#as soon as i got to this part in the game my fate was sealed i had to draw it

[smanfa]

gerudo link

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[katyahina]

Romina, Scarlet Rot and God of Rot interpretation? What is the Abyss and what 'stagnation' has to do with Scarlet Rot?

(This is a reply for an ask I've got on my other blog) Anon I am sorry I am THIS late, I swear it was just me deliberately avoiding progressing in the DLC because I didn't want it to end + bad timing :pensive: But thank you for leaving this ask because I did want to discuss her as soon as I've met her!

What Happened:

She WAS a victim on Messmer's tyranny, and shown in the second trailer ( x )! Moreover, she originally appears to be from Belurat; not only this trailer shows Messmer specifically burning it, but also this is the exact previous scene before Romina appears:

So I am getting an impression that originally, these buds appeared in Belurat, and somehow Romina knew to relocate them somewhere else:

+ Also, if anyone here can read Japanese please let me know because I've heard that a more accurate translation would be 'she found a divinity and clung to it' or something alike! Here is the Japanese text:

全てを焼かれた教会で ロミナは異形の神性を見出し 禍々しい、朱い腐敗に縋った

焼け跡に、また蕾が芽吹くように

Abyss and Stagnation in this:

My initial interpretation was that originally, this type of buds was growing IN Belurat, and then what she saved got relocated in Rauh Ruins, but "within the scorched remains" part makes it sound as though their fate was being decided right in the moment of the tragedy! So, somehow, what later became Scarlet Rot appeared within the ruin! After all, Formless Mother is another precedent of a god originating from the tragedy:

But why would a plant-insectoid life sprout within the fire? So, basically, I'll dive into headcanons territory for this post, but hear me out! We are not sure what the 'Abyss' is, however.. what IF, when Messmer gets a bit TOO into using his powers, the power of Abyssal Serpent is capable of opening sort of a 'gateway' into somewhere else, and some kind of horror might escape that 'Abyss'?

+ I need to add that Abyss of the serpent plaguing Messmer and Abyss of the woods tormented by Frenzy are different things though; whereas serpent's Abyss is 深淵 meaning literally an abyss, Woods' Abyss is 奈落 that means Naraka (Hindu Hell)! His serpent is AKTUALY named Base Serpent, but he refers the 'Abyss' in his Stage 2 transition: '光無き、深淵の蛇が'. ( x ) In fact, his dialogue in both English and Japanese original suggests the 'Abyss' is a PLACE, where Base Serpent comes from! The mysterious space without light!

Look I can't help using this meme just deal with it fdsgfdgs So, let's say that Messmer got so unhinged that the gravity of his powers still opened up the Abyss a little, even despite the seal Marika gave to him!

The next interesting thing is that there are no traces of Scarlet Rot in Belurat, despite Romina presumably releasing/creaing it right on that spot! There ARE poisoned swamp, the illness that turns people into fly-men, and even giant Spider Scorpions that are a variant specifically developed because of Romina:

+ they likewise deal regular poison, not Scarlet Rot! Some of them developed the wings as well:

So it is more likely that what Romina allowed to live (to the worse or to the better you decide) was not yet the Scarlet Rot itself, however it developed INTO it later, together with her. But what was freed that day and what left its traces in Belurat, as well as spreading across more of the Shadow Realm with at least two villages full of man-fly sickness, was 'stagnation'!

It is a concept commonly addressed across other Fromsoft's games, specifically the stagnation of water 穢れ (kegare)! Poison and Scarlet Rot are connected through themes of poison AND stagnation of water! It is what becomes a poisonous swamp, one of the most Rot places is literally named Stillwater Cave and all that. Scarlet Rot is a 'stronger' version of the venom that becomes of stagnation!

^ (looking through this ( x ) model view video) Additionally, Romina features not only part of the scorpion but also part of the centipede, and centipedes were used as a symbol of human dregs in Sekiro and Bloodborne!

I've also noticed that Blood of Formless Mother, Scarlet Rot and Deathblight are all connected by shared themes of plantlife and spontaneoutsly sprouting winged insects! With the cursed blood, flowers quite literally grow from it and flies spawn from impurities within festering blood swamps. Deathblight are literally roots with multiple flies spawning along them + often getting to fly free too. Scarlet Rot IS associated with flowers and butterflies, and whereas Malenia herself never got insectoid wings (since wings of Goddes of Rot ARE the butterflies, like stated by Romina's incantation), her knights did:

(Close look by Zullie the Witch ( x ) as I've never took a picture)

These three scourges feel like three ugly siblings to me fsdhhfds Needless to mention that Blood Oath, Scarlet Rot and general poison incantations are crammed into the same category, and Death ones aren't here only because they're sorceries!

More interestingly, in Rauh Ruins we find not only Scarlet Rot, but also the Bloodfiends (so, the Formless Mother guys) AND Deathblight:

^ I forgot to take the picture as a proof that the Dancing Lion in Rauh uses Deathblight, so here is screenshot from this ( x ) video of battling it! There are NO Deathroots anywhere near its arena, however it summons Basylisks in the second stage and deals Deathblight damage itself! Divine beasts, additionally, are Belurat thing too!

So, we have all three of these 'affiliations' in Rauh Ruins, giving a strong impression that it is full of Belurat survivors! Whereas the man-flies sickness is found here too, Romina, Bloodfiends and death-dealing Dancing Lion all feel like they've went separate Pokemon Eevelution from the same initial 'stagnation' concept that is the sourse of fly sickness fhhsdgfds I think that either 1) it is exactly what I just joked about, and stagnation is able to naturally develop into one of these stronger "branches" over time or 2) it develops into something specific under influence of an outer god; Deathblight doesn't need 'Prince of Death' since Outer God of Death IS a thing!

Survivors of Belurat here found their affiliations, initially getting afflicted by the "clean" form of it, fly sickness Romina allowed to escape and live!

^ So yeah @ second anon, I do also think that Romina in Rauh guards what is left of her civilisation! Such as one of like, two Dancing Lions and other Hornsent that unfortunately got manfly sickness too! Except, she is not antagonistic to the Scarlet Rot or sees it as her tragedy, but on the contrary: she sympathised with it!

I know it sounds more like a fairytale than an solid theory, but my impression is that a lot of 'waste' goes into the Abyss space and supposedly should have been burnt by the Base Serpent forever! Not as something inherently evil, but just a natural part of the course of life! Eiglay is the God-Devouring serpent, too! Both of them serve as the forces that ensure everything and everybody meets their end eventually, they might even be related! Again, Dark Souls for one had ten Primordial Serpents! We know three here (Base Serpent, Winged Serpent and God-Devouring Serpent) but it could be still a throwback like Fromsoft loves doing!

I think maybe someone, at some point, believed that living forever was a better idea and might have "killed" Base Serpent and Eiglay both! As we know from Rykard's last words though, 'serpent never dies' and he probably was right!

^ Whereas Eiglay had to grow back from a tiny snake again, Base Serpent settled in Messmer's body being so tiny that it could curl behind his eye! Both needed to recover their former power, so whatever eventually slipped in the Abyss was free to persist, rot further and escape back into the living world given the chance!

+ bonus:

Trina ends up having a lot of petals and flowers as part of her body, not unlike Romina, whereas Miquella had insectoid wings at the moment of being kidnapped! The same trademarks of the 'stagnation' again!

I questioned whether it was just Crucible at first, since it also features flowers and wings! In the DLC we've learned that the Fell God himself was connected with the Crucible (Furnace Visage) and Radagon has his red hair due to the curse of his Fire Giants (Giant's Red Braid) 🤔 But.. crucibles are MANY things. It is also horns, spikes, feathered wings, scales, you name that! A LOT of aspects of organic life and not just these two! So I think the Crucible Curse is safe to stay within Morgott and Mohg, and this more likely refers to Miquella himself getting infected at some point! Whether it was having sucked Scarlet Rot out of Freya's wound, or napping in the Haligtree that was getting slowly scarlet-rotten, or both! Sure there are no traces of it left when he becomes a God, but Trina was discarded before that of course! Alternatively, he was a victim of stagnation himself due to not being able to age physically. He, himself, was a lot like Scarlet Buds that are "never to bloom". Endless child state of a body and buds that can't bloom are like eggs that can't hatch but will go terribly bad over time.. what is MORE stagnant?

Who is the God of Rot and why the pink color?

Another side of Romina is a tail of a scorpion, and the giant variant of Spider Scorpions is said to be the result of her actions! At the same time, God of Rot itself was scorpion-like!

I think this makes it... oddly coincidential, that God of Rot is a scorpion at least partially, whereas scorpions are native for the Shadow Realm AND were important animals for Belurat! Like I said before, Belurat strangely has no signs of Scarlet Rot for a place where Romina presumably created/unleashed it!

So, maybe rather than God of Rot already existing as is, it received a particular form in the 'outside' world! I'd say the same for Formless Mother, but her form is ABSENSE of form kind of fdhshdfs Maybe 'receiving the character' is a better way to describe it! Formless Blood, Scarlet Rot and most likely Deathblight didn't exist "outside" but developed from the shared source, and their gods (at least two of them) were born thanks to people! God of Rot might have manifested from a giant scorpion Romina took special care of, or a scorpion who got the 'divine' energy for another reason since giant variants are still not JUST in Rauh! Again, like how Formless Mother manifested in the shadow of a corpse of someone else! The Scarlet Rot became a thing thanks to Romina, developing within her over time!

Again, this is just my idea that Outer Gods are "born" in "our" world rather than simply exist as is, especially since 'outer' is just a type of gods meant to be discerned from Marika's family and who are like Lovecraftian mythos! I just think so because the scorpions connection is a bit too coincidential! It is not necessary!

Eiglay is a God-Devouring Serpent, not Demigod-Devouring Serpent, however, so I think in either case her purpose had more to do with not letting guys like this to ruin the world! Things just must die eventually, not endlessly exist via endless rot/rebirth cycle not allowing for any truly new life to sprout. It makes it double awesome that Base Serpent, and maybe even Eiglay herself, are connected with the fire element as fire itself is ALSO not just an evil force of destruction! It is meant to help the nature to "clean" so it doesn't rot; this power simply must be kept in check to not burn SO much that there is nothing left to be born from the ash and ruin *looks at Frenzied Flame*

Lesbian flag colors joke aside, it seems that color pink is a mark of lacking the master and/or the capacity to bloom! I do think that blooming is a thing only a Demigod is able to do! +remember that Millicent is a unique sprout of Malenia, carrying more of her signs as a Demigod than other girls!

Orange/red is the color of 'true' Scarlet Rot, and you could see even God of Rot itself was orange from Scorpion's Stinger look! It craves the buds that will bloom to grow stronger and increase, similarly to how Formless Mother craves wounds!

+ I also think that Bloodflame is the mark of more "perfect" form of the same concept similarly, as it becomes self-cleaning this way! It similarly could only be accomplished by getting a Demigod (Mohg) involved, whereas regular Bloodfiends are using just the blood itself! Then, Deathblight was not receiving the big roots as we could witness by Dancing Lion in Rauh, without getting a Demigod (Godwyn) involved! The cringe triplets........

________________________

So in the conclusion, Romina reached out for the 'twisted divinity' she witnessed somewhere in the middle of the ruin of everything she knew before, similarly to how Bloodfiends chose to revere the 'twisted deity' found in a corpse of their ancestor as they've lost everything! These two affinities have connotation with strong misery, and it is additionally confirmed by how Millicent can only bloom if she experiences the pain of betrayal! Some sinister power only appears within a lot of pain and death, but on itself it is just "flowers and wings", and a concrete God is born in the place it appears at, depending on the circumstances. It needs the miserable person as much as the miserable person needs it; a call is nothing without the receiver. Together, they define more specific purpose and affinity for it to continue existing and poisoning everything!

...not 100% sure that Deathblight is just as similar, because how do you birth death? Maybe it similarly came to be through the first person to die (Nito, you?????)

P.S.: I'll be damned if the water Dancer Fairy didn't originate from Rauh and simply freaked out upon seeing Romina telling the God of Rot "may you find your worth in the waking world" fsdhfhds

[lfghughes]

Seal My Fate | Trevor & Jack

a/n: we all know i love myself a love triangle especially a trevor one

Summer was your favorite time of the year and yes Jack was a huge part of that. Every summer Jack and his family spent it at their lake house so you spent a lot of summers there with the boys. Last summer it was a little different because Jack had brought some of his hockey friends with him and that was when you had first met Trevor. You had heard of him plenty in conversation through Jack previous summers but you finally got to meet the person Jack spoke so highly of.

Only downside every summer was the fact Jack had a girlfriend each and every summer which meant your crush was a silent one. Trevor coming last summer actually ended up being great because he was fun and his flirting did not go right over your head. So who knew how this summer would go with him. Jack had texted you, letting you know that they had gotten in the night before and that if you wanted to come over later to eat.

Even if you did have plans you would definitely clear them for this. As soon as you walked in Jack made his way to you, hugging you and lifting you up so he could spin you. “It’s my favorite lake girl.” Jack laughed but meanwhile your heart was soaring from his words. You had to remind yourself that more than likely he was still with the same girlfriend from last year. “Hey, is it true that you were Jacks first kiss?” This time it was Cole who had asked you the question, you also recognized him from the past year.

At the question your cheeks blazed red “I mean we were probably six.” This had been a running joke in the Hughes family for years growing up. Aside from that one blazing question, it was easy to blend in with all the boys. But all you hoped for was a few minutes alone with Jack, that crush on him was still very much alive. So you couldn’t help but notice when he abruptly got up and disappeared into the house while on his phone. “Ex girlfriend problems.” Trevor rolled his eyes as he watched his best friend go into the house.

“Oh?” You asked, not wanting to seem too nosy but you were definitely being nosy. “They broke up a few weeks ago and almost every other night they argue on the phone.” Your heart still sank a little bit because yes he was single but clearly there was still something there. The rest of the night went by smoothly and reluctantly you returned back to your place which was just next door but felt miles away from where you wanted to be. It was pretty late when you heard the sound of something hitting against your window.

Going to your window you looked out, seeing Trevor with a pile of pebbles in his hand. A laugh left your lips as you made your way outside. “It’s kinda late, don’t you think?” You asked and he just shrugged. “Lets go for a swim at the lake?” He nodded his head back towards the water and you nodded your head. “Let me go change into a swimsuit.” You pointed back into your place and a smirk grew on his lips. “I have a better idea. What if we skinny dip? I promise to look away until you get in the water.”

The idea was tempting as nervous as you were and so you cautiously nodded your head, following him to the lake water. He turned his body, giving you time to take your clothes off and dip into the water before he did the same and slipped into the water with you. He swam around, splashing some water at you playfully. “So you planning on a part two with Jack?” He asked and you knew he was referring to the kiss. Your cheeks were burning hot and you were sure if there was enough light outside that he would be able to see how red you were.

“No but even if I was, are you jealous or something?” You asked, playfully teasing him. “No, I was just going to say if you did then we should kiss too. See who is the better kisser.” Again he shrugged, amused by the little game he was wanting to play. “Or we could just kiss either way.” This time you were the one being bold and you saw the look that flashed across his face as he pulled you into him. You weren’t even thinking about the lack of clothes, instead you were focused on the way his thumb brushed against your lower lip before he leaned in and kissed you.

His lips moved against yours in an urgent manner that was also somehow gentle. His hands were everywhere but also gentle against your skin. His hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into the skin just slightly. “Can I spend the night at your place?” He asked and you just nodded your head because you did not want this to end, not at all.

The rest of the night went exactly how you expected it to and every single bit of it was perfect. When you woke up in the morning, Trevor was still fast asleep and shirtless in your bed. He couldn’t look any more perfect as he laid there and you figured you would sneak out of bed to get some coffee going for you. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard the soft knock on the backdoor. When you opened it, Jack was on the other side a smile and a coffee in his hand that came from the local coffee shop.

“I got you some coffee but remember how we used to swim around in the lake every morning when we were kids? I figured we could do that this morning.” You figured it would be hours before Trevor would wake up anyways so you nodded your head. “Let me grab my swim suit.” At your words he came to step in the house and you quickly panicked. “I’ll be right back, just wait out here.”

Of course that sounded weird but Jack didn’t seem to notice too much. You went and grabbed your swimsuit, Trevor still sleeping deeply in your bed. You grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down that you were going for a swim before you exited. “Alright, ready to go?” He asked and before you could even answer, his hands went around your hips as he lifted you up and tossed you over his shoulder, dragging you out to the lake. You had missed Jack and you were so happy to have all summer with him but you were also now excited to spend your summer with Trevor too and who knew maybe you would get a part two with that kiss with Jack too.

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle16]

Day 7: Alcohol of @/Black00Cat’s (twt) SKKtober

Dazai knows the phases of Chuuya’s alcohol intake (see: Book 7 of Dazai Osamu’s Grievances against Nakahara Chuuya) like the back of his hand.

Can picture them so clearly that it’s a movie playing in his head, each detail highlighted in his mind’s eye.

And yet he never imagined a scenario like this in all his daydreams of how to kill Chuuya.

No, no, it seems Chuuya has accepted Dazai’s proposal of double suicide in the worst way possible.

The slug? On his unknown number of glasses of wine, absolutely plastered. And Dazai? He’s feeling his soul leave his body thanks to Chuuya, who has decided his preferred seat for the evening is Dazai’s lap.

The worst part? They’re out with their coworkers, a celebration for another joint mission done well. Woohoo…

“Chibi,” Dazai hisses into Chuuya’s ear for the nth time. He’s tried pushing his dog off — did not work, earned a punch — he’s tried squeezing Chuuya enough to annoy him — did not work, the brat got even more comfortable — and now he’s been pestering him to gain his attention.

Which, for the record, has not been working, much to Dazai’s, and everyone else’s, unfortunately growing horror.

Chuuya continues to blab to Yosano and Ranpo, the only ones not in a state of shock throughout this, giving them a plethora of gossip to talk (and tease) about later.

“How much did you let him drink?” Kouyou glares at Dazai, tone telling Dazai all he needs to know about how fucked he is for this.

“Me? Ane-san’s the one that usually stops him,” Dazai argues back. He steels himself as Chuuya shifts around before deciding his shoulder is the perfect pillow. Dazai’s just praying he’ll knock out soon.

Distantly, he registers Yosano and Ranpo whispering to each other but the threat of Kouyou takes his foremost attention.

She opens her mouth to say something, likely a threat in the form of death by sword, but Atsushi speaks up, voice hesitant.

“I mean, at least he’s not hurting anyone.”

Dazai rounds on Atsushi, mouthing ‘Me! He’s hurting me!’ — specifically his pride — at the boy.

Atsushi, the traitor, merely shrugs.

Dazai’s movement from earlier had roused Chuuya off his upper body, and soon a weak punch is thrown at his shoulder with a growl.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.

Dazai never wanted it to really come to this but—

“Akutagawa-kun~” He throws his most charming (read: threatening) smile at the man.

Beside the raven-haired, Atsushi gets ready to tell Dazai off but a quiet ‘ahem’ draws his attention.

Akutagawa, with a glance at Chuuya, meets Dazai’s eyes to deliver “Unlike you, Dazai-san, I do value my life,” sealing the brunet’s fate.

All Dazai can do in his shock is mutter, “You’ve been hanging out with Atsushi-kun too much.”

Dazai chooses to ignore Atsushi’s protest of “Isn’t that our assignment?”, instead turning his attention to Kunikida—

who gives him the most adamant death stare with a shake of a head he’s ever gotten from the man.

Lovely.

“Yosano-sen—“

“The night’s still young! What do you guys say to a game~?” The doctor asks, the glint in her eye telling Dazai he is truly fucked.

“Mr. Fancy Hat~! Truth or dare?” And there’s no chance to even bribe Ranpo to help Dazai out before Chuuya is sitting up straight, determined to overcome his

“Dare.”

Maybe Dazai’s had too many to drink too because he’s unable to control his heartbeat in this moment.

“Kiss him.” Ranpo smirks.

Dazai isn’t able to protest with who exactly “him” is before lips are all over his, the taste of wine taking over all of his taste buds.

Thinking back on this night, he vaguely heard hollers and hoots and laughs. Presently, though, all he can hear is his heart in his ears as red hair takes over his vision.

He’s sure his face is red — and he really hopes he can blame it on the alcohol.

He can’t pull away — Chuuya’s making sure of that with the vice grip he has on his shoulders — and he can’t lean into it because these are his coworkers, for crying out loud.

As the need for air nears, some divine being out there must take pity on Dazai.

Chuuya pops off with a lick of his lips — that Dazai can’t help but stare at — and promptly passes out.

Dazai catches him from falling off without thinking. And before he can stop himself, he hisses out, “You’re so fucking dumb!”

The only reason he braves looking up is the stash of money that crosses the corner of his vision.

“I hate all of you.” He glares as he watches their bets pass around, Yosano and Ranpo the clear victors.

“No, you don’t,” Yosano replies back with a wink as she counts her earnings.

/No, I don’t,/ Dazai can’t help himself from thinking as his eyes wander back down to the sleeping beauty in his arms, completely out as he probably dreams about dogs, bringing a smile to Dazai’s face, even if drool is already threatening to drip onto his shoulder.

God, Dazai really is pathetically down-bad, isn’t he?

[prettybutpoisonous]

We’ve Got Obsessions - Coriolanus Snow

Chapter Warnings!: threats of violence, misogyny, assault, intimidation, power imbalance, thoughts of sexual assault, etc.

——————————————————————————

Coriolanus Snow had never felt so threatened by a mere woman in his life. Well, except maybe her. Lucy Gray. She had made him feel small. Not anymore. And that’s why this woman, his opponent, Marianne Grounds was such a rude awakening. He craved control, and he would have it.

The two of them were currently alone in his senate office. He hadn’t invited her. She had simply stopped by without an appointment, all to brag about her candidacy.

He needed to destabilize her, make her doubt herself. “So tell me, Miss Grounds. Do you really plan on becoming president, or is this some sort of whim? You might be at a disadvantage amongst the rest of us men.”

“I do plan on becoming president! Hard work can get you anywhere. I was top of my class in university, and passed all my classes with flying colors! I don’t know what disadvantage you’re referring to.”

Coriolanus cocked his head, amused by her words. She had no idea of what a woman’s place in society was meant to be. But that was alright. He would fix that, along with all her other imperfections soon enough.

“Are you sure you don’t? You’ll never get far in this political world as a woman.” His words were harsh, but he believed every thing he said. Suddenly, her hand came flying into his cheek. He was in disbelief. She had slapped him.

“How dare you! I know perfectly well that I’m not a man, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less equal to you!” She spat venomously, clearly not aware of the consequences she had just brought upon herself.

A kinder, more ethical man would have apologized. However, Coriolanus Snow was not that type of man.

He was ruthless and cruel, and had all the makings of a tyrant. He could no longer afford to be kind. That part of him had died in twelve.

Her words only made it more fun. He loved a challenge. The plan was forming in his head. He would break her spirit first, and then mold her into the perfect woman for him. The perfect First Lady.

As he backed her further into a corner, literally, she began to look more and more fearful by the second. Where did the fearless woman from before go?

“Darling, you were born and breed to be a trophy wife, not a politician,” he told her, his tone as sweet as honey, but sharp as a broken bottle.

Tears came to her beautiful brown eyes quickly at his hurtful words. But he didn’t care one bit. It was time for her bubble to be burst.

He was everything.

She was nothing.

It was time she learned that.

“Your spirit is too strong to be broken by most men. They don’t what to do with a girl like you.”

He would win. He always did.

“Luckily for you,” His smirk was cruel as he used his hand to lift her chin, holding her face tightly. “I do.”

Her fate was sealed. There was no getting away from him now. Ever.

——————————————————————————

When Marianne had waltzed into Senator Coriolanus Snow’s office, hoping to strike a nerve by telling him she had planned to run for president, this wasn’t the reaction she intended to provoke.

She hadn’t realized it, but she was playing a dangerous game with a very dangerous man. She wasn’t afraid. She should have been.

She had known Coriolanus Snow from their academy days.

[udretlnea]

The Divine City: Some Slices of Life

Part 1 \ Part 2 (here) \ Part 3 \ Part 4

"We seal our fate with the choices we take, but don't give a second thought to the chances we take"

Gloria Estefan

At precisely 7 am it spilled into the room from the window. It crawled onto the floor and up the bed until it hit the eyes of its occupant. With a soft sigh, her eyes flutter open. Then she frowns at the growing sunlight as if it had interrupted a perfect dream.

Muttering to herself, she slides out of bed without a second thought. A quick glance at the clock tells her she’s got ten minutes before the servants wake up. 

She huffs. May as well get ready. A quick snack should suffice for now. I can eat properly at lunch.

Her morning routine was simple: Wash face, change out of sleepwear and into something plain (that reminds her: she needs to do shopping), and brush her hair a dozen times.

With that out of the way, she makes for the kitchen. It is blissfully empty save for her. 

She grabs an apple before grabbing a pitcher of water and an empty cup. Breakfast is a quiet affair as she sits down in the middle of an empty table; she doesn’t bat an eye to the empty chairs on either side. Her mindless chewing fills the silence. 

As she finishes her apple, a door opens. Without turning her head, she already knows who it is.

“Lady Cecilia. You’re earlier than usual,” says a mature, refined female voice.

Cecilia nods at the statement. “I have an awful lot to do today. With Volksfest coming up, I imagine my classmates are up to something so I figured I’d give them a hand.”

She turns her head to look at the person’s expression. Said person is a tall woman with slightly dark red hair, yellow eyes, and fair skin. The maid uniform she wore went to her calves mid-way. 

The woman hums with a thoughtful expression. “I see. Will you be back in time for dinner?”

Probably, though if I’m right Rickard is going to try to get me to stay. I’ll say no of course. Is what she thinks. Instead she says, “Sure,” and gets up to clean her things. 

Cecilia walks past the maid only to pause. The teen faces “Wait, Emery, before I forget I wanted to say that-no, ask you…is there anything you need while I’m out?”

Is there anything you want me to buy for you and the others? Is what she wanted to say, but the maid already replies.

“Well, now that you mention it, we’re already expecting festivities soon so some wine, cheese, and grapes would be needed.” Cecilia nods.

Screw it. While I’m here I may as well ask. If I don’t I’ll regret it. She opens her mouth-

“As for gifts, well, nothing comes to mind. Though I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if I desired an accessory for the neck,” finishes Emery.

-and it hangs open. Cecilia looks at the redhead bemusedly. The latter’s lips curl upwards in what Cecilia perceives as amusement. 

After three seconds of stunned silence the teen finds her voice again. “I see. Is there-is there a particular item you had in mind?”

Emery smirks. “You may try the lower end of the commerce district. Look out for a place called Timeless Treasures.”

“Timeless Treasures. Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” The two said farewell to each other. As she went back to her room, Cecilia couldn’t help but think about how Emery knew what was on her mind.

That woman can be scarily perceptive at times. She shuddered as she slung a light coat over a plain green dress. I wonder if she has a super dark past she’s running from like in those light novels. 

“Now there’s a fun thought,” she muttered as she exited her room.

///////////

The skies were clear save for the single stray cloud, but with it being August temperatures were cooling down. Cecilia silently thanked Her Grace she didn’t have to walk through humid and hot air.

Depending on where you went in the commerce district, you could either find the low-quality items sold at twice their price or “one-of-a-kind” merch that was special and thus was marked at an exorbitant fee. Cecilia was familiar with this game, however, and thanks to her folks training her to haggle she was prepared to play.

Thus, thirty minutes later she had two bottles of fine vintage, several blocks of cheese, fresh grapes, and some knick-knacks. She carried them both in bags in either hand.

She had to ask around where Timeless Treasures was. Apparently it was near the southwest edge of the middle section. 

As she made her way there, Cecilia walked through the streets almost in a trance. She barely acknowledged the decorations or the festive aura around her. Her head was locked straight ahead like she was dead set on getting to her destination.

CRASH

A loud commotion drew her attention to her left. Cecilia turned her head to find a trio of students cornering another student. Inside of her, some small ugly part recognizes what’s happening. She doesn’t even need to get close enough to hear what they’re saying.

“Think you’re worthy to stand on the same ground as us?”

“I bet you don’t even know basic etiquette.”

“What’s a country rat even to do here? Shouldn’t you be picking weeds?”

To his credit, the student doesn’t flinch. “I’m middle class-”

He doesn’t get to finish when Bully 1 punches him in the gut. The air knocked out of his lungs. Bully 2 sneers. “Did we say you could speak, trash?”

They laugh mockingly and start name-calling him. From a distance, Cecilia watches this. She feels frozen to the spot and far away. It’s as if she can see herself in third-person.

A small part of her whispers in her ear. You can stop them before it gets worse.

She could. She can! Cecilia takes a step, ready to shout at these punks-

Do not.

When another voice stops her. Suddenly, it’s as if she’s seized by fear. Anxiety roils in her gut, making her hide on the side. Cecilia is holding her breath.

If you intervene, those students will remember your face. Come school they’ll gossip and in five minutes you’ll be an outcast. That’s more trouble for you and everyone back home, ignoring your parents. Just keep your head down and walk away. Cecilia clenches her fist. 

We can’t walk away from injustice! the smaller voice protests.

Your actions have consequences. Consider them carefully.

The conversation lasted for ten seconds, but it felt like an hour. Then she shuts her eyes, tilts her head down and walks away.

Cecilia put on a flat look. She was already pushing the incident to the depths of her mind to be forgotten.

///////////

Timeless Treasures was in between a cafe and a hat store. Cecilia was near-tired at this point, but she powered through. It took a long walk, but she took solace in the fact she can go back home soon.

Cecilia reached a hand out for the door, only for it to open. She watched as a farm boy walked out carrying a wrapped gift.

The teen stared at the teen as he walked away. She should’ve just ignored it and went through the door. She should’ve asked the storekeeper for a necklace. She should’ve just taken her spoils back home. 

And yet her curiosity demanded to be sated. Cecilia mentally cursed herself before following the teen.

It took her longer than she imagined thanks to the morning rush starting. She nearly lost him twice. Cecilia counted herself lucky when she spotted him breaking away to another street. From there, she saw him turn into another alley. When she rounded the corner she caught the sight of his foot before he disappeared through a hole in the wall.

Cecilia carefully made her way, stepping lightly so as not to alert him. Once close enough she examined the exit with a scrutinizing eye.

…Is this an old tunnel? I figured these would be sealed up by now. She observed. It wasn’t faring well nor was it in an ideal condition, but the fact it still stood told her what she needed. This is how that commoner’s been entering the city, eh? I’m surprised he hasn’t been caught yet!

And then a feeling of fear flared within her. She wasn’t afraid for herself, but rather the boy. She remembers what happened earlier today and she feels bitter. Somehow she finds the resolve to do what she could’ve done before right now. 

Cecilia turns back around, already retracing her steps. In her mind, she thinks of one person she knows who can help her pull this off.

For now, she’ll prepare for tomorrow.

//////////////////////////////////

A/N:

Taglist: @yuriisclumsy

Social Hierarchy in the Divine City for context!

Questions, comments, and critiques are more than welcome! Let me know how I can improve anything at all (Please.)!

I wanted to write Cecilia not as a snooty, arrogant brat, but as a bored young teen who hasn’t found her motivation in life yet. And that affects her confidence in DOING things like stopping bullying. She’s not terrible, but she isn’t good when she isn’t proactive in solving problems in general.

As the sole child of wealthy parents who go on frequent business trips, I desired to write her as somewhat independent. She COULD have just gotten servants to go out, but she wouldn't waste any opportunity to keep herself busy. Of course, she knows this conflicts with the general image of the upper class so she's prepared to lie her way out.

Man, social hierarchies are complicated to live in.

//////////////////////////////////

P-34: Hm. Lady Cecilia seems almost disappointed in herself at that moment.

"Sir": That's definitely regret.

P-34: And classism is...terrible. Just generally terrible. Besides, where are her parents?

"Sir": It's implied they're not at home. And Cecilia thinks of them in the present, which means they're not dead. So no 'dead parents' trope in effect here.

P-34: Oh good! That whole trope is getting rather cliche if ya ask me. It's nice for some variety now and then.

"Sir": Mm. It's a good thing Emery and the servants are there. Granted they're not actual parents, but the details are boring.

P-34: I wonder if she actually cares for Henry or simply wants him to stay out for his own good.

"Sir": Yes...a good question for next time.

P-34: Hmm...well then, who's after her?

"Sir": *shuffles paper* Oh, a blacksmith apprentice. Makes sense. A big city and national guard means someone needs to be making weapons. As for who's learning HOW to, well...hmhm. This'll be a first to write. Best to give it my all!

[ynandfics]

Slytherin!reader fic- Mauraders Era

____________________________________________

“Slughorn couldn’t be any more excited about class than I am to get out of it, truly I wish I didn’t continue to take it just to stay with you bone heads” I looked down at the several potions that needed to be reviewed and vised as exams were being held soon.

“Maybe don’t take it next year” Regulus quipped, a silver tongue is all he had.

“Yes, cause sitting next to you got me into this mess” Evan and Barty both chuckle at my comment to the heir of the Black’s fortune

A large bang erupted from the opening on the Main Hall, the infamous group of Gryffindor’s stepping out of a cloud of dust. They seemed to gather everyone’s attention as they entered, cockily and without any worry in the world.

“Can you believe that’s you brother?” Evan asked Regulus. The four of us looked on as the one and only Sirius Black climbed on the Gryffindor’s table to announce how they would win the upcoming game against Slytherin.

“Well, he’s technically disowned. Burned off the family tree tapestry” I cringed internally, I hated the thought of looking at that every time I went home.

“Well if he isn’t at your place then where is he? He couldn’t be here, your mum would find him” I said quickly.

“He’s at Potter’s” Regulus rolled his eyes, but he still cared for Sirius. They had been through a lot together.

“Well now you gotta try and escape next huh?” Evan patted Regulus on the back, the students in the other houses chanted louder for something I no longer cared for.

“Anyone else want to head back to the dorms? It’s getting a bit loud in here” I checked my watch, it was 3PM…a break time between classes and dinner.

“Yeah let’s go, cause I think he’s about to strip or something” Barty laughed at the antics of the opposite house, packing with his things and mine extra snacks that had appeared on the table.

————————————————————————

“Reggie, honey…..why the fuck do I need to do this?” I looked at him.

A letter had appeared via owl the next morning, I was to be arranged with him as both our parents saw fit.

“I don’t know, we’re barely 16….they’re already set on making our life choices aren’t they?” He whispered the last part.

“Yeah I think so” I looked back down at the the letter which had neat writing all over it, sealing my fate.

[carrotsnake]

Botw/Totk headcanon: Sheikah NPCs beyond Kakariko

after impa being the Last of Her Kind for nearly 20 years, we were kind of spoiled with the era of wilds sheikah. still, kakariko is known for it's older population and botw makes a point to let us know paya isn't used to seeing people her age. this post is about asking 'where are they?' and filling in the gaps. being a peaceful farming village it makes sense the younger gens would want to leave as soon as they can for some adventure.

sheikah typically have hair on the grey-to-white scale (granté proves this isn't a requirement), and unlike the past games they have a greater diversity in eye colour. below is a list of hylian npcs that look too young to have greying hair that i hc are either from kakariko, or have some sheikah ancestry.

from left to right: lecia, letty, mina, her brother mils by proxy, teli, juney, and baumar. i'll go into more detail about each under the cut, comparing them from the 2 games alongside some more headcanons. some of them i haven't found in totk yet, so i'll edit when i do.

pic on the left side is them in botw, totk on the right.

Mina is a treasure hunter looking for loot with her brother by the exchange ruins outside the great plateau. the siblings also show up in the dlc. they're trying to steal a sheikah heirloom back from the yiga hideout, though they don't know it's purpose - they just wanna sell it. in totk she walks on the path between lakeside stable and lurelin. she says that even treasure hunters deserve some fun once in a while, so we can assume she's takin' it easy. Mils, meanwhile...

...joined the zonai survey team, and moans about what tough work it is. he walks through pagos woods to the zonai ruins. he joined in the hopes it would lead him to treasure, but he hasn't had his lucky break yet. most hylians travel from stable to inn and can be assumed not to have a proper home due to the lasting effects of the calamity. this is my bias but i like to think he's talking about kakariko when he mentions home. let him grow some pumpkins and wrangle cuccos. he wishes to live a quiet life.

i find it sweet him and mina are both in faron. maybe they decided to split up and cover more ground? with mina off sunbathing and sipping mimosas in lurelin, mils got the short end of the stick again.

Baumar:

'i hope you die': lazy, cliché, unrealistic. 'i hope your favourite botw npc gets mushroomed and bowlcutted': it's scary, it's possible, it's happening to me right now. such was the fate of our poor resident shield-surfer bro from botw. known for many hit quotes such as 'let's go bamboo! yahoo!', 'shield surfing is like, totally radical, dude', and my favourite:

in botw he rides his horse on the path between serenne and snowfield stable. in totk he's part of the fashion tour-group that run around hateno village. maybe he went to hebra to show his 'wicked' surfing moves to selmie and she said 'kid, if i let you out on the slopes you'll die. sorry'. his world was completely shattered beneath him like a broken shield, so he turned to cravats and puffy short shorts to cope.

his name is similar to the hills of baumer above deya village ruins. maybe he's a descendent of the few survivors. i wonder what his ancestors are thinking now, watching what he does with the gift of life.

Teli walks between fort hateno and hateno village. He sells ancient guardian parts and even mentions he trades them with Robbie. he has a high opinion of himself and tells you he's known across hyrule for his 'roguish good looks.' in totk he's one of the men in the 'Gourmets gone missing' Penn quest that gave himself food-poisoning by riverside stable. after which he scares away some cuccos and makes you wrangle them for a sidequest. just L after L for this dashing rogue.

Juney, now famous for her rupee grinding sand seal minigame, i instantly recognised as the epic divorce woman from rito village. her attitude is just as surly as ever but they gave her a soft side. i like that every minigame location could not be further from hateno. you'll find that school someday queen.

she was a newly wed mad at her husband, jogo, for choosing a cold place for their honeymoon. he begs you to give him flint to cook some baked apples for her to save their already failing marriage.

in totk they're not together, jogo inhabits a cabin in tabantha village ruins with another woman. he didn't give her enough baked apples.

Letty walks along the path between lakeside stable and lurelin. she gives you cooking tips and that's pretty much it. In totk, she and a friend are investigating the ring ruins in Kakariko together.

Lecia is a new character in totk. she's with the research team and plays a part in the foothill stable Penn quest, the one with all the men in underpants. she kind of looks like a grown up Koko. maybe a distant relative? but maybe she's not sheikah. maybe the sight of all those pasty naked men traumatised her so bad she got marie-antoinette syndrome from the shock. i haven't seen her since.

thank you if you read to the end. to clarify i'm working on some fic stuff and that entails finding npcs across the overworld to give some more lore. it's a sheikah focused fic so i needed some characters other than the kakariko residents. it's also just fun fleshing out random npcs to make the world feel more lived in. again, i'm missing some details like what mina does before you save lurelin, so i'll edit this post in the future.

[miscretis]

Discord Mod!Ronin x Discord Kitten!Reader (G.n) [PART 3/FINALE OF A CRACK FIC TAKEN SERIOUSLY]

WRITERS NOTE

Part 3/3 is finally out now! It's been a good few days since I started this series and it has been really fun to write! I'm appreciative of the support given towards this series and I hope that y'all will continue to support me, my artworks, and my writing! Yes you read that right, this is the finale. This is really rushed because I wanted to start on a new AU, a new project. It's going to be another Ronin x Reader but I promise it's a good one! Now, sit back and enjoy the finale of Discord mod!Ronin x Discord Kitten!Reader (g.n)

CW:

-Mentions of murder

- bad and rushed writing

-cringe.

Months flew past and you were slowly wrapping up the novel for a nice and bittersweet ending. You checked your calendar and realised that today was Valentine’s day! What's so exciting about it anyways? It's not like anyone is going to ask you out…

Until…

@goreboy is calling you!

What is he calling me for?

Curiosity was starting to engulf you so you decided to pick up the discord call. pick up the discord call. As you picked up the call, the wine red hair man appeared on the screen before you, a cheeky grin on his face.

“What’s up my darling daredevil? The devil has come to wish you a Happy Valentine’s day,” Ronin snickered.

You rolled your eyes, “Very funny Ronin, very funny.”

He chuckles, “What? Aren’t you thankful that your boyfriend is here for you?

“More than thankful.” Your tone dripped with sarcasm.

“The kitten’s feisty as ever, I like that. But, my patience is running out, writer darlin’.”

Wait..he knows who I am? How?!?! I have been concealing my identity just fine for months!

However, panicking wouldn’t help you in any situation, so you took deep breaths before replying, “ I’m not scared of you, Ronin. You’re just taking this intense role play way too seriously!”

What I said only fueled his amusement, his voice distorted into a maniacal laughter, “Oh darling. When was it ever roleplay? You’ve been playing my game for the longest time, and you still haven’t realised!”

You were surprised. No, in shock. Wait no, do you even know how you feel at this point? You’ve been fooled, utterly bamboozled. You’re like a mouse in a mouse trap, stuck in a sticky situation. The Devil’s Butcher is right in front of you on your screen. It only took you 5 months to notice.

You were utterly speechless.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

”I know your name, Ronin. I could easily expose you.”

“So what is it?”

You ponder for a while, you only said that out of spite.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t know your boyfriend’s full government name despite dating me for a few months already! I’ve been whispering it to you.”

You quickly toggled off the calling screen and went to search through Ronin’s DMs, you realised the way he typed his words before calling you was weird…

Soon, it clicked.

“You’re Ronin Beaufort.”

Ronin’s eyes glimmered in pure excitement. You could tell that exhilaration was pumped through his veins, “Hah! You impress me, darling. It’s Ronin Beaufort, the Devil’s Butcher, yours truly. Meet me in Purgatory.”

14th February 2024, 8.50pm. You arrived at Purgatory, the very alley where the Devil’s Butcher gets his hands stained red. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your heart rate quickens and your hands clammy. You couldn’t believe you’re meeting up with a serial killer, your boyfriend.

He is a serial killer but he is also my boyfriend. Will he kill me or not?

At this point, it doesn't anymore. By agreeing to come along, you've already sealed your fate. As you walked along the alleyway, you saw graffiti all over the wall. It gave it more of an eerie vibe since murder literally takes place here.

Suddenly, you heard a blood curdling scream. You turned around to check your surroundings. Something's definitely up but you couldn't muster the courage to check it out. So, you stay at your current position, waiting for Ronin to come.

Time passes by and he still has yet to come. So, you decided that it was just a prank. Ronin is the type to pull these kinds of pranks anyways.

“Oh writer darling, getting impatient already? Don't worry, I'm right here!” Ronin creeps up from your back and whispers into your ears. You turned out and gasped out in surprise.

Oh god, it's not a prank. It's the Devil’s Butcher in the flash!

But as the wise man says, panicking doesn't solve anything.

Ronin chuckles, “So we meet!”

“Always the devil, Ronin Beaufort.”

“Aren't you a pleasure?” Ronin walks in closer, “Gotta say, meeting you in person got me feeling some typa’ way. And I wonder how you feel about….well…”

Ronin lets out a maniacal laugh, it stirs up some type of feeling in your chest, your cheeks flare up a pretty red.

“Do you like me now?”

“Yes.”

“Oh just speak the truth! Anything but the truth!”

He whispers into your ears, “Write me a love note, darling.”

“I know your name. I could expose you.”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda. You could end me. You should end me. But would you end me?”

“...”

“I don't think so! Where's the boys in blue? Why's it just us in my favourite gruesome alley? Why's that after knowing who I am, you still wanna see me?”

“So why did you even invite me to the server?”

“I did it for you. You were starving for inspiration, so I gave you insatiability.”

“...”

“You wanted inspiration, so I became your muse. You wanted love, so I gave you love. Isn't that everything you ever wanted?”

“...”

“Why didn't you call the cops? There were so many opportunities that you missed out on!”

“...”

“If I may…I would say you're a little too in love…”

"..."

“So, what would'ja do now? Taste the feeling of metallic death by my crowbar? Or ya gonna kiss me? Or are you gonna kill me? I got a knife right here! ” He lets out a dark chuckle as he closes up the gap between the both of you, pinning you to the wall.

You clenched your teeth, dang it. Ronin really stirred your heart up. If you kill him, you'll be guilty of a crime. If you kiss in, you'll give in.

But fuck it…who cares if you give in or commit a crime anyways? You've gone so far

You pulled him close and grabbed the knife, Ronin dropped his crowbar out of surprise. You've thrown the knife away and leaned him into a heartwarming kiss!

Euphoria spread through both of your bodies and released the unsolved tension between the two of you. You have danced with the devil and now he has now fully corrupted you, having you completely wrapped around his finger. You're now his, he's now yours.

The end.

[sweethoneyrose83]

Dialogue prompts for Vanny from FNAF

"You can’t hide forever. He’s watching, you know? And I’ll find you… sooner or later."

(Whispering as she stalks through the dark corridors)

"Why fight it? Don’t you want to be part of something bigger? Something… beautiful?"

(Attempting to manipulate the protagonist)

"I’ve been watching you. You’re getting closer, aren’t you? So much closer to becoming one of us."

(In a soft, almost hypnotic tone)

"It’s fun, isn’t it? The chase… the fear. You feel it too, don’t you?"

(Playfully taunting the protagonist)

"He whispers to me… tells me everything I need to know about you. It’s only a matter of time."

(Referring to her connection with Glitchtrap)

"Shhh… don’t scream. It’ll all be over soon, I promise. Just a little… longer."

(Comforting in an eerie, almost childlike voice)

"I wasn’t always like this, you know. But then again… neither were you."

(Hinting at a shared dark past or future)

"The mask makes everything clearer. You’ll see too, once you’ve put it on."

(Trying to convince the protagonist to embrace their dark side)

"There’s nowhere to run, silly. You’re already part of the game. And no one ever really leaves the game."

(Confident and smug, knowing the protagonist's fate is sealed)

"I know it hurts. But pain means you’re alive… for now."

(Her voice is cold yet oddly caring as if enjoying the suffering)

Vanny (softly, but unsettling): "You shouldn’t be here… but since you are, why not play a little game with me?"

Vanny (sing-song tone): "Hide all you want… I always find what I’m looking for."

Vanny (mocking, playful): "Do you really think you can outsmart me? Silly little rabbit, always hopping into danger."

Vanny (whispering eerily): "I can feel your heartbeat… so close now, I can almost taste your fear."

Vanny (ominously): "The others might not see you… but I do. And I never let go."

Vanny (laughing quietly): "He says it's all for a reason, you know? So, don't worry. It's just… your turn."

Vanny (creeping closer, softly): "Oh, you thought this was just a nightmare? Sorry, but it's real… and I'm here to make sure you never wake up."

Vanny (calm, almost comforting): "Shh… It's okay. It will all be over soon. Just give in."

Vanny (teasing): "You’re not afraid of a little bunny, are you? You should be."

Vanny (cold, detached): "Running will only make it worse. Why don’t you save us both some time?"

1. Luring the Player:

"Do you hear them too? They whisper such wonderful things. Come closer, and you’ll understand."

"Don’t be scared… I’m here to make everything better. Just follow my voice."

"Why run? The darkness is so much safer… I can show you."

"I know you’re hiding. But that’s alright… we’ll find you soon enough."

2. Confrontation:

"There’s no place left to go. Why fight it? This is what you were meant for."

"You don’t really think you can escape, do you? Silly little rabbit…"

"I can feel your fear. It’s delicious… let’s savor it together."

"He’s always watching, always waiting. You’ll meet him soon, just like me."

3. Manipulation:

"You’re just like me. We’re not so different… we’re just lost in this game."

"They don’t understand. But I do. Come with me, and you’ll see the truth."

"Why struggle when you can be free? Free from the lies… from the pain…"

"It’s okay to let go. Everything will be over soon, and you’ll be perfect."

4. Teasing/Mocking:

"Aww, did I scare you? Don’t worry… that’s just the beginning!"

"Playing hide-and-seek, are we? You know, I always win."

"Tick tock, tick tock… the clock is ticking, and your time is running out!"

"What’s the matter? Bunny got your tongue?"

5. Cryptic Warning:

"You shouldn’t have come here… this place has a way of swallowing people whole."

"Not everything is what it seems. Sometimes the masks hide the real monsters."

"It’s too late to turn back now… he’s already chosen you."

"You’re in his web now. There’s no escaping… not without a price."

[a-student-out-of-time]

Teach me your massive writing nerd ways, senpai!! 😫

(For real though, hope you get better soon ^^)

//Thank you ^^

//I'm not really an expert in this department, but here's Sixteen Steps on how I oversee the Fangan writing process:

Decide on your story's theme first and foremost. What's the major conflict? What ideas are being put forward and challenged? How will your Killing Game's story, character and environment reflect these? Are you sticking with the classics (Hope vs. Despair, Truth vs. Lies), something similar but new (Trust vs. Doubt, Growth vs. Stagnation, Redemption vs. Corruption) or are you going with something completely different? All of these can and should play a role on the nature of the Killing Game itself.

When you've decided on what kind of story you want to tell, work on the characters. Your characters shouldn't just be there to die and crack jokes, they should be an active part of the story and their arcs should ideally reflect the conflicts and themes. You also are not bound by the archetypes used in canon and can vary it up however you want.

Character arcs: Have them. Even with characters whose fates are sealed and they aren't going to die, there's no reason not to allow them some degree of growth and change in the time that they do have. Their arcs can even naturally conclude with their deaths in trials or the like, which can vary from them choosing to save someone else to one final act of spite against the rest of the group.

You are not bound by the almighty outline. You're also going to need at least a general idea of where you want your story to go, but it's okay to provide yourself with a degree of flexibility. Who's going to survive? Who isn't? Why? What are the motives? Are they doing anything besides just faffing around waiting for the next murder? Maybe your ideas will change, just make sure you can smoothly integrate those new ideas without upsetting the flow and clues you've established.

Small moments are more important than big ones. Moments of characterization in the plot, like vulnerability, small confrontations, even casually-provided pieces of dialogue can do more for your characters than just having them die horribly/dramatically or them revealing something major in or after the trial. FTEs should be supplemental, not the place you dump all their best/worst character qualities.

Characters should communicate. You shouldn't define characters purely by their relationship to the protagonist or to one other character. See how many dynamics and interactions you can come up with, and how you might be able to include those into the story. Diversifying interactions opens up a lot of potential new dynamics and story opportunities.

It's okay to be a LITTLE self-indulgent. I say this because I got flak for saying writers shouldn't let their self-indulgence overwhelming their fangans. I will clarify that it's okay if you want to include something just because you want to include it, as I have in my own writing, but if you want a murder method/execution/confrontation/what have you in the story, please at least integrate it in a way that makes sense. If you don't, it's going to feel jarring at best and actively harmful and disruptive to the story at worst.

Your setting should feel like a part of the story. The place where your cast is trapped shouldn't feel like a featureless prison with setups for murders, it should have an active role in the situation and clue us into the story. Is it run-down and grungy? Unnaturally clean for an inhabited space? Is it dark? Is it colorful and lively? What's keeping them from leaving? What do they find as they explore?

Avoid stereotypes about mental health. If you're going to use DID, Schizophrenia, Autism, OCD, depression, PTSD, Bipolar Disorder, any personality disorder, etc., PLEASE do your research before you even think about writing a character with any of these. Mental health being equated with violence is grossly exaggerated; people with these conditions are more likely to be victims of violence, not the perpetrators. Please don't make a character built out of negative stereotypes just for the sake of drama or making the story "interesting." A good character is vastly more interesting than another Genocider Syo knockoff.

Idiot Plots are Unacceptable. There's a fine line between a character making a bad decision because of pride, fear, miscalculation, or any sort of understandable flaw, and them making one because the story needs them to in order for a murder to happen. Your characters can make all the right decisions that they reasonably could, and still ultimately fail. That often makes the antagonists seem much smarter and more threatening.

Do not overly focus on the rival. If you've ever heard someone say that villains are more interesting than heroes, that person is probably just bad at writing heroes. Your protagonist does not have to be boring and your rival doesn't have to, and preferably shouldn't, be the most important and well-written character in the story. A good rival challenges the protagonist and serves as their foil in some way, but that also means the protagonist can challenge them in other ways; e.g. Byakuya has no chance of solving Trial 4 because he couldn't even conceive of a situation where someone would sacrifice themselves for another.

Suffering does not equate to sympathy. Yes, a killing game would be a miserable experience, but just making the characters miserable and putting them through the wringer constantly, with no chance for them to breathe or get any kind of victory often feels more exhausting than sympathetic or interesting. This extends beyond fangans and into writing in general; if you've established that a character is never going to succeed at anything they do, people are going to emotionally check out of the story because there's no reason to get invested that something might go wrong.

The mastermind should reflect one side of the conflict. For the driving theme, whichever side the protagonist is on, the mastermind should represent the opposite. For extra thematic flair, maybe have their backgrounds parallel each other in some manner and see how their lives too very different paths as a result. If they don't, they're going to feel very disconnected from the story and like they had no reason to do this at all.

Ask yourself what kind of mastermind works best for your story. Do you want someone loud and bombastic? Quiet and scheming? Angry and bitter? A deluded paragon who thinks they're doing good with their killing game? Someone not even human? When you have it in mind, work backwards and ask how this person would then decide to become the mastermind of this killing game in the first place.

If you're stuck, try reverse-engineering. A lot of us have the outcome of a story in mind first but aren't sure how we get there, especially with murders in these games. I find the best way is to work backwards, starting with the outcome (basically the Closing Argument) and scattering all the pieces of the murder scene around to where it becomes a mystery. Motivations, of course, should be the first thing on your mind and why they targeted a particular character.

EXECUTIONS ARE NOT A STORY. This is probably the biggest hurtle I see with a lot of aspiring fangan writers, where they focus very much on the deaths and executions over everything else. Your fangan can't just be a paper-thin plot designed to get us from one execution to the other, it needs an actual story and characters to keep us engaged. Furthermore, your executions shouldn't just be spectacle, they should have a purpose in the narrative and provide character insights in and of themselves, whether it's ironic punishments or some final revelation about the character.

//And there you go, some tips for writing a fangan. Hope these help! ^^

[starry-nights12]

It's not like the movies, for the WIP game?

You got it dude!😎👉👉

It's Not Like The Movies (WIP)

Rating:T

CW:Suggestive & very brief mention of sexual harrasment.

A small trail of saliva connected on their bottom lip. Jinx was panting for air yet still felt breathless.

Her heart was pounding erratically on her chest felt. She felt dizzy, hot, lightheaded, and exiletated.

They didn't need to say anything to know their expressions read, 'Holy shit'.

His eyes soon soften with wonder and admiration at the young woman under him.

His full lips pulled into a grin dripping with confidence and pride, "So, you do like me like that?"

He leaned down to press a tender kiss to her temple.

Her lips and other parts of her body tingled from the kiss they just shared. She never felt anything like this before.

When she was alone in her room at night, she dreamt of this scenario.

Her and Ekko being so wild with lust that he knocked everything off his desk to passionately make out with her.

This was almost the same thing...

Except they were both still clothed. And instead of taking charge and leading it further, Jinx stared at him dumbfounded.

This was different than going to a brothel or men leering, wolf-whistling, and trying to hit on her.

Ekko wanted her and she wanted him too. He just told her he loves her before she threw herself at him. He was kind, caring, smart, and honest.

He stayed when Vi threw her aside for her plaything. He never lied to her like her sister or Silco.

He gave her a second chance when she didn't deserve it. He gave her a home in his sanctuary despite the outcry it caused.

And now he gave her his love. She gave him her first kiss and sexual experience all in one night.

I do. I like-like you a lot.

Before the words could fall from her lips, she heard Mylo scoff. 'What are you so happy for, you idiot? You know how this goes. You're going to kill him. Just like everyone else in your life.'

Suddenly her lovestruck haze fizzled out and was replaced with growing panic.

Oh my Gods, he's right. I sealed his fate. I'm going to ruin everything. I shouldn't have kissed him. Oh my Gods, oh my Gods, oh my Gods.  What have I done?

"This was a mistake!"

The hurt on Ekko's face was like a knife being twisted in her heart.

"What?" he moved from between her legs. "Is this because..." he glanced down at the bulge tenting his pants. "Shit. I'm so sorry. I came on too strong. I-"

Regardless of how she felt, she pushed on. "We shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have.  This was..." Jinx hurried to sit up.

"I'm sorry, Ekko. But this can't happen. It's not safe."

"What isn't?"

"Us." she hugged her arms and struggled to maintain eye contact. "Me. I'll get you killed. It's for the best.

[lfghughes]

Seal My Fate pt 2 | Trevor and Jack

a/n: love how you guys have already chosen teams for this. all the comments make me laugh

When you had come back from your swim Trevor had already been gone. Part of you was a little disappointed because you selfishly wanted more time alone with him. But he had left a note under your note telling you to stop by later for some drinks. For a good part of your day your brain was still trying to comprehend what had even happened last night because most of it seemed too good to be true but it happened.

As you walked across the lawn to their backyard later that night your heart skipped a beat as your eyes landed on Trevor, the thoughts of what you had shared the night before still fresh in your brain. All of the boys were sitting in a circle on lawn chairs that they had and as you walked closer you realized they were playing a game. “Look at that, you’re just in time for truth or dare.” Trevor mentioned as you sat down on the lawn chair that no one was sitting in, which happened to be the one next to Jack.

You watched the boys go around the circle, giving each other stupid dares and then finally Trevors eyes locked with yours. “Truth or dare?” He asked, amusement glowing in his eyes. “Dare.” You told him, waiting for whatever he had in mind. “Kiss Jack.” That is not what you were expecting but you weren’t going to back down from this dare. You turned into your seat and Jacks big blue eyes were already looking at you. You pulled him in for a kiss and he quickly returned it.

As you pulled away you looked back at Trevor who looked amused but also you noticed the slight look of jealousy too. The boys went around another round before Jack got up from his seat. “Want to go sit by the lake for a little?” He asked and you nodded your head, following him down to the lake. You didn’t really mind the privacy and aside from your swim earlier in the morning you didn’t have a whole lot of time with Jack. “Sorry if Trevor made that weird between us.” He immediately started as soon as you both sat on the ground.

“It wasn’t weird, not at all.” You told him and you noticed the slight blush on his own cheeks. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about doing it before.” He quietly admitted to you. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you to do it again.” At your words, Jack had moved closer now that he had permission to kiss you again. His lips were on yours and you deepened the kiss right away. You had wanted this moment for so long and it was finally happening.

Somehow both of you ended up laying down and his hands moved down along your body. His lips then moved from yours, down your neck, stopping at your collarbone. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He admitted against your skin before he returned back up to your lips. Both of you stayed like that for a while before you guys headed back up to his house. By the time you got back most of the boys had gone to bed. “What were you two doing down there for so long?” Cole asked but the smirk on his lips showed that he knew.

You couldn’t help but notice that Trevor was nowhere in sight so you assumed he was already in bed. After saying goodnight to Jack you headed back to your place and you were surprised when you saw Trevor sitting on your deck. “Thought you had gone to bed already.” You told him and a small grin grew on his lips. “So who is the better kisser?” He asked and you shook your head. “Is that what the dare was about?” You asked and he nodded his head. “I mean it was good enough for you guys to disappear for a while.”

There was definitely a tone of jealousy there but you could tell he was trying to not show it. Instead he waved you over to where he was sitting and when you stopped in front of him he pulled you into his lap. “I’m okay with reminding you.” And there it was, something about Trevor just set your insides on fire. “Please do.” The words came out in a whisper but he quickly pulled you in for a kiss, his fingers digging into your thighs. “If I could stay like this with you all summer I would.” He whispered against your lips. “Can I stay the night again?” Another nod from you. “Good, I’m going to make sure that my lips are the only ones you think of after tonight.”

[karahalloway]

Sex Bomb

Fandom: TRR

Paining: Leo Rys x Adelaide Amaranth

Series: None (this is a one-shot and can be read independently of the rest of my fics)

Word count: 4,000

Warnings: swearing, alcoholic tendencies, smut, outrage, crack ship (you have been warned)

Theme song:

A/N1: This is my long-awaited (and very much demanded) follow-up to the part I wrote for One Night in Cordinia; however, you should be able to read the current fic as a standalone.

A/N2: Since I love killing two birds with one stone, this is also my submission for this year's Smutember event hosted by @choicesprompts. The prompts that this fits into is 'Caught in the act' and 'We shouldn't be doing this...'

A/N3: Certain parts of this fic were somewhat inspired by the scene between Finch and Stiffler's Mom from American Pie. The clip, for anyone who hasn't seen the movie, is below the cut.

Sex Bomb

"Bloody hell..."

Leo dropped the edge of the heavy brocade curtain he was holding, letting it fall back into place behind the dais to conceal his presence once again.

The ballroom was heaving. And the evening had barely even kicked off. Lord knew how many more people were still battling the traffic to get a coveted front-row seat for the royal event of the century.

The Coronation.

...or, as Leo liked to call it, the Royal Nail in the Coffin.

Because in his mind, that's what it was. The final, inescapable blow that would seal his fate for good, and maroon him forever on the desolate island that was kingship... shackled in life-long matrimony to Madeleine Amaranth.

Leo shuddered at the thought. Especially when he recalled his fiancée's naked form getting skewered loudly by that Justin What's-His-Face PR pansy on the steps of Beaumont House mere days ago.

Not because of the fact that she'd had sex with someone else. Hell, he'd tapped more ass than he could count! So, he couldn't exactly begrudge his soon-to-be wife's promiscuity. Especially when she couldn't remember any of it...

No, it was the fact that here he was, on the eve of his engagement to his future Queen, and all he could think about was her mother.

That sexy vixen of a woman, Adelaide. The Duchess That Had Got Away.

Very literally.

Because in the chaos of the Shagging Smog-infused assassination-attempt-gone-wrong — aka the Beaumont Bash — Leo had lost his one chance to notch that coveted mark on his bedpost... especially considering that she would've actually been game for it, given the mind-altering effects of the aerosol-based dispersant.

Talk about fucking irony...

Leo heaved a breath.

Maybe it wasn't meant to be. Maybe there was a reason why—

"Quite the crowd out there, huh, son?"

Leo clenched his eyes shut. "Yes, Father."

Constantine clapped a hand onto his eldest son's shoulder. "It's going to be quite the night!"

"Yes, Father," Leo intoned, forcing himself to swallow down the bile that suddenly threatened to bubble up his gullet.

The King's fingers tightened on his jacket. "All eyes will be on you, lad. Do not cock this up."

Leo felt himself gag. "'Scuse me...!"

Slapping a hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep the scotch-laden contents of his stomach under wraps, he lurched past his father.

Stumbling across the ante-room, he barely made it to the nearest ficus plant before the 20-year old single malt regurgitated itself into the perfectly hydrated potting mix in front of him.

"Christ, you are a royal disgrace..." muttered Constantine as he marched past him. "If God would've had any sense, he would've made Liam my heir instead of you. But here I am, stuck with your worthless hide instead..."

The slam of the mahogany door reverberated around the room.

"The feeling's mutual, old man," muttered Leo, shooting a wad of spittle into the planter to cleanse his mouth.

Lifting his head, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

A drink. He needed a drink.

Mostly because he'd just thrown up the five fingers worth of Dutch courage he'd consumed less than an hour ago, and there was no way he was subjecting himself to the shitshow on the other side of that curtain even remotely sober.

And if Constantine had an epileptic fit...? Well, he deserved it.

The old tosser had given Leo enough hell during his 30-odd years on Earth, trying to mould him into something that the wayward prince wasn't, and never would be.

Making his way to the other side of the room, Leo located the hidden door that led to the service corridors and slipped inside.

A few twists and well-worn turns through the rabbit warren, and he emerged out into the smoking room, a plushly decorated space filled with heavy brocade curtains, velvet armchairs, a billiards table, and — most importantly — a well-stocked liquor cabinet.

Making a straight line towards the blessed promise of inebriation, he grabbed the nearest decanter of scotch, and pulled the heavy crystal stopper out.

He was about to pour himself a healthy serving when he heard the rustle of heavy taffeta behind him.

Glancing around, he nearly dropped the priceless Swarovski crystal on the floor.

"Pinching a cheeky tipple?" asked Adelaide Amaranth, surveying him over the rim of her own glass.

"Shit, Maddy's mum...!" Leo quickly composed himself. "Erm... Thought I'd get a head start on the party."

"Mmm..." purred the Duchess of Krona, perching herself on the edge of the billiards table. "Man after my own heart..."

Leo swallowed loudly as the skirt of her dress slid apart to reveal the length of her toned legs.

After the unmitigated disaster that had been the Bash, she'd appeared to him again, luscious and alone — like a siren rising from the dark depths of his previous failure — tempting him with a second chance...

...or goading him with the unattainability of his crusade.

Either way, Leo felt his guts tighten at her unexpected presence.

"So..." Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are you all set? To become King and all?" she asked, swirling the remnants of her drink around in the crystal tumbler.

"Furthest thing from," Leo admitted, sloshing himself a drink with shaky hands.

Whether it was nerves or anticipation, he wasn't sure. Either way, he was now doubly, triply in need of the hard stuff... in part because he could feel some other stuff becoming hard as well.

"Hence why you're looking for something to take the edge off," she mused, running her aqua-coloured gaze over him. "Smart thinking."

"Tell that to my father..." scoffed Leo, dropping the decanter back on the cabinet top, trying to maintain his cool in the face of her intoxicating closeness.

"Or my daughter," agreed Adelaide with a roll of her eyes. "If anyone needs a bevvy, it's her! Speaking of... have you see her? She's quite disappeared on me..."

"Nope. Can't say I have," admitted Leo, throwing the scotch back greedily.

Adelaide surveyed him for a long moment before shrugging. "Probably for the best, really. She can't stand me on the best of days. She's under some misguided impression that I'll say or do something that will embarrass her..."

"Welcome to my world," muttered Leo, reaching for the decanter again. "I am the living embodiment of my father's resentment. You know, he even told me tonight that I am — quote-unquote — a 'royal disgrace' and Liam should've been his heir instead."

"Hmm..." murmured Adelaide, sliding off the billiards table yo shimmy up to him. "I don't know about any of that... I think you'll look fantastic in a crown..."

Leo snorted. "That is hardly a qualification for kingship..."

"Isn't it?" pressed Adelaide, leaning her empty glass against her cheek as she cocked her head at him.

"I have it on rather good authority that there's a bit more to it than that..." murmured Leo ruefully, unable to stop his gaze from sliding down her neck to the bare skin of her cleavage that sat exposed between the lines of her dress.

"Don't listen to them," chided Adelaide, reaching up to run a finger through his thick, blonde hair. "A king needs only three things — a royal bloodline and an iconic profile. Everything else will be taken care of for you."

Leo felt an uncharacteristic shudder course through him as her fingertip brushed over the sensitive skin of his temple. "Apart from the actual ruling..."

"You'd be surprised..." she smiled. "I haven't set foot in Krona in months! The equerries take care of all the pesky details."

"Running a kingdom's a tad more involved than running a duchy..."

"Pfft!" she scoffed. "Duchy? Kingdom? What's the difference? You sign the odd piece of paper, and throw the occasional ball. That's it!"

"And lead Council meetings, host foreign dignitaries, review petitions, attend—"

"Leo, darling, you are terribly overthinking this!" chided Adelaide with a laugh, reaching for the decanter to pour herself another glass. "You think the kings and queens of old bored themselves with all the minutiae? No! They delegated, so they could have fun fighting battles and posing for portraits."

"Not sure fighting battles was exactly fun..."

"My Prince," she said, leaning in, as if imparting a secret. "All I'm saying is you have nothing to worry about. You could conquer nations with that jaw-line..."

Leo's heart stopped in it's tracks as he swore he felt the tip of her tongue flick over his skin.

"...your sense of duty is just a bonus."

"And... and the third thing?" he stammered.

"The Crown Jewels," she declared, pulling back to fix him with a knowing look.

Leo frowned. "You mean the Apple and th—"

"I mean these jewels," she corrected, grabbing the front of his trousers without warning.

Leo nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt her manicured nails close emphatically around his meat and two veg.

"Holy f—!"

"Mmm," purred Adelaide, tightening her hold on him. "Seems to be present and accounted for..."

Leo merely squeaked in response. He had no idea what was happening, or how he'd even gotten to having Adelaide's hands wrapped around his sex pistol in the first place, but he sure as bloody hell wasn't going to tell her to stop!

"...but one cannot be sure without a proper inspection."

Leo froze. "Inspection?"

Adelaide lifted her gaze to met his square on. "Darling, you are marrying my daughter. I cannot — in good conscience — let you bed her without ensuring that all the royal parts are in working order... and capable of producing grandchildren."

"Trust me..." wheezed Leo as he felt Adelaide's hands reach for his belt. "The lads have never let me down."

"Oh, yes," smiled Adelaide, undoing his buckle and letting the ornate belt drop the floor. "I am well aware of your many... conquests. But I also know the papers like to exaggerate. So, surely you cannot begrudge a mother for wanting to obtain independent confirmation."

"How 'bout a live demonstration?" blurted Leo, grasping at the edge of the drinks cabinet for support as Adelaide wrestled with the buttons of his trousers.

Hell, if this was happening, then he was gonna make damned sure that it was happening!

"Don't jump the gun, darling," Adelaide tutted, ripping the fronts of his pants open. "You need to pass muster first."

Leo gasped audibly as his sexcalibur sprang — finally, blessedly! — free of its confines.

"Not one for briefs, I see..." she observed, running her fingers critically over him.

"I threw them all out years ago," he panted in response to the feel of her silken touch on his heated gherkin.

"Another thing we have in common," she smirked, reaching for his hand to guide it over the back of her dress.

A desperate groan escaped him as his palm skated over the smooth, unencumbered expanse of her backside as she continued to fondle him. "So, what's the verdict?"

"A package worthy of a king," Adelaide assured him, rolling his plums together in her palm.

Leo felt his eyes tip back into his head at the overwhelming sensation...

...before it stopped just as quickly as it had started.

Creaking his eyes open, he saw Adelaide throw him a cheeky smirk over her shoulder as she glided sinuously towards the billiards table.

"Aren't you coming, darling?" she whispered back at him.

Leo nearly tripped over his own trousers in his haste to get to her. He was going to get the chance to live out his dirtiest, most depraved fantasy, after all! He was not wasting one more second!

"Lord, you have no idea how long I've waited for this..." he gasped, stumbling across the room towards her.

"Oh, I know very well," she assured him, leaning back to spread her arms out over the polished walnut. "I've seen you looking at me, Leo."

He faltered. "You have?"

"Of course, my darling," she assured him, cocking her leg seductively. "You were hardly subtle in your attentions. A woman notices these things..."

"You know this is highly improper..." he pointed out as he finally made it to her.

"Oh, sweet boy!" she laughed. "This would be the scandal of the century!"

"Then we better give them something to talk about," he grinned, grabbing her by her toned derrière to lift her onto the edge of the billiards table.

"Mmm... I can think of a few things..." she breathed, planting her hands on his shoulders to push him down towards her nether region.

"I'm sure you can, m'lady," he grinned, shifting his hands to the back of her knees to yank her towards him, the sudden momentum sending the top half of her body falling back onto the felt. "But allow me to put even your wildest dreams to shame."

"Bold words..." purred Adelaide with a coy smile as he lifted her legs up to anchor her Valentino Gavarani-clad feet on his shoulders, causing the skirt of her dress to cascade down towards her hips.

"I've yet to receive anything other than a stellar review," he winked at her, grabbing her waist to invert her almost fully as he lifted her sacred centre up to his face.

"That may be so, darling, but unlike some ladies, I have high standards..." murmured Adelaide, lifting her arms above her head in anticipation. "I don't dish out gold stars to just anybody..."

"I don't intend to disappoint," Leo assured her with a cocky smirk as he bent his head towards her.

"...why must I do everything myself!" seethed Madeleine, stomping down the otherwise empty corridor in her Valentino sling-backs.

She'd known Leo was an immature and unreliable cad who was more interested in finding the next skirt to lift than paying any semblance of attention to actual matters of state.

And while she would've definitely preferred a more dedicated and biddable prospect — such as his younger brother — to share the rigours of governance with, she ultimately wasn't marrying the Playboy Prince because she liked him.

In all honesty, the man could've had warts and halitosis and she still would've gone through with the union!

Because this was a political match, pure and simple. The House of Rys allying itself with the House of Amaranth, the richest and most influential noble family in Cordonia in order to keep Queen Kenna's line alive...

...with the added benefit of elevating Madeleine's own status to that of Queen. A role that she'd been training for since before she could even walk, given her father's unrelenting pursuit of power by any and all means — an endeavour that she very much shared, much to her mother's disgruntlement.

But she couldn't exactly get engaged if her intended was missing! Tonight, of all nights!

Who, in their right mind, disappears on their own coronation?!

Of course, she was well aware of Leo's infamous tendency to pull vanishing acts, but what the blasted hell was the man thinking? To leave an entire country in the lurch?

Certainly not on her watch!

She'd already dispatched Bastien and all available members of the King's Guard to search high and low for the errant prince. But the Palace and its grounds were massive, and given the sheer number of people that had descended on the Rys stronghold for tonight's event, trying to find anyone was an exercise akin to weeding a needle out of a haystack.

So, she'd been forced to join the search herself. Even though it was insulting beyond measure and much below her station.

But, desperate times called for desperate measures, and she'd rather sweat into her ballgown running up and down the corridors now, than stand like a hapless bimbo in front of all the dignitaries and news crews trying to explain why her future king and fiancé had skipped out on an entire nation on one of the most important nights of its recent history.

No. She most certainly did not need those headlines running in the morning... or ever.

Best that she focused her efforts on helping locate the wayward heir, and hope that he wasn't halfway out of the country already... because by God, she'd send the Cordonian Secret Service after him if she had to!

Arriving at the next set of doors on her mental task-list, she wasted no time in pushing the handle down...

"Leopold?" she called, stepping into the room.

...only to freeze in shock at the sight in front of her.

There he was — the next in line to the Cordinian throne — head thrown back, trousers around his ankles, thrusting like an animal into—

"MOTHER?!"

Adelaide raised her disheveled head from the billiards table at the sound of her daughter's distraught shriek. "Oh, sweet pea! There you are!"

Leo raised his hand in a wave. "Hi, Mads!"

Madeleine's rouged lips jerked soundlessly, trying to formulate some kind of response, but nothing was forthcoming.

Never — in all her life! — had she imagined that she'd ever witness such sordid... brazen... obscenity!

She was literally lost for words. Her! The person who has been giving televised interviews since the age of four!

"Darling," soothed Adelaide, propping herself up onto her elbows to reveal the tautness of her age-defying, silicone-enhanced breasts, "I know this looks frightfully ghastly, but I can assure that—"

"Shut up..." she finally managed to croak.

Adelaide frowned. "Darling, are you—?"

"I SAID, SHUT UP!" Madeleine screeched.

Both Leo and her mother's eyes widened in the face of the uncharacteristically deranged outburst... but they nevertheless managed to refrain from commenting.

"I don't know how this..." She gestured derisively in the couple's general direction. "...colossal cock-up happened. Nor do I care. But what I do know — and most certainly care about — is that the coronation ceremony is starting. And I will not let you, Leopold—"

Leo groaned at the sound of his full, Christian name. "Jesus, Mads! I told you I—"

"Do not interrupt me!" snapped Madeleine. Sucking in a breath to collect herself, she continued, "I will not let you fuck this up for me, or the kingdom. So, if you want to keep your royal bratwurst, then I suggest that you pull it out of my mother and get your fatuous arse to the ballroom before I have the Guard drag you there."

Leo glanced down at Adelaide. "You sure she wasn't adopted or—?"

"NOW!!!" thundered Madeleine.

"Okay, okay, sheesh!" huffed Leo, grabbing for his trousers, given that he was already very much deflated, his fiancée having managed to suck the literal joy out of his joystick with her mere appearance .

"And you, Mother..." hissed Madeleine, turning her attention to her disheveled parent. "You have undermined me for the last time."

Adelaide scoffed. "Darling, all I have ever done is—"

"Which is why my first act as Queen will be to banish you to Krona," finished Madeleine with a haughty air of finality.

Adelaide's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare!"

Her daughter's demeanour was icy. "You're lucky I'm not banishing you to Siberia. But if you test me—"

"Siberia at least has decent vodka..." chimed in Leo, sauntering past her out the room.

Adelaide tipped her head contemplatively. “He's got a point, you know…”

"Argh!!" screamed Madeleine, slamming the door behind her with such vehemence that it rattled the bottles in the liquor cabinet.

Vile cretins! The whole bloody lot of them!

Grabbing her intended by the arm, she hauled him all the way back to the ball, ignoring the profanity-filled protests.

Stopping in front of the pair of footmen that were manning the ballroom doors, she snapped, "Inform the King that Prince Leopold is ready for his coronation."

"Actu— Ow!!"

She brutally silenced the forthcoming objection with a heel to Leo’s foot.

As the servants rushed away to do her bidding, she manhandled Leo back into the same ante-chamber that he'd disappeared from earlier.

"Mads, stop!" he pleaded as she pulled him across the Persian carpet like a stubborn mule. "Can you please just—?"

"No," she declared, shoved him through the velvet curtains and onto the gilded dais without ceremony. "You will do your duty, even if it kills you, you ungrateful oaf!"

The hubbub of the crowd instantly ceased as Leo stumbled to a stop.

"There you are!" snap Constantine into his ear. "You have some nerve—"

"Just get on with it..." sighed Leo, the weight of finality crashing down on him as he caught his brother's the eye from across the room. Liam always hated it when his brother and father argued, and Leo didn't want to subject him to a public spectacle.

Constantine looked like he wanted to say more, but quickly decided against it. Turning to the congregation, he spread his arms and launched into his pre-prepared speech.

"Good evening, one and all! It is a great honour to have so many of you come out tonight to show your support not only for—"

"Pay attention!"

Glancing down, Leo caught Madeleine's disproving glower from the foot of the dais.

He suppressed a groan.

How they were going to sire royal babies, he had no idea...

...probably with copious amounts of drugs and alcohol...and possibly even a paper bag.

Because he already knew that there was no way that he wouldn't be able to not think about Adelaide while doing it with her daughter.

As even now, in the midst of his own coronation, his mind kept drifting back to the passionate coitus they'd shared on that billiards table before it had gotten oh, so rudely interrupted.

The way she'd moved... The sounds she'd made... That thing with her tongue... It sent shivers down his spine all over again.

And suddenly he had a stark realisation.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't go through with the coronation.

Not if it meant never being able to see her again.

"...and, now..." his father was saying, holding upon the ancient Rys signet ring, "with the bestowal of this ring, I—"

"I abdicate!"

A collective gasp of disbelief rose from the room.

Glancing up, Leo found his father and step-mother staring at him with open mouths, all semblance of propriety forgotten in the face of the shocking announcement.

But he was not perturbed. He'd made his decision. "I, Leopold Maximilian Fernando Constantine Rys, hereby officially and irrevocably renounce my royal titles as Crown Prince of Cordonia and Duke of Applewood." Turning to Constantine, he added with an apologetic shrug, "Sorry, Dad. Just wasn't feeling it."

The heavy gold band clattered to the floor as the cameras exploded into a frenzy of flashing.

"What the devil are you doing?!" demanded Madeleine, appearing in front of him as he hopped off the stage. "Get back up there and—"

"Better luck next time, Mads!" he shouted over the growing dim as he quickly skirted around the edge of the ballroom.

Reaching the closest set of French doors, he threw them open and — with the practiced ease of a man who'd done this exact manoeuvre a hundred times before — vaulted over the edge of the balcony.

Landing on the gravel, he caught sight of the lone pair of headlights idling in front of the Palace steps, and the figure that was in the process of getting behind the wheel.

A knowing smile spread over his face.

Loping across the drive, he managed to intercept the Aston Martin Vantage convertible before it had a chance to drive off.

The driver raised a brow at him as he approached. "Aren't you supposed to be getting crowned?"

"Realised I had somewhere more important to be," he admitted, coming to a stop by the side of the car. "Room for one more?"

Adelaide's lips curved into a smile. "Always, darling."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Leo, hopping into the passenger seat.

She cast him a sidelong glance. "You know this is never going to work out..."

"And?" he grinned, kicking his feet up onto the dash.

Throwing her head back with a laugh, Adelaide pressed the pedal down, kicking the tail of the Aston as they left the ball to dust.

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fangirling12566 @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890

[kylanfedje]

Disney Star Wars Retrospective - Episode IV: The Disney+ Awakens

“Where do I begin?” is a common question for anyone interested in a new franchise to ask. For most fandoms, it has an easy enough answer, as it’s often the first in the series. But other times, you can jump into a franchise more or less anywhere. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter where you first gained your appetite for a property, but rather how much of yourself you’re willing to give to it.

I got into Star Wars largely thanks to The Clone Wars animated series on Cartoon Network, right about the time when season two premiered. I still remember watching the episode “Landing at Point Rain” over and over and over in the wait between new episodes. I just couldn’t get enough of it. The Jedi and the Sith, the Republic and the Separatists, clone troopers and battle droids, lightsabers and blasters…I was hooked.

But when that wasn’t enough, I had the saga films to turn to. At some point, my family purchased a box set of the Original Trilogy on DVD, so those were easily accessible. As for the Prequels, I had either had to DVR them when they aired on TNT or beg my parents to take me to Family Video so we could rent them. Eventually, though, I was able to get caught up on the franchise, and my fate was sealed. I’d fallen in love with Star Wars.

That said, the initial passion I felt towards the franchise began to fade over the next several years. I wasn’t nearly as invested in The Clone Wars by the time its fifth season began airing in 2012, only catching a few episodes here and there. This can be explained by a number of things, but it ultimately came as the result of growing up. As I grew from a shy third grader into an awkward middle schooler, my interests were invariably drawn elsewhere, and Star Wars couldn’t satisfy me any more than it already had. The franchise hadn’t changed. I had. But I never truly forgot where I came from. The movies, especially the Original Trilogy, always held a special place in my hart, and the DVDs remained regular staples for school breaks and family road trips alike.

Perhaps my waning interest was aided by a relative dearth of new content being released at this time. The Clone Wars was essentially the only major piece of Star Wars on the market, with new seasons beginning in September or October and running until March or April of the next year. That left plenty of time between episodes and seasons to get distracted by other things. Video games, blockbuster superhero movies, and after-school activities all competed for my attention, and my interest in Star Wars steadily dwindled as those won out.

But it would soon return. For young Kylan, the Disney buyout represented a new hope for the franchise. The Clone Wars was good, yes; but after five seasons at around twenty-two episodes a piece, the taste of it had grown a bit stale and I was ready for something new—something fresh. It was a bit disappointing when The Clone Wars was cancelled prematurely, but it was an easier pill to swallow when coupled with the anticipation for an all-new series on an all-new network.

I’ve already written at length about Rebels in the first part of this series, but I didn’t mention how closely I followed the series in its infancy. I remember reading all the theories about who “Fulcrum” really was and how some had decoded the modulation on the character’s voice to discover that it sounded an awful lot like Ashley Eckstein, somewhat spoiling the eventual reveal of Ahsoka Tano as a secret agent in the Rebellion. I also remember the excitement when Captain Rex and Commander Wolffe and Captain Gregor made their triumphant return early in season two, and when Hondo Onaka and Darth Maul likewise returned in one way or another.

More than that, there were new movies to get excited for as well, with a trilogy of sequel films on the horizon and a whole host of spin-offs that would keep the adventure going ad infinitum. I still remember tuning into Monday Night Football to watch the trailer for The Force Awakens live as it aired, despite not caring about the game being played in the slightest. And when the movie finally came out, the buzz of sitting in the theater on a cold December morning to watch the film in glorious 70mm IMAX was like nothing I’d experienced before. I did fall off Rebels eventually, but I still went and saw each new film on their opening weekend. I may not have been as committed a Star Wars fan as I once was, but I was still heavily invested in the property as the decade—and the franchise’s cinematic period—came to an end.

The end of 2019 was an interesting time in Star Wars history. That the finale for the first season of The Mandalorian would air within the same week that The Rise of Skywalker hit theaters was surely a deliberate act of “brand synergy” in that the buzz generated by one would beget interest in the other. But in hindsight, it also made for a near perfect baton pass between the franchise’s cinematic and television periods in the Disney era, as there has not been a theatrical Star Wars project released since then. Instead, the franchise has found a new home on Disney’s proprietary streaming service: Disney+.

I’m not sure anyone could have predicted The Mandalorian being the runaway success that it was. A weekly series set in the Star Wars universe and inspired by old cowboy serials and samurai films would appeal to certain subsections of Star Wars and film history nerds. But would the general public want to watch it too? As it turns out, yes. It didn’t hurt that there was an absolutely adorable “Baby Yoda” creature as the eponymous bounty hunter’s ward and sidekick as he hopped from planet to planet, aiding the locals as he sought to find a proper home for his adopted son. But the marketability of Baby Yoda is only part of the show’s success story. You also have to understand how its weekly release schedule helped make it the phenomenon that it was.

Prior to The Mandalorian, few—if any—streaming-exclusive shows aired weekly. Instead, binge-watching was the name of the game. Entire seasons would drop at once, and viewers would often burn through the episodes in the better part of a weekend, in contrast to the usual once-a-week format of scripted television common to network or cable shows. This model cuts two ways. On the one hand, it satiated audience’s lust for instant gratification. On the other, it didn’t allow for much hype or anticipation to build throughout a show’s run. Under this format, shows would often burst onto the scene suddenly and then slowly fizzle out as the audience got their fill and moved on to the next big thing.

This affected the companies producing and distributing the shows as well. Netflix was the top-dog in the streaming market when Disney+ came onto the scene, and it had succeeded largely thanks to multiple well-received original series like Orange is the New Black, House of Cards, and Stranger Things. Because streaming works on a subscription basis, it would be relatively trivial for someone to either use a free trial to watch that new show everyone’s talking about or buy a month of a given service and then cancel once their done with it. As such, producing consistently quality content was essential for retaining subscribers and motivated companies like Netflix to be always on the lookout for the next big thing, the next original show that would get people talking and investing their time—and money—in their service.

As Netflix’s share price grew and grew, Disney wanted in on that action. But it wouldn’t be enough to simply buy up a Netflix competitor (though they eventually would get Hulu in the 20th Century Fox merger). No, they’d build their own from the ground up—a service dedicated exclusively to hosting the company’s massive catalogue of classic films and television series.

But Disney+ wouldn’t just be home to the nostalgic media of your childhood. It would also feature “original” content—original in the sense that they were made specifically for the service—in the form of spin-offs of your favorite Disney properties. But, to differentiate itself from the competition, new episodes of these series would air weekly, rather than entire seasons dropping all at once like they did elsewhere.

While this may have frustrated viewers who’d grown accustomed to the instant-gratification model Netflix had pioneered, it ultimately benefitted both the show and the company behind it. It should be said that The Mandalorian had an excellent pilot episode that perfectly establishing who our titular hero is and what he’s about, while also ending with the show-stopping reveal of “Baby Yoda” and Mando’s relationship to the character as the show’s emotional thrust. You didn’t have to be a Star Wars fan to be hooked. And, because you had to wait a whole week for the story to continue, it allowed fans to talk to others about how great it was. And people listened. Word of mouth quickly spread, and viewership steadily rose as more and more people wanted to see what all the fuss was about for themselves. They would sign up for Disney+ to watch the show, maybe at first taking advantage of a one-week or one-month free trial, but with eight episodes airing over the course of nearly as many weeks, the show’s length eclipsed the trial window and would effectively force people to pay for at least a month’s subscription if they wanted to see how it ended. Savvier viewers may have tried to wait for the entire season to finish releasing before getting the free trial, then marathon the show in a matter of hours, but social pressures would encourage them to jump in sooner rather than later. You didn’t want to be the only one left out of the conversation when everyone else in the break room was chatting about Mando’s latest adventure with Baby Yoda, so you’d bite the bullet and buy in.

In the end, the weekly release model introduced to streaming by The Mandalorian and Disney+ helped create a solid base of subscribers for the platform, as well as generate a steady and reliable viewership for streaming Star Wars television. Combine that with the one-two punch of Solo flopping and The Rise of Skywalker closing out the saga films, it was all too easy for Disney to see their shiny new streaming service as the future home for the franchise. Better yet, you wouldn’t have to share any of the revenue generated from these ventures with those pesky theater chains, always demanding a cut of the profits from any film of yours they exhibited. With Disney+, they owned both the means of production and distribution—a capitalist’s wet dream.

As a result of all this, the Star Wars films in development at the time—namely the long-rumored but as yet unconfirmed Obi-Wan Kenobi and Boba Fett spin-offs—quickly switched gears into being television shows. The latter became The Book of Boba Fett (2021), a spin-off of The Mandalorian following the character’s reintroduction in the show’s second season. The former, meanwhile, would ultimately come in the form of a six-episode limited series released in May and June of 2022. These shows, however, received mixed reviews from critics and audiences alike upon their release, with many lamenting their slow pacing and poor story construction. Much of these problems boiled down to the fact that their stories were initially developed as two-hour long feature films that had been stretched to fill five-to-six hours of television, meaning their runtimes were padded with superfluous fluff that might otherwise have been left on the cutting room floor.

That said, there were still bright spots amid these lesser entries to the canon. Season two of The Mandalorian was generally well received, particularly among diehard fans, as it not only saw the return of Boba Fett (Temuera Morrison), but also featured the live-action debuts of both Ahsoka Tano (Rosario Dawson) and Bo-Katan Kryze (Katee Sackhoff). And to top it all off, the season ended with a young Luke Skywalker rescuing our band of heroes from an impending attack and taking the young Grogu (Baby Yoda) to train as a Jedi.

That was at the end of 2020. The Book of Boba Fett followed roughly a year later, beginning at the tail end of 2021 and wrapping up in February 2022. Obi-Wan Kenobi came out only a few months after in May 2022. Then, August would see the release of Andor, a spin-off of Rogue One that tells the story of how Cassian Andor (Diego Luna) joined the nascent Rebellion against the Empire. The Mandalorian then returned again for its third season in March 2023, which was then followed in August of that same year by Ahsoka, a live-action continuation of Rebels where Ahsoka Tano teams up with Sabine Wren and Hera Syndulla to find Ezra Bridger after he disappeared into hyperspace with the Grand Admiral Thrawn at the show’s conclusion.

That’s a lot to unpack, but here we go. The first few years of the Disney+ era was more or less a continuation of the annual winter release cycle of the preceding cinematic era, with the first two seasons of The Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett beginning in November or December. But starting with Obi-Wan Kenobi, the pace of new releases nearly doubled, with two new seasons of television dropping in 2022 and 2023 respectively. The motive for this is relatively simple: subscriber retention. With a year transpiring between the release of new seasons, it wouldn’t be too much work for fans to cancel their subscriptions during the months when The Mandalorian wasn’t actively releasing, then re-up before the next season’s premiere. So, to keep fans from leaving, Disney likely encouraged Lucasfilm to produce more content for the service and thus give Star Wars fans more incentive to hold onto those subscriptions between seasons.

The effects, meanwhile, are a bit more complicated. On the whole, it’s somewhat evident that this more aggressive release model directly contributed to the overall dip in quality across the shows produced since it was implemented. Particularly in the technical aspects, shows like Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ahsoka appear much cheaper than the first and even second seasons of The Mandalorian, which both debuted prior to this accelerated timeline becoming the norm. Even The Book of Boba Fett and season three of The Mandalorian were not exempt from this trend, as they too were widely criticized for bearing many of the same flaws as their contemporaries. However, standing above all of this is Andor, which miraculously avoided falling victim to this trend. This has as much to do with the show’s production history relative to its counterparts than anything else.

The show was first revealed to be in development in 2018, meaning it had at least four years to gestate before coming to fruition. Moreover, it was planned from the beginning as a series, unlike The Book of Boba Fett and Obi-Wan Kenobi, allowing its writing team to properly construct their plots and character arcs for the medium of television, rather than the forced reworking that the other two had to overcome. The Book of Boba Fett’s apparent production timeline is particularly revealing, with the show evidently not being fully greenlit until sometime in 2020 and ultimately releasing by the end of the following year, giving it—at best—two years for pre-production, principal photography, and editing before reaching audiences.

Ahsoka, meanwhile, falls a tad closer to Andor in terms of its assumed production schedule. Having been announced alongside The Book of Boba Fett, we can infer it began development around roughly the same time. But since it would not come out until August 2023, it had a bit more time to come together before the cameras started rolling. That said, it still seemed to be plagued by many of the same issues in quality as its counterparts, suffering from lackluster production design, visual effects, and cinematography, to name a few.

Part of the reason for this might be that the creative resources—the VFX artists, prop builders, set designers, costume designers, etc.—were split between multiple projects and thus couldn’t give any one show the proper time or attention necessary to make them look the best they could. And even for the people in the “above-the-line” roles—the directors, cinematographers, editors—the faster release schedule left little room for delays in production and might therefore have encouraged them to shoot things more economically than they would if they’d had more time. Aiding this was the development of “the Volume” a form of digital matte painting/rear projection where environments could be simulated in real time and captured in-camera alongside the actors’ performances, as opposed to being added in post like with blue- or green-screen technology. But the Volume is just as much a crutch as it is a useful tool for artists in bringing their vision to life, and many of the shows released in this period reflect that. The Volume is often best utilized when: a) the effects team can fully detail the rendered background; b) the cinematographer can properly match the lighting on set to the backdrop; and c) there are sufficient props and set decorations to blend the tangible and digital staging as one seamless environment. But, as these productions show, they likely did not have enough time or money to ensure all of these pieces were in place, resulting in a set of projects that are generally lacking in creative verve, except (of course) for Andor, the exception that proves the rule.

But the adverse effects of this ceaseless barrage of content have not only been felt by the shows themselves. The fans have likewise suffered to an extent under the weight of so much Star Wars in so little time. For newcomers and established fans alike, the amount of time you need to spend either catching up or following along with the new material is staggering, especially when compared to how it was in the years between the buyout and the launch of Disney+ and The Mandalorian. Five Star Wars films were released between 2015 and 2019. Their combined runtime nears around 710 minutes, or 11 hours and 50 minutes, including credits—a long marathon, but nothing unreasonable. Then, from 2019 to 2023, five live-action Star Wars shows premiered on Disney+, one of which (The Mandalorian) received multiple seasons. Altogether, it would take you approximately 1 day, 19 hours, and 39 minutes to watch every single episode of each series without pausing.

So what does this all mean? It’s created an environment where it’s not only encouraged but practically imperative to dedicate more time than ever to watching new Star Wars content, lest you be left behind as the franchise plugs along. Before Disney+, that meant watching a new movie every now and then, and for the more diehard fans, tuning into The Clone Wars or Rebels depending on what year it is. However, these longer TV shows were generally ancillary to the core saga; you didn’t need to watch either of them to follow the live-action film releases (for the most part—see my analysis of Rogue One and Solo in part two of this series for more detail).

But without the core saga anchoring things, the executives as Lucasfilm have tried to turn The Mandalorian into the basis for the future of the franchise. And while some have enjoyed the direction this has gone, others (myself included) believe it’s ultimately to the show’s—and the franchise’s—detriment. The Mandalorian began as a relatively isolated story set against the backdrop of the wider conflicts happening in the galaxy as the New Republic seeks to assert its rule and eradicate whatever traces of the old Empire remain. It established the expectation that, while Republic and Imperial forces would intrude on Mando’s adventures every now and then, his journey would ultimately be about him finding his place in the galaxy while shielding Baby Yoda from harm. But as the second season drew on, it became increasingly clearer that our Mando was going to take a backseat, the story instead focusing more on the wider conflicts occurring in the galaxy and the legacy characters at the center of them.

It would be one thing if these characters appeared as simple one-off extended cameos that were motivated entirely by the demands of Mando’s journey. But they were not. Rather, they were there to set-up other shows and storylines at the expense of the one already happening. Arguably the most egregious of these was Ahsoka Tano’s appearance midway through season two. There were certainly many fans of The Mandalorian who’d never seen a minute of The Clone Wars or Rebels, and as such had little frame of reference for who Ahsoka was and what she was doing at this point in the Star Wars timeline. This wouldn’t necessarily matter if her presence was in the service of furthering Mando’s storyline, as whatever context uninitiated viewers would need could be handily delivered without too much exposition. But instead, her role is more of a backdoor pilot to her own spin-off series than anything else. The references to Thrawn and Ezra ultimately detract from the overall viewing experience as it left the uninitiated viewer lost and confused as to who Ahsoka was talking about and why she was after them. These people came here to see Mando and Grogu work together to make the galaxy a better place, not be assigned homework for another series that was only loosely related to this one.

Likewise, Boba Fett’s presence, while a more regular and natural fit to The Mandalorian’s overall story, ultimately served to set up a spin-off show of his own, one that was cobbled together from the incomplete standalone film after Solo flopped. But, as fate would have it, even The Book of Boba Fett would not be spared from the same curse that had befallen its antecedent. The show begins by focusing on Boba Fett and his exploits on Tatooine after his escape from the Sarlacc pit and taking over the remains of Jabba the Hutt’s crime syndicate, but by the end, becomes for all intents and purposes Season 2.5 of The Mandalorian. Not only do Ahsoka Tano and Luke Skywalker return yet again, but Mando gets Grogu back from Luke’s training temple and also acquires a modified N-1 Starfighter to replace his destroyed Razor Crest. For nearly two whole episodes, the show’s title character was sidelined in favor of yet more “brand synergy.”

To some within Lucasfilm and Disney, this may have been seen as a stroke of genius, as it seamlessly connected the disparate storylines of the new Star Wars together into one, cohesive saga, while also filling the holes caused by extending a two-hour film into a seven-episode miniseries by using existing characters, props, and costumes to help save on production costs. However, it also caused an inordinate amount of confusion and even frustration among those who’d yearned for live-action media dedicated entirely to the iconic bounty hunter introduced in The Empire Strikes Back when the show became less and less about him as it went on. Likewise, fans of The Mandalorian who weren’t interested in a Boba Fett spin-off would find themselves in a similar boat as the third season of The Mandalorian would begin with Mando not only having found a new ship by also already being reunited with Grogu after separating in the season two finale. Such a critical status quo change occurring in a completely different show between two seasons of one show should be unthinkable. And yet, it happened. Even then, the rest of season three moves even further away from the simple “adventure-a-week” format of the first season, instead devoting more of its time towards Bo-Katan’s attempts to reclaim Mandalore and the efforts of the Imperial Remnants to rebuild in the face of New Republic persecution. Mando still factors into the plot, but it’s hard to say that the show is truly about him anymore, despite it bearing his name.

What this all points to is a phenomenon I like to call the “MCU-ificiation” of Star Wars. I already wrote about how the films of the early Disney era were patterned after the MCU and the problems that caused, but the Disney+ period has been even worse. While Disney and Lucasfilm may have expected audiences to sit for Rogue One and Solo between installments in the Sequel Trilogy, the spin-off films were ultimately inessential to the new iterations of the core saga and could therefore be skipped without missing much. The Mandalorian began similarly. While it existed within the broader Star Wars galaxy, its scope was far more limited than the grand epics of the saga films. But, in the absence of a stable film market—thanks to a combination of Solo flopping and the COVID-19 pandemic hobbling public interest in movie theaters—Disney+ became the main avenue for generating revenue from the Star Wars IP. But it was not enough to have these projects exist as largely standalone ventures. No, they would have to be inextricably linked to one another by copying the MCU’s method of stringing together multiple seemingly disconnected superhero movies into one overarching storyline. And after the runaway success of The Mandalorian’s first season Disney and Lucasfilm decided its second season would serve as a vehicle for launching multiple other projects, hence why Boba Fett and Ahsoka were included as set-up for their own spin-off shows. No longer was The Mandalorian a fun but ultimately inessential jaunt through the Star Wars universe, but rather a critical pillar of the franchise’s future.

The MCU made this formula work, for the most part. In the first phase, you only needed to have seen Iron Man to enjoy Iron Man 2, and films like Thor and Captain America: The First Avenger could be avoided if you weren’t interested in those particular heroes. Likewise, phase two did not require you to have seen Iron Man 3 to follow Captain America: The Winter Soldier or Guardians of the Galaxy. Furthermore, you also didn’t need to have seen every film in a given phase before watching The Avengers or Avengers: Age of Ultron, as those films only tangentially reference the events that occurred before them. But phase three changed this with Captain America: Civil War, which was essentially Avengers 2.5 with how many of Marvel’s superheroes factored into its story. However, this was not much of a problem at the time as the franchise had been running for long enough and built up enough goodwill with general audiences that it was assumed that they would turn out for whatever new MCU film released regardless of who’s name was in the title. And they did, making it one of the most lucrative film franchises of all time and turning its two-part finale of Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame into two of the highest-grossing films of all time.

In the wake of this, Disney likely felt inspired to see what else in their pantheon of intellectual properties they might turn into a true Cinematic Universe, and Star Wars emerged early on as a key contender, with The Mandalorian serving as the beginning of this experiment. However, the transition would prove difficult, as neither the show nor the franchise around it was properly equipped for it in the way that Marvel comics were, causing certain complications when the new direction butted heads with the audience’s expectations. Historically speaking, the storytelling in Star Wars has largely been driven by epic sagas, not the myriad character-centric storylines coming together intermittently in climactic crossover events that define the MCU and the comic books their based on. When spin-offs have existed in Star Wars, they were largely as supplementary material meant to expand the lore for the dedicated fans who weren’t satisfied with the franchise’s main canon.

Moreover, Star Wars’ relevance in popular culture was largely built by its relative scarcity. For the longest time, it was an incredible trilogy of films that radically altered both its genre and the industry as a whole. But it ended. It didn’t continue into eternity. There were novels and comics, but those were for nerds. The general moviegoing public needn’t concern themselves with those. Instead, they could continue rewatching the old movies and remember the way they felt when they saw them for the first time. That’s why it was such a big deal whenever the franchise would return to theaters, first with The Phantom Menace and then with The Force Awakens after over fifteen and ten years of dormancy respectively. General audiences turned out in droves, wanting to recapture the magic they’d felt when they first encountered that galaxy far, far away.

Would the franchise have been better off if, after The Rise of Skywalker, Lucasfilm and Disney had let shows like The Mandalorian, Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Book of Boba Fett, and Andor stand on their own for several years? I think so. It would have given the more casual audiences time to miss it, and the diehard fans something to keep them engaged while they waited for the next epic saga to reveal itself, perhaps another trilogy to help bridge the gap between the Original and Sequel Trilogies or something set before or after the Skywalker Saga altogether. You might have even used this as a vehicle for telling the story of Ahsoka’s search for Ezra and Thrawn and the rise of the First Order. But instead, you demanded immediate returns, necessitating the non-stop production of more and more shows that would posit themselves as the essential to the canon in order to maximize viewer—read: subscriber—retention.

The MCU’s history after Endgame also reveals certain flaws in this formula, and it is especially interesting how it mirrors the Disney+ period of Star Wars media, even down to when and how they started. 2019 saw the grand conclusions to both the Infinity and Skywalker Sagas, with Avengers: Endgame premiering in April and The Rise of Skywalker in December of that year. Likewise, they both saw their franchises expanding into the new territory of Disney+ in the succeeding years, with the shows produced for the platform becoming as relevant to the overarching storyline as the films that built it. Only, in the case of the MCU, the films kept coming.  That meant two things: 1) the studios’ resources were being spread across more projects than ever before, resulting in diminishing quality; and 2) audiences grew exhausted by the amount of content they had to consume that wasn’t anywhere near as good as it had been before.

For the MCU, this resulted in the franchise experiencing some of its first true commercial and critical failures, with audiences balking at screenings of more recent installments like The Marvels, Ant Man & The Wasp: Quantumania, and Thor: Love and Thunder. The sheer volume of film and television content being added to the MCU has precipitated a phenomenon known as “superhero fatigue,” where audiences who’d once have turned out in droves for the latest MCU film are no longer willing to invest their time, energy, or money in the franchise’s present or future.

Star Wars has suffered a similar fate in recent years. If it was too much for there to be a single, two-hour film to be released once a year over the course of five years, then the last few years of two-seasons of around eight-episodes of television, with each clocking in somewhere between 35 minutes to an hour, has been nothing short of overwhelming. While some devoted fans have been able to keep up with this, others have fallen behind, with the franchise showing little interest in slowing down to let them catch up.

I am one of those people whom Star Wars has abandoned. I watched the first two seasons of The Mandalorian as they aired. I watched season seven of The Clone Wars and the first season of The Bad Batch when those premiered. I missed The Book of Boba Fett but tuned back in for Obi-Wan Kenobi when that was released. However, by this point, the cracks in the franchise’s state under the business model forced upon it by the demands of Disney+ were too obvious for me to ignore. I wasn’t as enthralled by The Mandalorian’s second season as others were. I found the legacy characters’ appearances more gratuitous than anything, and especially felt that Luke Skywalker’s role in the season finale was the epitome of fan service. While I was initially intrigued by the premise of The Book of Boba Fett, I didn’t watch it for reasons that I can’t now recall, but it doesn’t seem like I missed much. And lastly, Obi-Wan Kenobi left me feeling underwhelmed and dejected.

Because of this, I didn’t watch Andor when it first aired (though I’ve since rectified that mistake). I skipped season three of The Mandalorian all together, and only watched Ahsoka begrudgingly. But from everything I’ve seen and heard from these projects, I’ve been left mostly disappointed by the finished product. To me, Mando season 3, Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Book of Boba Fett, and Ahsoka are commercial products more than they are works of art. It’s difficult to see their stories as anything more than excuses to have characters we recognize deliver lines to one another in a sterile environment dressed up to look like a familiar location. In the process of trying to appease the fans and win over their money, the franchise has lost its way and begun prioritizing quality over quantity. And as the quality continues to drop, I’ve felt little interest in paying attention to anything new coming out of the Disney Star Wars production mill.

That’s left me in a precarious spot. I still love Star Wars, but not as intensely as I did in that first honeymoon period with The Clone Wars or even in those blissful early years of the Sequel Trilogy, Rebels, and Rogue One. I look at the upcoming slate of Star Wars films and television shows not with excitement, but apprehension. Recent experience has told me that I should expect nothing more than disappointment and fan service to await me. And that’s a shame, because I want to care about Star Wars again. I want to be hyped for the next big thing, but I also want to enjoy the smaller stories taking place at the margins of the galaxy. Only, I’m not sure we can have one and the other coexist under the current regimen of twice-annual streaming series.

Thankfully, Star Wars is more than film and television. There have always been novels and comic books to help expand the lore and introduce new characters, locations, and conflicts to the broader canon. And in 2021, a new era began for the franchise. No longer were we beholden to the strict bounds of the Skywalker Saga. We could forget those stories and characters and explore all new terrain, see the galaxy as it was when the Jedi and the Republic were at the height of their power and influence. Fitting, then, that this new era would be called “The High Republic” and would debut with a novel titled The Light of the Jedi.

I’d never really gotten into Star Wars books before. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe the High Republic could give me the fresh start I needed to fall in love with Star Wars all over again.