#and then in homecoming we had the Death Star

[mrs-jamesbbarnes]

We all laughed about the Peter Parker Star Wars references because of Nick Fury but they got 1000x funnier with Harrison Ford joining the MCU. Before we could brush it off as prequels not existing but now there’s literally no brushing it off. 😂

[aixeko]

-`♡´-≐ “ IF THE WORLD WAS ENDING, I'D WANNA BE NEXT TO YOU ” ≐-`♡´-

| Starring | Soft!Arlecchino x Harbinger!Reader

| Setting | Genshin universe

| Scenario | [ SHORT FIC ] FLUFF! Soft with a hint of angst. Pronouns are not used. A bit fast paced. Not proofread. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note]

× This is so mid and I refuse to reread. I’m so sorry if the quality of the fic is not up to par with the others. × Fluff is so boring I'm sorry, It's not my cup of tea.

[ Word count: 2034 ] | Art credit: Blufyrein on Twitter & Instagram

August 20 XXXX…

“The house of the hearth has been blazing with activity ever since the children heeded the upcoming anniversary of my birth. Even with my reluctance, they insisted on celebrating this occasion, one in which I won't prevent seeing the amount of effort and enthusiasm they are collectively putting into this yearly ceremony.

It has been some time now since you last celebrated with us; in fact, it was four years ago exactly on this day, August 20th. Four years in which you had left for your mission issued by the Taritasa to Natlan, and four years since we last heard of your welfare. The children, in spite of the low possibility of attendance, still persist in accounting for your awaited arrivals, and I too bide my time for the day you return home to us.

If it isn't an inconvenience for you, please do not let their hard work wither into nothingness; perhaps even a response letter would be utmost appreciated by the children.

The hearth is set ablaze, anticipating your safe homecoming; the children miss you." 

Two days have passed since Arlecchino sent her most recent letter to you, and the day of her birthday has arrived with the expected ghosting from your side. Her hands focused on providing perfection to the barbecue, moving on their own like a second conscious being, while her gaze stared blankly at the grill, her mind stuck in deep thoughts.

Arlecchino is not one to sugarcoat or disprove the factuality of a situation, but with the lack of responses, or rather no response, over the past four years, the overwhelming, woeful truth has become more prominent than ever.

Her grip on the tongs tightened; with the amount of pressure she was applying, it could bend the steel into a useless apparatus. Furrowed eyebrows follow along with a frustrated sigh and a shake of her head. No, impossible. How can a Harbinger who is soon to be awarded the ranking just below her fall victim to the accursed consequence of life, such as death? It's impossible; the odds are practically none unless you have run into trouble with the almighty archon of Natan; then that is the only possible outcome that can lead to your ultimate demise. Even the mere thought of that possibility is unbelievable; the person whom Arlecchino has married is not one known to be the hostile type despite ranking as a highly potent Harbinger. To hell and back, your personality is enough to make even the devil himself view you as a passive mortal being; you are not married to a woman such as Arlecchino herself for no good reason.

"FATHER!" A young adult male screamed out in horrorstruck desperation.

The sound of her being called awoke Arlecchino from her trance; her head snapped to the young man, whose skin, once flawless, was now bruised, with short ash-blond hair and wearing magician-like clothing that was now dirtied with his own blood. The apron wrapping around her, along with the tongs in hand, was thrown onto the ground as she rushed to her bloody child. The other children near the area hurried to their brother, their expressions sharing concern and anger at the sight.

Arlecchino catches him once his body gives up; desperate, inaudible cries escape his mouth, with the only few words being coherent: Lynette—everyone—hurts!

Those words are enough for her X-shaped eyes to light up to a color akin to flame. Arlecchino's face visibly darkened at the announcement; from its tone, the situation was a lot direr than she could have expected. She gently but hastily lowered Lyney to the ground, her voice booming with command to the children to aid him while she raced to where he had come from. The children who specialized in combat rather than the medical aspects hurtled with Arlecchino despite not being in their Fatui attire; their bodies, enraged, moved on adrenaline alone.

Another one of the children who is limping sees the reinforcements approaching and points in the direction of the ongoing battlefield onslaught. Distant screams are heard, and Arlecchino has no time to properly bring her children to safety; thus, some of the others take charge in retreating the injured to let her focus on eliminating the source of the massacre.

Once she arrives at the cluster of her heavily wounded children and spots the suspect, who's draped in a dark cloak covering their whole body, Arlecchino takes no time transforming into her stronger form.

Arlecchino's scythe bolts at the infiltrator in synchronization with her body, whose speed could be described as quick as lightning. Arlecchino is left with constricted pupils as the mysterious figure dodges the attack with absolute ease, like they have just vanished into thin air.

"It seems like the great supreme Knave has gotten weaker."

The unrecognized tone of a whisper against her ears has her swinging her scythe at a 360-degree angle; this action causes the person to leap backward with a laugh. Arlecchino stands poised, her eyes scanning the figure to make out some sort of recognizable appearance. By the sound of their voice, Arlecchino feels a sense of familiarity coursing throughout all 206 of her bones, yet she can't place her finger on why the stranger is able to invoke such a feeling.

"You made a grave mistake daring to step forth against the House of the Hearth."

One of Arlecchino's hand ignites in a surge of power, and with that, she leaves no time for a response as her scythe hurls at the figure, with a burst of multiple flaming sword-like shapes surrounding the weapon.

Arlecchino's hand snaps out, catching the leg hurtling at her head. Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and full of mockery: "Too slow."

"Not bad!" laughed the person as they disappeared once more, causing a tsk of irritation to be emitted from Arlecchino.

Arlecchino figured that enough was enough and unleashed various attacks all at once, and not a single one landed; it was like this stranger had already calculated and understood every single little detail about her fighting style. The fact that they didn't actually attack but rather used dodge gave Arlecchino a bit of insight; they were playing a game of speed while she was playing a game of strength.

The gleam in Arlecchino's eyes intensified, sparking with otherworldly vigor. Her hand rose, mirroring the spark within as she muttered, "So be it." Her voice breathed life into a realm unseen by mortal eyes, with only an unlucky few witnessing its crimson moon.

The unidentified figure struggles in their stance, proving to be immobile. Play as you like, but to challenge a Harbinger of her standing is nothing to be confident about; daring to try to manipulate the outcome to your desire against another manipulator is pathetically laughable.

Or so Arlecchino thought, because what she didn't expect was for the stranger to be able to move of their own free will, but also to strike her domain as useless and nonexistent with a familiar style.

Her eyes narrowed once back to the real world, for there had only been one person who was informed about how to elude her realm, and based on the dependence on speed rather than strength, it was already a giveaway. Moments later, her suspicion proves true, yet not as anticipated as she presumes as she sees the stranger dashing towards her—well, not a stranger but the one who swiped her caged heart away into a loving shelter, you. You sprint towards her, shedding your cloak through the stride. In a heartbeat, you jump onto her, embracing her tightly with your warmth for an unexpected reunion, but one with no complaints.

"Peruere!"

Arlecchino freezes momentarily at the sudden action, but once recognition dawns, she returns your grip with an equal amount of fierce.

"You're home."

"I'm home!" You grin and draw back to study the face you longed for and missed for the past four years.

Her eyes, no more did they fume with fury; rather, in replacement of it, there radiated a tenderness shown to a small selected lucky few. A rare softness graces her features, an expression reserved only for children and, more intensely, for you.

"Happy birthday—"

You're interrupted by a peck on the lip; honestly, if it weren't for how unexpected it is for the likes of Arlecchino, it would have completely flown past you as some sort of dust.

"I figure the odds of you arriving today would be little to none, but nonetheless, welcome back home, my dear," she paused. "Although that little stunt of yours is not one easily forgiven or overlooked."

Arlecchino glances at the gathering that has formed all around her, more specifically at the young man who is hiding behind his twin sister with a nervous smile.

"Still as stone-hard as ever, I see, but I do admit my twisted plan for a reunion could have been alternated for a sweeter one," you give her an apologetic smile. "My sincerest apologies, Peruere."

"Why didn't you respond to any of my letters?" Arlecchino asked, turning back to look at you and settling you down to your feet to your dismay.

"I did!" you perked. "It just seems like Natlan is a horrible fit for communicating with letters since, somehow, it keeps getting lost and burned to ashes in the lava."

"Your face betrays you, darling." Arlecchino's fingers danced through your hair. "Your face says it all; it's a given that you know there is no hiding anything from me. Don't lie to me; you didn't know I had sent you letters."

"Haha... Look, in my defense, my mission was a mess, and doing anything is a whole other disorder; I'm thankful that the Captain is taking over because that region is a headache to deal with."

Arlecchino places a hand on your waist, pulling you close as her lips make contact with your head. "Setting everything aside, let us use our time together again to celebrate instead of bickering."

The children cheered at the public display of affection between their parents, and the one who was "tending the wounded" was, in fact, actually bringing the barbecue from the House of the Hearth to the large field.

"The children miss you," Arlecchino whispers into your ear, her head pressed against yours.

You wanted to laugh at the children's excuse; she really had not changed much in the past four years, still playing off a cold demeanor to hide the soft shell hidden beneath it, one you had already melted through.

Your eyelids lift, catching her smile, which reveals her pearly white teeth. Your gaze softens. In reality, many things have changed since you first met her, yet she refuses to give herself credit for it. She was once only known as Arlecchino or by her Harbinger title, The Knave, but over the past years, the facade has lowered greatly to divulge the true identity of Father, The Knave, Arlecchino to just Peruere.

"I miss the children too."

For the rest of the day, that smile didn't leave; no, it was displayed for the whole world to see and ravish in. Nor did she leave your side once, insisting on even public displays of affection in spite of being surrounded by the children, and in her own words, "It's to make up for all the time that has been lost."

If only she knew that in the far future, when all of her hair turns white, with yours matching hers, she would realize it was the worst lie she had ever spoken.

If only she knew that in the future she had accidentally made an unspoken oath with herself to spend the rest of her time loving you to make up for the other half of her time that was spent hiding how much she loved you.

The smile, unbeknownst to both of you, would be a permanent fixture. It would endure through your remaining years, brightening each day until your final moments together, when life's inevitable decline finally claims you both.

Even when the world was ending, at least you both would be next to each other, dying with a smile stretching across your features.

[creativeashproductions]

Constellations // Wally Clark

IN WHICH: reader is a secret ghost at Split River High School attached to the roof where Wally stumbles onto for solitude. With the new arrival of Maddie Nears a year later a secret comes out.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of a undisclosed medical condition, divorce, angst, and fluff

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Of course it’s a ghost show that revives this blog of writing. Am I surprised? No. Is Julie? Definitely not.

Masterlist

You’d have never anticipated the sound of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl being an okay soundtrack to watching the stars. But you’d also never expected discovering the afterlife so soon. Occasionally, you would hear a mixture of the living and the dead on the ground or through an open window, but you typically stayed on the roof.

It had been the hangout spot for the volleyball team when you were alive. The championship game had been the last time a living foot, other than maintenance, had stepped on this roof.

Most of the team had graduated, and the broken doors that couldn’t hold up against the wind were changed. So now it was only you. Reliving the excitement and stupid teenage decisions. And avoiding Mr. Martin and his afterlife support group because he was unsettling, to say the least.

 “This spot taken?” Your head lolled to the side, finding a fellow dead jock standing above you.

Wally Clark had discovered you on the fifteenth anniversary of his father’s not coming to the Homecoming game. He’d wanted a quiet place and one where Janet wouldn’t follow.

2022 Day After Homecoming Game

The door slammed from the stairwell slammed open, and the muffled sound of sniffling could be heard. Then, the shuffling of sneakers came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Your eyes left the book in your hands to the tall teen towering over you. One of the longer-term ghosts residing at Split River High School.

 “I-I didn’t know anyone used the roof. Are you new?” 

“Nope. Been residing in the afterlife awhile now.” You responded, leaning against the roof’s edge, “Proceed for whatever you were here for.”

Whatever emotional breakdown he was about to have ceased in favour of plopping right down beside you. His head shifting more in your peripheral. He froze when your fingers stopped moving in page-turning.

“Oh, sorry.” He leaned away sheepishly, “Am I annoying you?”

Your brows furrowed, “I’ve read the book a few times. So what brings you to my humble death place.”

“You died up here? Wouldn’t we have heard about-?”

“I didn’t die up here.” You interrupted him to shift to face him fully, “You’re the guy the stadium is named after, right?”

“Wally Clark.” The ghost said, holding his hand out. You exchanged your name in response. Wally slowly repeated your name as if savouring it.

“So seriously, are you okay? You were crying-“

“I died on the football field in 1984. Last night was the first time my dad wasn’t there.” Wally breathed, tilting his head to stare at the sky, “It really hits home that time is going by, and I’m standing still.”

You nudged his knee with your own, “I’m sorry about that. You’re welcome to hang out here to get away.”

“That’d be nice. I feel like all the ghosts expect me to be the outgoing, always happy guy.”

“How was the dance?” You asked as Wally settled on the ground beside you. The ends of his white bowtie hung loosely, and his suit jacket draped across his lap.

“It’s alright. Could have been better.” He spoke, dropping his arm around your shoulders to tug you into his side, “Simon persuaded the DJ to play a couple real hits. One day I’m gonna convince you to go with me.”

Your lips twitched. It was a pastime of Wally’s trying to get you to join in with everyone, especially with the whole drama with the new girl. Thankfully he understood and respected your decision to keep away.

You hadn’t spent years in secret from the support group for no reason. Instead, you existed peacefully in their obliviousness on the roof.

“Nah, I much prefer spending time up here.” You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Maddie settling in?”

“She’s adjusting as well as she can. Rhonda’s warming up to her. The whole thing she had with Simon is nuts still.”

Maddie Nears, aka the newbie, had shown up suddenly in the afterlife with no memory of her death. Or the events leading up. The pool of suspects is deep, and the desperation to be found alive is strong. 

As he relayed the new development, you tried to think of anything but what you had done today. How do you tell your dead boyfriend something that makes Maddie and Simon’s communication seems like child’s play?

“-What about your day?” Wally questioned, moving so you’re leaning your back against his chest. 

You sighed happily when his arms came to wrap around your shoulders and press his lips to your head. 

“I snuck down to the lost and found for a new book. Mina left a couple things for me too.” 

The friendship you had with the ghost of the stagehand mind boggled Wally. Mina hadn’t left the theatre since the stage light fell on her in the late ’80s. She was eccentric, to say the least, but the only ghost other than Wally that knew about you.

“How? She always screams at us.” Wally chuckled, “Maddie’s the first that cracked through.”

“I got her a script for a production she loves and let her direct me on her birthday.” You hummed, crossing your ankles. Your eyes flinched open in perfect sync with Wally’s tensing up.

“How did you get a script-“Wally trailed off, staring at the stars twinkling under the night sky, “Whoa, wait.”

Wally’s mind flickered to the conversation with Maddie after talking with Mina.

“There’s another ghost. Mina mentioned something about me not being the first ghost outlier. That me talking to Simon isn’t earth shattering.”

Wally’s eyes swept from Ursa Major to your e/c eyes, refusing to lock with his dark brown.

“Can you talk to the living?” Wally demanded, shifting away. The space he created cracks your heart more.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Maddie’s the only one. I can just…sorta leave the school grounds?” You trailed off with a wince. The betrayal is a wicked shattering force to your bubble with the former football player.

“…you can leave the school? And not be slammed back to where you died?!” Wally’s fists went straight into his dark strands. The hair being tugged under his stress.

“Because I didn’t technically die here. I had a health condition and was declared clinically dead a few times. So, wherever my heart stopped, and I escaped, that death destination is a place where I could go. It hurts.”

Wally scoffed, blinking, “We spent the last year, and you kept that a secret. You never told me anything about how you died or this huge thing for over a year. I’ve told you everything.”

Your lips parted to respond, but the door was already slamming behind Wally on his descent back into the building. His long legs eating up half the stairwell by the time you’d opened the door.

“Wally! Wally, wait!” You shouted, sprinting down the stairs, “I swear I was going to tell you!”

The expression on his face was enough to freeze you on the last step, “Don’t you have another place to haunt.”

Your mouth dropped open, watching him disappear in the sea of living students still on school grounds. Your eyes find the blue irises of Maddie Nears. Surprise lighting up in her gaze. Your expression twisted before turning on your heel to flee the area.

The last thing you wanted was to talk with the girl you were assigned to show around on her first day. Stupid school tradition pairing a senior with a freshman.

“Hey!”

Maddie popped around the corner to a dead end where you were nowhere to be found. Instead, you’d slipped into a space where you popped up in a different area of Split River with a sheer scream at the pain.

The fight with Wally kept you from returning to the school grounds. You didn’t know a particular ghost was spending hours on the roof anxiously waiting for you. Instead, you were watching your half-sister playing with her Barbie doll in the backyard of your childhood home.

Your arms tugged your legs to your chest. You rarely visited your family home since you watched the paramedics had arrived at 3am four years ago to remove your corpse from the house. 

“Ava!” 

Your head watched the little girl with piggy tails perk up, hearing your shared father’s voice. Your eyes take in the person you miss most in the world. It always hurt seeing the dimness your death had caused in his eyes.

The streaks of grey in his hair and beard showed the grief of losing you had caused. The guilt he barely masked from your sister. 

“Daddy!” Ava beamed, diving into his arms, “Are we taking Sissy flowers?”

Your lip quivered, hearing the adoration coating each word Ava spoke with that lisp. Speech therapy and growing up making the lisp less pronounced. Ava had barely been two when you died. 

The product of your father finding love again with a wonderful person who loved you and happily stepped into a parent role. You’d lucked out with getting a really great step-parent and a half-sister but a shitty hand for health.

“Absolutely. Do you think Sissy would like daisies this time?” Your grin grew, listening to Ava burst into excitement. 

You watched as the car disappeared around the corner before entering the house. Your room barely had any dust from Riley’s insistence on keeping it clean. Sometimes Ava would toddle in with a toy and curl in your bed to sleep.

Your clothing is still hung in the closet, your computer on your desk and all your pictures on the corkboard. Your phone was already safely tucked in your pocket with the charging cord in your backpack from the first visit back to the house.

The last time you visited your home was Ava’s birthday a few months ago. Long enough, the air freshener in your room had changed to the scent you loved during springtime. So it was time to rotate out a few items of clothing you wore. 

Your eyes lingered on the picture of your volleyball team wearing matching homemade t-shirts. A year after you died, they got together for a volleyball charity event in your name. Last you heard, two of them had become nurses, and one was on the career path to research your condition.

The following photo was of your mom holding you in her arms with a beaming grin matching yours. You hoped the move to Hawaii brought that smile back. You hoped Matthew was everything she deserved. You hoped she learnt how to live life again. 

“I miss you.” You murmured, pressing your fingers against her smiling face. 

The tears obscured your vision and the pacing form of your boyfriend when you opened the rooftop door. Your breathing gasping when his arms wrapped tight around your body.

“I am so sorry.” Wally mumbled in the crook of your neck, “Where were you? I’ve been up here for the last three days.”

“I went home.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his chest, “I-I don’t leave often. It hurts when I leave a place I died, like the universe or some bullshit forgets this isn’t the only place I died. So it’s like I’m gonna be spit out back in my death place here before I’m in my destination.”

You barely noticed when Wally tugged you to sit in the same spot he first met and talked to you. The roof’s gravel gives the feeling of digging in your jeans; you gave up trying to explain the metaphysical world a year after your death. Instead, Wally listened as you opened up the pieces of yourself you had kept to yourself.

“I was born healthy and lived healthily for a few years before I started getting sick. It broke my parents’ hearts. By the time I was sixteen, I had spent half my life in hospitals and doctors’ offices. Promises of working treatments and possibly experimental trials.” Your gaze stared off into the distance, “It was just noise by the time I graduated. I knew my body had a couple more miles before it would give out.”

“How are you….”

“I collapsed in the gym. I was clinically dead for a minute, but it was enough for this school to be a death destination. The mall once, the hospital twice, and the talk of transplants came around. Finally, I died in my backyard. It was late, and I was alone outside.”

You vividly remembered screaming beside your corpse. Sobbing when you heard your dad break down, cradling you in his arms. Him calling you your childhood nickname and the one you heard in home videos of ‘baby girl’.

“That’s why you love the roof so much. You died watching the stars.” Wally whispered, tilting his head to kiss your temple. His fingers toying with the sweater with the volleyball team logo.

“I did.” You chuckled, “I have a little sister named Ava. She’s five now. She has minimal memories of me, but her favourite thing is bringing flowers to my grave. This past visit was daisies. My dad remarried when I was in middle school, and my mom a couple years before I died.”

“Your parents still live in Split River?”

“My dad and Riley live in my childhood home with Ava. I think they’re talking about maybe having another baby. My mom took my death the worst. Her older brother died in 1995 with his band members. My mom moved to Hawaii with her husband. Split River had too many memories for her. So when Matt was offered a job there, they left.”

“Ava.” Wally hummed, “I like that name.”

“Maddie knew me.” You offered after laying with Wally for a while in comfortable silence. His fingers draw shapes on your bare back under the sweater. His fingers briefly halted before moving again, “When you were alive, did Split River do this thing where a senior was paired with a freshman?”

“Oh yeah. I got paired up with this insanely smart guy. He went on to found this hugely popular website like that Facebook you showed me.”

“Myspace? You got paired with one of the founders?” You spoke, blinking at his grin, “Well, when I was a senior, I got paired with Maddie. Before her dad died, he worked with mine. So, I knew her at work BBQs.”

“Speaking about Maddie…do you want to re-meet her and meet my friends?”

Your eyes narrowed, “This is dues for keeping the secret.”

“Oh, 100%. Secret stays between us, but yeah, you’re definitely meeting my friends. You should check out the support group, Mr. M isn't too bad.”

Tag List:

@websterssrss

[j2hoes]

A Twisted Romantic Fairytale (Wally Clark x Reader

Word Count: 3K

A tragic tale of two star-crossed lovers.

Warnings: Death

The homecoming game of 1983 was a tragic tale of two star crossed lovers perishing beside one another. It’s a story for the history books and one Split River High would remember in the years going forward. One that students remember as a devastating if not twisted romantic fairytale. Two young lovers bound together for eternity.

Homecoming Game - 1983.

Excitement runs rampant through the air as everybody floods into the stadium, eager chattering of students combined with the cheerful melodies of the marching band fill me with joy. It’s not as if I haven’t been here before, I’m no stranger to the blinding lights of Split River football stadium. In fact I’ve been cheering on the sidelines at every football game for the past four years or so, but tonight is different. I’m unsure of whether the electricity I can feel within the air has always been there and I have simply never noticed, or if it has something to do with the fact that this is my last homecoming game of my high school career. It’s the one night that counts. After all, it’s hard to miss the countless recruiters already situated within the stands.

“There you are! God, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Upon hearing the familiar voice, I can’t help but smile. Turning my attention away from the water fountain where I had previously been filling my water bottle, to see the dark haired jock that makes my heart race.

Wally Clark. Where do I even begin to describe this boy? 

I first met Wally on the second day of senior year. My family had just moved to Split River from Amber, Nevada, following my father’s transfer within the police department. Having accepted a promotion, despite the fact it meant we had to uproot our entire lives and move almost two thousand miles away.

It’s fair to say that I had been a complete mess, struggling to find my feet in a town that was the complete opposite to everything I had been used to. Not to mention the constant arguing between my parents caused by the stress of the move. Feeling so overwhelmed by my entire life changing so quickly, I couldn’t bring myself to attend first period and instead found myself tucked away in the bleachers, smoking a cigarette with shaky hands.

It was at that moment that Wally had found me, with a warm smile on his face, he comforted me. Welcomed me to the strange new town of Split River. Offered to sit with me in the cafeteria at lunch despite being a total stranger. However, something about the way things took place felt incredibly natural. As though this was the way things were meant to be.

Wally and I became inseparable from that moment forward, he encouraged me to join the cheerleading team. Insisting that it was only because he knew it was a passion of mine and not because it meant I would be forced to go to the football games that he just so happened to play. And how could I say no to that charming grin?

Throughout the years, we both learnt a lot about one another. He listened and supported me as I discussed my turbulent homelife, detailing how my parents seemed to be getting closer and closer to divorce by the day and how in turn I became practically invisible to them. I was there for him following every argument he had with his mother, reminding him that his sole purpose in life was not just football. Ensuring he knew that he had other talents and qualities that were just as good if not better than his football skills.

We weren’t best friends, we were each other’s rock through thick and thin. So when he kissed me on the field, following yet another win for the team, I felt like I was floating on air. Unearthing all of the feelings I harbored for the jock, even if I had spent all that time trying to bury them.

Wally’s heart is so pure and full of love. Being on the receiving end of that love to the fullest extent is the greatest joy I will ever be able to experience. To have someone be such a bright light in your life is truly a blessing.

So if I had to describe Wally Clark? I’d say he was an angel brought down from heaven just for me.

“Excited for the big game my love?” Wally asks as he finally reaches me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and placing a soft kiss on my temple.

“More nervous than excited. Kristine’s had us practicing a new move and with all the recruiters, I’m just scared I’m going to let the nerves get to me and mess up.” I admit, reaching my own hand up to hold his that remains over my shoulder as we begin to stroll through the crowds towards the locker rooms.

“You’re a superstar!” Wally exclaims, to which I’m unable to contain my laughter. “I mean it! You’re gonna smash it, honestly. I’ve never seen someone make cheerleading look as mesmerizing as you do. It’s borderline hypnotic, I’m telling you.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever you say.” I reply, tone sarcastic, yet his words of encouragement do make me feel ten times better. “Anyway, what about my favorite player? Are you feeling okay?”

I don’t miss the pained look that flashes briefly crosses his face before returning to his usual winning beam. I’m sure he’s just ready to get the game over with, wanting to return to some sense of normality and let loose at the dance. No longer having to deal with the overwhelming amount of pressure that his mom places on him to be the best.

“I guess I’m a little worried. My knee has been playing up for the past few days and coach said I needed to rest it, which is what I’ve been trying to do. I don’t know, I just don’t want to let anyone down, especially not my mom. Or you.”

As Wally finishes speaking we reach the doors of the locker room and I remove myself from his embrace to stand in front of him. Taking his hands gently in mine as I gaze up at the sweet boy. Noticing the slight gleam of worry and shame hidden deep within his coffee brown eyes.

“Whatever happens out there, you won’t be letting anyone down, I promise.” My voice is soft as I speak to him, wanting him to truly understand how little his performance matters. “Your mom may be disappointed but she’ll get over it. As long as you’re happy, healthy and alive, that’s the most important thing. Just don’t push yourself too hard, I know how important it is to you that you make your mom proud but she’ll be proud of you no matter what. I mean, how could she not be? You’re amazing Wally Clark.”

The footballer smiles, wrapping his arms around me before pulling me into his body tightly. Resting my head against his chest, I close my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to relax in his embrace and breathing in deeply to take in the deep oaky scent that is Wally. He rests his head atop of mine and I can feel him squeeze me gently, hands scrunching up the fabric of my t-shirt as he does so.

“Wally Clark, better get yourself in that locker room right now! It’s almost showtime!” I hear the coach yell and my boyfriend sighs, slowly releasing me from his tight hold.

“Now go show everybody just how amazing you are.” I whisper, lovingly gazing up at him.

He nods as though in confirmation with my previous statement, before taking my face in his hands and slowly leaning down to interlock his lips with mine. Delicately and with the remaining hint of nerves racing through his body, his lips move gently with mine. My cheeks feel burning hot compared to the brisk coldness of his hands, caused by the icy fall winds, though I don’t seem to mind. Embracing the sweetness of Wally’s mouth and the tenderness of every move he makes.

It’s with much reluctance that we pull away from one another, however, after catching a glimpse of the coach’s disapproving look, I know the moment is over. Sending the jock to get himself ready with a swift peck to the cheek, him offering me a cheeky wink in return as we both slink off to our respective locker rooms.

The next time I see Wally is when the team makes their grand entrance onto the field. A big cheesy grin rests on my face as I hear the crowds' screams of support, waving flags and homemade banners to cheer on the team. With a few cheers of my own, a couple of the girls and I begin to hype up the crowd even more, jumping wildly and encouraging their yells.

As I shoot a quick glance over to the field, I’m able to spot my boyfriend easily, even with his helmet on. Smiling brightly at me even as he runs towards his team to discuss their play. My heart flutters knowing that he still makes an effort to look for me even as the game is about to begin.

“Alright girls, you know what to do!” Kristina shouts, alerting us to take up our positions and prepare for the first routine of the night.

Noticing the game is about to commence, I feel myself worrying less about messing up the performance, focusing solely on Wally and his uplifting words from moments earlier. Sharing gleeful smiles with my fellow cheerleaders, I can’t help but feel a sense of excitement as the music roars through the stadium.

The next few minutes pass by in a blur, with the Split River football team taking an early victory and our routine flowing perfectly without a single fault or mistake. It’s almost too good to be true.

With our final move only seconds away, I feel the nerves return once more as I boost myself into the hands of the other girls. Their hands wrapped around my ankles and calves to ensure my safety and support whilst in the air. It’s only when I’m hoisted into the air that my stomach twists. Something doesn’t feel right but I’m unable to do anything. Everything happens in slow motion and as I catch sight of the ground looming towards me, I’m hit instantly by the fact that I’m not going to make my mark. I’m not going to land firmly in the hands of the girls beneath me.

I suppose the one good thing about all of this is that I only have a split second to panic before my body plummets to the hard asphalt below my feet. The thump my body makes as it slams against the ground is enough to make anybody squeal.

Cheerleaders scream. Music cuts off.

Then I simply feel nothing.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wally’s the first to notice the chaos unfolding at the side of the field. Distracted by whatever seems to be taking place, he doesn’t notice the opposing team's player bolting towards him. He lands with a grunt, knee buckling and sending a sharp shooting pain through the length of his leg.

As he rises to his feet, he hears the whistle blowing repeatedly, noticing the chaos begin to grow larger. With furrowed brows he finds himself jogging towards the crowd, even if it does cause him a significant amount of pain that he tries desperately to hide.

Pushing through the screaming group of footballers and cheerleaders, it’s at that moment that he sees her. Lay unmoving against the concrete, his heart stops momentarily. Feeling sick to his stomach at the sight of his beautiful girl lifeless, body contorted in ways he didn’t know physically possible. 

Wally drops to his knees, students stepping away from him as he does so. Not knowing how to comfort the poor boy in this time of need. The physical pain he is feeling in his leg is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil he is going through right now. Dragging her body on to his knees and cradling her delicately, in fear of breaking her anymore.

With clouded vision, he stares down at his love, body releasing wails and sobs he had never once made in his life. Blood stains his hands, his jersey, his trousers and yet he doesn’t care. Overwhelmed by his grief, watching the color drain from her skin. He doesn’t think anything could be more painful, nothing in his life could compare to the trauma of his girlfriend sprawled out in his arms.

Wally struggles with the ambulance crew as they begin to remove her body, his coach restraining him as they place her in the back of an ambulance. The jock barely acknowledges his coach telling him that he’s been benched as he watches with heartbreak as the ambulance drives away and in his distress all he can do is cry on the sidelines.

With his mom standing behind him, badgering him about winning a scholarship and needing him in the game, Wally feels nothing but rage. All his life, he’d done right by his mom, wanting her to be proud of him, wanting her to acknowledge his successes but right now, he wanted nothing more than to tell her to close her mouth.

Instead, he finds himself marching over to the coach, begging to be put back into the game, arguing that he needs something to take his mind off what he just witnessed and that he is in fact in the correct headspace to win. And somehow, his efforts pay off much to his surprise. Back in the game, Wally has more strength than ever. Fuelled by his rage and his grief.

Whilst he finds it distasteful and disrespectful that the game continues despite his sweet girl losing her life only moments before, he plays with the knowledge that she’d want him to win. She would want him to succeed and so he tries. He tries for her because if not for her, then he has no other reason to keep going. She was the one good thing in his life that kept him from going off the deep and without her, he doesn’t know how he will continue. So for now, he simply focuses on the game.

The sharp pain in his knee grows stronger and with every passing minute he struggles more and more. Trying desperately to ignore it, he claims the ball, running at full speed towards the touchline and yet as he runs directly towards an opposing player, he makes no effort to slow down. Not thinking about the potential consequences of his actions.

He hits the ground with a devastating blow. World shrouded in darkness almost immediately. However, he feels more at peace than he ever has.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I watch with bated breath as Wally tumbles aggressively to the floor, the crack ripples throughout the stadium and I can’t help but gasp. Throwing my hands across my mouth as I fixate on the footballers rushing to his aid. My mind races at one million thoughts per minute, why did he go back out onto the field? Why didn’t he move out of the way? How could he be so reckless?

I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I almost miss the tall jock standing watching over his own body as people hopelessly attempt to resuscitate his cold body. Before I can even react, I’m slowly walking towards him, even with his back towards me I can tell he’s in pain. Hands in his hair, tugging slightly as he comes to the realization of what has happened.

My hands are shaking the closer I get, breath caught in my throat as I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not entirely sure why I’m scared, perhaps simply afraid of what this means for us now?

“Wally.” My voice is small, timid. Hands clasped together over my chest as I anxiously await his reaction.

As though he doesn’t believe it, Wally’s body goes stiff. When he finally faces me, his mouth falls open in shock, eyes holding the same softness that they did in life and I smile hesitantly. He’s the first to break the tension, scooping me up in his arms and holding me tighter than he ever has before.

“I’m sorry Wally, I’m so sorry, I promise I didn’t mean for this to happen.” My voice breaks as I speak, tears staining my cheeks. “I should’ve tried harder and then this would never have happened. You’d still be alive. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Darling it’s okay. We’re together now, yeah?” Wally states, placing his arms on my shoulders as he fully takes me in, holding me at arm’s length as if he’s checking I’m okay. Not that it really matters now.

“What were you thinking? Going back out was so stupid and irresponsible and reck-”

“I didn’t want to let you down.” Wally whispers, eyes falling to his feet in shame. “I wanted to make it all worth it, I wanted you to be proud of me because I knew you’d be looking down on me.”

“Wally, I-”

“I don’t think I could live without you sweetheart. I don’t think I’d want to.” He admits, bringing one hand to my face, thumb stroking my cheek softly. “Seeing you there, all limp and lifeless, I didn’t just lose you. I lost something within myself too.”

“I’m so sorry.” I sob, allowing myself to release all the emotions built up inside of me.

“I still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.” Wally confesses, smiling adoringly at me. “I still do.”

A quiet giggle escapes my mouth, pulling the tall boy towards me and pressing my lips roughly to his. Wanting, no, needing to feel him against me. To feel the way his mouth dances with mine and the way his hands tenderly caress my waist. I just need him.

“So where do we go from here?” The jock questions, our foreheads restings against one another as we catch our breath

“I don’t know, but as long as you’re with me, I don’t really care.”

[aroturier]

Revelations?

Has the fandom discussed at all whether, at this point, Elizabeth knows the truth about Sebastian?

It struck me as I was reading through this part of the manga last night, how her level of rage at him is so much more than I would've expected from someone who is simply preventing access to her true fiance' and the mechanisms needed to keep him alive. She seems seething-no, boiling over with deep-seated hatred for the butler to me. Is she not more than guarding that door? Doesn't she seem to want to at least wound if not actually kill him?

And this is the kind of thing Toboso-san does so well. Do we agree that Elizabeth's fury as it is drawn here can be no accidental slip of the pen?

So I'm curious, what others think about this. What do we think is going through her mind in these scenes? Do we believe she's been told some nonsense to whip up her emotions so she'll be a good guardian? Has she been told of Sebastian's true nature? Does she know of his part in R!Ciel's death? Is she going to go home now and tell her brother and the rest of the Midford clan the truth about the butler and the twins? or some cock-and-bull story fed her by Blavat or one of the stars (and by the way what's happened to him? Did he fall down an inconvenient badger sett, never to be seen again or what?) We know a little of what she talked about with her brother on that ride home and yes, her biggest concern was her realisation of how shallow and misguided her previous feelings for Ciel had been, but what else did she learn and talk about in that brief interlude between homecoming and running away again? some folk I specially invite to perhaps answer: @abybweisse, @earlgreyandco, @oya-oya-okay, @kuroshitsuji-girls , @dorkshitsuji, @k-s-morgan, and anyone else still active and commenting.

Thoughts?

[fangirlynjunk]

I just did way too much research because something occurred to me while writing my fanfic and did these bitches really kill Max like 2-3 weeks into senior year?

Like if we assume hatchetfield high starts in late August (generously) and the big game against Clivesdale was two weeks after they killed Max and if it was also the homecoming game (as in the first game at home after away games? From my understanding) and homecoming games are generally in September, sometimes October, then they had like… a month at most right?

Frowny face for maxs death and poorly done star for the big game. Like, assuming they started mid August then they had maybe four weeks into senior year?

I know they had three other years of maxs bullshit but damn that escalation

[veryace-ficrecs]

Tim Drake & Jason Todd Angst Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

in the planter outside my front door by CosmoKid - Rated G

When Tim’s six years old, his third-grade class takes a field trip to the old firehouse in The Narrows.

By the age of seven years old, he’s learned that there’s a difference between pain and Pain, and that while adults are generally happy to deal with pain, they do not enjoy you talking about Pain.

These two things may be related.

This Dark Ceiling Without a Star by Miss_Lazy_Tuesday - Rated M

“For fuck’s sake, your chatter is going to drive me crazy faster than this stupid spell.” “Then you talk!” “There’s no point!” Jason snaps. “I can feel it, okay. It’s—there’s no emotion behind it, it’s not using my thoughts. It’s just a bunch of weird Greek echoing in my brain and a compulsion to act. And it’s getting stronger. Talking isn’t going to slow it down.” “Then what will slow it down?” After five long seconds of silence, Tim gives into the urge and viciously jabs his fist into Jason’s leg for the second time. “Goddammit, why?” Jason snaps, green briefly sparking in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly. “You are not seriously going to just sit there and wait to die.” “The hell do you care anyway?” “Because I don’t want you to die! Obviously!” “You fucking should.” 

unaware i'm tearing you asunder by hendecagrisms - Rated T

The pieces were starting to click into place, aligning to create a deeply disturbing picture. “Are you seriously saying you’ll become a missing person and fake your death for this stupid homecoming plan?” Jason interrupted, his voice full of as much judgmental incredulity as possible. The kid’s eyes skated back over to him, his face twitching into a brief frown. “What? No.” A pause. “I mean, we could do that instead, if you wanted. But to fool Batman I’d need facial reconstruction surgery and new papers and it would all have to be untraceable—,” he broke off with a scoff, shaking his head slightly. “No, it’s just smarter and more cost-efficient to do it for real.” - Tim learns about Jason Todd's return, does some research on the Lazarus Pit, and realizes that there might be a way to solve multiple problems all at once: removing himself from the picture. For some strange reason, the Red Hood doesn't seem keen on cooperating.

Grin and Bear It (I got blood on your carpet) by Alia_JuneBug - Not Rated

When Jack Drake’s business trip gets canceled, he is forced to stay at home while the legal kinks get worked out. He’s not used to having a teenager underfoot, so it’s only rational that he’s a little snappish around Tim. At least, that’s what Tim tells himself each time his dad’s idea of discipline gets harsher. Bruce had told him to take a break from Robin in order to spend some time at home with his dad, and Tim can’t say no to that. He knows Bruce is probably glad to be rid of him for a short while. And he can handle discipline. This is a Tim Drake problem, not a Robin problem anyway. There’s no need for Bruce to know anything. Things get a little muddled when an injured Jason Todd crawls through his bedroom window.

Thrown into the Storm by ThePokeOne - Rated T

"It figured, Tim thought as he trekked through Gotham's streets in one of the worst storms he'd ever seen. He'd been careless. So stupidly careless."

Or:

Tim gets kicked out, and Jason has a change of plans.

am i the only one pretending (i did it to myself) by rutaceae - Rated T

Tim doesn’t expect his latest civilian kidnapping to be any different from the rest, but when he remembers things best left buried in the past, things take a turn for the worse. Luckily, his family is here to help.

sallow skin (and they can’t look away) by Ghxst_Bird - Rated T

Bruce is off planet when Robin’s distress beacon is lit. He tries not to worry, but then Nightwing contacts him: Robin’s tracker leads straight into Gotham Bay.

1-800-ROBIN by spqr - Rated T

“Gotham Youth Mental Health Hotline, this is Jason speaking. Can I ask who I’m talking to?” There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, and then a small voice says, “I, um. Sorry, I don’t know why I called. This was a mistake. I’ll just hang up now.” “Hey, wait.” Jason drops his feet to the floor, sitting forward in his shitty cubicle. Suddenly his heart is racing and he’s not sure why, but he can’t let this kid hang up. “You don’t have to tell me your name. That’s okay. Just – why don’t you tell me why you’re calling?”

buy the ticket, take the ride by Anonymous - Rated M

Tim had always figured that if he ever woke up in Vegas sans-memory, it would be when he was older than fourteen. But there were some things he couldn’t control, and apparently whatever had happened last night that he didn’t remember was one of them.

hungry for strays by Ghxst_Bird - Rated T

Tim knows something is wrong with Batman and Nightwing, and somehow it all has to do with the new crime lord on the rise in crime alley. So of course he’s not going to stay at the manor while they’re out risking their lives. Tim leaves a note and sets out for intel on the Red Hood. Aka. Everyone is straight up not having a good time

Safe and Warm by sardonic_sprite - Rated G

Batman.

Batman lived right next door. Batman surely had a generator, or at least a fireplace and wood, or some way to get warm.

Batman took care of kids, and Mr. Wayne was really nice. He would at least let Tim warm himself back up. Maybe he could even stay just until the power came back on.

It was worth a shot.

Nervous Breakdown by AhsokaJackson - Rated T

Jay closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to push back the encroaching headache. And possibly the admittedly ironic desire to strangle this kid for his lack of self-care instincts. "Tim. Timmy. Answer me this. Where exactly is the old man? Actually, better question: Why in the ever-living hell is the answer to that anything other than 'right here'?" Tim gave a huff that sounded more tired than defiant. "Because, like I said, it's a mild case and I don't need to be under observation. I already told Bruce the same thing I told you: I'm fine." "And he believed that."

Don't You Know? by sardonic_sprite - Rated T

“How the hell did you think taking everything the real Robin had was going to make him proud of you?” Jason snapped. “I didn’t want to take anything,” Replacement cried. “I wanted to save it. It… Batman… they were… everything was just… It was awful, and, and Gotham needed… but Robin…” The kid looked up at Jason, desperation in his eyes, like he was trying to find justification from his accuser. “I-I know he wouldn’t have wanted Batman to die.”

Living Dead Boy by Terranpheum - Rated T

Tim was having a normal night photographing Batman and mourning the dead when Jason Todd suddenly breaks out of his own grave. He's unresponsive and catatonic, and Tim knows there's no way he can leave the boy on his own. So, he brings him back to Drake Manor to try and help him recover. It goes… well?

Instead of All the Colors That I Saw by SilverSkiesAtMidnight - Rated T

Dick comes around to stand fully in front of him, keeping a steadying hand on Tim’s arm. “Just because you know you’re safe intellectually doesn’t mean you always feel safe,” he says softly. “It’s okay if you don’t feel safe.” “But it’s not okay!” Tim bursts out. “Because if I don’t feel safe, then how is Jason supposed to feel safe? He shouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable just because my brain is screwed up!” There’s a faint sound by the door, barely more than an intake of breath, and his eyes snap to the no-longer empty doorway.

The Worst Kind of Crush by TimDrakeIsMyPatronus - Rated T

Civilians came first.  It was one of the foundational truths of being a superhero. Their job was to save civilians regardless of the personal cost. Each of them knew and understood the risks associated with the cape when they put it on.  Still, rules got fuzzy when one woke up underneath a building.  Or the one where a building explodes and Tim is trapped under the rubble

Last Request by destiny919 - Rated T

"Any last words, Replacement?" Red Hood casually crouches down in front of him. "Or how about a last request? I'm feeling generous. I'll do you one last favor before I clip those little wings. Whatever you want. Sky's the limit." There's only one thing he's ever really wanted from Jason Todd.

Echoes of You by SilverSkiesAtMidnight - Rated T

Graveyard mud, heavy and dark, clinging to a stained and torn suit. One shoe missing, a leg bent awkwardly and blood staining a bare foot.

Milk white skin beneath the mud, black hair hanging in muddy clumps around his ears. Blue eyes staring back at him, animal-bright and dilated in the brief moment before he flinches back from the light with a cry of pain that stabs through Jason to the soul.

His shaking hand closes around the flashlight before he can even think about it, cutting off the piercing beam and letting it spill out in shards between his fingers. For a petrifying moment as his eyes readjust, he’s sure that when he looks again, there will be nothing there.

“Tim?” he whispers.

The lean and ragged figure, tiny, god he’s so small, lowers his hands away from his face, away from his eyes wide and glittering almost silver in the moonlight.

Hands, mud-covered and torn. The red of his shredded fingernails is sickeningly dark in the broken light.

He’s vomiting before he even feels the bile making its way up his throat.

Petals for Armor by SilverSkiesAtMidnight - Rated T

There’s a small half-moon of blood under the white of Tim’s nail where he bent it. He studies the red of it, feeling foggy and dreamlike. “Can I ask you a question?” His brother’s eyes flick to him and away again, surprised and wary. “What?” His nail doesn’t hurt much, just the dullest of aches when he presses down against it. “When you were homeless, you slept with people for money, didn’t you?” Jason jerks like he’s been slapped. His knuckles are so pale where they grip the steering wheel they suddenly look more bone than flesh. “Did I -” “Was it worth it?” Tim asks, drifting like a cloud over whatever furious reaction Jason was about to give him. “The money, I mean.” His sternum slams into the seatbelt with bruising force. Unbraced for it, his head whips forward and back against his seat as they swerve off the road again and skid to a halt with a screech of rubber.

farthest you’ve ever flown by rutaceae - Rated T

When Jack Drake kicks Tim out in a rage, Tim, not wanting to be a bother, tries to make it work without getting the Bats involved. But he can only go so long without being found out, and it’s not Batman that ends up discovering his secret; it’s the Red Hood.

Familial Ties by AnonymousWhump - Rated T

What he wasn't expecting was to walk into the kitchen to find Tim,  yes Tim because he wasn't in the Robin outfit he was dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, was that blood on his feet?  Staring at him in shock, eyes flicking from him to the phone in his hand, before mumbling a quiet,

“Jason?”  

Or, Jason breaks into the Titan's Tower to hurt Robin but his plan is quickly derailed when he sees signs of abuse.

Drop In by iselsis - Rated T

Tim's injured, alone in Crime Alley, and the worst possible person finds him. And yet it doesn't turn out as badly as Tim expected.

Watch Your Step Dear by Redaliveviolation - Rated T

Tim was having a great time watching the Dynamic Duo race across Gotham. He was getting so many good photos and he never wanted these nights to end. Too bad the heroes aren’t around when he takes a trip off of the side of a building.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Odysseus and Telemachus w/ “Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”?

Thx for the request!!

CW for descriptions of past death, blood, and injury

———————————-

Odysseus is not a naive man.

As he fought his way across ruthless waters, he had not dared to think that a homecoming to his beloved Ithaca would rid him of the violent echoes in his ears. The sounds of friends crying out in anger and fear and desperation.

Crying out for him to save them. 

He had been right not to hope. Even now, months after he awoke on shores so unfamiliar they had grown foreign, they scream.

Often, he bears them. Often, when they howl in the darkest part of the night, and Penelope’s arms encircle him, a shield in their wake, he can stand to remain still. Allow them to wash over him and leave.

But other nights he is too silent in his agony, Penelope’s exhaustion too heavy. And he cannot stand to lie beside her, his heaving gasps growing louder until they are bound to disturb her rest.

Many years she has spent in anguish, many nights she has passed without slumber. Because of him.

He will not entertain the thought of causing more. Not if he can help it.

So, out he goes on feet as silent as he can make them. He slips from their bed, pulling his robes around his shoulders. Like a wraith, he travels to the gardens. 

That is where he sits now. The stone of the bench he rests upon is cold. That is good. It keeps him alert.

The wood in his hands is still an indiscernible shape. His whittling knife has neglected to form it into something lovely. He does not truly see the slow work he makes of it. Flashes of crimson are what dance before his eyes, jerking like the desperate forms of the guilty, dangling like puppets. 

Broken bodies, smoldering remains, feral teeth gnawing on the forms of men he loved as his own brothers.

A bubble of blood forms on his thumb. It seeps into the wood before he can stop it. 

Odysseus curses, softly. He feels nauseous. 

“Father?”

He startles. Telemachus has snuck up on him, it seems, while he allowed his thoughts to enshroud him.

Sharp eyes — just like Penelope’s — gaze upon him from the shadows. Telemachus walks out of the cover of the palace walls, still wiping slumber from his face. 

“What are you doing out here so late?”

Odysseus pats the bench. Telemachus eases down beside him, frowning.

“Please tell me you aren’t thinking what I think you are thinking?”

The war-scarred king chuckles. There is little humor in it. 

“You are as perceptive as ever, my son,” he murmurs. “The dead exact a heavy toll. But it is their due. We must remember them. We must breathe their names so that none forget them.” 

“Of course.” Telemachus’ smile is soft. 

Every day, he sees more of his mother in his face, his movements and mannerisms, his maturity. Odysseus is glad of it. He does not wish to see too much of himself in his son. Perhaps, if he has inherited Penelope’s grace and wit, he can be kept from making the many mistakes that Odysseus has. 

“But, Father,” he begins, now, “allow me to share some wisdom, if I may. It is that which Mother imparted to me when I would lose myself in ruminations over what terrible fate had befallen you.

“Your friends wish for you to remember them through tales of their bravery and glory. They wish you to recall them, if you can, as they were when they were whole and healthy. They do not want their final moments to be the only thing painted vividly in your mind’s eye.”

Odysseus looks down at his hands. Calloused and scarred, the only tales he can see upon their weathered surface are those of pain.

Telemachus is gazing at the sky, face tipped back to be graced by the gentle twinkling of stars and glow of the moon.

“Mother told me all about you when I was young. About your courage and wits, your strength and prowess. And — ” He sends his father a grin — “about your faults as well. I would not have had a full picture had she not painted one of a man of strength and weakness.”

“And that picture — faulty though it may have been, in parts — is what you held to?” Odysseus says, soft and teasing. 

He dredges up a smile now, wraps an arm around Telemachus’ shoulders. The ability to not only sit beside his son and converse with him, but to touch him, to hold him, is still a thing that fills him with awe. 

Telemachus leans into him. He rests his head on his father’s shoulder. 

“Yes. The man I knew you to be, the woman my mother is, are the things that allowed me to persist while those monsters invaded our home. They are what made me who I am today.”

“Well, then.” Odysseus’ smile grows and it softens as it does so. “I suppose, in my absence, I did something right. Though, I will not even begin to try and take credit for the man I have seen that you are. I am proud of you, Telemachus. You are a far greater man than I have ever been.”

“That is a great compliment,” Telemachus says, leaning closer. The two men gaze up at the sky together, unhindered in this precious, small moment, by the ghosts of their pasts. They have crept to the corners now, banished from the forefronts of tired minds.

“For you are a man I could never cease to be proud to call my father.”

[ficbrish]

Smoke Rings

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 13th - Spring Cleaning]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, cptsd, blood, alcohol, weed/mushrooms, smoking, sex while high, post-battle scenery, gore, death, hanging reference, an unserious small dick joke, vague reference to past incest and CSA

After the game, but before the epilogue, Astarion and Vistri find a new home in the Underdark.

END GAME/POST-CANON SPOILERS!

Exhausted and ragged, they looked at each other in disbelief and clasped hands.

Their last enemy had been cut down; the fortress finally won.

“I believe we have a home now, darling.”

Astarion’s voice was strained from shouting, and moisture clouded his ruby eyes. His words echoed hollowly, but they were real.

A home, in the Underdark. That kind of life had been snatched from Vistri at the vengeful end of a serving fork. Dear Uncle Hurzeth really should have learned to shut his mouth, but like most religious men, he wasn’t known for his humility or impulse-control.

Vistri’s name and birthright burnt to ash upon his funeral pyre; stuffed in the gullet of his perverse corpse. In seizing justice, retribution wrapped around her own throat like an executioner’s noose, diminishing her to the life of a wandering Surface vagabond. Never to have a home in the violet gloom again.

Until the Nautiloid came along playing matchmaker and diviner of fate.

Their homecomings were each other’s exiles. As she reunited with the permanent dark, Astarion was banished to it. All that illithid nonsense allowed the sun to lovingly grace his skin without burning it to cinders. Now sans tadpoles, or the sacrifice of seven thousand other vampire spawn, his bright star once more turned to poison.

Luckily, Vistri was all the sun he ever needed. She dwarfed the real one in comparison to how she brightened his days and left a pleasant tingling on his skin. Its daylight cast shadows, while her spotlight chased away all shade. Its radiant touch whispered and dissipated rather quickly, hers shouted and echoed endlessly.

And even when it was the other way around, Astarion turned Vistri’s prison into a sanctuary. Maybe it was Sune herself who blessed them, for the love they found taught them the true meaning of home.

Standing back to back in the blood-soaked corridors of their brand-new ancient fortress, all they’d really gained was an address.

And a place to keep their stuff.

And host parties at.

…And for teaching and protecting all the others who’d broken from Cazador’s heavy chains.

Tiredly they turned and fell into each other’s arms, bracing themselves against their weariness. The rush of battle still flared through every muscle as their heightened senses filled with nothing but the other. Relief vibrated into a livid need, so furious at death that it came alive.

Her whimper wouldn’t have been half as charming if she wasn’t so completely oblivious to it building in her throat. He dwarfed it with a moan, taking her lips tenderly between his.

Breaking apart, she sighed and swore, “I’d let you take me over these corpses.”

“Wouldn’t be very sanitary though, would it?”

She giggled senselessly and twirled from his embrace to survey the room. Unsuccessfully clearing the ecstatic happiness from her lips with a smirk, she said, “It’s a fucking dump.”

Astarion threw his head back and laughed with such relief it sounded like sobbing.

Having carved a path of carnage all the way from the gates to that final corridor, they had a clear way back to the others. The halls seemed a lot longer when they were fighting their way through them. And populated with more vampires.

At some point along their macabre stroll, Astarion suddenly stopped them. “But where are all the spawn?” he asked warily.

“Perhaps they’ve met up already?”

Uneasy shivers skirted his neck. He felt them despite being just out of reach. It was enough of a warning for him to suggest they continue carefully, slowly. Even if there was nothing to worry about, a little caution couldn’t hurt.

The reason for his misgivings became apparent as soon as they approached the courtyard. Apparently everyone had met up already. A veritable feeding frenzy played out before them. Ravenous spawn were covering the cadavers like carrion. It was like the Shadowfell had descended, warping them into a Domain of sickness. The risen dead devouring a small village.

They thought they’d learned everything to know about the Dhampir, but clearly their education was just getting started. Astarion was one vampire, and that’s all they were used to. This was a horde. No stranger to the sight of him ripping off a bandit’s head and drinking from it like a chalice, Vistri still froze in fear at the scene before them.

Growling instinctively, Astarion stepped in front of her. Territorial feeders, the spawn were spaced like pieces on a freshly set lanceboard. Even so, the crowd was denser over by the gates, where most of the carnage was concentrated. His siblings feasted among them. He couldn’t help the sense of superiority that dawned on him at the sight.

He might not have ascended at Cazador’s death, but in observing his brethren’s lowly acts, thought himself lord of them all. The blood they supped on was dead and dull, no matter how fresh and warm. Astarion had Vistri. He didn’t steal, because she gave. She came to him willingly, and her blood ran with drow and dragon, so vibrantly full of life it was as powerful as a storm.

Vistri pitied them. How hungry and desperate, how alone they all were. She looked at Astarion in a new beloved light. He was the one who brought them together, the one who would guide them all to be better. 

Astarion was the first one to get away, to learn to control his nature. He was the one who killed Cazador. He was the one who broke their chains, giving them another chance. He was the one who had something to teach all the rest.

He felt such a bitter disgust; none of them should ever be this desperate, this starved. Feed, he thought proudly, looking out, Feed to your fill. They’d do better than animals and cooling corpses soon enough.

Realizing they were senseless of anything but the bleeding bodies stacked in front of them, Astarion scooped Vistri into his arms like a bride to carry her across the courtyard.

“You will not be afraid in your own home. I’ll make sure no one gives you a reason,” he said it so surely, it was more a statement of fact than a promise.

As he walked past the growling, slurping spawn, Vistri hid her face in his breast like a nervous child. The world was dangerous and threatening, but she was safe in his arms. Still, the relief she felt was full-bodied when they passed under arches and retreated into the fortress.

He carried her though the blooded halls of time-forgotten stone, unsure of where he was headed. Just somewhere else away from the others, away from the marks of battle. Astarion searched until he was satisfied he’d found a corner that could be entirely theirs. It took him far down the corridors, climbing stairs where he saw the opportunity.

Arms aching, he gave up on perfection and settled for what seemed like it would do. As they crossed the chosen chamber threshold, he kissed Vistri’s cheek and said, “Welcome home, my love.”

She giggled as he set her down with an, “Ooof! ”

The room was too spacious to be a closet, and contained no hints of its purpose. There were chairs everywhere, some broken, none matching. A desk was placed haphazardly near the middle, or maybe it was a table. Wooden crates were stacked to the side in a disorderly way, like they’d been quickly stashed and forgotten. Vistri wanted to open them immediately. She spilled out of Astarion’s arms and tumbled towards them.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here!” she said, rubbing her hands together. She hit one with an ice cantrip.

“Careful!” he chuckled as the air around them chilled and wood cracked.

The crate didn’t open, the side just sort of froze.

“Blast!”

Spotting the way Vistri frustratedly pulled her foot back for a kick, Astarion picked her up and pulled her away. She fussed in his embrace like an angry cat.

“By the gods, you’ll break whatever’s in there,” he chuckled, “Let me do it.”

Vistri crossed her arms, “Fine.”

Alas! There was wine. After he put her down, he pried the crate open with one of his knives, revealing dozens of bottles inside.

“I could have done that!”

He chuckled warmly, “My dear, you would have shattered them.”

Hopefully it was good wine, because every bottle was the same. Knife still in hand, he twisted off the cork and tested the first sip. 

His face screwed up with bitterness, “Just give it a little time to breathe.”

Tittering at his reaction, Vistri yanked the bottle from his grasp and took an impatient sip. “It’s not… entirely rubbish,” she said, warily giving her judgment with a thoughtful expression.

“Give it a minute!” he laughed.

Defiantly, she took another sip.

“You little minx,” he smirked, snatching the bottle back. After setting it down on the floor, Astarion looped his fingers with hers. He sighed against her lips before kissing them. Vistri forgot all about the wine, even as their tongues tasted of it.

“Astarion,” she said, and he thought she was just saying his name until she continued, “Is there something else I can offer you to drink in the meantime?”

Her offer brought to mind the courtyard below. He was better than that because she allowed him to be better. She barely let him say it first, always begging to be drunk. In the way that other lovers would ask, Have you eaten today? Vistri tilted her neck and inquired if he wanted a bite.

Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “I am feeling a bit peckish.”

Vistri jumped blissfully into his arms. Her heart beat ecstatically in anticipation as Astarion brought her over to that table in the middle of the room. She felt like a cloth being draped across it. Her legs opened as he climbed over her.

Before he pierced her with his fangs, she pulled him into a rough kiss. His thigh pushed hers wider apart. He felt himself grind into her, his hips swaying in tune with hers. Their song eventually spilled off her tongue, and Astarion moaned too, making it a duet.

“Bite my lip,” she suggested.

Smiling, he submitted to her suggestion, as gently as he could. With the point of his fang, he sliced her open, groaning as the first drop of blood hit his tongue. Astarion feasted like a king among peasants. Vistri wriggled willingly, longingly under him. She kissed him as he sucked her lip and nibbled it, coaxing her nectar to trickle forward. While part of him reached a point of satisfaction, another starved. Ravenously, he pushed into her mouth. They passed her blood back and forth on shivering tongues.

“Astarion,” she sighed as he let go of her lip, and this time she was just saying his name.

Their fingers tumbled with their lacings; their knuckles clashing together in the rush to free themselves from their leathers.

“Can—?”

“Yes!” she pleaded.

It felt like laying claim; to each other, this fortress, their power, and life itself. The tight, stretching ache of one another ripped through their senses with the thrust of his hips. Pleasure sighed through every pore, rushing like a white river over their skin.

Ecstasy erased their sense of self, dissolving them together in its realm. They were safe now. They could spend their lives this way. They were home.

Free.

Little did they know that table had been stashed there over a weak leg. It gave out from the power of their movements, and the whole thing collapsed. Shrieking as they fell, it turned to laughter as they realized neither were hurt.

“Are you okay?” she laughed, and he kissed her in response.

“I almost broke my dick!” he cackled breathily.

Vistri got up first, still giggling, and offered a hand, “Careful, you’re surrounded by wooden stakes.”

She was little help with how weak her limbs were, both from the edge of fulfillment, and their sudden shock that’d blossomed into overwhelming hilarity. They burst into another round of it when he slipped and almost fell back into a broken table leg. Vistri had to catch him with her spectral mage hand.

Stumbling over the trousers they’d pushed down to their thighs, they chased each other to another corner of the room. Astarion caught her and spun her around into an innocent kiss that easily descended into depravity.

His arms felt like mush and their muscles begged screaming for some rest, but Astarion lifted Vistri up again anyway to push her back into the wall. Her thighs wrapped around his waist, taking care not to leave bruises as others did. He hadn’t asked for that yet. But at his command, she’d tighten into a vice-grip and leave behind a physical reminder of their embrace.

Gravity turned the wall into a bed. Like the arches bearing their new home, they found a force and a balance when pressing together that held up their wary, rutting bodies. Staring into Vistri’s violet eyes, Astarion found himself falling into the abyss.

“Wait,” he absently whispered, slowing his movements.

Caressing his cheek, worry infecting her tone, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

His chuckle was a growl, “More like too right.” He kissed her and groaned, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Trapping her hips against the wall, he held them still and started to gradually rock his. Only allowing as much as the tip was a delicious torture.

“More,” she groaned.

As her desperation serenaded his ears, Astarion could feel her tightening and shivering around him, begging to fill her completely. He wanted to give in as much as she did. Controlling her was sweet, but controlling himself was even sweeter. His denial was power, and it subjugated both of them.

“Cum for me first, and I’ll give you more.”

Faster, he pumped in and out, growing in tempo until her screaming rang painfully in his ears. She was already on the verge of it, and seemed to let go at his command. Her pulsing pleasure was rough on his tender head, overly sensitized from repetitive penetration. Love and vice sparked through him and a wonderful pressure built behind his eyes.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. As Vistri surrendered to ecstasy, she dragged him along like a sweeping wave. She was still tapering off the feeling when, unable to wait, he finally buried himself to his root.

Unintelligibly crying out at his thrust, they quickly lost themselves. Gazing eye to eye, they saw past reds and purples into the depths of their exposed hearts. It overwhelmed them, like a cleric beholding their god. Together, they fell into fulfillment with a swooping terror that felt like losing one’s balance, and crashed into a brand-new plane of existence that banished all fear and held only the two of them.

Once they were back to reality, within these unfamiliar walls of their new dwelling, they sunk and sat up against the wall, holding each other tight. Vistri nuzzled her cheek against his and sighed with spent contentment.

“…You know you don’t have to stay,” Astarion said, his voice a shaking heart, “I-If you no longer wish to.”

The dreams already dying in his eyes in anticipation of his fears made her chest physically ache. Vistri caressed his beloved face without thought, just a need to save him from the horror.

“Oh, Astarion,” she chuckled sorrowfully, “Oh, my love.”

He closed his running eyes and felt her lips land softly across his cheekbones.

“I want you,” she whispered on his face, “All I want is you. Only you.”

Unable to bear witness to more of her affirmative words, he stopped them with a long, thankful kiss.

Her rare heart sat clearly in her expression. It was gift-wrapped, tied with red string, and addressed to him lovingly; his name written along the side.

“How dare I doubt you?”

“Exactly,” she giggled, “How dare you!”

Others still haunted their ability to convey and receive messages of genuine love. Having already pushed their limits, they sat embracing one another in pleasant silence.

Until Astarion muttered, “Almost forgot!” and got up to grab the wine they’d left over by the door.

Vistri excitedly ran after him, light on her feet like a fey.

Raising the bottle high between them, he toasted, “To our home.”

She took a smiling sip, then passed it back to Astarion. Swallowing felt like making a vow.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, no bitter flinch present in his expression after his swig.

“You were right,” she smirked warmly, “Some things are all the better for waiting.”

v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v

They figured the hard part would be the conquering, but that was more like Spawn City Tutorial. After the initial looting and corpse-burning, there were some celebrations. Then the real work came. Starting with turning the captured fortress into a real home. Scrubbing, mapping, sweeping, dusting, assessing masonry needs, livestock needs, stocking, mopping—Cleaning! Cleaning!

“Cleaning! Enough cleaning!” Astarion exclaimed one evening.

Vistri giggled wildly as he wrestled her for her scrub brush. Their excited shouts bounced sharply across the barren, ancient stone. Successfully snatching it away, he chucked it out of the nearby window.

Running over to the sill, she chuckled, “Darling, we’ll have to fetch that.”

He scoffed, “I’ll make Petras go fetch it.”

“You can’t always bully Petras,” she laughed.

“Yes, I can!”

Turning to Astarion with a cheeky smile, she leaned against the window and asked, “Do you remember this chamber?”

His pout overturned into a devilish smile. He knew exactly which chamber this was.

“Oh, I think about it daily,” he smirked, joining her over by the window.

He couldn’t read the expression in Vistri's eyes, they were so far away, but her distance seemed filled with possibility instead of escape.

“We have a house,” he repeated, just to hear it out loud again.

“We do! We have a house!”

Flinging an arm over her shoulder, Astarion looked out and surveyed the scenery below with his beloved.

“Well,” she stated shakily, “We did it.”

She turned to him with a beaming expression that shined so bright it was like the sun sat right here in the Underdark gloom. More than joy, there was want and adoration screaming through her eyes. To be its witness, no, to be the direction in which it was pointed, made his undead heart skip happily.

Their old tower loomed over the glow of wild mushrooms like a proud lord. Who knows how many had peered through the same window. Who knows if they would be the last, or if others would eventually come to conquer them too. Who would they be? And what would they think, looking out over the same shades of grey?

“I like it because it’s ours,” she said. Astarion shrugged her closer and blessed the side of her forehead with a rough peck.

He pulled something from his pockets with his free hand, “Do you have a light, my dear?”

Gale and Halsin weren’t the biggest smokers, but they were inventive ones. What started as a few collaborative pipe blends turned into a shared hobby, and they took to it with the enthusiasm of two middle-aged men who had recently discovered model chariots. Before parting for the Underdark, Waterdeep, or the Shadow Curse-no-more Lands, they’d left the remaining team with tears, bear hugs (figuratively and literally), and a few packets of pre-rolled parting gifts.

Instead of filling for a pipe, their masterwork blend was artfully wrapped up into a smokable stick, like a cigarillo. The casing was as well-crafted and loved as their herbal fungi blend, made of dried fruit peels and layered in with rose petals that were kept magically fresh.

Vistri asked them what the blend comprised of many times, and although it was no secret recipe, she’d always ask once the stogie was already lit. There was a bit of timmask dust in there for sure, but the herbs were lost to the blurry memory of their excitedly recited list. The elevated joy that sparkled in Gale and Halsin’s eyes as they spoke stood out to her more than their words.

“You have the most brilliant ideas,” she smiled.

“I know,” he smirked, placing the stick between his lips.

Astarion leaned over as she snapped her thumb, making a small flame shoot out of it in the way Karlach taught her. Cupping his hands around it, he met her fire and inhaled. Tufts of smoke blew out the end of the cig, and drifted in tendrils from Astarion’s nose like a dragon’s breath.

Taking it between two noble fingers, he passed the gift from his lips to hers. Vistri smiled and took an eager pull. She coughed on her exhale, making Astarion giggle.

More than euphoria, the instant effect brought a giddy sort of security. Nothing was wrong with them or the world, a state they’d only found in each other’s embrace. It was nice to live in for a little while, and taught them existence isn’t inherently bad or painful.

Looking out the window, Astarion remarked, “I don’t think Petras could even run that far.”

Vistri’s chortle was so sudden she almost snorted, “Of course he can!”

“Poor fucker would get lost and need a break every few steps. Unless he had Dalyria with him, of course. Then maybe the five minute walk would be such, and not turn into a tenday’s journey across the yard.”

Too thick in the midst of giggling to answer, Vistri went for another puff and ended up choking on the smoke.

“Heavens! Are you ever gonna learn how to hit that?”

Over a series of coughs, Vistri fought to speak, “Astarion! ”

He grabbed the open wine they’d snuck into their cleaning session and handed it to her, “Have a drink of something. You sound awful!”

Suppressing another cough, she took a defiant swig.

“Good. Now pass that my way—Not the wine! You keep that. That funny, little cigar.”

As he took another puff, Vistri regained her breath and said, “It’s too small to be a cigar.”

Astarion, being Astarion, heard small and cigar in a sentence, and jumped on the cliche, “My, my! Imagine being told its too small to be considered a willy.”

“Astarion!—And don’t you dare take another jab at Petras! Poor Petras.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about Petras in that regard!”

“Because you know,” she said, raising her brow and reaching for the cig, “I bet he has a big—”

“Can we not talk about my brother’s Todd Johnson?”

She could barely breathe, “Todd Johnson?! ”

Wrestling her for another smoke, Astarion fell into her laughter until his ribs started to ache. Growing weak from it, he gave up the fight and sat back wiping his eyes. Vistri finally passed it over, grinning victoriously.

He placed the dwindling cigarillo between his teeth and flashed a smile to meet hers. Then with a cat-like pounce, suddenly bent to throw her over his shoulder. 

Upside-down her cackling reflected off the floor and continued bouncing between the ceiling and walls. Most of the furniture that was in the room previously had been dumped or moved elsewhere. Sound carried louder and longer than it had the day before, making their laughter haunt the stone like specters.

They could have been a thousand lovers.

“Sit with me, darling,” he cooed, his words slurred with the cig still tucked between his teeth. Halfway gone, it was now just a little longer than his fangs when fully-retracted, about to bite.

Two other chairs remained, but he chose their favorite. Its upholstery had a fresh, weathered look that reminded them of Astarion’s old clothes. Well-tended to with a consistent, loving hand, its rich fabrics held on despite their decay. It made them wonder which discarded body in the courtyard those hands had belonged to.

At least their life’s work wasn’t wasted. Lovers now took it as their preferred perch. They sat so lazily on it, it seemed to swallow them.

With another puff, Astarion released a thick ring of smoke into the air in front of them. Vistri rewarded his trick with kisses to his cheek and a round of applause, delighted by the way it slowly floated by.

“Every day your mouth shows me new wonders.”

“Does it?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss with a raised brow.

“Mmmm, it does.”

Placing a hand along her hip, he commanded, “Face me.”

Moving to straddle him, Vistri turned and settled over his lap. Her thighs spread wide over his; her knees sunk into the cushion cracks. The way she centered her balance over his middle sent another kind of high coursing through their senses. Reaching for the stick smoking in his hands, she wove her fingers into his to smoothly steal it.

A glint in her eyes, she inhaled. Letting the smoke slowly crash over his face, she leaned in to place her mouth on his and blow the rest of her hit into it. Astarion moaned, tasting her under the heavy scent of burning plants.

“How considerate of you,” he exhaled, grinning.

“I try my best.”

Pushing her hair back, Astarion looked suddenly thoughtful, “Do you ever wish it were just us?”

“All the time,” she chuckled, “But they need us. You know they do.”

He raised his eyebrow, “To their credit, none of them have tried to steal a bite.”

“I think that credit is due more to my magic and your promised fury.”

“Maybe a little of that too,” he smirked.

Warmly, she planted a kiss on his forehead. A silent, I’m so proud of you.

As reluctantly as Astarion played it, Vistri knew he relished his new role. It was important to him to be better than Cazador, but more than that, she knew he needed them all to get better together. That’s just the type of person he was, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

Another smoke ring danced in the air above their heads. Then a series of smaller ones.

Vistri was beaming at him, “Look at you, love. So amazing.”

“You’re very high.”

She snickered, “No, I’m not!”

“It’s okay, my dear,” he chuckled, “I’m right there with you.”

They broke into ugly laughter that clashed like two very different songs being played poorly on the same stage. Their ridiculous levity sounded like the echoing cries of some cursed reptilian god.

The stone thanked them for silence when Astarion took her lips between his. With gently rocking hips, he showed Vistri the extent of his desire. She was wanted, needed. Craved.

“You make me feel like a king,” he whispered along the crook of her jaw. Then chuckling, he continued, “I know how it sounds, of course. But I don’t know other words to say it. Not now.”

Her hands glided over his chest, rubbing it in absent-minded patterns, “I am a most willing subject.”

“Are you, now?” he asked, knowing the answer from the warble in her voice.

At the nodding of her head, Astarion untied his laces. He watched Vistri take another inhale of their dying nub. Cool air defied the heat he felt in the oven of their laps as he pulled his twitching dick free of his breeches.

The old robes she wore allowed for easy access, and she adjusted them to tent over their laps. Pulling one hand in through her sleeve, she caressed his cock. Pressing his silky skin against her rolling hips, Astarion gasped pleasantly at the brushing of her lace knickers. He brought a hand of his own to keep under her robes. His finger gently traced its patterns, feeling her labia thicken under it from his gradual strokes.

Vistri hadn’t planned for a moment like this. She figured she’d feel better wearing such plain rags if her finest knickers hid beneath them. The delighted surprise in his expression almost disappointed her. He should really know her better by now.

Rubbing each other under her robes, they passed the last of their treat back and forth with their free hands. On the final pull, Astarion brought her close to share it. Her exhale turned into a kiss; his tongue shyly met the tip of hers.

“Is it all right?” she asked, “We’re quite intoxi—”

He didn’t even mean to interrupt her. The consideration in her query was a splash of oil on his fire, further igniting the blaze.

“It’s all right,” he kissed her, “Are you all—”

“Yes,” she nodded, still unbelievingly grateful for his returned care.

Her eager hips rolled into his teasing finger. Arousal coated the inside of her knickers. It was beginning to soak through to his skin. He moaned, and pulled the bunching lace tight so her folds spilled over the sides, swallowing the string of lace between them. Grabbing his cock, he rubbed his head against her wet skin and the rough line of lace that ran down her middle.

“I could burst just from this,” he sighed.

His finger slipped under the lace, pulling it taught like one of his bows. Upon releasing it, her cry sounded in tune with its smack. She was caught prey, waiting only for death.

Placing her roughly used knickers aside, he lined himself up against her soak. As he pushed in, Vistri lowered herself to take in his length. Gasping from the squeeze and stretch, their high made every familiar ecstasy ten times brighter. Riding each other’s waves, they sunk into multiverses of gluttonous sensation.

“Shit. You feel like magic.”

“I am magic.”

Chuckling together in their embrace, their rutting didn’t cease.

It got faster. Harder.

Deeper. Like they were digging to the core of each other, prying open the gilded chest that housed their very souls.

Climax came over them so strongly it made their lips pull back and shiver. Pulsing together, their shouts dissipated to whines; bliss stuffing their throats.

Fighting overstimulation, they maintained a slow rocking of their hips. Not wanting to stop. Ever. His seed started to spill out of her from their movements and pool over his balls. From whence we came, we shall return.

Astarion thought the joke was too delicious not to share.

Pointing to the mess, he recited, “From whence we came, we shall return.”

Vistri laughed so hard, she tripped going to fetch them a fresh rag.

They made out after casually cleaning each other up.

Passionately, like lovestruck teenagers who’d just discovered it. Loving words and adoring vows came tumbling out of the hot ache. Promises for this new life; dedicating joy to each other’s names.

As sudden as it started, it stopped. Their furious need became a tight embrace, like fingers grasping the edge of a cliff. Beating together in sorrowful song, their hearts found an impossible happiness; a new music.

“I think I rather like this room,” he said in a tone that was light despite its heaviness.

Humming pleasantly, Vistri nuzzled into his chest, “Let’s make it ours then.”

A room of their own. Their chambers.

“We already have," Astarion chuckled, "A couple times, in fact.”

[luduschola]

What Remains of Narrative: The Unique Take of Vignettes in What Remains of Edith Finch

WRITTEN BY: MARA || Posted on November 22, 7:30 PM

What Remains of Edith Finch is an indie first-person mystery adventure game developed by Giant Sparrow and published by Annapurna Interactive in 2017. The game has received critical acclaim, winning the Best Narrative at The Game Awards 2017, and won the same category at the 2018 Game Developers Choice Awards. It is highly praised and considered one of the best examples of presenting video games as a form of art. Through its unique visuals, the game is narrative-driven as the player follows the story of the Finch family and the tragic curse that befalls them.

In the game, players mainly take the perspective of 17-year-old Edith Finch, the last surviving member of the Finch family as she returns to her ancestral home in Orcas Island, Washington for the first time in seven years after inheriting the house. It is through this homecoming where Edith truly explores and discovers her family background, by finding out through accounts the alleged circumstances and events of each member’s death, as she has believed that her family is to be cursed of untimely deaths.

The way this is done is via framing each member’s death through vignettes, with each vignette varying in perspective, stylization, game mechanics, and so on. It is here where What Remains of Edith Finch shines the most, evoking magic realism and questioning the authenticity of not only these alleged accounts of death but the overall family curse as Edith Finch comes to question as well. To make this brief and simple, as the Finch family has many members, the most evocative vignettes include Barbara Finch (Edith’s great-aunt) and Lewis Finch (Edith’s older brother).

“Edie told me all Barbara wanted was to be remembered. As absurd as that comic was, maybe what Edie saw was a happy ending.” - Edith Finch

When it comes to Barbara Finch, a former child star, Edith Finch manages to get inside her room, which is covered full of decor and merchandise for her most well-known work “My Friend Bigfoot”, her walls decorated with a parody of the Hollywood sign instead reading Barbara, already relaying Barbara’s obsession with Hollywood. As the player nears her bed, there is a side table of a wooden shrine for Barbara (Edith’s great-grandmother, Edie Finch, has decorated each family member’s room with a dedicated shrine as a grave of sorts), and a comic book series titled “Dreadful Stories”, showcasing the October 1961 issue which recounts Barbara’s eventual death. It is here where the game uses narrative and visualization in order to immerse players into Barbara’s death.

Through opening the comic book, we are introduced to the vignette of Barbara’s death as narrated by Old Jack, a character from “Dreadful Stories” as he retells Barbara’s eventual death as a cautionary tale, using the visualization of the comic book as Edith/player flip each page through the 2-dimensional medium. Throughout the story, we enter this comic book world and the game through the 2-dimensional comic book panels showcase the game’s regular 3-dimensional world, but there’s something different about it– as the 3-dimensional scenes take on a comic-book stylization, making the world feel saturated and cartoonish. By taking on the perspective of Barbara through the comic, players play as Barbara and witness her ambiguous death in a prank gone wrong.

“He knew it was all in his head. But he took it very seriously. I had hoped he'd find himself. But he found something more.” - Lewis’ psychiatrist, Emily Nuth

When it comes to Lewis Finch, Edith Finch enters his boat atop the house and finds the boat decorated with Indian decor, including a smoking glass pipe, as Lewis has a strong connection to his father’s Indian roots. The boat, somehow balancing on top of the Finch family home, is reminiscent of his work in a fish cannery. At his shrine, players see a letter from Lewis’ psychiatrist addressed to Dawn Finch, Lewis and Edith’s mother. By opening the letter, we hear the voice of Emily Nuth, Lewis’ psychiatrist as the narrator of the letter, as the game transitions into Lewis’ perspective of working in a fish cannery. It is here where the game uses unique game mechanics to not only mirror Lewis’ state of mind, but even changes genre and visualization. 

At the beginning of the vignette of Lewis’ death, the game lets players play as Lewis Finch as he does his mundane job of cutting the fish’s head off and moving the body into the conveyor belt. While players continue this task, a cloud of thought to represent Lewis’ imagination pops up in the corner of the screen, and players are made to simultaneously do the former task of the cannery, and the new task of exploring the labyrinth in Lewis’ imagination. As players multitask, it becomes noticeable that Lewis’ daydreams begin to expand, slowly taking over the visual of the cannery as Lewis becomes consumed with his daydream of being king. Throughout this daydream, players journey as king, make different sorts of choices, and by the end, the cannery is no more, as Lewis has fully immersed himself in his daydream. By taking on several unique game mechanics, the players witness the psyche of Lewis as it leads to his own ambiguous death by slowly forgetting the real world around him.

“I thought it was time I heard the stories for myself. And found out what happened to everyone else. But now I'm worried the stories themselves might be the problem. Maybe we believed so much in a family curse... we made it real.” - Edith Finch 

What Remains of Edith Finch are stories within a story, vignettes of life played as if they are the final remaining minutes where all of one’s most precious memories flash before them, and it is through this game where the tragedy and this so-called curse befalls upon Edith Finch and her family. Edith Finch, the only remaining member of this long line of tragic deaths is called upon back to the Finch home not only to construct her family’s history, but to also construct her own death, as it is the diary where she writes out the narrative of the story, and it is this diary that remains of Edith Finch, what remains of her family, and what remains of the family curse. 

Play What Remains of Edith Finch now on these platforms: Steam, Nintendo Switch, Playstation 4/5, iOS, and Xbox One. 

[whatiswritteninthestars]

TWD: Daryl Dixon “Paris sera toujours Paris” Review

☕️Beware of Spoilers☕️

Last week we finally learned how Laurent was brought into the world and we now reach the third leg of the journey for Daryl Dixon and the location this time is Paris. Before Isabelle and Daryl reach the city they come across the town of Angers to one of Isabelle’s allies who has a radio, or so she leads Daryl to believe. Sylvie and Laurent stay behind armed and ready. I’m not sure if this was the brightest move on their part leaving them out in the open but Daryl and Isabelle venture into the theater to her contact and he’s one strange musician.

Of course, we reach the never-ending saga of French radios that do not work, which is becoming way too predictable at this point. Daryl remains more than irritated that the radio has been used for nothing more than to feed this man’s musical obsession. Instead of trying to help, the man leads them to his stage of zombies in an orchestra. The bodyless head playing the strings was a nice touch but this was undoubtedly one of the strangest scenes in The Walking Dead and one giant waste of time as the crazed man was no help at all. And just as predicted the kids got in over their heads with walkers coming their way. Daryl must save the day and he has had enough of Isabelle’s leadership. It’s time to do things his way now. Though I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing given his track record so far in France.

Soon the group reaches Paris and it’s a homecoming for Isabelle. From afar Laurent admires the Eiffel Tower for the first time, much like Daryl did upon his arrival. But Paris brings back a lot of memories Isabelle would rather not relive. It’s the very reason why she spent the last decade avoiding it.

As they march on Isabelle shows Laurent some of her mother’s old stomping grounds. It’s not quite clear if Laurent knows Isabelle is his aunt. She has been lying about so much already so that wouldn’t be surprising. She then tells Daryl about the “pourvoir” movement. During the outbreak in desperate times, people think to order..”Yeah or God.” Daryl remarks back. That line makes it evident that Daryl doesn’t believe in either side of the fight in France. It makes it really hard to fight for something you don’t believe in.

The group stumbles upon the grave of American Rock star Jim Morrison after Laurent tells another story that nobody asked for about the fortitude of a weary woodsman. How death came for him and he had a change of heart. It is nice to know Laurent has so much “useful information” but I’m not sure that it adds any value to the story. Laurent assures Daryl that he will not face the same Morrison fate and die in France. Unclear if he thinks he’s a psychic or trying to ease Daryl’s fear but I think we all know Daryl Dixon is untouchable and not going to perish anytime soon.

Another ally comes along just in time, Fallou. He has heard the story of Laurent but not seen it with his own eyes and he is mesmerized by the child as are all his people. They’d been waiting a long time to meet the miracle boy. It is a small community of 64 members and Sylvie quickly catches the eyes of a young man.

And on come the homing pigeons. They are used for messaging because they always find their way back home. Daryl thinks this idea is crazy and to get a message to America, it would just take too long. What came next was the most interesting part of the show. Carol is alluded to throughout this episode but this was the moment that screamed her name. While the trainer is holding one of the pigeons to be released he looks at the small creature and says “Maybe he has a girlfriend..we all have a person who waits for us somewhere.” And as Daryl listens he drops his head in both sadness and guilt. He’s dying to get to a radio to send word back and the further they keep going the more walls he is running into. I do however think the girlfriend line is very interesting. They didn’t have to throw that line in if they were trying to stick to the platonic soulmate trope.

Another fun fact is when pigeons mate they mate for life. Which is how Norman Reedus always saw the character of Daryl. No matter where they go they can always find their way back home to their mate.

At this point, Daryl is over the games. These people are no use to him if they aren’t living up to their end of the deal. Daryl knows that Fallou can get them to The Nest the rest of the way and if there is no radio then she can’t help him. Fallou lets him know there are people in Paris that trade for all kinds of things but he will need currency. He’s ready to steal so he can make a trade to get back home but Isabelle said she will get what he needs. After all, it is the least she could do after the amount of times Daryl has saved them.

Now here lies two major problems in this spinoff:

1. The lying to Laurent, these are supposed to be people of God and Laurent's life is nothing but one big lie. I felt for the kid last week in “Aloutte” when he told children all the lies he’d been told about his past. They only knew him for 5 seconds and knew it was fabricated. They are putting a lot of hope and pressure on Laurent when he doesn’t even know he’s the face of humanity in France. Daryl thinks they should be honest with him. Laurent has strong empathic abilities to read people but I don’t think he’s a miracle child by any means. Everyone is given a gift.

2. Isabelle believes Daryl was sent to her by God to deliver Laurent to revive humanity. However, she seems pretty capable of handling bad people on her own. She’s been out there a long time growing the Union of Hope. The “killer nuns” know how to defend themselves so I don’t see why they needed to use Daryl as a man who can escort them. It seems very outdated. On the other hand, Isabelle does a horrendous job at fighting walkers even if she can kill humans like it’s nobody’s business. At this stage of the game she should be experienced in that area.

Codron is still after Daryl and he’s not going to rest until revenge is served. He comes to Genet with information and Genet hires him to find the American. Strange experiments are going on with walkers/burners and I get the vibe these are not being done to free the world of tyranny. I believe there is a dark purpose behind it all. If you look back on the burner walkers that is not something that just naturally happens.

Now we have reached the infamous Demimonde underground nightclub club which Quinn of all people owns. There are acrobats, a drag queen, and performers of all kinds. A lounge-type singer named Anna has a miraculous voice and seems to be somewhat of an item to Quinn.

Eventually, they get to Isabelle’s to gather some things to trade. There is a line from Isabelle that just clarifies how much Isabelle doesn’t know Daryl..” you seem like someone who’s always thinking” She is glad the two of them crossed paths she tells him but he refuses to share the same sentiment. He isn’t happy to be there but in the same turn, he doesn’t hate her for it. She’s not the reason he ended up here. He must play nice for now to garner a ticket back home.

Isabelle is admiring some artwork on the wall. A piece by Monet called “The Water Lilies.” She tells Daryl she used to go visit the museum every weekend and admire it. It was like a port in the storm for her. “It kind of reminds me of home,” Daryl replied to her. Upon those words, Isabelle looks like him with a hint of remorse for even pointing it out to him. There’s a tinge of jealousy every time Daryl talks about going home. But there are two very interesting things regarding this scene that are written subtly in the script. “A port in the storm.” We know that Daryl and Carol are each other’s safe harbor. Carol has always anchored Daryl. “The Water Lilies” also reflects home making him think back to Carol and the Cherokee roses by the water. She is his home and just as Isabelle walks away to speak to Quinn Daryl takes one last look back at the painting missing the happiness he was so close to having.

Quinn lets Daryl know it’s not impossible to get to America. He’s heard things and they travel to his office to talk about it in a deeper capacity. He offers champagne to which they decline. Quinn starts to lay into Isabelle that she should have told him about Lily and the baby. Isabelle is not sure why she would because he didn’t even want to help Lily back in the day. Then it is revealed that Quinn is the father of Laurent leaving Isabelle in an alarmingly shocked state. It was Quinn who saved Isabelle’s life before when she tried to take it and Quinn never lets her forget it. Daryl doesn’t like the way this is heading and tells her he doesn’t need a boat from them this badly. He can find another way. She is irritated with Daryl at this point because she’d come all this way to help him to help him keep his promise. “That’s all you care about isn’t it?” She asks him and Daryl doesn’t deny it. Well of course not his plans are not going to be changed over a group of strangers he just met. Isabelle’s constant annoyance with Daryl wanting to get back to his family and fulfill a promise is very peculiar. What else would she expect? “Oh since you said so I must be a messenger of god and I’ll stay with you forever and do everything you ask?” Come on now.

On a side note I don’t think it’s a huge deal Daryl was not prepared to have Isabelle go through pain to get a boat. Daryl has always been a good judge of character. There’s nothing shippy about him not wanting to be a jerk to get what he wants. Isabelle doesn’t exactly exude the same energy though.

Just as Daryl is about to leave for the second time this episode he tells Isabelle she should stop lying to Laurent. Quinn being his father will just be added to the mountain of lies. I love seeing the old Daryl shine in this episode especially when he tells her Laurent deserves to know who he is. Maybe that’s something she needs to believe, that he’s a gift from God. He can still be a miracle and not be the messiah he tells hers just as hell broke loose. Laurent overhears them and gets furious with them both while Codron has tracked him down regardless of the deal Genet and Quinn had to steer clear of each other's territory. Daryl goes on the run and it becomes another glorious beta vs. Daryl battle before he falls through the floor in a cliffhanger. My favorite part of this scene was Daryl dropping his knife that resembles Carol’s. The camera really panned in on it which purposeful symbolism.

My takeaways:

Too much inconsistency with Daryl. He’s a hero one minute then seems incompetent on his own at other times. The amount of times he says “I’m better off on my own” and it’s proven otherwise is countless.

Isabelle is often the same, she comes across as a strong and capable woman but then acts as if she needs a man to get her from point A to point B. I don’t think she needs Daryl at all so it does beg the question as to why is she trying to hold onto him and control him? However, I do understand the script had to be written a certain way to prolong Daryl’s stay in France to give Carol time to arrive. It would be devastating if he left when Carol arrived.

There is no chemistry between Isabelle and Daryl. I know that’s what some of you are worried about. With any Daryl/Norman Reedus ship they are going to try and point fans in that direction for drama and attention but I just don’t see it. Especially not with Carol returning. This is not Daryl’s happy ending…a happy ending is not something that you have to be forced or guilted into. A happy ending is not an obligation because you get stuck in a place you don’t belong. I think deep down it feels good for Daryl to help people but he wants to carry on paying it forward. He’s not looking for a place to hang up his hat just yet. Though we all do wish he would hang up that scarf.

We have not seen the last of Quinn. He still has feelings for Isabelle. Isabelle has shut that part of herself off. But I do think it’s a little hypocritical of her to judge Quinn’s lifestyle when she used to be the same. She was the one who wanted to give Daryl the benefit of the doubt and compassion even if he didn’t believe in God. It is pretty clear she’s a master manipulator and does exactly what she needs to get her way. Whether that is towards Daryl to get him to babysit them all across France or to her ex, Quinn to get what’s needed to secure a boat. For me, it all looks like a game to Isabelle. I’m not sure how much she wants to get a boat for Daryl but as a Christian, it is her duty to be a woman of her word.

Now call me crazy but I thought Nuns were supposed to be as honest as possible. Isabelle lies to Daryl from the start to manipulate him into helping them get to The Nest(and you will see how in a later episode.)She has not only lied to Laurent about who he is and where he came from but also created stories about a pseudo-father. Laurent doesn’t know she’s his aunt or that he is going to revive all of the humanity of France. All she tells him is that he’s special. Meanwhile, everyone they cross looks at Laurent like the angels are singing when he walks.

Fallou did say the radio hasn’t worked in a long time. That had to be information Isabelle was privy to. Much like how she led Daryl on at the Abbey about their radio only to tell him it doesn’t work. I don’t think Isabelle is a villain but she does too many selfish acts for me to like her. It doesn’t matter if she’s a nun now it’s like this selfish manipulative side was something engrained in her from before that’s never gone away, not even with the cloth.

The best takeaway from this episode is Daryl’s heart and his willingness to get word back home. He can only imagine what is going through Carol’s mind right now. Daryl always checks in with her and he does seem frantic about getting to a radio. Every hurdle he jumps over to get radio access comes to a screeching halt so now his best bet is to find a boat to travel back home. From there he can radio out to her.

“SAY HER NAME”

The Carol writing is all over the wall but it’s not definitive enough for my liking. Anybody who knows how to follow a narrative is going to know the safe harbor, home, the promise, and sadness that washes over him is because of Carol. And just as The Walking Dead usually does with the most popular ship of the show they don’t make it obvious enough. There is always that wiggle room. I do understand the poeticness of it but we need both Carol and Daryl to lay their hearts on the line once and for all. But I do however love all the symbolism. Famous french paintings that remind him of Carol, the pigeons, the girlfriend call back, and the knife.

I hope you enjoyed the Caryl hints in this episode. I know I did. There’s a scene coming up in Episode 4 that will completely warm your heart and I believe is another nod to Caryl and their future! Feel free to ask me questions to dive in deeper. Xoxo

[autismsupermusicalassassin]

A day at the museum with daddy little one 🌙

plot: Steven decides to take Isaac to the museum dispite his ex manager going to berate him for what Marc did from his fight with a demonic jackal…

a/n: This is the second fic the single dad au of Oscar’s moon knight and im sorry for my Jewish readers if I messed up on certain parts

prev. Next

They were bickering about today plans again but this time they keep accidentally switching controlling the body , “Steven you can’t just take Isaac out to the museum now” Marc complained in control of his own body before switching to Steven to clap back his reason and making Isaac laugh at the switching “but Marc I wanted to show him all the Egyptian things and history of how the civilization went through and such” Steven retorts while cleaning up his breakfast and gets isaac clean up from the baby food mess, then looks at his reflection of a grump Marc. “and it’s your fault that you made me to take control of the body and made me look like I destroyed the loo that night!” Marc just made a face at Steven, “you’re still not over that incident!?!? How many fucking times I have to tell you that I’m sorry?!” “AY WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?! I AM TRYING TO SLEEP HERE IN THE HEADSPACE” Jake shouted he was exhausted from all the people he had to cabie drive around London last night for some high schoolers homecoming dance or something before letting going to do some Moonknight shit. Isaac meanwhile tries grabbing the Star of David around his dad(s) neck while continuing to bounce around in his high chair cooing, “well marc if you don’t like it then you don’t have to be co fronting for today” Steven said putting his foot down and points at his reflection accusingly when taking Isaac out of his high chair and getting him dress in a onesie for the cold autumn month ahead of them in England “ I’m just saying I don’t think it’s wise to take Isaac there okay” Marc looks at his son through the reflection of the fish tank tank “I just want to keep him safe” “we all do Marc…” Steven said reassuring him reminded him that the death of Randell wasn’t his fault. A small coo drought them back to reality as Isaac get put in the stroller while he kicks his tiny little legs up in the air in excitement “all right,all right lad we’re going on a trip are you excited” Steven said gleefully as he booped isaac’s little nose as they head out of the flat and heading to the museum. Dispite having a Jewish background, Steven can’t help but admire the big Christmas tree and decor in the lobby of the museum as he smiles at Isaac who apparently is taking a little nappy in the stroller he was pushing towards the Egyptian exhibit while he takes out a tiny straw cover out of the miniature pyramid of Giza and starts talking to Isaac telling him all about the history of Egypt about their gods /goddesses and its culture. “You see Isaac the Egyptian believed you needed your heart to be judged in the underworld. Only the worthiest would be able to pass through Filed of Reeds , believe it or not i and Marc were there for a bit when we-“ suddenly the rudest woman voice interrupted him “Oy , Stevie is that you you lout?” Steven goes pale and turns to see Donna, he’s ex boss that he and Marc thought that she might be fire due to a lack of empathy or emotion , not to mention Jake wanted to scare her or curse at her back when Steven was working for her. “Hello Donna” he kindly greeted her while trying to avoid her annoying gum chew which steven swears that she’s gonna blow up a bubble and pop it to scare him and wake up Isaac from his stroller nap “ and it’s Steven with a v Donna” Donna who is odlivous to see the baby stares at him with disgusted expression while holding a box of what looks like a Anubis plushie wearing a mini Santa hats on them while putting them down on the gift shop area “if this about rehiring you just to be a bloody tour guide then no your not gonna happen you dult” she’s said to him hurting Steven’s feelings like when he worked in the museum gift shop

“ well actually Donna that’s not the case here . I’m-“ he gets cut off by Donna again while Steven knows that Marc and Jake are trying to hold it together not to take control of the body and slap Donna hard in the face or for Jake see her choke on her own chewing gum as karma “then what is it then? You auditioning for a tour guide again?” She asked “because you aren’t ever going to be one” Steven frown deepened his also heard Isaac starting to stir awake from his mini nappy “well, That’s actually more crushing to hear now because I’m actually here with my baby son.” He replied with a fake smile while trying to sue pressed Marc or even take control over the body as his son rubbed his eyes and looking at them.

Donna looks at the newly awaken baby with a scoff a sign that she didn’t believe him “you’re joking right? Stevie Grant , a 30 year old virgin somehow managed to impregnated a gal and decided to raise the babe?” She remarked as Steven wince “well actually we-i mean uh…“ Donna cut him off again “so who is that lass that made a baby with without knowing they’ve unintentionally made a mistake making you this lad a Mistake …how are you even paying bloody child support when you don’t have a job? ” After hearing that Steven heart broken at that question …he doesn’t know why jake doesn’t tell them who the mother of their son is or why she decided to leave him in the care of them as Isaac started to babble as he was trying to say something to defend his dad(s) from Donna verbal abuse but he fail and starts to cry slowly, “Donna please you making the little lad cry” he started ‘or maybe he’s hungry or need a diaper change?’ Steven thought “besides I already paid half of the amount to fix the loo damages and which by away still wasn’t me” but as usual Donna doesn’t listen and start to berate Steven and at which point calls , little do they know Marc was watching through the glass reflection on a glass coffin clearly getting piss off at Donna and the fact Isaac isn’t liking the situation that Steven is in “damnit” Marc muttered and feeling like he has enough and he decided on what to do.…as Steven was about feel like he was about to have a panic attack, Marc Spector finally gain control of his own body and give Donna a cold expression “I suggest you stop there Donna” Marc said making Donna startled almost choking on her obnoxious gum chewing at Steven’s sudden American accent that just came out. “Excuse me-“ started but gets cut off by Marc “now listen here you woman, you may act like you own this fucking place and treat Steven like he worthless but he is not! I know people like you Donna Gertrude Oswald , people who don’t know that they are treating people with limitations poorly weather it is a sleep condition or someone going through.” He was anger “and don’t you ever call my son a mistake! I don’t have the answer why or who his mother is but no matter what the reason, That baby is my son and you Donna should have been fire from all the things you said and did to me and other coworkers in this museum, so I’m just gonna give you a warning …if you ever, ever do mistreat anyone like this again, I will not hesitate to give a call to HR about how you been abusing your job title” and with that Marc grab the stroller and starts walking the other direction switching back to a baffled Steven unware some guests filmed the whole encounter .

“You really didn’t have to do that Marc” Steven responded after calming down Isaac while sitting on a bench in the exhibit feed him his bottle and looking at the reflection in front of him “but I did and I was pissed at what she said about Isaac” Marc defended himself looking down, but instead of a mini speech from Steven but what he heard was something unexpected “thanks mate, I too didn’t like what she said about Isaac being a mistake” Steven told him “ though what you said will probably not change Donna behavior though it but you defending speech was amazing Marc.” That made Marc happy and Isaac coos reaching for a piece of the exhibit which was a mini figurine of Khonsu depiction in Hieroglyphs but give a hiccup when Isaac gets put back into the stroller and sucks on his pacifier.

After that Steven continues his explaining the stories and history to Isaac and goes to head home when it’s starting to give Isaac a bath and give a call to get him a babysitter for tomorrow night, When Steven check his socials, he froze when he saw a viral video of him (well marc) giving Donna a taste of her own medicine while the caption read “Karen gets exposed and puts in her place”.

tags: @guruan,@forwantofwill,@melodygatesauthor @ominoose

[athing4actors]

for requests ! maybe a wally clark x cheerleader y/n fluff :3 nothing specific to add to it

Thank you for the request!😭🩷

Alive!WallyClark x Cheerleader, Ghost!WallyClark x Teacher, Cursing, Wally is touchy, Death

Wally and Y/N had the ideal 80s relationship. Popular cheerleader dating the Popular Quarterback.

Y/N wore a 57 on her face every game and pep rally and Wally loved it, he loved his girlfriend with his whole heart and couldn’t wait to graduate with her and spend the rest of the foreseeable future with her.

“Wally are you serious” Y/N’s face fell into her hands as she helped her boyfriend with his calculus homework “I don’t get it! I literally won’t need this in life” Wally complained…as usual

“Yeah, but you need to pass this class to graduate so get to it!” She encouraged in her own impertinent way that Wally loved

Wally and Y/N had the perfect relationship.

Until they didn’t.

The unfortunate homecoming game where star quarterback, Wally Clark, snapped his neck and died on the field. Destined to spend the rest of his days in Split River High.

“This is just like the movies” Charlie interrupted “I know! We were perfect together” Wally agreed

“So you dated the English teacher in highschool?” Rhonda chimed in as they all sat outside of Y/N’s classroom at Split River “She’s probably married with kids now”

To which Wally shook his head “After I died she never dated again” He informed “She still looks so young” Charlie said “Gorgeous” Wally whispered

“Well, I’m gonna go! Come you if want” Rhonda stood up and began to walk away with Charlie following and Wally staying behind

He watched as her girlfriend graded papers, rubbing her shoulders. He knew she couldn’t feel or see him but he didn’t care

Wally wouldn’t regularly hug her and kiss her cheek though she never gave a reaction. “I love you Y/N” The Brunette boy whispered to which Y/N replied with “I love you Wally”

He has great hope until he realized she was staring at the field that was named after him… worth a shot anyways.

[j2hoes]

Don’t Trust Him. (Wally Clark x Reader)

Summary: With Rhonda, Charlie and Wally trapped in the fallout shelter, Y/N is their only way out.

Word Count: 2,727

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings - Violence, Swearing?

A/N - So I know technically the ghosts don’t bleed but I felt like it was slightly better in this situation if they did so let’s just pretend they do. I also apologise for how rushed this is, I really just wanted to get something posted.

Before I died, my knowledge of ghosts was based on what I’d seen in movies. Completely fictional. Turns out there is no way of communicating with the  living, nor any way of possession or torment. Not even a way of leaving the place you died. Unless you’re the exception. Which in my case, turns out I am the exception. It’s funny, in life I was very much average, no different from the other thousands of kids attending Split River High. Though in death, I’m powerful. Able to leave the place that the others are stuck, able to speak with the living if only for short periods of time. Mr Martin tells me I’m a vessel. That I should be careful because other ghosts may attempt to take advantage of my unique skills. However, I haven’t had any issues so far. In fact, I’ve done my best to help those trapped here to heal old wounds. Allowing them to forgive.

I’ve been here since 2007, over a decade and yet I’m still the newest ghost. Rhonda died in the sixties, Dawn the seventies, Wally the eighties and Charlie the nineties. Not that I mind, as much as we’re a weird bunch, we’re friends. Hell, I consider them family at this point as we have done nothing but support one another since dying. Wally even more so. He made a point of helping me get settled when I died. Sticking by me through all my meltdowns and the struggles I faced when coming to terms with the powers that I held. It’s safe to say we grew close.

So close in fact, that we’ve been dating for the past seven years. Contrary to popular belief, Wally is fairly shy and so it did take a good few years before either of us dared to confess our feelings. I can’t complain though, we’d been going to homecoming together for years at that point and as we lay on the field gazing up at the stars, he finally asked me to be his girlfriend. What followed was a pretty eventful night fuelled by passion and desire. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Which brings me to the present day, returning from my trip to the grocery store, I wander aimlessly around the hallways. Hoping to find Rhonda, Charlie and Wally, however, they are nowhere to be found. I must admit, the empty hallways are pretty eerie, with Dawn gone the air feels heavier. She brought a certain lightness to the school that can’t be replaced.

Entering the basement, I find myself swinging the shopping bag slightly. Attempting to give myself a confidence boost by acting as though it’s a happy, cheery place to be. Despite residing here for all the years, I’ve never once found myself in the basement, so as much as I am creeped out, I do use this opportunity to be nosy and explore everything on the shelves. Nothing peaks my interest though. Dusty old paint pots and garden tools aren’t exactly my idea of entertainment.

At that moment I begin to hear yells and shouts for help. My head spins in the direction it’s coming from and only then do I notice the huge metal door tucked into the wall. Hesitantly stepping towards it, the shouts get louder, pleading for help. The voices sounding very familiar to those of my friends.

“Wally?” I ask, feet pushing me towards the door a lot faster as I realize who is yelling. “Rhonda? Charlie? Is that you?”

Pushing on the door, I try to move the latch but for whatever reason it is completely sealed shut. No movement whatsoever. It doesn’t matter which way I attempt to pull or twist, the latch isn’t budging. My brows furrow in confusion as I try to work out how this could have happened. The door is old but not old enough to become so stuck that it is impossible to open.

“Y/N!” Wally calls out, relief evident in his voice. “Y/N, we’re completely stuck, the back hatch is locked too.”

“It’s okay. I’m here, I’ll get you out.” I tell them, still pulling on the door, though my eyes shift around the room, hoping to find a crowbar or any sort of object that may help me.

“Y/N, be careful! You can’t trust him!” Rhonda shouts, her voice panicked, the first time I’ve heard her sound genuinely scared.

“Trust who?”

Before my question is answered, the basement door swings open and I see a shadow looming over me at the top of the stairs. The shopping bag slips from my hand, glass bottles smashing against the floor as I realize who Rhonda was warning me about. Mr Martin’s friendly demeanor is gone, appearing menacing and dangerous as he makes eye contact with me. Shuffling backwards slightly, I keep my eyes on him. Trying to calculate his next move.

“Y/N, do you remember our little chat?” Mr Martin asks, slowly descending the stairs with his hands clasped together, truly looking like a villain.

“I’m not sure which chat you’re talking about, but I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”

Each step Mr Martin takes towards me, I take a step back, putting as much space between us as I possibly can. Unable to contain it, I feel my body trembling, the sounds of my friends pounding on the door simply heightens my nerves. Their shouts fill me with dread and I do my best to remain calm, to remain observant. Mr Martin feels like a predator, stalking me as if I’m prey. Was he always like this? Were we all fooled by his supportive teacher act?

“A short while ago, I talked to you about your uniqueness.” He starts, throwing a sharp glare towards the metal door that my friends are trapped behind. “You told me that you wouldn’t use your gifts to benefit others. Clearly you are not a girl of your word.”

He talks slowly, I’m assuming to get some sort of reaction out of me. If I react on impulse, he is in control. I can’t let that happen. If he gains control of this situation, there is no way I can help Wally and Rhonda and Charlie.

“I don’t think I’ve really used it to benefit anyone other than myself.”

“Peach iced tea. Is that not Rhonda’s favorite beverage? Plus, I know for a fact that pack of jelly doughnuts is for Wally.” Mr Martin points out, reaching down to the shopping bag on the floor and rummaging through it to see its contents.

“If I’m going to the store, I’m going to pick up their favorite things. That’s called being a decent person.” I respond, feeling my back touch the shelves that line the walls as I continue to step away from Mr Martin. “They’ve been stuck here long enough, they deserve good things.”

He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes and ultimately feels incredibly forced. Continuing to make his way towards me, I know he thinks he has me cornered. He thinks I am trapped in the room with him. Little does he know he has made one major mistake. If there is one thing about me, it is that I am insanely loyal and I will do whatever it takes to protect the people I care about. Right now, those people are trapped behind that stupid metal door, and there is nothing I won’t do to get them out.

“You know Mr Martin, I think you’re just jealous.”

“Y/N what the fuck are you doing?” Wally shouts, the banging on the door becoming more frequent as I sense he is becoming increasingly more panicked.

“Jealous?” Mr Martin questions, an expression of confusion on his face as he obviously didn’t expect me to steer the conversation in this direction. “Jealous of what Y/N?”

My hand snakes behind me at a snail’s pace, ensuring that he doesn’t catch the movement and spoil my plan. I just need to stall slightly, catch him off guard and then if all goes well, I should have them out in no time. Then I can stop worrying, especially about Wally. I know he’s only on the other side of that door but it feels like he is one million miles away.

“Well, you’re the only teacher here. Stuck with a bunch of teenagers, must be hard right? I’m sure you feel isolated and alone. Especially when one such teenager has powers that you can only dream of having. Powers that she uses to get her friends and boyfriend their favorite snacks or new books and films.”

“You think I’m jealous that you use your gifts on something so trivial?” Mr Martin questions, stepping towards me once more so we are practically inches apart. “Trust me Y/N, if I had the gifts that you hold, I would be using them to guide myself to the light. To cross over. Not you though, you’re just a stupid little girl that wastes talent on a bunch of people that do not care about you and are only using you for your gifts. I mean do you really think Wally would be sticking around with you if you weren’t able to bring him little treats? Though I suppose you did spread your legs for him the moment you arrived so who really knows.”

With a sigh, my hand takes a firm hold of the paint pot handle. “I really wish you hadn’t just said that.”

With a sharp swing I aim the paint pot directly at Mr Martin’s head, hitting him right above his ear. A pained groan escapes his mouth as he is knocked off balance, planting his hand against the wall so that he doesn’t fall to the ground. Sure, he can’t die twice, but I’m certain that I can at least knock him out for a while. As I go to swing the pot again, his forearm blocks my blow. Sending the pot clattering to the floor.

“Well now I’m angry.” He states, giving me no time to react as he grabs the end of one of the smashed glass bottles swiping at me with the sharp end.

Despite finding reassurance in the fact that I can’t die twice, I still wince at the feeling of the glass drag directly across my cheek. Cut opening, I feel the blood dripping down my cheek and in the one moment that I reach up to hold my wound, Mr Martin strikes again. Blunt end of the bottle hitting the back of my head sending me crashing to the ground. Grunting softly as I hit the floor with a thud.

“Y/N!” Wally bellows, worry laced in his voice and guilt floods through me as I hate to put him through this. “Y’N be careful, please. Y/N!”

Rhonda and Charlie are shouting as well, pain in their voices as they are evidently stressed out not knowing what is going on and only being able to hear the sounds of our fight. It must be hard having no indication of who is winning.

Flipping myself so that I am no longer facing the ground, I watch as Mr Martin stands over me. Dropping himself into a crouch, his fingers brush a stray hair out of my face. A wicked smirk settled on his face.

“Such a pretty face, too bad nobody else will get to see it.”

A rush of energy pulses through my body and with all the strength I can muster, I manage to stretch my arm out to grab the paint pot. Repeatedly hitting the teacher over the head with it and I feel little splatters of blood coat my face and body as he collapses to the floor. When I see no sign of movement, I begin to search through his jacket pockets. Whether that’s for a key or a key code, I’m not too sure. Though, I’m hoping when I find it, I’ll know.

With just my luck, a key slips into my hand, just in time for me to watch his body disappear as he resets to wherever he died. I’m unsure of how long he will be out and so for now I ignore my injuries focusing on finding any sort of lockbox.

“I’ve got a key. Any idea where it’s supposed to go?” I ask, hoping I can find some sort of answer from the three behind the door.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a little box to the right of the door, just above the ground.” Charlie answers, allowing me to search quickly.

Within no time I have found the box, twisting the key to find a switch which completely resets the lock on the door. This time when I try the door it pushes open with ease and I’m greeted by a swarm of tight hugs. Even Rhonda wraps her arms around me, squeezing slightly.

Wally hangs back, waiting for the other two to finish their greetings first. As soon as he gets the chance, he’s sweeping me off my feet, hugging me so tight that I feel as though my ribs may shatter. He’s twirling me around clearly happy just to see me again, and no doubt to be out of that room.

“I hate to break this up guys but we should probably head off before the evil teacher decides to come and take his revenge on Y/N.” Rhonda states, already beginning to make her way up the stairs.

Once we make it to the library, Wally is immediately all over me. Tending to my wounds as best as he can with the limited medical supplies we picked up from the nurses office on the way. He has a slight frown on his face as he wipes away the blood and I can’t help but place my fingers under his jaw, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips as a way of cheering him up. Yet the frown remains.

“Hey, what’s wrong? We made it out didn’t we?” I ask, cupping his face with my hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks.

“Yeah but I should have been out there to protect you. If I was there you wouldn’t have been hurt. You would never have been in that position.” He tells me, eyes not meeting mine as he speaks and I have a feeling that it’s because he is embarrassed and ashamed that he couldn't do anything.

Smiling softly, my lips press against his forehead, followed by both cheeks, then his nose, chin and lips. As I’m peppering kisses all across his face, he finally begins to crack a slight smile. His hands wrap around my forearms as he tugs me into a slow, heated kiss. Lips moving against mine at a relaxed pace and I find myself pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck. He groans quietly, hands moving to carefully pull me onto his lap as we get caught up in the heat of the moment.

“Can you guys please be gross somewhere else?” Rhonda asks, tilting her book down slightly to make sure we hear her.

I giggle as a soft rose blush tints Wally’s cheeks, pink from ear to ear. It’s cute, and he’s the most relaxed I have seen him since leaving the basement.

“Not to kind of spoil the mood, but what do we do about Mr Martin?” I ask, sharing a worried glance between the three other ghosts sitting at the table.

“I mean, we’re already dead, he can’t hurt us.” Rhonda states, a logical answer though I’m sure he’d still find a way to make our lives hell.

“Yeah but he still trapped us and look at Y/N’s face.” Charlie comments, clearly nervous by the entire situation. “No offense.”

“Not to mention he’s been studying us.” Wally adds in, to which he receives a questioning look from me. “I’ll fill you in later.”

“I guess we just avoid him and maybe brush up on exorcisms and ridding ourselves of negative spirits.” I say, smiling at Wally as I feel him reach for my hand under the table.

As eventful as today was, and as scary as today, I’m no longer scared. Mr Martin may be big and tough but I know that the four of us are able to take on anything. Besides with Wally by my side, I know I’m able to accomplish anything.

[aevitium]

✧ ˖  @cabernetsauvignor asked:

Though it’s been years beyond years, to Eden it is merely moments between that eternal darkness and waking again in the light of others. She had not had to grapple with her death - it had been by her design and full intention. Her reawakening, however, was not as predictable, and it had puzzled her at first. Some misguided force had mistaken her presence as necessary, perhaps.  She has no need to question it, though. She simply is. It’s not until Eden spies a face all too familiar that she is put at ease, regardless of her purpose.  Though it’s been years, to Eden there is nothing more natural than reprising Elysia’s company. Reuniting with dear Elysia was reason enough to breathe new life into a body that deserved it not. A friend and a comfort, irreplaceable. “Oh, I’m happy to see you again. Let me treat you to dinner.” Her words practically dance from her tongue. Though Eden is usually measured in her speech, practiced in years of performance, there is genuine mirth to her words. She sets her cup down on the nearest surface delicately, and Eden opens her arms to her, offering an embrace. 

She is, as she always has been and always will be, like a waking dream. Eden-- that sweet, holy name, so befitting of she to whom it was given. Had Elysia not known so many lifetimes of gazing upon her, she might not think the other real. Too perfect to be tangible, too good to be true.

Oh, but Elysia knows she is real because she always has been. From the start of time there has been Eden, and until the end there will be still. Ego's eyes glitter with a thousand horizon's worth of stars, all so pale in comparison to Gold.

Let me treat you to dinner. Time, the very essence of the world, have taken new and unrecognizable shapes, but not Eden. Never Eden.

"Dinner," Elysia echoes, her voice in the clouds, "well, how could I ever turn down such an invitation~"

The other's arms fall open in way of an offer, an invitation, and as with the first Ego accepts without thought or hesitation. She moves as though drawn by marionette strings, or perhaps her own heart, further and further until she is buried in the warmth of her dearest friend once more. A reunion, a homecoming-- her nose pressed to Eden's collar and arms curled tightly around her. There is serenity in this, as there always has been.

Elysia breathes her in and then out once more, a soft sigh through her lips.

"We can stay like this a while first, though."

[tarisilmarwen]

Rebels Rewatch: "Homecoming"

Hera's daddy issues, and lots of fanservice for TCW fans.

Oh hey, one of my husband's favorite episodes!

Three guesses as to why.

Yep it's because of the Quasar Fire-class cruiser-carrier.

Anyway, the need for such a thing is demonstrated right with this opening scene, with an ill-fated A-wing getting blown up as it tries to dock.

The A-wings get a raw deal in this show, seems like any time they need a fighter to blow up they do an A-wing.

:(

You know by now Hera's started to get to know the pilots under her command, so every loss is a little bit more personal now.

Kanan being silently supportive as Hera goes to call home.

Cham appears and cue TCW fans freaking out.

Not sure why we forwent the fanfare this episode, I don't think the circumstances are quite serious enough for it.

Kanan acting all cutely nervous to be meeting Hera's father kjhkjds.

And him getting everyone's names wrong lol, look at their faces. They're all just like, "Dad. Dad, that's not my name."

Numa introduced and though I have only seen the episode where she appears once I understand TCW fandom's base instinct to sob uncontrollably at how big she's gotten.

Cham being all, "NO I won't let you have this carrier I have to BLOW IT UP as a SYMBOL of RYLOTH RESISTANCE!" is absolutely annoying, Sato and Hera are saints for putting up with it.

I love the immediate cut to Ezra helping Hera tune Chopper up, implying he did his whole "follow you out of concern" routine and got invited to stay. :)

This is becoming a familiar sight isn't it? Ezra's role as heart of the team, peacemaker, counselor, and "bridge" is particularly emphasized this season. Not surprising, we collect most of our finale-important assets and allies this season.

Hngh that vulnerable little, "More important than family?" Fandom sometimes like to portray Mira and Ephraim as workaholics who had no time for Ezra between their broadcasts and resistance but this little line here, that Ezra would be so quietly horrified at the idea of rebellion being more important than one's own family, suggests otherwise.

Also! "Well, there's nothing more important to me." Throw that shade baby boy, love you for it.

Hhhmgngnll shut uuuuuuuuup Cham. When Ezra was preoccupied with concern over his homeworld he wasn't nearly so obnoxious. And, you know, actually accepted that other people and other worlds need help too.

Hera slipping back into her Rylothi accent when talking to her father. <3

Kanan implying his grandmaster Mace Windu talked to him about Clone Wars adventures. <3

Hera's absolutely sour sulk face. XD

This whole scene really, Gobi teasing Hera about "your Jedi", Kanan gushing about Cham, Hera cutting her father off with the doors twice.

It has all the vibes of "surly adult daughter reluctantly visiting estranged home to show off the grandkids and being annoyed that husband and dad get along so well".

Kanan's fake accent here is kind of amazing.

Hera's devotion to authenticity dislodges and reveals the supply of grenades in Numa's sack. Honestly, Cham reminds me a little bit of Saw with how obsessive he is about his own personal cause. He and Saw are both fighting for a good reason, true, but their attachments--Cham to Ryloth's freedom in particular, Saw to being right about the Death Star stopping the Empire from inflicting more loss at all costs--have blinded them, made them single-minded and selfish, hostile to others and uncaring about their plight.

Ezra, on the other hand, though he's always very worried for his world, his people, still is able to put them aside in order to do things for the wider cause, still able to access his compassion for people outside of his immediate circle.

(This would take a brief backslide in Season 3 after Malachor but come back with internal character development at the beginning of Season 4.)

Lol I knew as soon as that mouse droid got trapped that it would be used later.

Synchronized Force Push FTW.

And I love this moment where they throw each other forward, it's so awesome. Been a while since we've heard the Main Titles theme used to denote heroism too.

Ezra bouncing excitedly once he pulls off the Mind Trick, like Kanan knew he could aww.

Hera's double-take lol.

"I must destroy this ship for Ryloth!" Oh take a chill pill.

This is another case of, "Wow, that's a fast turnaround." but it's way less egregious than Ketsu's turn, since there are multiple other voices chiming in in support of Hera after her speech and all Cham does is take a step back and let Hera have the floor, he doesn't actually help until later.

Sounds like a muted version of the TIE Fighter Attack track here.

Right, so, this moment is touching and all but pulling harder on the yoke wouldn't actually do anything, this is orbit not atmosphere.

Imperial theme here, and then a snippet of "Shenanigans".

Ezra has an idea! Bet Sabine loves it because it involves blowing stuff up lol.

Love the teamwork here with this moment.

Eyyyyy everyone wins! The Rebels get the carrier, Cham gets his symbolic firey ship explosion of justice, way to go Ezra, that was a good idea, nice "bridging".

Hugs! <3

An almost Stargate-esque cue here (no surprise, Kiner worked on Stargate SG-1) which... it's not Hera's theme I don't think, at least I can't find another occurrence in "Wings of the Master". Cham's maybe? It definitely sounds like a leitmotif.

Aaaaaand a nice moneyshot of our spacefamily.

Another quality Hera-focused episode, expanding on her backstory without contradicting what we already knew. (Which I've already talked about was a bit of a problem with Sabine and "Blood Sisters".) Hera doesn't really develop much but then, again, she never really needed to. Still nice to see her reconcile with her father.

Another variation on the Friendship Fetch Quest--though Cham reappears later he's not a crucial asset to the finale like the other allies we gain this season, and once more the most important gain this episode is a ship. That Quasar carrier is going become a familiar marker and staple of the Phoenix Cell and we're going to get very used to seeing it in establishing shots... which makes the great big hero moment in "Zero Hour" it gets hurt a LOT more.

Honestly it's worth watching just for how seamlessly synchronized Kanan and Ezra are getting in combat. :)