forehead or his cheek. This was a big move ! 

"Arthur, go to bed." you smiled, gently passing your hand through his hair you had cut yourself 

"Hmmm… yeah…"

Arthur rose from your couch and limped towards your bedroom, getting his jeans off to fall on the bed. His legs were so painful, enough for him to struggle lifting them up ! You calmly approached him, dragging a blanket above him, his eyes remained open. 

"Care to join me ?" he smiled 

"Well… why not." 

You took a few clothes off, slipping under the blanket as Arthur dragged you into a very sudden embrace. You had almost forgotten how your own bed felt like, being used to your sofa. His warm body made you feel safe, very safe. His arms were wrapped around your waist, he had forgotten how great it felt to have someone to embrace. He kissed the top of your head as the two of you drifted asleep, leading you to wake up alone the next day. You glanced around, stretching a little as you heard the faint sound of your coffee machine in the living room, leading you to leave your room to come face to face with Arthur standing before the counter, having prepared you a warm coffee. 

"Mornin’ darlin’." he smiled. Made you some coffee. 

Arthur looked delightful, wearing a large white top with a pair of green boxers you had thought would be cool on him. He was also wearing these funny winter-themed socks you had offered him on a random occasion ! A pair of red socks with Christmas trees and stars on the. He first thought they were ridiculous, but came to enjoy them, cherishing them like any gift you were willing to offer him. He had even baked a chocolate cake ! 

"Morning." you smiled, kissing his cheek while he was sipping his coffee, causing him to blush. "Didn’t know you could use the oven !"

"Well… I tried some stuff." Arthur answered with a large smile. "Red a book and cooked." 

You smiled even more more at Arthur’s sudden pride. He did really well, the cake tasted great. At first, you had forbid him to use the oven, being persuaded he would cause much more trouble than expected. You did not want to come back from work and find out that your place was one fire because Arthur was not able to understand how your oven worked.  These past months were fun and you looked up for what was ahead. Arthur was just a man from another time, lost in a world that was not his… but, at least, he was no longer ill and was doing alright, mostly ! 

to be continued, maybe, maybe

[lilacartsmadsion]

Chocobrave AU: Prologue

He was stupid…pretty stupid actually…

How long had he been running? It felt like hours…

He sought refuge in a nearby cave before realizing it belonged to a lion…or something…

Nevertheless he had to keep running, he promised he’d catch up with the others.

Gingerbrave ran like the winds, never stopping, his feet and body were shivering in the cold, the snow burned through him…

Why was he designed without clothes?

He thought he lost it a few times, but it sniffed him out like a hungry animal…

Just keep running…

He did…till he wound up in a dead end…

“Awh, dead end?! Seriously?!” He exclaimed, facing the snow lion head on, it began to close in on him…

He panicked, throwing his cane at the beast…

Said beast chomped it up in one bite, now he was weaponless…

‘This is it! I’m doomed!’ Gingerbrave thought, he felt his life flash before his eyes…

Such a miserable life…

Born to be eaten, bound to die…that’s the cruel life for those who escape the oven…

Though in fear…Gingerbrave accepted death…

…

…

…

He should’ve died there…

But then he opened his eyes and saw a cookie dawned in a purple cape. The cookie was fighting the lion with his bare hands…

He couldn’t see clearly with all the snow…but after a while he heard a whimper from the lion, and it fled…

The cookie looked back at him…Gingerbrave hadn’t realized how exhausted he was, only noticing it when the cookie tried to speak with him…

But he couldn’t hear a thing…

He passed out right there…

———————————————

“He’s stable your majesty, he’s lucky he didn’t get a scratch from the Snow Lion.” The medics spoke to Dark Cacao, he looked at the cookie in the bed.

“Though…he has suffered frostbite, dehydration and possible starvation.” She spoke, adding to Gingerbrave’s state.

“There is no record of this cookie in our kingdom?” Dark Cacao asked, the medic shook her head. “The Cookie bares no milk, coffee Or bittersweet dough that applies to the cookies in our kingdom…he seems ordinary.”

“He can’t be ordinary…he crossed our borders without the Cream Wolves being alerted, and somehow survived these harsh conditions?” Dark Cacao questioned. “Either there is a civilization hidden in the Dark Cacao Kingdom…or something happened to this child.”

“Child?”

“I know young dough when I see one…this cookie seems to look no younger than 12…” Dark Cacao paused, his chest tightened. “Ensure he gets warm clothes and enough food to sustain himself.”

“Yes your majesty…”

Dark Cacao couldn’t see how this day could get any worse…he’s been drained day by day to protect his kingdom…now a child was just attacked by a Snow Lion right across the Wall…

The child was lucky, Dark Cacao could only see from that distance due to the direction of the wall he was standing on…

He tried to stand straight but, even when jumping off the smallest part of the wall, his legs felt like they broke somehow…

He needed to get back to work…he stared at the child worriedly as he slept, unaware of the situation he had faced…

Dark Cacao sighed and left to get back to work.

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Grief/Mourning

Find the fic on Ao3!

Inspired by @16woodsequ's wonderful The Alternate End

Part I: Nebula

He’s put this off as long as he can.

Tony knows he should have done this much sooner. God knows how much pain Nebula’s been in while he’s been skulking in his hospital room, refusing to talk to anyone except Pepper. They’re probably all too occupied with their own pain to care. They probably think he’s angry over the Accords, the betrayal that still lingers there. He's still angry. He hadn’t realized until he was face-to-face with Steve Rogers in the home he’d decided wasn’t good enough for him anymore.

But that’s not why he’s avoiding everyone. He knows it makes no sense—after a long month in the cosmos, wondering who had lived and who hadn’t, he should just be relieved that they’re still here. Relief isn’t the word he’d use, though. It’s resentment.

He doesn’t care that he wasn’t strong enough to go after Thanos. He doesn’t care that the Mad Titan is dead. He doesn’t even care that the remaining Avengers hadn’t been able to win, not in the way that mattered. Tony had known it was hopeless long before they left the Compound. He knows because he’s been fighting this war longer than any of them. He’d known since he’d flown through the wormhole that this day would come if they didn’t pull out every weapon in their arsenal. Ultron, the Accords, scoping the planet for new talent like P—

Tony swallows back images of a dying planet and Mr Stark I don’t feel so good to focus on the project at hand. Nebula is already nervous enough without Tony’s mind being on a past he can't fix. There was never going to be a ‘fix’, this war always had to be won before it was fought, and no one had listened to him.

“We can wait another day,” Nebula bursts out. She’s been quiet since getting on Tony’s operating table, lying still and rigid as Tony tries to get a hold of himself enough to do this. She pushes herself up, swinging her legs over the side. “There is no urgency.”

Tony catches the flippant comment that comes to his lips. He’d gotten Nebula’s entire depressing backstory during their time slowly starving to death in space. He can’t imagine she associates body part replacement with fun and laughter. He nods at her damaged hand. “You can’t do anything with those fried wires. It has to be done sometime.”

“Some time does not have to be today.”

Tony pushes the rotating slideshow of Titan to the back of his mind, moving into her path as she attempts to leave. “Hey. You saved my life in space. I would have died of infection or, if I somehow survived, gone completely insane up there without our invigorating paper football tournament. Let me repay the favor.”

He forces himself to be patient as Nebula stares at her damaged hand. “You want to make us equal.”

That’s not Tony’s MO, but if it’s what gets this done, he’ll take it. “Yeah, sure. Equals” When she still looks nervous, he adds, “Besides, we don’t have to do the actual replacement today. I’m just mapping to get an extent of the damage before we take anything out or put anything in.”

It’s a straight-out lie as he’d been hoping to get this done all in one session, but Nebula’s shoulders finally relax. “Okay,” she allows. “We can do that. And you’ve done this before?”

Tony exhales, reaching for a holodisplay and moving it around so Nebula can see. He’d hoped to put this off until it was absolutely necessary. He doesn’t want to be reminded. He wants to take Pepper and find a cabin in the middle of nowhere and shut out the world forever. He shouldn’t have to fix things anymore. That’s what he’s been doing, for years, and he’s done it alone.

But Nebula shifts on the table, and Tony reminds himself that she wasn’t part of any of those fights, and it wouldn’t help to win the trust of a friend who comes without baggage. Bracing himself, he brings up the schematics for Vision.

Nebula’s breath catches as she takes in the holographic blueprints. “How much did you replace?”

“Replace?” Tony catches on and hurries to explain. “No, no, he was made like this from the start. He’s not a human we… Jesus, we don’t do that here.” He forces back images of a silver metal arm.

Nebula processes that. “He is all mechanics?”

“Was,” Tony murmurs. “Thanos…” He can’t bring himself to end the sentence. The death of half the universe chokes the Compound like a smog cloud, but the overwhelming nature of it has stayed in the abstract. Even now, weeks later, Tony cannot fathom just how huge a loss god knows how many planets have suffered. He can barely wrap his head around the death of four billion human beings.

But the knowledge that one of their own had been murdered in battle… That he can picture. That he can comprehend. Because one of his first ports of call when he could get out of bed without collapsing was Wakanda to retrieve Vision’s body.

He doesn’t know what to do with it. Vision had been very clear that in the case of his death, his parts were to be dismantled beyond repair. Tony knows he’s the best person left in the world for that job. It doesn’t mean he’s been able to bring himself to do it. He’s still not sure if the idea of keeping the corpse of a team member in the basement indefinitely is worse than the empty coffins they had buried on the Compound grounds.

“My father was a monster,” Nebula murmurs, staring at her toes. “I was never going to please him. And yet I tried to anyway. I would have done anything for him.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Tony scrubs at his eyes, zooming in on the blueprints for Vision’s arm that will become the basis for Nebula’s new one. “Here, you can follow along with everything I’m doing…”

He trails off when he hears a sob come from the operating table.

He freezes. Their entire time in space, he had not once seen Nebula cry. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen him cry, either. It hadn’t mattered up there, not in any way that counted. They didn’t know who was gone. All they knew was that they would be gone themselves in barely the space of a few weeks, and then their grief wouldn’t exist.

But they didn’t die. Their grief didn’t pass into oblivion. They returned here, to Earth, and learned exactly what Thanos had taken.

Tony still replays that moment of seeing Steve sprinting toward the spaceship. Of Pepper following close behind. Seeing Rhodey, calling Happy. Realizing that, by some impossible odds, all the original six members of his team had survived the Snap.

Nebula hadn’t had that. Her team had crumbled in front of her. More than her team.

Tony moves over to her bedside to take her undamaged hand. “Thanos wasn’t your family,” he assures her. “You found a much better one. One who actually loved you. I know the feeling.”

"My sister..." Nebula angrily wipes away a tear. "She should not have shown him the Soul Stone to save me. I was not worth that sacrifice."

Tony squeezes her hand. "I doubt she saw it that way."

He sits and lets her cry into his shoulder as long as she needs to. He could have it worse. He could have lost so much more. He could still lose so much more if he stays in this mindset. He can’t change the past but he can stop it from changing him into a shape he doesn’t want to be anymore. Resentment is corrosive. He can’t afford it to spread when the rest of his life will revolve around construction.

Tony mentally puts aside Nebula’s repairs for another day. He has other building to do, anyway.

Part II: Thor

Clint’s gone and even Natasha can’t find him. Bruce is on the other side of the world, helping rebuild where he can, making vague promises about return dates. Tony’s not ready to face Steve. That leaves one.

The Asgardian refugees have taken over the Compound grounds. They’ve provided what they can for them but Tony still feels ill when he can see how few of them are left. Thanos had slaughtered half of those he'd found on the Statesman and then killed another half in the Snap. Asgard was gone, torn to pieces by an apocalypse they were never going to escape. Living on Earth feels the same way. They’d always known it would end here. Or at least, Tony had known.

He wonders if that is why his grief feels a little more tempered than the others’. This wasn’t a sudden loss for him. It’s the result of slowly losing a war, piece by piece, over the span of years. He always knew that they would only get one shot at victory. He’ll never know the future Strange saw where they scraped a win. He just gets this one and he has to do what he can with it.

He doesn’t find Thor with the rest of the Asgardians. A few conversations are enough to guide him to a tent in the far, far back, stationed away from all the others. Already a bad sign. So is the fact that the tent is dark as he approaches. Tony awkwardly paws at the tent cover to announce his presence in lieu of knocking, then calls out for good measure. “Thor. It’s Tony.”

He doesn’t get an invitation to come inside. He doesn’t get a refusal either. Good enough.

Thor doesn’t move from his prone position as Tony unzips the tent and steps inside. There’s no blanket over him or mattress underneath him, with barely the base of the tent to protect him. “You have a room at this Compound, you know. I built one for you. Just in case.”

Thor doesn’t look at him. He just keeps staring at the roof of the tent. “I will be with my people. Least their king could do after my brother sacrificed half of them for me." He spits the name of king out like venom. "After I could have killed Thanos when it mattered." 

Tony still hasn't been able to wrap his mind around the image of Loki dying in a heroic attempt to kill Thanos. Whenever he thinks of the trickster god, the memory that tends to come to mind is Loki throwing him from a window or the mass of black clothing at Phil Coulson's funeral. If Bruce hadn't been the one who had told him the story, including Loki handing over the Space Stone to spare Thor's life, Tony wouldn't have been able to believe a word of it.

"I don't have siblings," he says. "And I know things between you and your brother were... complicated. But there were a lot of steps a lot of other people could have taken and didn't. It's not all on you." He's suddenly back on the spaceship again, listening to Strange lecture him about how he wouldn't give up the Time Stone even if Peter's life was on the line. Tony doesn't want to know what choice he would have made if it was up to him. "Guess it's easier to say you'll give everything up to save the world than to actually do it. You gave up more than most already."

Finding the Asgardians a more permanent new home is on Tony’s to-do list, but losing half a population apparently wreaks havoc on a planet’s infrastructure. There’s been so much to do, from getting hospitals up and running, to restarting supply chains for food, to getting entire cities’ electrical grids functioning again. After months of work, the world is somewhat physically functional again. Tony doesn’t know how many decades will pass before the human race emotionally recovers. He knows it will be a long, long time after his lifetime.

“Well. It won’t be tents forever. I can promise you that.”

“Promises,” Thor scoffs. Tony fights the sudden urge to bolt in the other direction. It isn’t right, seeing one of the strongest Avengers and one of the last to lay down in a fight so utterly void of spirit. Then again, none of them are themselves these days. “Wouldn’t make any promises. They just end up broken.”

“A lot of things have ended up broken.” Tony sits cross-legged in the tent, plucking at a stray thread in his jeans. “Luckily, I’m pretty good at fixing things.”

Thor’s next words are a whisper. “There’s no fixing this. It’s gone. It’s all gone, and it’s not coming back, and we’re all just going to have to live with that.”

Tony closes his eyes. He knows that’s true. He knows that they will never, ever get back to where they were. But they can take baby steps in the right direction. He reaches into his pocket. “I know you’ve lost a lot,” he says, the words so unbelievably inadequate that he almost quits then and there. He stays, though. He doesn’t get to quit. That’s not a luxury he’s had since Afghanistan. “More than most of us.”

Thor shifts slightly. “It does not help to compare losses.”

The guilt Tony’s been feeling since he returned to Earth swells, but now is not the time to voice it. “I can’t bring Asgard back,” he says. Even now, with half of Earth’s life lost, he can’t comprehend the magnitude of losing his entire planet. “Or anyone you’ve lost. But I’ve been thinking…” His mind trails to Nebula’s newly equipped arm, which he had put the final touches on that morning. “We have to focus now on what we can get back. Or find replacements for, at least.”

Thor finally looks at him. “Do not suggest that there is any replacement for…” He trails off, anger abating when he sees what Tony is holding. “Is… is that for me?”

“The talking raccoon told me the one you’re using… well, actually, you don’t want to know where it came from.” Tony holds out the mechanical eye he’s spent the past week perfecting. “Besides, I don’t think you’re really pulling off the whole heterochromia look. Thought you looked better in your classic blue.”

Thor gently takes the eye, marveling at it. “Thank you, Stark. And for letting us all stay here.”

“I’m not letting you do anything. I built this place for the Avengers. That includes you. Use this place as you see fit—hm, I could have used some warning there.” Tony barely has time to look away before Thor casually pops his fake eye out, tossing the brown iris aside. Tony waits until the squelching sounds have stopped before he risks looking back.

“How does it look?” Thor asks.

Tony takes in the two symmetrical eyes. To his trained gaze, the mechanical one is ever so slightly glassier. It’ll never live up to the original. But it’s a start. “You look great.”

“I doubt that is true.”

Tony hovers awkwardly, not sure what else to say. “Can I do anything else?” he tries.

Thor is quiet for a long moment before he speaks. “Perhaps…” He suddenly reaches out, grasping for Tony’s hand. Tony lets him take it. “Stay, for a while?”

A part of Tony rebels against the idea. He’s got so many things he’s supposed to be doing, to be building, to be fixing. Then he looks at his friend, sprawled and miserable on the ground, and realizes that fixing doesn’t always have to require tools and a workshop. “Sure. I’ll stay.”

Part III: Steve

Things don’t get better, but they do get easier.

The number of global catastrophes has reduced. Supply isn’t where it used to be, but at least most people have access to food, power and clean water. The daily body count of new Blip-related deaths reduces. Tony had provided whatever resources he could, but even his wealth couldn’t keep up with locating and identifying the bodies. There were those who had died on the roads after drivers had Blipped or had been on suddenly pilot-less planes that had tumbled from the air. There had been those who died in hospitals with drastically reduced numbers of doctors and nurses. And then, worst of all, the orphaned infants and small children who had perished from neglect.

A grateful universe, Thanos had called this. The Mad Titan title has never felt so fitting.

Tony finds Steve by Bucky’s grave.

They’d given each Dusted Avenger a tombstone: a place for the living to mourn the dead. Tony deliberately does not look at Peter’s as he approaches.

Steve must hear him coming but he doesn’t raise his head. He’s bent over a compass, holding it so tightly that Tony fears it might break. He figures that’s as good a place as any to start the conversation. “Careful. You remember you have super-soldier strength, right?”

Steve’s hold doesn’t loosen. “It hasn’t broken yet.”

Tony takes his place by Steve’s side. He wishes the pain of what happened in Siberia would dwarf in the magnitude of the Blip. It hasn’t. It’s just been buried, pushed aside until Tony’s heart has room to feel it again. “Rhodey says you spend all day out here.”

“There’s nowhere else to be. There’s nothing else I can do.”

Tony knows the feeling. “Still. It’s freezing out here.” It’s not, really. It’s just something to say to fill the silence.

Steve pulls the compass close to his chest. “Bucky gave this to me. Two weeks before he died. He was different after Azzano. Like he knew. And he followed me onto that train anyway. ”

Tony casts about for something to say to that. “Weren’t they already… doing stuff to him in Azzano? Winter Soldier stuff? That might be what he had been feeling. Not some kind of death premonition.”

Steve doesn’t react mollified by the words. He doesn’t react at all. “You know he had the offer to go home after Azzano? He could have. He didn’t. Because he chose to follow me. Then, in Wakanda, he was at peace. And I brought a war right to his doorstep.”

“I don’t think the narrative is that simple.”

“If I had—”

“What?” Tony interrupts him, a little harsher than he means to. “If you had made Wanda kill Vision earlier? It wouldn’t have mattered, Steve. We lost the second Thanos got his hands on the Time Stone.” He ghosts a hand over the scar disfiguring his abdomen. Why? he wants to scream at Strange. Why would you do it? I wasn’t worth it.

“Wanda could have killed Vision the second we knew Thanos was coming to Earth. It wouldn’t have mattered,” he continues. “And as for going to Wakanda—that wasn’t just your choice, Steve. All the Avengers with you chose to do that. T’Challa chose to open his borders to you. Everyone in that battle chose to fight. You didn’t pressgang them. In fact, I don’t think pressganging the Dora Milaje is humanly possible. Wakanda was the most prepared place on Earth to tackle an alien invasion of that magnitude and their technology probably prevented the pre-Snap damage from being even worse. Those aliens would have torn apart the Earth for Thanos.”

Steve is quiet as he absorbs all of that. “You’ve thought a lot about this.”

“Yeah. For six years.” One future where they win. Tony’s been ripping himself apart trying to imagine what it would have been, what step they didn’t take. Maybe there were more futures, earlier in the timeline. Roads not traveled that didn’t end with a line of empty graves.

“I know you tried to prevent this,” Steve says softly. “I have been thinking… Ultron, the Accords, if those had played out differently--”

“Don’t,” Tony cuts him off. He’s done dwelling on this. He can rage and storm and shout I told you so all he wants. It won’t fix anything. “It’s done. We’re here. We need to make what we can of it.”

Steve is still staring at Bucky’s tombstone in a way that’s becoming increasingly unnerving. “This is the second time I’ve buried an empty casket for him."

Tony swallows, all too aware that he nearly made that a full casket in 2016. If Bucky was still here, Tony would have apologized with an arm, like the one he had built for Nebula. But unlike with Nebula and Thor, there is nothing Tony can physically build here to offer comfort. At least, not anything he’s thought of yet. "I know I ruined things that day in Siberia," he manages. "That I made you choose between the two of us. That wasn't fair. That isn't who you are."

"Tony—"

"No, just let me say this. And fine, maybe, we could have made a few more sacrifice plays along the way and not ended up here." If Gamora had given up Nebula, it Loki havd given up Thor, if Strange had given up him. If Steve had given up Bucky, all those years ago, instead of fighting entire governments for his freedom. "None of us had the strength to do it. The only person who did was Wanda and then that didn't even matter. And maybe if we had... well, maybe we stop being the good guys the moment we start trading lives."

He's not sure how much of his own argument he believes. But, for the first time since he can remember, he has more goals than trying to prove that he's right. “I was relieved,” he finds himself saying. “When I stepped off the Benetar, and found out Pepper and Rhodey and Happy had all lived.” He doesn’t mention Peter. He hasn’t been able to put into words what exactly a teenager from Queens had meant to him. “I still feel relieved. And that feels awful. And it also feels awful that it doesn’t feel more awful.”

“I’m glad,” Steve murmurs. “I’m glad you got to keep them.”

Tony keeps an ear out for any bitterness in those words. He doesn’t hear it. Steve is being honest. Tony swallows past the stubborn lump in his throat. “I was relieved as well… when I saw you. When I got my feet back on land and saw you were there. I was relieved.” More than just relieved. In those first few minutes, none of their fighting had mattered. Tony had been grateful to tumble into the arms of a friend—someone else to hold him upright for a few moments.

Steve nods slowly. “I was too. I didn’t want to hope too much, not after weeks of not knowing, not after we’d lost so many. But I couldn’t kill the hope entirely. And then you were there, alive and…” There’s a small hitch in his voice. “God, Tony, if it had been Bucky and Sam and you, I don’t think I would have…”

Without letting himself think about it too much, Tony reaches out to grip Steve’s shoulder. “We’re still here. Still fighting. That’s something. That has to be something.”

Steve nods again. “We’ll make it something.” It’s the first time he’s sounded like himself in months.

“That we will.”

"Maybe..." Steve shifts his gaze, past Bucky's grave to Sam's. "Maybe fighting looks different now. Like... like what Sam did. At the VA." He straightens at little at the promise of a mission. "Maybe it would help."

"I have no doubt it would. God knows how many people out there need someone to talk to." Tony looks from the grave to Steve. “You know, I had the wild idea I might cook tonight. Want to make sure I don’t set the kitchen on fire?”

For a terrifying moment, he’s sure Steve is going to say no. Then, the man seems to pull some of his shattered pieces back together. “Well, we can’t have a fire, I guess. Been putting out enough of those already.”

It’s not a miracle cure. No one is magically better. But Tony gathers whoever is left and makes something hot and homemade with minimal kitchen damage, and for once the conversation is more than about the work they’ll have to do tomorrow.

He can’t fix the world. But he will fix what he can.

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea! (Lucemond or not, where Lucerys and Alys teamed up)

Now I was thinking, what if Lucerys gets captured after Storm's End, and became a hostage? Aemond wants him in a certain way, however he is taught by the Seven, courtesy of Alicent, that liking a man the way he craves Lucerys is wrong and tried to quell it. Lucerys was extremely defiant during his "stay", and he somehow managed to push Aemond to the brink.

When he managed to capture Harrenhal, he murdered every single Strong as punishment. He came across Alys, who had all the features of Lucerys he was obsessed with, hells, she was even a strong bastard like he believes Lucerys to be. But he was also the opposite of Lucerys in the ways that mattered (at least, to the Seven). She was a woman, much older than him, than Lucerys, and he can satisfy his wishes on her, so he might not feel the guilt of betraying his mother's beliefs, and in extension, his mother herself.

So he made her his lover, (his mother dislikes this, but it would have been better than the alternative, going straight to Lucerys for his desires) and every time Lucerys does something he didn't like, every time he unintentionally heats up Aemond's blood and makes him go crazy with want, he goes to Alys.

He does feel a tiny bit sorry for using her this way, so he gives her jewelry and freedom to roam the castle to compensate. She acted like a proper bastard would, treating him choosing her was an honor.

When inside she imagined killing him a thousand times.

She may have been a bastard, but the Strongs have never treated her unkindly, have treated her as well as they could. As a midwife, she helped in the births of the children Aemond killed, and she will remember them in her quest for vengeance.

And to help raise her chances, she needed a powerful ally, and to get one, she needed the help of the boy, Lucerys, the supposed Strong bastard.

Using her gifted freedom and status as Aemond's "lover", she forced herself to enter Lucerys' room, and though he is wary, he quickly warmed up to her. She too warmed up to little Lucerys, who reminded her of all the young Strongs who died.

Aemond, surprisingly, allowed this to continue, though he made sure a guard watches over the visits and report back to him. Soon, she found a servant loyal to Rhaenyra, and asked her to deliver a letter, both from her and Lucerys.

Using her midwife knowledge, along with the knowledge of herbs, she made herself appear pregnant, so much so that even the Masters were fooled. Aemond didn't know how to feel about this. If he were to not marry Alys, his child would be born a Strong bastard, and the irony is not lost to him. If he does, that would make him an oathbreaker for not marrying one of Borros' daughters, and, though he didn't want to admit it, it would also feel like a sort of betrayal to Lucerys (who he still craves for).

Then came Daemon's challenge, and Alys urged him to go and fight, to protect his new family, (she hopes he dies viciously by dragon fire, hopes that Daemon's beast would eat him whole). He does accept the challenge, but it was not just because of Alys' urging, but because he knows that if he lost, Lucerys would also be taken away, and he would not have that.

Before he left, he visited Lucerys one last time, and decided that he couldn't hold back any longer, that Sevens be damned, he might die tomorrow, might as well take what he truly wanted now, and ravaged him thoroughly.

Whether he survives the battle or not is up to speculation, but Alys and Lucerys managed to escape together.

-------------

If you don't like it, go easy on me. Or don't say anything. Ignore me.

For those who would think it would be interesting, thoughts? Reactions?

If anyone wish to expand this, please tell me!

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

Please I need some information on lucinaaaa

Also I'm betting her and cam are good friends especially because both of them were essentially created by magic

Cam 🤝 Lucina (Inexplicably Existing)

(But fiiiiiiine, fiiiiiine, I'll tell ya....you're just not allowed to yell at me until the end tho. I can never do anything simple, I swear)

SO *claps hands* Lucina Garmadon comes from a parallel timeline to Show!Ninjago where Lloyd a) was found by Wu almost immediately after he ran away from Darkley's and b) he never had the chance to open the Serpentine Tombs...meaning his life was way, way better than the way we know it to be. And, basically, the only things Alter!Lloyd really ever had to do as the Green Ninja was purify his father + seal up the Overlord, and then he had a mostly easy life afterwards, up until the Wildbrain seasons.

Which, in the briefest summary possible means that:

Serpentine not unleashed -> Devourer never freed -> City not destroyed/Garmadon doesn't get the Golden Weapons -> Overlord is defeated on Dark Island as opposed to Ninjago City -> Borg Tower is not built on top of Overlord's remains/S3 basically doesn't happen -> Zane doesn't die tragically -> Master Chen is unable to obtain the required EMs for his spell -> Garmadon doesn't have to be banished to the Cursed Realm -> Morro isn't unleashed/Lloyd isn't possessed/Cole isn't a ghost -> Djinnjago isn't destroyed/Nadakhan is far less of a villain/no Jay torture/no reality erasure -> 20X3!DotD doesn't have all those shenanigans -> Wu is better prepared to deal with Acronix's return and thus prevents S7 -> no one is lost in time -> Harumi's parents never died + she didn't worship Garmadon/remained a huge fan of the Ninja leading to her legitimately falling in love with Lloyd -> both S8 + S9 don't happen because there is no Garmadon to revive/no Sons of Garmadon anyway -> but because they never met Faith, they are caught off guard by the arrival of the Oni -> because Garmadon is purified and also not a zombie, he can't tap into his oni form as easily -> but they still manage to fend off the Oni with the Tornado of Creation, but Garmadon is killed instead of Lloyd as a result.

*deep breath*

The depression over losing his father is what causes the slump leading to S11, and basically all the Seasons up to Crystalized still happen the same, except there is no Vengestone buyer/no Lloyd agonizing over Harumi/Nya doesn't return from being the sea. In the time that passes after Seabound, Alter!Lloyd and Alter!Harumi have a kid (whether by ~natural means~ or by magical manifestation, whichever fits your hcs better). Instead of just one year passing though, there's like seven (because it takes way longer for The Overlord to enact the plans of his return without having a Vengestone Buyer to supply him with what he needed in the meantime)

So, seven years later, the Overlord still returns to extinguish Alter!Lloyd as the prophecy dictates, and still aims to do it through a Crystalized/Vengestone army + manipulating Alter!Harumi -> Although here instead of bringing her back to life, he just straight up possesses her because she's so close to Lloyd, and also infuses her with his Essence/Element. She's then made to kill the other Ninja (who were terribly out of practice after seven years not ninja-ing), Wu dies taking a hit for Lucina, and without literally any of his support, Lloyd is finally stricken down, and this world of Ninjago is finally banished into the oblivion of the void.

But, Alter!Lloyd has his grandfather's Realm Crystal, as it was never used for evil + nor destroyed in the wake of the Oni Invasion.

As the world is being voided, Alter!Harumi uses the last of her strength to impart the remnants of the Overlord's Essence into her daughter, at the same time Alter!Lloyd does with his (hence Luci's heterochromia). She survives this somehow (probably easier to believe if we go the "magical manifestation" route), and the actively perishing Alter!Lloyd then uses the Realm Crystal to drop her into another realm where she doesn't already exist and will hopefully find a place to thrive.. And thus, the Alter!Ninjago hits a bad ending...

...and Lucina arrives in Legacy!Ninjago, perfectly timed with the coming of the Merge.

(She's also got horns and tail now. Which, weird, but cool!)

Haven't sorted out how she managed to find Legacy!Lloyd (maybe via the Green Element-connection powers she now has), BUT she does, and Lloyd...is very, very, very in denial about this being his child.

Lucina: I'm your daughter from an another dimension!!! *Svtfoe theme plays*

Lloyd: ...honestly, the 'other dimension' part is the part that's easier to believe. But there's no way *I* have a kid–

Lucina: But I literally look just like you-

Lloyd: Tch, a lot of people look like me! *a lie*

Lucina: I literally have your eyes! Well, one of them. And that's something only YOU could have?!

Lloyd: ...maybe they're contacts—

Lucina: DAD

Lloyd: Don't call me that

But she manages to convince him with her horrifyingly OP powers (even worse than Legacy!Lloyd ever had lmaooo) and Lloyd caves and agrees to keep an eye on her because he can't let this gremlin loose when the world is already so unstable and he's probably the only person alive that's even able to match what she's capable of, on god.

(and that's when Kai shows up to absolutely dunk on Lloyd for the sheer absurdity of the situation before fucking off again skfgddfdss)

Lloyd: ...is there really no way to get you back to your dimension or timeline or whatever?

Lucina: Nah. That shit gone bro.

Lloyd: Language, young lady.

Lucina: *giggling* Okay, Dad~

Lloyd: *groans*

In the years that pass before Dragons Rising, Lloyd is still, like, dreadfully lonely...but, Lucina at least takes some of the edge away. He catches her trying to attempt the training course sometimes and and very detachedly gives her some pointers (only to stop her from hurting herself; he totally doesn't actually care). She stops him from moping around by running around and causing chaos, leading him to give chase to stop her from destroying everything (she absolutely is just doing it for the attention). And when she finally tires herself out, he totally doesn't carry her to bed or let her crawl herself into his own bed when she has a nightmare because he totally doesn't know what that's like

And he most definitely does not grow attached.

Lloyd: ...don't you ever miss your own parents, though?

Lucina: ...all the time. But, not as much as when I'm with you~!

Lloyd: ;w;

Lucina: I mean, you're exactly like my dad, but, grumpier, I guess? I don't mind though~

Lloyd: Hey?!

Lucina: But speaking of...is my other!mom still around here somewhere, orrrrrr...?

Lloyd: I...that's...it's...complicated.

Lucina: Ugh, you sound like Grandma and Uncle Wu.

Lloyd: *running his hands down his face* ...yeah, I know. I know.

She tells him about how awesome Alter!Lloyd's life was compared to his, making Lloyd somewhat jealous. And he tells her his life's tragic story and she's just sitting there in second-hand traumatized awe (what do you mean her mom was evil here?! unfathomable.) while Lloyd feels more and more inadequate for this.

Lloyd: ...how come you're even bothering with me when your dad was so great and untroubled and...not angry at everything...and didn't, y'know, cause problems for everyone just by existing...

Lucina:

Lucina: Well, the way I see it...he lived a very, very good life even if it got shaky at the end, but...he never had to fight as hard as you did, or had to learn from a bunch of a mistakes, and maybe...that's what cost him in the end.

Lucina: And even though you suffered, like, a lot, and went through soooo much, and lost a lot of people you loved too...you're the one that's still here, right? And I think that's gotta count for something, yeah?

Lloyd: ...that's really insightful.

Lucina: I get it from you! :D

Lloyd: ...heh.

Five years finally pass, Dragons Rising kicks into gear, and Arin and Sora have a heart-attack at the twelve-year-old mini-Lloyd gremlin lurking around the monastery and cackling down the halls. But despite everything, Lloyd proudly introduces her as his.

Lloyd: This...is my daughter, Lucina Lloyd.

Lucina: *hanging from the ceiling with her tail* Yeaaaah, that's me!!!!

Sora: What—

Arin: So ninja *-*

Bonus-

Jesse: Where in the hell did THAT come from?!

Lloyd: HEY HEY, I know YOU of all people are not about to call me out for having children spawn in out of nowhere!!

Jesse: ...I revoke my previous outburst.

Cam, meanwhile: Friend???

Lucina: FRIEND!!!