#because that scene wasn’t about killing a fury

[thhecaptainschair]

Watching Percy kill a Fury with Medusa’s head through Annabeth’s eyes permanently altered my brain chemistry

[chironshorseass]

ok i really really really enjoyed watching the first two episodes and i think the show is already so faithful to the books in ways the movies wished they were BUT i’m gonna be a bitch just because i can and rant about a few insignificant but at the same time very important Things the writers didn’t Understand:

percy is angry.

and i know this is seen with his anger towards poseidon in the show, but i’m talking angry. as in, generally speaking. when he’s with grover and they’re talking about nancy, percy says something along the lines of “we should fight back,” and grover’s like “noooo we can’t stand up to bullies.” and then percy stands up to her and blah blah blah…but in the books percy’s first line is “i’m going to kill her” after she throws a sandwich at grover. grover talks him out of it because he’s already on probation.

with just this scene we know percy stands up to bullies, and that’s partly why he has so much trouble at school! in the show, he stands up to nancy, apparently for the first time, and gets kicked out because of it! sorry but as someone who worked in a school, i know for a fact that kids can get away with so much more before they’re actually kicked out lol. it would’ve made sense, like in tlt, that he’s already at risk of suspension so him “pushing” nancy is the final straw. it’s just very weird, considering it could be only a line of dialogue that makes percy’s anger and the connection between his outburst and him getting kicked out more clear.

consequently, percy arrives at his appartment and gabe is just a general (still admittedly abusive) jerk instead of a drunk, violent (also abusive) man. when we meet gabe, it makes a lot of sense why percy has so much trouble with his anger. it’s easy to see that connection. literal child + alcoholic abusive father figure = there’s bound to be some trouble….that’s not really the case in the show, especially in the way that sally easily stands up to him. people have said a fair bit about this topic already, so i’m not gonna expand on that, but i really wish the writers had focused more on percy’s internal anger, as it’s such an important part of his character and affects the way he reacts to things throughout the books; it just worries me that in the first episode it wasn’t as established. i. e. he hates dionysus on sight because he reminds him of smelly gabe, he hates the gods—is angry at poseidon—because, where was he when my mom and i were suffering at the hands of smelly gabe? ok i’m not gonna talk about more of this or of sally because other people have said it and i could write a four page essay of what the show got wrong plus i want to talk abt other things before this gets too long:

the monster scenes.

the mrs. dodds being a fury reveal felt sooo…weird? even the movie version did it better lol. it felt super rushed and strange how percy’s just standing there and the next he’s on the ground, but he had riptide with him so he just impaled her and then she turned to dust??? in the books, not only does she get percy alone, but grover tries to stand up to her—which is a big deal since he knows what she truly is and shows how much he cares for percy in that moment. percy has time to be genuinely terrified bc he’s alone with a literal monster and he’s about to die…and chiron throws him riptide just in time, but then he too vanishes so percy’s left wondering if he imagined everything. but no, in the show mrs. dodds comes out of nowhere and attacks him, and it’s so fast that percy doesn’t have time to dwell on wtf happened. the situation doesn’t seem as serious as it does in the book; in the book she tries to interrogate percy bc she thinks he’s the lightning thief, and when she doesn’t get her answer, she attacks him. this is another thing: the stakes. they don’t feel as high in the show because there’s no annabeth trying to ask percy what was stolen, no hellhound, no fates cutting a string, and no alecto/mrs. dodds interrogation. there’s not much of a lead up to the quest, really.

theeen the minotaur scene, which also feels super weirdly paced and there’s just not that same sense of urgency. again, other people have talked about this, so i’ll just stick to another main concern of mine: grover’s role in the scene. it was so strange how in the book he’s semi unconscious and in the show he’s fine (so fine that sally does something completely out of character and makes grover swear to keep percy safe? she would never put that much pressure in a child???) ok so he seems fine in the show, but then when they’re running percy’s holding him as if he can’t walk???? they’re not even fully sprinting, given that a monster is chasing them lol. (the problem with the stakes; i mean with the way they run and have an entire talk with sally makes it feel like they’re not in any real danger).

back to grover: he was perfectly fine, and he got percy back safe. not at all like in tlt, where percy has to practically carry him back, after loosing his mom and killing the minotaur. THEN percy passes out and later wakes up at the big house. this is important, bc grover’s entire THING is being percy’s protector, and he couldn’t do that properly bc he was indisposed. he felt awful. of course he did. his character arc is overcoming the guilt and insecurities—that he’s not a proper protector and therefore can’t search for pan; his main character motivation—by successfully completing the quest and helping percy retrieve the master bolt.

these are just little seeds that needed to be planted in the first two episodes of the show…so that the rest of the show feels cohesive and makes sense with what happens in tlt. if these character traits and scenes are looked over and not given proper importance/not replaced with something similar, then the show will have a different tone than it does to the books. i don’t think it’s necessarily bad, but it is disappointing that the details sprinkled in the source material are lost in translation. they may have seemed insignificant to the writers, but not to meeee!!!!!!

[itsclydebitches]

Zevlor: An Angsty Character Analysis

Hey, Zevlor simps. Can I interest anyone in 4,000 words about our favorite disaster tiefling? 💀

“We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—we’re no fighters.”

Back during my first play-through this is the line that turned Zevlor from another dime-a-dozen, exposition spouting NPC to a character I was legitimately interested in. “We’re no fighters.” My DnD ignorance abounds, but even I could see that wasn’t an accurate statement. Here’s a mountain of a man sporting fancier armor than my level 2 Tav knows exists yet, having wrecked half the goblin hoard with his crossbow and, if you let him, he'll happily turn to punching as a solution to verbal disagreements. Plus, he’s clearly the one giving the orders, so what do you mean you’re not a fighter?

Having explored the Grove a bit I chalked it up to a generalized assessment of the refugees as a whole. They’re mostly kids, civilians, and would-be protectors who only look the part of fighters in cobbled-together armor. One woman is grappling with the guilt of killing someone for the first time, even an enemy. Lakrissa is sure they’re all going to get slaughtered and is willing to put money on that fact. Meanwhile, the couple you meet are more concerned with what pet they’ll get when they somehow, someway, make it to the city. Don't worry about how that'll happen. You learn later that even those like Ronan are small potatoes compared to most of the baddies you’ll face. On paper he looks and sounds like the real deal—dressed in robes, talking up an apprenticeship with the famous Lorroakan—but scenes like the celebration light show and his own fury at needing to be saved, again, highlight how far he still has to go. The point is that Zevlor is right: these aren’t fighters and he at 18 strength, paladin, former commander, is definitely the exception.

However, BG3 is the sort of detail-heavy game where I’d expect them to include that exception in the dialogue. “We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—these people aren’t fighters.” Zevlor’s inclusion of himself in this assessment continued to nag at me and it didn’t start to make sense until I delved into his tag here on tumblr, with more patient players than myself posting everything there is to know about the tiefling. (Thanks, all.) Zevlor is fascinating to me in part because he has this contradictory nature, one example of which is that he’s a very talented fighter who desperately doesn’t want to be a fighter anymore.

…but also he totally does.

We overhear in his dialogue to Tilses that Zevlor is adamant about shedding the titles he’s earned through combat: Hellrider, Commander, Sir. He insists that they’re just civilians now and it’s not like he’s being disingenuous here—note that he introduces himself as just “Zevlor” to Tav. Zevlor means what he says to Tilses and we can see that he’s trying to both reinforce his point and lesson the blow by referring to her as “Tilly.” The nickname is a sweet one, hinting at their close bond in just a single word, reminding her that he’s not saying this to hurt her, he cares for her… but the nickname is simultaneously something he never would have used as her commander. The intimacy meant to comfort is also a hard blow to weather. They're now people who use nicknames inappropriate for the hierarchy of battle.

So Zevlor means what he says here, means it enough that Tilses is convinced and drops her use of “Commander,” but there’s definitely a hint of bitterness in his voice. At least, I’ve always heard it. Zevlor is steadfast in his conviction here, even going so far as to say, “I’m done soldiering, Tilly” when discussing what will come next at Baldur’s Gate. Yet for all of that his tone conveys (understandable) anger and disappointment that it’s come to this. Zevlor doesn’t act like someone who truly wants this change, but rather someone who’s been forced to accept it.

Is it outside forces unwillingly influencing him then? Did Avernus truly change things irrevocably? No, not really. At least, not in the way Zevlor likes to claim. Tilses herself states that being a Hellrider is for life; nothing can take away that title. You lost your post? Your whole city? Most of the people under your protection? Doesn’t matter! You’re a Hellrider forever, no matter the circumstances. I can easily picture a time in Zevlor's life where he would have agreed with Tilses wholeheartedly. They are Hellriders, dammit, and so long as there’s one person looking for their help they will wield that title alongside their blades. And right now, Zevlor has a lot more than just one person in need of his assistance.

So it’s not that Avernus truly stripped them of that identity. Nothing can do that. Zevlor is not rejecting titles and planning retirement because the mechanisms of fate are forcing him to.

He’s doing all that because he’s lost confidence in himself.

Even as someone with a shaky understanding of DnD classes, I love the parallel between a broken oath and the rejection of a lifelong title. If Zevlor can fail in his oath—or in his faith entirely, according to the memories stemming from his pod—why-ever would he think that any other ‘permanent’ part of his identity was worth fighting for? If you can loose the very thing you’ve built your entire life around, every important aspect of yourself, tied to your very soul… what’s a bestowed title compared to that? Zevlor doesn’t believe himself worthy of being a Hellrider anymore, but I think that goes deeper than a string of horrific circumstances making him feel incompetent. As an Oathbreaker, Zevlor likely believes that if he couldn’t uphold that, he can’t uphold anything. Calling himself a Hellrider would be a lie. A fiction. A pathetic, dangerous, insulting fiction at that. It’s like calling yourself the “Hero” while continually failing those around you. Sure, others might insist it’s a title you’ve earned, one you will always carry with you, but you don’t believe them anymore and at a certain point calling yourself that feels worse than embracing the title of “Villain." You don’t want to be the villain… but you want to pretend you’re the hero even less. Pretending is exhausting.

We see this struggle in the many ways that Zevlor fails, or almost fails, to uphold the ideals that originally guided him. I use the term “villain” above deliberately because Zevlor is not merely a former hero-type who’s self confidence has been shattered, or who has been reduced to a civilian, or who thinks themselves useless; he’s actively fighting against temptations that, under less stressful situations, he’d never even consider. I don’t think he is a villain, I think he’s a flawed, struggling victim who sees his own, inevitable mistakes as villainous—and the longer that warped perspective continues the easier it is to fall into bad behaviors. This cycle is perfectly summarized in the autobiography Zevlor keeps by his bed:

“When every passer-by thinks you a thief and a heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one.”

We don’t know if this is Zevlor’s autobiography (as far as I’m aware, anyway) but even if it’s not the words have clearly resonated enough for him to keep them nearby. This particular line paints a pretty clear picture of Zevlor’s struggle. If everyone you meet says you’re devil-kin, vermin, or would-be criminal, isn’t it easier to just give them what they want? If you can’t persuade them otherwise, why put in the effort of trying? If he can’t be Faithful to his God, why have faith in anything at all? If he can’t save these people—setback after setback, mistake after mistake—why is he even making the effort?

Zevlor obviously is trying, very, very hard, which is why such thoughts are merely temptations rather than actual, questionable actions. Still, the Grove gives us numerous examples of the precipice he’s balanced on—and the ways Tav can tip him in one direction or another. You can talk Zevlor down from his anger and get him to acknowledge his disgust in nearly sinking to Aradin’s level. You can also let him boil over and punch the human at a time when the last thing anyone needs is more violence. You can convince Zevlor that there are peaceful ways of stopping Kagha's ritual, or you can help him in pursuing the darker temptation to kill her. It’s a “low” thought, but at his own admission he hasn’t been above entertaining it. Zevlor’s requests for help, though always polite and humble, carry a spark of manipulation in them too. He’s not above leveraging your previously selfless good deed to his advantage—"She owes you for saving this grove"—and if you approach him before speaking with Kagha he’ll claim that the ritual will “be trouble—for all of us.” Except, no? Not really? Tav can make it clear that they’re just here for a healer, they’re only passing through, and as a fighter they are not beholden to the Grove’s sanctuary as the teiflings are. It’s not trouble for everyone involved, yet Zevlor frames it as such in the hopes that (unnecessary) self-interest may motivate you if selflessness fails. Finally, if Zevlor dies in your play-through and you use Speak the Dead on him, he will admit to having “plenty” of secrets, none of which he’ll share. Admittedly, this may be the result of cut content, specifically a story-line in which Zevlor knowingly betrays the tieflings rather than being tricked by the Absolute. Still, the game as it stands is the story we have and within it we’re given a man who is both fighting against these dark urges (ha) and has a past riddled with secrets. If Zevlor is anything, it’s blunt when it comes to his own failings, accurate and otherwise. So how terrible must these secrets be that he outright refuses to divulge them when, generally speaking, most corpses speak freely in death?

However, out of all of this the struggle I’m most intrigued by is the one surrounding the gate. Zevlor represents the tieflings: persecuted refugees, vulnerable civilians, people seeking to survive through cooperation, specifically by joining a community. Kagha represents the druids (or at least a vocal subset of them in Halsin’s absence): bigoted individuals, powerful fighters, people seeking to survive by giving in to their fears, specifically by keeping themselves isolated. This is the moral dichotomy of the Grove and it is symbolized through the gate. Zevlor wants to open it to everyone whereas Kagha wants to close it, permanently.

So isn’t it odd that Zevlor is the one ordering it shut?

When the scene first starts Kanon shouts down that no, he won’t open the gate. Zevlor said that no one is allowed in. Notably, he’s saying this to Aradin and his crew, people that the Grove is at least passingly familiar with, given that Halsin left with them to search the temple. It’s also notable that Zevlor isn’t expecting goblins to attack the Grove. He’s shocked that this is suddenly a problem, brought about by Aradin’s decision—“You lead them here?”— and the entire point of staying at the Grove is that it’s at least comparatively safe. Yes, there have been more attacks lately, but Zevlor seems to be relying on the Grove’s relatively unknown location, as well as the fact that goblins are normally disorganized. The safety is only compromised because Aradin brought a hunting party back, so Zevlor has no reason to expect any visitors, let alone ones that would be a threat.

More importantly, he should welcome such visitors even if he did expect them. After all, that’s precisely what the tieflings are: strangers with no ulterior motives other than to survive. Broadly speaking it makes perfect sense why he'd shut the gates. Zevlor’s first priority is to his people, so anything that keeps them safe is, theoretically, a good thing. But through the lens of his specific characterization and this specific, moral dilemma, it’s an awfully hypocritical decision. Based on everything we’ve seen, our party would not have been welcomed by Zevlor if we’d arrived without danger on our heels and a rescue to endear him to us. So his people should be welcomed, trusted, kept safe, given the benefit of the doubt… but Zevlor isn’t necessarily willing to extend that same trust to others. At the end of the day, he and Kagha want a version of the same thing: safety for those they deem are worthy of it.

It’s precisely these flaws and temptations that make Zevlor such a great character to me, even before he’s tricked by the Absolute. The fandom has leaned hard into Zevlor’s self-loathing and let me tell you, I love it (kisses, hugs, and cookies for you all), but canonically I think he has more reason to fear himself than we tend to portray in the H/C fics. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. Rather, it’s precisely because Zevlor is such a good person that he has the capacity to fall so far. It’s his all-consuming desire to protect his family that leads Zevlor to do and consider so much that a paladin would normally balk at. Denying others the safety you’ve been granted. Subtly manipulating others to do your dirty work. Considering murder.

Zevlor is someone torn between doing the Right Thing and the thing he believes will help those under his care survive. Importantly, when we first meet him he considers these to be two separate courses of action. So can you imagine what goes through his head when he first sees Tav saving everyone and doing so righteously? I think it’s integral to Zevlor’s characterization that the game all but forces you to play the Good Guy in that initial encounter. A cut scene starts, you’re thrown into combat immediately afterwards, and unless you plan to start attacking the Grove members alongside the goblins (which the mechanics discourage through the coloring that distinguishes enemies from allies) you will always finish this fight as Zevlor’s hero. Sure, you can be an asshole afterwards and demand payment. You could already be plotting your betrayal and the slaughter of all the refugees. But in this moment you are nothing but a miracle made flesh in his eyes. Right from the start Tav is succeeding in all the ways Zevlor feels like he's failed. You're the hero.

More specifically, you’re an Every-Man Hero. We might have epic backstories for our Tavs, but within confines of the game you’re largely a nobody when not playing an Origin character. How powerful must that have been to witness then? A total stranger, someone who has no ties to the tieflings or even, depending on your class, any sworn reason to help others, putting their life on the line to save what is most precious to Zevlor? I think a lot about the fact that he never asks Wyll to step in and try to change Kagha’s mind. She owes him just as much as she does Tav—Wyll is an equal participant in that fight and, if your shoddy play style is anything like mine, he likely did more damage—and Wyll is clearly invested in the tiefling’s survival, training the kids as he is. Now, obviously Zevlor’s reticence is largely a question of assigned roles (we need to be the one engaging with Kagha because we’re the protagonist/player) but, like Zevlor’s choice to include himself in the Not a Fighter group, it would have been all too easy to explain this away within the narrative. One comment about how Wyll already tried and failed, or how Kagha doesn’t trust Warlocks, or hell, maybe you don’t meet Wyll in the Grove at all. It’s an easy thing to accomplish and though this is edging more into the realm of headcanon than anything else, I can’t help but think that Wyll isn’t the kind of person that Zevlor could turn to for help right now. Because he’s a folk hero. The Blade of Frontiers, known far and wide for his impressive, selfless deeds. Zevlor is struggling so hard to keep the tieflings safe, tempted by all the unsavory solutions that might achieve that, drowning in self-hatred as his past and current failings catch up with him, wanting nothing more than to be his peoples’ protector:

“I would be a paladin again—with a god’s purpose, a god’s power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their savior.”

Three of the things Zevlor mutters while trapped in the pod are “Hellrider… for… life…,” “Trust… in me…,” and “Children… look away… look at me…” He wants to be the protector, the one children look to for reassurance, he wants his words to Tilly to be a lie and he wants a way to prove that he is a Hellrider for life… but he’s not. At least, Zevlor doesn’t believe it. He lost his titles while Wyll still proudly bears his. Wyll trains the children to fight while Zevlor can only get swept up in anger at them being threatened. The people trust Wyll, adore him, he’s the hero and Zevlor… is not. Not anymore.

It’s too painful to approach Wyll and admit all that. That would be a hell of a blow to Zevlor's pride. But Tav? A stranger? A nobody? The Every-man who had no reason to help or reputation pressuring them, saving them anyway? That’s inspiring. Someone like Tav could be the answer and even, perhaps, the proof that Zevlor could redeem himself. Neither of them are folk heroes, untouchable in their assumed perfection. Tav is a living, breathing example of how the flawed, everyday adventurer can be everything Zevlor strives for.

No wonder he won’t shut up about them in the Shadowlands.

All of this is why it’s so tragic that Zevlor wasn’t given a redemption arc. Sure, you can recruit him for the final battle against the Netherbrain, but there’s no quest to change the cast’s opinion of him—or change Zevlor’s opinion of himself. All his content at the end of Act 2 and Act 3 reinforces that self-hatred.

Let’s make a list, shall we?

Nearly every line of his reunion with Tav has Zevlor painting himself in the worst light possible, from “a lie kinder than the truth” to his refusal to join you because he believes he’ll stab you in the back. You cannot convince him of the Absolute’s manipulation and there’s no response to his belief that such horrors start within the person like, “Of course it does! Because we’re all flawed and equally capable of good and evil deeds! That potential doesn’t make you irredeemable, Zevlor, it makes you mortal!!”

He’s utterly failed as his peoples’ champion and he’s also deemed “unworthy” of being a True Soul. Obviously not being chosen by the Absolute is a good thing, but for a man drowning in self-loathing that’s one hell of a complicated rejection.

Nearly all the tieflings hate him now, all those people he’s been sacrificing his soul to keep safe. I found it particularly devastating that this is one of the rare occasions where nailing a persuasion check doesn’t change the person’s mind. There’s at least one tiefling at Moonrise (I’m drawing a blank on her name) who will believe you when you explain how the Absolute influenced Zevlor, but that doesn’t lead to forgiveness.

Zevlor is deemed unimportant on a literal, narrative level. He is very easy to miss in the pods (I nearly did on my first play-through) and the game does incredibly little to dissuade you from that mistake. Putting aside for a moment that obviously an Origin companion is more significant than a minor NPC, compare this to Shadowheart screaming from her own pod, the game making it abundantly clear that this is someone in need of help—someone worth rescuing. She’ll even say later that you could have run past, more concerned with your own survival and the big picture heroics to bother with her. How must it feel then, if Zevlor ever learns that Tav was there and never stopped for him?

If you do miss Zevlor… oh boy. We’ve probably all seen at least a recording of Orin’s so-called gift. There are plenty of characters who can meet untimely and devastating ends, but very few go through this level of horror. Zevlor—after being held captive, remember—is tortured by God’s Favorite Torturer. He is stripped of his personhood and reduced to a mere “message,” a “pet.” Zevlor is further humiliated in death by being literally stripped of his armor—not just vulnerable in his nakedness, but denied the last symbol of his faith, his status, his power—and it’s always struck me that this is the closest we see to him 'enjoying' an intimate moment, this parody in Orin’s painting. Zevlor is one of the NPC’s most in need of physical comfort and instead he’s forced into this torturous mockery of a sex scene. It also hits hard that when Tav first spots his body the narration says that Zevlor “might almost be sleeping.” Undoubtedly this is a man who isn’t taking good care of himself. He needs a good night’s rest, yet this horrifying trick is all he gets.

As if all this weren’t enough, most of your companion are VERY critical of Zevlor while commenting on his demise. It’s one thing for the tieflings to believe the worst given their ignorance and the fact that they are the ones who suffered from Zevlor’s failure, but your company understands the Absolute and the ways that she gets her hooks in people. Still, Astarion calls him a “wet rag” even if he did deserve better than this. Shadowheart wouldn’t have wished this on him either, but she can’t help but slip in a “no matter his failings.” Lae’zel, often the most blunt, straight up says that he was “always destined to fail his people—and to fail us.” Wyll shakes his head and intones that “even good intentions can lead us down deadly paths.” Only Gale and Karlach stick to mourning the dead rather than airing his shortcomings.

When I spoke to my allies before the final battle Zevlor didn’t have a cut scene. It became clear to me later that this must have been a bug in my play-through, but at the time it only reinforced my feelings that his story was incomplete. Looking on Youtube I’ve found recordings of him saying that he is a Hellrider once more and he would “die a proud man if [he] were to die this day”… but that rings as terribly hollow given where we left him. Last we were together, Zevlor was saying in no uncertain terms that he could not be trusted, he would fail again, he was unworthy of forgiveness. Where did this change of heart come from? It makes perfect sense that he would help Tav in this moment—he begs to be of some use after getting free—but not that he would present himself with such confidence. Within the story as it’s been told this feels… fake. Like Zevlor is putting on a mask to fit the mood of this lively, optimistic party. Which, in turn, gives the “I would die a proud man” line a terrifying implication to me. Does Zevlor expect to die this day? Does he intend to? What would persuade him not to lay down his life here and now? His mission is complete. The tieflings are safe—though not by his hand. There's no hero's welcome waiting for him after this battle. They hate him. He hates himself, and by his own admission the one thing that could still make him proud would be to die at Tav’s side, trying to do one last bit of good. If someone said that to me after everything Zevlor has been through I would keep them far away from the front lines.

(I did, for the record lol.)

I’m not saying anything new then when I go, “Larian, PLEASE add more to his story.” Give us a Zevlor side-quest to renew his oath. Let us invite him to our camp. Something to link the broken man mid-game and the confident fighter at the end so that the latter doesn’t feel like an alarm bell with two legs and a tail. I mean yeah, I get hooked on minor characters so 75% of this is simply me wanting more content of a fave, but I also I do legitimately believe that BG3’s story would benefit from tying up loose ends like this.

Zevlor is a fantastic character, someone who contains an astounding amount of complexity for so little screen time. You have to follow up on that complexity though. If he’s meant to be a purely tragic figure, okay, fine, that’s the ending you get with Orin. But one where he joins you with a smile and reclaims a title he's previously rejected with such fervor requires more work in the middle; a through-line that explains how someone with so much self-loathing learns to think of himself as the hero again.

Because it does all come down to Zevlor’s perception of himself. He was always a hero, flaws and all. He always was and always will be a Hellrider.

The UI knows what's up :)

[thecosmicmap]

Strap in folks this is gonna be a long one.

So as we know Dean Deblois is the writer of HTTYD2 and 3. As a writer you have a list of rules you should follow. One such rule is “show don’t tell.”

Dean disregarded this rule and we mainly see it with Grimmel and the Night Fury genocide. In the movie he tells us “I hunted every last night fury except yours” yet Grimmel has nothing to show for it. No trophies, no night fury hide cloak, not even a claw. The most we get is a few “facts” about Night Furies that aren’t even true, or can’t be proven to be true because we’ve only ever seen one Night Fury.

“Night Furies can’t survive the cold.” Yet Hiccup tells us (in GOTNF which is canon) that winter in Berk lasts for most of the year.

“Night Furies can’t fly long distances” Yet Toothless’ wings are large and wide, which allows him to glide for long periods of time.

“Furies mate for life.” We would never know because we only see one Night Fury in the entire franchise. And if we take a look at other dragons, it seems they only see their mate during mating season.

And why would Grimmel know that if he’s trying to kill off the Night Furies forever? What’s the point in knowing their mating habits if there’s never going to be any Night Furies again? Did he just look at a Fury pair and go “yeup. They mate for life.”

Now another thing about Grimmel is that his hunting method is unreliable. One, he left his bait without any restraints. Imagine if the Light Fury woke up minutes before and just left? Boom! No more bait. What if Toothless wasn’t horny and was mad at the Light Fury for trying to kill Hiccup multiple times? Boom. He wouldn’t be trying to deal with her and the plan is ruined because the bait isn’t appealing to the target. What if Toothless didn’t smell her and never showed up?

Lots of plot conveniences. It happens in the entire movie. Dean also had to confirm that yes, Grimmel did kill all the Night Furies in an INTERVIEW because people didn’t believe that Grimmel genocide the Night Furies. And Dean only did this because he thinks Toothless is special because he’s the last Night Fury.

Now we could be here forever talking about how stupid grimmel is as a villain and how stupid it is to even entertain the thought that ONE man and his six, drugged dragons were able to commit genocide to a species of intelligent, elusive and fast dragons, but let’s just continue.

Another rule Dean disregarded is having good characterization. Or ANY characterization!

The Light Fury immediately comes to mind. Name one personality trait she has that we actually see in the movie. You can’t, can you? Because Dean actively wrote that out. There was a deleted scene of Light Fury and Toothless’ romantic flight which gave her much more personality, yet Dean wrote it out and gave us the boring one we have now.

Also, can we just talk about how she doesn’t have a name? Her name is literally “The Light Fury.” Which is the same as naming a Golden Retriever Golden Retriever.

I know Hiccup would’ve named her. Hell, anybody would’ve named her! But no, Dean decided that she didn’t need one because “how else would she be wild”?

Dean says this in an interview, “We intentionally try to keep her [The Light Fury] wild and elusive, to kind of represent something that is pure dragon, that hasn't been tainted by human beings by domestication.” Which just goes to show that Dean doesn’t know what domestication is.

(Dean also doesn’t know what a subspecies is because if he did, then he would know a Light Fury can’t possibly be a Night Fury subspecies because they have too many differences).

1. this means that Dean thinks all of the dragons that have benefited from human companionship (Toothless, Cloudjumper, Meatlug, Stormfly, etc) are tainted.

And 2, there is nothing “dragon” about the Light Fury. She has small feet (Hiccup’s head is literally bigger than her feet), small claws, a small mouth, her wings are weirdly shaped, she’s curved, she has no protective scales and her tailfin is in the shape of a heart, which would actually mess up her flight.

Many people have said this is because she’s semi-aquatic. But this is disproven by the fact that we’ve never seen her in the water and the art book.

Here’s two direct quotes: “We had to explore how the Light Fury would walk and make her feel like a female.” “We had to control all the shapes while keeping her both powerful and graceful so she didn’t fall too much into the reptilian category.”

The Light Fury is a plot device, a “agent of change” in Dean’s words.

Now while we’re on the topic of characterization, let’s talk about our main cast. We’ll start with Toothless.

Toothless is Hiccup’s best friend, who will do anything to protect him no matter the costs. He’s sassy, intelligent, curious, loyal, protective and playful.

Now take all of this, and throw it in the trash because this isn’t the toothless you’re going to see in THW. In THW Toothless’ playfulness is shot to the max, making him more like a slobbery puppy than the lethal panther he was in HTTYD1.

Toothless isn’t protective of Hiccup at all, his intelligence is below hell itself and we don’t see a lick of sass. Httyd3 Toothless is physically incapable of looking scary because his face has been deformed to to look blocky and smushed together. He lacks any aerodynamics and we can even see it in his flying. He looks like he’s struggling.

Toothless and Hiccup’s friendship is so watered down in this movie, just for the sake of romance. That’s not how it should be. Romance and friendship go hand in hand, one is not more valuable than the other.

Astrid is nothing but Hiccup’s emotional support, yet she also puts him down. “you gave him [Toothless] his freedom, what were you expecting?” This implies that the dragons are being held captive and Toothless doesn’t want to be with Hiccup.

Which he does, as we see in GOTNF. Toothless only left to get Hiccup’s helmet, then he broke the auto-tail. But why would Astrid even say that? Thats so insensitive 😭.

The twins are dumbed down (despite proving to actually being intelligent), Snotlout is flirting with a woman who’s 20 years older than him (and might be his aunt, depending if you see Hiccup and Snotlout as cousins) and Valka outright tells Hiccup that they can’t hide away from the world.

Which is true, they can’t. Because eventually they will be found. Now remember this, it’ll come back later.

Now, when writing a story it’s important to move the plot along in a way that doesn’t seemed forced. When I think of this, I think of Trollhunters: tales of Arcadia.

The protagonist (Jim) goes into the villain’s home in order to rescue his friend’s baby brother, yet he gets trapped there. His friends have to get him out of there, which allows the villain to be freed from the Darklands. This happening allows the story to move forward in a way that makes sense and isn’t forced.

Now back to HTTYD3. Let’s look at the scene where Toothless and the LF get captured. The Light Fury smells grimmel, she calls to toothless, runs towards Grimmel and gets shot.

Toothless runs over (ignoring Hiccup’s warnings) approaches Grimmel, takes forever loading a plasma blast while sloooowly walking towards Grimmel, allowing the man to shoot him and make him go night-night.

Hiccup runs over, also taking forever. And the next time we see grimmel he’s already tied up two dragons (BY HIMSELF) in these complicated straight jackets. The other dragons come around (finally) ready to attack, yet Grimmel threatens the light fury and tells Toothless to call of the dragons.

“But isn’t Toothless asleep?” I hear you ask, and to that I respond with “no, he’s not. He miraculously woke up in time to call the dragons off, despite the light fury still being knocked out cold.”

The dragons are called off and grimmel leaves on his quad-copter. The dragons follow them, even though Grimmel didn’t tell toothless to make them follow.

Do you see how forced this is? There’s many more forced plot points, but we’ll be here forever talking about it and this post is long enough already.

Next up on the broken rule list, Dean let the antagonist win. Now it’s okay for an antagonist to win, but never in the third act.

Grimmel’s ultimate goal was for dragons to disappear. Dean himself says “he does not want a world in which dragons roam free.” And what do we see at the end of HTTYD3?

The dragons disappearing into the Hidden World forever. Exactly what Grimmel wanted.

Finally, the last rule Dean broke is having a consistent plot. Now the plot of each movie is a bit different. Httyd1: Hiccup shows Vikings that while dangerous, dragons aren’t monsters. And it’s better to work together than working apart.

Httyd2: Dragons are being captured and enslaved, we need to save them and fight for our friends.

Httyd3: toothless needs to get a girlfriend. He HAS to, despite not ever showing to want one, but he’s horny right now so YES, he HAS to.

But the franchise has an overarching narrative about humans and dragons coming together. That no matter what, they will prevail because they’re working together.

Well in HTTYD3 yes, they prevail. But the dragons leave. Why, you may ask? Because no matter what they’ll always be bad humans so there’s no point fighting.

Hiccup sends the dragons to an underground glittery cave that doubles as a prison, and six years of friendship is thrown down the drain for a female Toothless met three days prior. Hiccup tells the audience that dragons will hide until humans learn how to get along (despite the many humans that already get along with them).

And that’s it. The end. No more.

“But wait!” I hear you ask, “Won’t the dragons eventually be found again?” And to that I say, “Oh, you remember!”

Because yes, the dragons will eventually be found out again. And because Hiccup gave up on fighting for change, these humans think dragons are dangerous monsters and will undoubtedly enslave/kill them.

We even see this with his own kids! Zephyr thought dragons were monsters and was ready to hurt them in order to “protect her family”. Humans of the future will no doubt act like this as well.

Humans and dragons will never learn to get along if they are never around each other. Change won’t just happen, you have to fight for it. Like the end of slavery, or the Women’s Rights Movement. Those things didn’t just happen, people had to fight for change and they had to keep fighting because if they gave up then nothing would change.

And when the dragons are inevitably found once again, it will be Hiccup’s fault when they’re either killed or enslaved.

[gffa]

This scene from The Mandalorian season 3 premiere really puts the scene from “Old Friends Not Forgotten” into context, because both of these scenes are about projection. Bo-Katan was part of Death Watch, the very group that plotted with Maul to overtake Mandalore, and it was only when Maul killed Pre Vizsla to take over Death Watch and rule Mandalore that she left.  And then Maul killed her sister. She blames Obi-Wan, who is saying that they can’t just invade Mandalore (because that’s what it would be) and breaking centuries old treaties and starting yet more war, as if all the damage that will do shouldn’t mean anything because her sister is dead. When it’s Bo-Katan who doesn’t care about the collateral damage, so long as she gets what she’s after, it’s Bo-Katan who feels a crushing guilt and anger toward herself that she was part of those who helped bring the being into power that killed her sister, that she was the one who helped destabilize her entire planet. And she does the same with Din.  Bo-Katan’s role was to unite the Houses, to be the leader that they needed to follow and fight back against the Empire.  That was the entire point of giving her the Darksaber and why she’s so desperate to win it in combat against Moff Gideon, and it’s not on Din’s shoulders that he happened to win it first, that he doesn’t want to keep the thing, that he didn’t even know about other Mandalorians. It’s Bo-Katan who is angry at herself for failing, she’s angry that other Mandalorians weren’t hollowed out by this loss, that they can still pick up and go on with any other kind of life, just like Obi-Wan was able to pick up and go on despite Satine’s loss. Bo-Katan was gutted and consumed by fury and destroyed by loss, why wasn’t everyone else destroyed in the same way?  And she is so angry about that and it puts that TCW scene in such an interesting new context for me that I’m whipping around to actually love it a ton!!   Let women be angry and wrong and messy and still be good!!!  Let my wife be a mean bitch who is broken in heart and soul!!!  I wouldn’t change a thing about her, she’s awful and wonderful and I love her!!!

[literaryavenger]

Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Summary: You're part of the Strike team and join Captain America as he tries to live his new life in the 21st century. [Reader is NOT Hydra]

Pairing: platonic!Steve Rogers x F!Reader, platonic!Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Warnings: Language. Rumlow being a dick. Mentions of death. My poor attempts at being funny. Idk, everything else in the movie?

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: Happy New Year! This the first chapter in a new series I'm starting! I'm not sure how long it's gonna be yet, but I know it's gonna be longer than Broken. These series is about an alternate universe where the reader exists and lives through the events that happen in the MCU. A lot of the details will be changed to insert the reader, a lot of the lines said by other characters will be changed to be the reader's and I've also made up a lot of things and scenes and added them, trying my best not to change the official timeline and the main events. I hope you enjoy this and all chapters to come!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“You heard the boss, newbie, text Romanoff and tell her to pick up Rogers.” Rumlow taps his knuckles twice on the table for emphasis before getting up and exiting the conference room.

You make sure he doesn't miss the way you roll your eyes at the now old nickname before writing ‘New mission, need you at the jet in one hour. Asshole wants you to pick up the old man in spandex’ on your phone and sending the message to Natasha, then you get up and make your way out of the room.

“Armory.” you say as you enter the elevator. 

“Confirmed.” the elevator voice says as the doors start closing. 

You suit up for the mission just assigned by Pierce and go to the jet to start doing the checkups you know the rest of the idiots on the STRIKE team won’t even think about doing. 

After making sure everything’s ready and in order, you can do nothing more than wait for everybody else.

Natasha and Steve get there exactly an hour after your text. 

“Right on time.” you point out.

“It wasn’t a coincidence, YLN.” Natasha smirks, making you laugh.

“Cap.” you greet him with a smile that he returns. “Y/N.”

The rest of the team meets you a few minutes after. “Ready for take off.” Rumlow says to the pilot and the jet takes off.

Once you get close to the target Rumlow starts briefing Steve and Nat. “The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: The Lemurian Star. They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them, 93 minutes ago.”

“Any demands?” Steve asks.

“A billion and a half.” Rumlow answers.

“Why so steep?” Steve questions frowning.

“Because it’s Shield’s.” you answer promptly, ignoring the scowl on Rumlow’s face that disappears almost immediately.

“So it’s not off-course,” Steve says, understanding flashing in his eyes as he glares at Natasha “it’s trespassing.”

“I’m sure they have a good reason.” Natasha offers.

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of being Fury’s janitor.”-Steve seems really annoyed now.

“Relax, it’s not that complicated.” Natasha simply says.

“How many pirates?” Steve’s attention is back on the screen.

“Twenty-five, top mercs, led by this guy. Georges Batroc.” Rumlow pulls up the photo of Batroc on the monitor and looks at you expectantly, making you roll your eyes.

Of course you’re the only one who actually looked through the files.

“Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He’s at the top of Interpol's Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. The guy’s got a rep for maximum casualties.” you fill everybody in, although it was obvious most of the guys aren't listening. At least the Captain is.

“Hostages?” Steve questions you, but Rumlow cuts in.

“Mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell.” he shows his picture. You’ve seen Sitwell around headquarters, he seems pretty close with the STRIKE team. Not that you hang out much with them outside of mission, or at all for that matter. “They’re in the gallery.”

“What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” Steve asks more to himself, and he has a point. “Alright, I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat and Y/N, you’ll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to the life-pots, get ‘em out. Let’s move.”

Yep, he’s definitely in Captain mode.

“Ay ay, Captain.” you salute with a smirk that mirrors Natasha’s while Steve gives you a fake annoyed look.

“STRIKE, you heard the Cap. Gear up.” Rumlow says but you’ve already started getting ready and stopped listening to him.

“Secure channel seven.” Steve says into his wrist communicator.

“Seven secure.” Natasha replies. “Did you do anything fun Saturday night?”

“Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so… No, not really.” Steve answers, making both you and Natasha laugh while the pilot lets you know that the drop zone is coming up.

“You know, if you ask Kristen out, from Statistics, she’d probably say yes.” you point out, exchanging a knowing glance with Natasha.

“That’s why I don’t ask.” he fires back

“Too shy or too scared?” Natasha pushes.

“Too busy!” He yells over the wind as the door opens and then he jumps. 

You and Natasha both roll your eyes and look at each other smiling, not needing to talk to understand the other.

You barely register Rumlow and Rollins commenting on Steve jumping without a parachute before grabbing one for yourself and jumping alongside Nat.

You and Natasha have known each other for a while now, all the way back since she was first brought in by Clint.

You trained with both of them, went on countless missions together (yes, including Budapest) and you would’ve been right by their side in New York if you hadn't been on an important undercover mission and had strict orders directly from Fury not to blow your cover.

After that you got assigned to the STRIKE team by Alexander Pierce, though you still have no idea why. But orders are orders so you’ve been working with the idiots ever since.

But you and Natasha are thankfully still pretty close and your down time is spent mostly with her, sometimes also visiting Clint and his family at his farm.

 Nat’s still annoyed at Clint about naming his only daughter after you, middle name but still, and not her. But to be fair, you have known Clint longer, a fact that always amuses both you and Clint to bring up.

You’ve just landed when you hear Rumlow saying “you seemed pretty helpless without me” to Steve.

“What about the nurse who lives across the hall from you?” Natasha says.

“Yeah, she seems nice.” you add.

“Secure the engines, then find me a date.” Steve says in his captain voice.

“We’re multitasking.” Nat tells him before turning to you. “you take port, I’ll take starboard and we’ll meet at the rendezvous point”

“Copy.” you say and make your way to the engine room on the right side of the ship. You start taking down guys and can hear Rumlow saying they’re ready in position.

Just as you finish with the last guy you hear Steve calling your name. “What’s your status?”

“Port engine room secure.” you answer.

“Good, make your way to help Rumlow with the hostages.”

“Roger that.” you can almost hear him groan in annoyance as you smile while following his orders.

“Natasha, what’s your status?” you can hear her grunt while she fights through the comms. “Status, Natasha?” 

“Hang on!” She says as she keeps fighting. “Starboard engine room secure.”

You hear Steve countdown from three and then the team moving in on the targets, you get to the rendezvous point just in time to see Rumlow rounding the corner with the hostages on his tail.

“Hostages en route to extradition.” he says in his comms as you look around for Natasha.

“Romanoff missed the rendezvous point, Cap. Hostiles are still in play.” you let Steve know while helping take care of the hostages.

“Natasha, Batroc’s on the move. Circle back to Y/N and protect the hostages.” he receives no answer and at this point you get a little worried. “Natasha!”

You want to go looking for her but you know better than to leave your post, and you’re also very aware that Natasha can take care of herself. 

So you keep protecting the hostages while listening intently to the comms where you can hear Steve fight, then you hear a voice you assume it’s Batroc’s talking French and are even more surprised to hear Steve answer back in French. Impressive.

You can hear him fighting again and then you finally hear Natasha’s voice but don’t pay too much attention to the conversation, bringing your entire focus on the hostages now that you know she’s okay. 

You’re helping people into the life-pods when you hear an explosion go off somewhere on the boat. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you hear Natasha’s voice again and let it go, feeling even more relieved after hearing Steve too.

The ride back is very uncomfortable as you help Natasha with the minor injuries from the explosion, Steve refusing help and insisting that he’s fine, and in the mood he’s in you’re certainly not about to argue. 

As soon as the jet lands he stomps away angrily and you share a concerned look with Natasha, worried about what he’s gonna do next. 

You help Nat to the medbay and leave her there when she assures you she’s okay and to not make a fuss over her.

So you make your way to the usual conference room for debriefing but when you get there Rumlow very smugly assures you that you’re not needed at this meeting. 

You’re used to being left out of meetings with the STRIKE team and Pierce by now, since you’ve been forced to join you’ve been left out of more meetings that you’ve attended, but it still bothers you sometimes.

Still, at least you don’t have to spend too much time with those neanderthals. Not your circus, not your monkeys.

So you just make your way to the Armory to put away your gear and then the locker room to change and go home for what you think is gonna be the rest of the day.

-

A few hours later you find yourself in the hospital where the STRIKE team has been called in the middle of the night because, guess what? Someone tried to kill Director Fury. Or, as it turns out, succeeded. 

You’re behind Steve, Natasha and Hill alongside Rumlow and Sitwell, watching Fury flatlining and the doctors calling it.

You want to go with Nat to see Fury, be there for her knowing she cared about him as much as you do, but obviously Rumlow has to be a dick and order you to stay put. And, whether you like it or not, he’s your boss.

He rudely interrupts Nat and Steve’s conversation telling him they need him back at headquarters and you can already tell something’s suddenly off.

As much as Rumlow can be an asshole, he’s never been openly rude towards Steve.

You can hear Sitwell in your earpiece telling the team to bring Rogers in for questioning as he and Rumlow get closer.

“STRIKE, move it out.” he orders but you don't start moving until Steve’s by your side, giving him what you hope is a reassuring smile. 

When you get to the Triskelion Steve is taken to Pierce’s office and you get ordered to go to Forensics and check into the evidence found on the roof, then go to Operations Control and wait for there for further instructions, so you do. 

When you get to the control room you see Sitwell concentrated on a particular screen so you get close trying not to get noticed and see Steve fighting STRIKE and SHIELD agents in the elevator. 

You barely have time to understand what’s happening before he’s throwing himself off the elevator and lands on his shield near the entrance of the building. Thankfully Sitwell’s “Are you kidding me?” covered your quiet “holy shit.”

You’re in the room when Sitwell gives the orders to track down Rogers to all the Agents and when he’s done, you discreetly follow him and the rest of the STRIKE team out the room.

For a bunch of guys who work for a top secret organization they sure suck at knowing when they’re being followed. 

No one talks until they get to a deserted corridor. “Pierce is going to kill us. Rogers has the flash drive and can use it to find Zola. You fucked up big time letting him go.” Sitwell sounds pissed.

“Take it easy, four eyes.” Rumlow sounds just as angry “You’re not the one that got punched by a supersoldier.”

They keep talking about the flash drive and Steve and Pierce and Zola. That name sounds familiar but you can’t remember for the life of you where you heard it from.

Then it hits you.

Zola was a former Hydra scientist from World War II, turned ally when the war ended. Thank god the Howling Commandos were hot so you actually paid attention during that particular history class. 

You're about to turn away so you won’t risk getting caught eavesdropping when you hear your name being mentioned.

“Someone should keep an eye on her.” Sitwell says, making you worried of becoming the next Shield target, but Rumlow proceeds to ease your worries.

“That’s a waste of manpower. The whole reason she’s even on our team was so we could keep a closer eye on Rogers, but she just spends all her time with Romanoff.” 

So that’s why Pierce assigned you to the STRIKE team.

Yeah, you’re closer to Steve than most people but it’s not like you’re best friends, you sometimes hang out outside of work but most of your interactions are mission related.

You decide you've heard enough to kind of put together what’s going on, but there’s not much you can do to help Steve yet, not knowing where he is. So you stick to following the STRIKE team, praying that your absence in the control room goes unnoticed. 

STRIKE gets a hit on Steve’s location and you follow them in your car to a mall but think better than to follow them in, waiting patiently outside. 

After a few minutes you see Steve and Natasha in their not so well thought out undercover outfits and, once again, the Captain surprises you by hot-wiring a car. 

You follow them, more discreetly this time, knowing Natasha and Steve would be better at realizing they’re being followed. 

You get to an old army camp in Wheaton, New Jersey and are about to follow them in and make yourself known to them, but before you can get out of your car you hear the plan the STRIKE team has through your comms.

The idiots never even thought about using a different channel. Of course Rumlow would underestimate you this much. 

So you decide to drive deeper into the trees surrounding the camp to make sure you’re not visible and wait, knowing Steve and Natasha will need a fast getaway. 

You can do nothing more than watch as a missile hits the bunker and the helicopters start coming. You want to go and help them, make sure they're okay, but you will yourself to stay put and not give away your position. 

When you can faintly see Steve’s figure, almost running with what looks like Nat in his arms, you finally turn the car on and drive coming to a stop right in front of him and startling him to a stop on his tracks.

“Get in.” you urge him, and he seems wary of you, rightly so. “Come on, Cap, they can’t know I’m here!”

He seems to decide to risk trusting you and delicately sets an unconscious Nat down in the back seat before getting in the passenger’s seat.

As soon as his door is closed you drive away as fast as you can, heading back to Washington and you can feel Steve’s eyes on you.

“How do I know I can trust you?” he finally says after a minute of silence, his eyes never leaving you. “You’re part of them, after all.”

“I can see where you’re coming from, but trust me I’m not one of them.” You glance at him and you can tell that he’s not convinced yet, so you go on. “I didn’t even know who ‘them’ were before today. Apparently the reason Pierce assigned me to the STRIKE team was in hopes to get closer to you. He overestimated how close we actually are. If Natasha was awake right now she would tell you how much I hate working with those assholes… You can trust me.”

You take a look at the rearview mirror and see Natasha, but her relaxed face does nothing to ease your worries. 

Steve seems to pick up on your concerns as his features soften and, ever the hopelessly optimistic, he chooses to believe you.

“Okay,” he says, “what do we do now?”

“We have to get you somewhere safe” you check your mirrors as much as you can, making sure you’re not being followed “I don’t know any safehouses outside of Shield's radar. We need a place we can go that they know nothing about.”

“I have an idea.” he says, you glance at him and see him already looking at you, so you nod.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere V + H: Shaiapouf

This ant is born to be a henchman in every universe

Though one would not be wrong when questioning how often he feels the need to direct the villain he’s serving’s attention

Always willing to give up any part of himself for his precious villain to succeed

Ride or die they’re glory is everything to him

But only if that glory includes him

He’s a tad selfish but for all the right reasons 

It’s for you of course

When you rise from the ashes of his former creator to take on the role of an innovator 

You’re all he can ask for 

No longer tied by his biological connection or maybe just an overcomplicated pheromone mishap

He devotes himself to the legacy you’ve restarted making his uncalled-for connections to his old villain

But it’s the differences he does notice that lead him to be…so involved:

“Shiapouf make a note. Clearly, the titanium-devastating robot taught them nothing about better infrastructure.”

“Yes, my liege!” 

He admired your back which was beautifully annunciated by the elegant cape on your back. Pouf proudly squeezed at the bandaged tips of his fingers as he recalled personally sewing the insignia of your villain name onto its center. 

Turning before you he opened the door of the invisible jet for you, bowing as you entered the back seat. Closing the door he sent one more hidden glare at the construction crew working in the rubble of the old sky-scraper. In his deepest of hearts, he almost wished they wouldn’t try, shaking his head in punishment. You wanted this, therefore this was right. Entering through the door, he harshly yelled at the door of the cockpit,” Go.”

That was all that was needed for the jet to silently left the city, cruising above national waters in seconds. Pouf had located himself directly across from you watching in admiration and amusement as you twisted and tilted your face as you scrolled through articles on your digital pad. 

“Once again this proves to be ineffectual in making them evolve. This wasn’t a big enough sign for them to even consider using that material they discovered that could be made with the remains of that overgrowing landfill. “

Pouf resisted the urge to clutch his cheeks,” My liege, you’re so generous to these low-lifes.”

You let out a muted ‘thanks’ before closing your eyes in thought. Millions of images from various politicians and inventors calling for reform or change. None of them are worthy enough or even supported enough to be considered significant change. It started to make you wonder…

“Perhaps…this isn’t the right thing to do.”

Pouf’s smile was gone. A serious expression on his face as he asked, ”What do you mean your Grace?”

Sighing you looked out the window,” My whole goal is to help the humans of this world evolve but I worry all I’m doing is just killing the masses for no reason.”

If the cabin of the jet wasn’t cool, it was freezing because of Pouf’s glare.

“Who says this?”

“What do you mean I am—”

“Who said this.”

The question that didn’t need to be said brought a familiar pit in your stomach. Fidgeting with your fingerless gloves and then your raised collar that felt like it was making you hot. Pouf’s darkened tuscan-yellow eyes were filled with the retained fury of a protector. One that you found much more frightening than the hero you escaped from every time.

“A journalist from the Hunter’s Post. She just made some really good–”

“Name?”

“Pouf I don’t want to punish anyone–”

“Name, (Y/n).”

“Ponzu….her name was Ponzu.”

“Thank you (Y/n)--”

“Please Pouf I don’t want anything—”

Pouf smiled widely, “I think you should rest, my Liege!”  

You opened your mouth to protest, actually getting up from the seat you were in to plead. Finding you’re body refused to listen as you finally registered the shimmering colors and grand wideness of Shaiapouf’s wings. You didn’t need to see the sparkling particles to know what was happening, vaguely recalling this same scene playing out just a few days ago.

“Sleep peacefully, my (Y/n). I’ll deal with the parasite that’s poisoned you.”

Pouf smiled at your slumped figure before snapping his fingers. His joyful expression is gone now that three winged servants appeared at his side. All three bowing and awaiting his orders.

“Find the journalist Ponzu. Bring her to me alive, I will deal with her punishment personally.”

Two of the servants darted off, quickly flying out of a hatch that allowed them to leave without letting too much of the wind inside. The remaining servant stood still awaiting orders.

“Idiot. Get our Great One a blanket, can’t you see they’re needing one.”

The servant bowed their head swiftly heading to the back of the jet. Giving Pouf the privacy he desired to stand from his own seat and kneel before yours. Looking up at your sleeping face, he couldn’t deny himself the urge to caress your sleeping face.

“Don’t worry. I will always fight for your glorious mission. Even if you forget.”

[separatist-apologist]

Traitors Never Win

Summary: When Feyre Archeron's father promises she'll marry notorious crime boss Rhysand Moreno, Feyre will do anything to get out of the arrangement…including framing him for murder.

Rhysand isn't about to let her go so easily.

Read on AO3

[Five Years Earlier]:

Feyre stood over the lifeless body of her father, her hands coated in sticky blood. Beside her, an aluminum bat lay bloodied on the floor, tossed like trash mere feet from where her father’s body lay. She had killed him in a fit of fury, her patience finally shredded beyond her control. Feyre, like her sisters, was merely a pawn in her fathers criminal enterprise.

The problem was, besides the murder, that she knew he’d loved her in his way.  There was no escaping marriage for a woman like her, especially now that she was eighteen. And still, as she stared down at the cooling corpse at her feet, Feyre couldn’t bring herself to regret her actions.

She wasn’t going to marry Rhysand Moreno. 

Feyre had never met him, of course—but she’d heard stories. Ruthless and cold, he headed up the rival crime family in the city and was the reason they were in this mess to begin with. Her father had been losing territory for a solid decade, his guys scooped up by cops and jailed. They ratted each other out, damaging the once solid Archeron Family until there was little left. 

Nesta should have gone first, Feyre thought with just a touch of frustration. Then Elain. Her sisters were older than her and yet when Rhysand came, he’d came looking for her. He’d promised safety—a merger, of sorts, with Feyre at the center of it all.

So long as she was a dutiful wife and did as she was told, the rest of her family would be cared for. Feyre intended to go through with it…and then tonight had happened. Her father had called her in to discuss the upcoming wedding and what was expected of her and Feyre…just…snapped. Picked up the bat her father kept beside his desk and took a vicious swing. She could have stopped there, but a lifetime’s worth of rage poured out of her until her father was the beaten, bloodied pulp now laying before her. Feyre kept waiting for fear or regret to creep in, but all she really felt was numb. 

And maybe the smallest sense of satisfaction.

It was all over now. Somehow, Feyre doubted Rhysand’s affection extended behind a jail cell. She’d gotten the freedom she’d been praying for every night, though not the way she’d imagined it. Feyre reached into her pocket for her cell phone, ears ringing loudly. She was going to call the police, confess to everything, and take responsibility for her actions.

A hand slapped her phone to the ground.

“Don’t you dare,” Nesta hissed. When had she come into the room? Both of her sisters were there, staring down at their father with a mixture of expressions. Elain stood in the doorway perhaps to not bloody the pretty white flats on her feet, her hand pressed against her lips. Nesta was beside Feyre, arms crossed over her chest, her own expression impassive.

“I need to tell the police—”

“You need to lie,” Elain interrupted, her voice cracking beneath the stress. 

“This looks like a hit,” Nesta added, cocking her head to the side to really examine the scene. 

“Don’t touch anything,” Elain warned, carefully stepping into the room. She was so out of place in her pretty yellow sundress and perfectly curled hair. Daddy’s princess—he would never have forced Elain to marry someone like Rhysand. 

That knowledge had once made Feyre angry, but not anymore. Elain didn’t deserve worse than Feyre simply for being their father’s favorite. Nor did she deserve worse because she was the youngest and easiest to forget. 

“We’ll say we came home and he was like this,” Nesta told Feyre, turning to face her fully. “We need the same story. We came home, he was already dead, and you panicked until I got here. You’re in shock. The police will go through his records—”

“Oh, god,” Elain said, carefully stepping through the room to make their way toward their fathers desk. Without getting a drop of blood on her clothes, Elain sat in their fathers high back, leather chair, and turned on his computer. They all knew how to delete things that no one should know—no one should see—before the cops found it all.

“Leave it!” Nesta barked, the family lawyer. “Don’t delete anything. They’ll find the marriage contract between Feyre and Rhysand.”

“Why would we want that?” Elain demanded, eyes too glassy to make her irritation sharp. 

“Because Feyre is going to tell them the same thing. She’s going to tell them she was being trafficked into an unwanted marriage and she’s going to say she told father so. That he’d finally relented and agreed to call it off. That Rhysand came here and killed him for it.”

“You’re crazy,” Feyre whispered, her voice shaky. “You want to blame this on Rhysand?”

“Two birds, one stone,” Nesta replied crisply. “Men like Rhysand expect contracts to be honored no matter what. Killing father isn’t going to save Feyre…but sicking the feds after him might. If they decide to pin this on him, we can forget he ever existed.”

“You think he’ll let her go that easily?”

Nesta shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out. Now. Do we all understand the roles we’re about to play?”

Elain’s eyes were already watering. She’d be full on sobbing by the time the police arrived. Elain was so good at playing on people’s sympathies. Beautiful and sweet to the point that most people assumed her to be guileless, she’d be the first person the police met. Then Feyre, who would show them the body while Nesta watched, the careful matriarch of their family. 

Everything was a blur in the aftermath. Feyre heard herself choking back a sob as she explained the scene to the 911 operator while Elain gave Feyre a thumbs up for encouragement. They didn’t need to speak to one another when the police arrived. Elain was sobbing while Nesta paced and Feyre just stood there, pale and blank. They could hear the jokes about their family on the lawn and endured the jabs about their father’s profession.

They were excluded given none of them worked for him. And still, Feyre saw even Elain clenching her fists when yet another remark went flying, earning the laughter of the cops tramping all over the scene. Everyone was so desperate to find some juicy detail that they didn’t seem to mind that they were contaminating the scene. And by the time the feds arrived and forced the local cops out, Feyre knew they wouldn’t be able to tell who had picked up that bat and swung. At least six different officers had touched it by then, and she’d heard a couple of them taking pictures with her fathers dead body.

She wished Rhysand had committed this crime, if only to see him come back and kill everyone making jokes, too. That was a dangerous thing to wish, though. It meant the man she was so close to escaping could just saunter back into her life and do her a favor…for a price, of course. 

“Feyre?” A masculine voice pulled her from her thoughts. Looking up from her spot between her sisters on the front porch steps, Feyre found herself looking at a pair of federal agents wearing badges—Rosewood and Vanserra. 

“She’s not talking without her lawyer present,” Nesta said before Feyre could get a word out, causing the man with the long, auburn hair pulled into a ponytail to smile, though he tried to smother it quickly. He looked like a man who’d seen at least some action if the trio of brutal scars running down one side of his face was any indication. Handsome,  too, for a cop—beautiful, really, in the same way Elain was.

Maybe that was why her older sister was watching this man shyly. Or maybe it was merely another act Elain put on to make people think she was helpless so they’d want to protect her. 

The other man had shorter, blonder hair and a pair of pine green eyes currently burning a hole through Feyre’s skull. Unlike his smiling partner, he seemed to be taking the entire thing seriously.

Extending his hand, he said, “Tamlin Rosewood. I’ve got some questions for you, Miss Archeron—”

“She’s not talking without her lawyer,” Nesta repeated.

“I suppose that's you?” Vanserra asked in a voice far deeper and richer than she’d expected. 

“For now,” Nesta replied. Tamlin sighed, clearly frustrated.

“Look…you don’t have to say anything. Just listen. We’ve got a hit in there and a man we’ve never been able to get anything on.”

“She’s not helping you with your investigation,” Nesta spat.

Tamlin ignored her. “I want to put the three of you in witness protection,” he said, catching them all by surprise. “Just until we’ve got enough on Rhysand. And I want you to testify,” Tamlin added, turning to look at Feyre again. “Put that fucker behind bars for good.”

“Witness protection?” Elain asked, eyes bouncing from Vanserra to Tamlin. 

“It’s not forever,” Vanserra told her, sucked in just like every other man on the planet. Feyre almost felt bad for him. Almost. If he liked Elain, he’d want her to be safe and that was enough for Feyre at the moment. 

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” Feyre said before Nesta could interrupt again. That was true. She wanted to live her life without the threat of Rhysand hanging over her head. They’d start over somewhere new, just until Rhysand was ready to go on trial for a crime he hadn’t committed. Feyre would lie and say the murder was over her refusal to get married and then she’d come home if she wanted.

Or maybe she’d stay wherever they sent her. She was young, just eighteen, and figured she had more than enough time. How long could it possibly take. A year? Two? 

“We want to put the three of you in a hotel tonight,” Vanserra told them earnestly, careful to look at the three of them rather than just Elain. “We’ll have more details for you in the morning. Right now, I just need you to pack up your things. Whatever you want to take with you…there’s time.”

“We’ll be right outside,” Tamlin added, still looking wholly at Feyre. “Take your time.”

It wasn’t forever. 

And so they stood up and went back inside.

[Present Day]:

“Good morning, Feyre,” Tamlin said with an easy smile, popping his head through the front door. Feyre, paint stained and still a little sunburned from the day before, grinned when she saw him. 

“Hey Tam,” she replied, plunking a paintbrush into a coffee cup filled with murky brown water. “You’re back!”

“If I ask to come out too often, I get questioned,” Tamlin admitted, ducking inside her two bedroom townhouse sheepishly. “Plus every form needs to be filled out in triplicate…”

“What do you tell them?” she asked, rising from her chair at the dining table. 

“That there are things I need to ask you that can’t be asked over the phone,” he replied, eyes flashing ever so slightly. 

“That’s all you tell them?” she teased.

Tamlin reached her, running his fingers over her bare, freckled arm. “If I told them that being away from you for months at a time was driving me crazy, they’d assign another agent and move you somewhere I’d never see you again.”

“And we can’t have that, now can we?” she said, leaning up on her tiptoes for a kiss. Feyre couldn’t remember when this had started. Sometime between moving in and the intense loneliness that sometimes overtook her, Tamlin had become someone she genuinely cared about. Someone she thought she could love if they were ever in the same place longer than a weekend. She knew Tamlin’s time was limited, which was why the pair hastily shed their clothes, mouths frantic as he managed to get her upstairs to the bedroom. Tamlin was strong, hoisting her up in his arms and carrying her up the stairs and Feyre had always liked that about him.

He had become her savior, somehow. The man who’d showed up right when she needed him. Who’d protected her from a monster that was still hunting her—trying to enforce a contract she’d never agreed to and never signed. She and her sisters were scattered, though Feyre knew that Nesta was somewhere in the south and Elain had ended up in the midwest. Feyre was in Portland working as an art teacher at a local elementary school and teaching paint classes for date nights and bachelorette parties in her spare time.

In the years since her fathers murder, she’d graduated college and settled into her life. She had a cat Bryaxis and her neighbors all knew her by name. Not Feyre, of course—they called her Sarah. Which was, maybe, why being with Tamlin felt so good. He knew who she was, could call her by her real name and tell her about the life she missed. Tamlin gave her information about her sisters in between all the sex, and the updates on her fathers case that Feyre was always desperate to hear.

After all. She’d killed her father and the only people who knew were her, her sisters…and probably Rhysand at this point. He must have figured it out—the thought gnawed at her. Laying naked in bed beside Tamlin, Feyre asked, “How are things going?”

Tamlin shrugged, his expression tightening. “I can’t say much…but this is almost over. You’ll be able to leave soon if you want.”

“And if I don’t?” she questioned, kissing the tips of his fingers. 

“I was thinking I could request a new post,” Tamlin said, rolling on his side to look at her. “If that was something you wanted.”

Was it? “We can talk about it,” Feyre said with a smile, delighted when he pulled the blankets up over their head for another round. They stayed in bed for the majority of the day, ordering food to the door once to eat it half dressed while they talked. Feyre talked and talked about everything, trying to fill the silence Tamlin so often left behind. He just never had much to say, the one thing that kept Feyre from truly jumping into whatever was happening with them. 

She didn’t know if she wanted a lifetime of this. Maybe it was just being young and inexperienced talking…maybe relationships were a give and take. Tamlin had saved her and she cared about him, but it would have been nice sometimes to hear him talk about what he even liked about her. Feyre was always too afraid to ask—not since she’d once mentioned he never paid her compliments and he’d responded awkwardly by telling her that her hair looked clean.

It was possible that Tamlin’s reasons made sense to him, but were difficult to vocalize. She just wanted a little time to think about it—and she knew she’d get it that next morning.

“Another agent will be coming by soon,” Tamlin told her over breakfast, redressed in his suit. “Just to give you the rundown on what’s happening. I’m going to put in a request for vacation the week before we fly you back so I can help you get ready.”

“So this is definitely happening?” Feyre asked, suddenly too nervous to eat. 

Tamlin nodded, raising his coffee mug to his swollen lips. “The last of our evidence was sent to a federal prosecutor. Now we just wait and see…I’m not going to lie to you. You’re our most solid piece of evidence and the whole case hinges on your testimony.”

Feyre offered him a pretty smile. “No pressure, then.”

“No pressure at all,” Tamlin replied, offering her a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“I won’t let you down, Tam,” she promised, reaching over the table to take his hand in hers. “We’re going to put him away.”

“I know he’s plotting,” Tamlin murmured, pulling his hand out of Feyre’s grip. “I can feel it. Whatever happens next, he’ll have a response for it. I just hope we’re ready.”

“We are,” Feyre assured him. She believed that, too—long after Tamlin had left, Feyre was bolstered by his visit. It wasn’t just the sex, but the knowledge he’d given her. How long did she have, really? Six months? A year, tops? Having spent her life watching the feds dog her fathers footsteps, she knew they’d be foaming at the mouth to take down another mobster. They’d want an airtight case to make punishment inescapable, which meant they’d be more cautious before laying down charges. Feyre could survive that. She could make it through one last Portland winter before finally returning home as herself. No more Sarah, no more hiding, no more wondering what her would-be husband was doing, planning, plotting. 

He’d spend the rest of his life reflecting on the fact that he’d been outsmarted by the woman he’d once thought to trap. Feyre hoped it rotted him from the inside out, left him festering and hollow. All that money and power and for what?

He still couldn’t beat Feyre Archeron.

RHYS:

The hotel door opened quietly, flooding light from the hall into the tiny, smoke scented room. Rhys didn’t move from his chair, still shrouded in darkness. He listened as the lock clicked and the chain slid into place, trapping the pair of them inside. He held his breath and waited for the man to step into the main room and hit the switch.

“You.”

Rhys smiled, looking up at Tamlin Rosewood. He was mere seconds from knowing where Tamlin had come from and finally putting the nightmare he’d been living to rest. Slowly, Tamlin set his carry on to the green carpeted floor before raising his hands.

He’d seen the gun in Rhys’s, pointed directly at his center. Did he realize this was the end for him? That he’d never get to say goodbye to the people he loved? He must have—there was a grimness to his expression that Rhys would be thinking about for years to come. 

“Me,” Rhys replied, rising slowly from the rickety chair in the corner of the room. “You seem surprised.”

“You’re being monitored,” Tamlin replied flatly. That was the thing about federal agents—they lacked imagination. Truthfully, they were too in love with the rules that it was embarrassingly easy to get around them. Rhysand was being followed all day, every day. His calls monitored, women wearing wires thrown in front of him hoping he’d divulge a few secrets for a little pussy.

Rhys was a faithful man. That was the first thing Tamlin never figured out about him. The man was about to learn, though.

“Am I?” Rhys questioned, amused by his words. “I had an easy time getting through the airport.”

“I’m not going to tell you where Feyre is,” Tamlin said, daring to speak her name. All Rhys’s amusement evaporated, replaced with burning hot rage. 

“I don’t need you to tell me anything about her,” Rhys replied casually, holding Tamlin’s stare. “Just one thing about you.” 

“What?”

“Did you fuck my wife?”

Tamlin blinked, uncertainty sliding over his features. Sweet little Feyre—his murderous little love. She’d been keeping so many secrets since she’d left and it wasn’t surprising she’d keep this one, too. He could forgive her for having Tamlin. He imagined she was lonely and scared. Maybe she thought she needed to keep the agent placated so he didn’t realize the truth everyone else could so plainly see. Or maybe she was desperate and Tamlin was available. Rhys didn’t like that last option, though he conceded it was possible she merely wanted someone around and would settle for the human equivalent of drywall.

“Excuse me?” Tamlin asked, lips parted with surprise. 

“Did. You. Fuck. My. Wife?” Rhys enunciated each word slowly, forgetting that Tamlin wasn’t just terribly dull, but also impossibly stupid, too. 

“She’s—she’s not your wife—” Tamlin spluttered, his words cut off but the ringing shot of a bullet. Rhys could have made it quick, ending Tamlin before he even knew what happened. That kind of peace was undeserved by the man hunting him…by the man who’d spent the weekend defiling Rhys’s wife. He shot Tamlin in the chest just so Tamlin would be forced to spend his final, terrifying moments with Rhys.

There would be no peace. Not in this life and not in the next. Rhys walked over to Tamlin, ignoring the gasps coming from purple lips. “She is my wife,” Rhys whispered, not caring that it wasn’t technically true. “And she killed her father that night. This has been a little game between us, but it’s over now.”

Tamlin’s last expression was one of horror before it flattened entirely. One last exhale that Rhys breathed in, just in case Tamlin’s soul thought he could escape. It was only then that Rhys stood and tucked his weapon into his holster beneath his jacket. 

Rhys spent a minute rifling through Tamlin’s things. He quickly recorded Feyre’s phone number in his, giddy at the thought of having it at all. He found Tamlin’s last few locations on his phone, including a residential home in Portland, Oregon. 

Sloppy, Rhys thought, though he already knew where she was. Killing Tamlin was merely a formality Rhys had always planned to carry out. He’d accelerated that plan when he’d learned Tamlin was fucking Feyre, which, he could admit, sent him into a jealous spiral. He’d imagined she was living much like he was—like a fucking monk.

That ended now, though. 

What Rhys really needed was the badge and gun in Tamlin’s pocket. He had everything he needed beyond that. The one saving grace between himself and Feyre was the fact they’d never met one another. She’d been merely a picture on his screen when her father came begging for help. One of his daughters to get the debtors off his tail before they killed him. His crumbling empire, united through one woman.

He’d been offered the eldest first before the reluctant middle, but neither were of any interest to Rhys. And the third might not have either had it not been for her eyes. He could still remember the sight of her, smiling like a cat holding a mouse. A beautiful woman—the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, if he was honest—with a secret. Something dark, something scary.

It had been a hunch back then, proven right when the feds came knocking on his door. Archeron was dead, bludgeoned with his own baseball bat. And pretty little Feyre Archeron swore it was him. Rhys knew then he’d been right about her, though she’d vanished into thin air by the time he managed to steal away to see her. 

So began a five year chase. Feyre was smart, of course, but so was he. Tracking her down began by finding her sisters first. Nesta Archeron was holed up in some swampy Georgia town which made her the easier of the three to find. And Nesta, for all her brains, routinely emailed her younger sister Elain.

Elain was harder to pin down. Living in Chicago, she had a personal watchdog in the form of Agent Vanserra, who was protected by his Senator brother. Elain, though, had a burner phone the agent didn’t know about—and on that phone she texted Feyre. Finding that link had taken Rhys the better part of three years. 

Tracking her to Portland took another year, though it shouldn’t have. That was the year the feds ramped up how hard they surveilled him, and every electronic he owned ended up being traced and tapped. Let them think he didn’t care about her. Let them never see Rhys search for her, hear him speak of her. 

It was Tamlin who fucked it all up. He’d let it slip to Vanserra, unaware Rhys was just as capable of tapping a phone. I was with Feyre this weekend. Hearing those words filled Rhys with a rage he still struggled to contain. Feyre was supposed to be with him—and instead, she was spending time with his greatest enemy. 

It was over now. As far as the FBI knew, Rhys was at home, pacing his study and raging about a deal gone wrong. And by the time anyone realized the truth of things, Feyre would be his wife in the ways that mattered to the federal government, and no longer able to lie under oath. Rhys pulled out his phone and sent one message to two contacts. 

Lock it down. 

And then he was off.

Rhys stepped onto a weed freckled lawn a little after nine in the morning. An overgrown bush had taken over the paved path up the sidewalk, but Rhys didn’t mind getting his shoes a little muddy. Among the row of townhouses, this one had a bright purple door and a half dead fern on the little porch.

Charming. 

He knocked, eyes obscured behind a pair of mirrored shades. Behind the door, Rhys heard the sound of thudding feet on stairs before the door opened and there she was. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a long braid draped over an exposed, freckled shoulder. She had a smudge of red paint on her cheek and a splatter of freckles along the bridge of her nose.

And those mischievous, dark blue eyes. 

“Sarah?” he asked, certain he’d blow his cover if he called her Feyre. Rhys flashed the badge at her, assuming she wasn’t going to take it from him and scrutinize. 

She rolled her eyes. “What can I do for you…?”

He wasn’t going to lie about his name. “Rhys,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “They should have told you about me.”

“Yeah, Tamlin did. Come inside, then, before the neighbors start wondering why there’s a cop on my doorstep.”

He did look like a cop, but that was the point. He wanted her to see him as professional before she saw him as himself. 

“Unfortunate name,” she called over her shoulder as Rhys stepped inside. Unfortunate—

“Oh,” he said with a weak laugh. “Yeah. My mom was Welsh, though, so I come by the name naturally. Belonged to my grandpa.” Why was he telling her this? Stop talking. 

“Oh yeah? Better than me—my mom found it in some fairytale she’d read as a child. Feyre,” she muttered as she led him into the main artery of her home. 

“It’s a beautiful name,” Rhys heard himself saying. She glanced up at him, brow furrowed and slowly—so, so slowly—Rhys slid his sunglasses over her eyes to rest atop his head. This was the moment. Would he hold her hostage, or would she accept this lie? 

There was no recognition on her face. She didn’t know. Rhys had always wondered how much her father told her—how much she’d known about him before the murder. And after, he could never be sure if someone had shown her pictures. They hadn’t. Feyre had only her imagination to go on.

Good. 

“Anyway, are you staying here?” 

Rhys blinked, his plans shifting once again. “Yes. Until the indictment,” he lied, because how would she know, anyway? Her eyes brightened.

“They charged him?”

Rhys smiled. “It’s almost over. Just three months and I’ll be flying you back home and you’ll be free of all this.”

Her smile seemed to split her face. “Oh my god. I can see my sisters again.”

Potentially—if Cassian and Azriel managed to keep them unaware and out of the way he supposed. Again, they could work this all out later. 

“Well,” Feyre said, taking a deep breath of air. “Let me show you to your room, then.”

Rhys smiled back. “Lead the way.”

[aflamboyanceofflamingos]

So I've been dealing with a really bad fever for the last few days, and apparently i had written something i have no recollection of writing so here it is:

~~~~~~~

Tim had dug himself into a hole.

To anyone that knew him, that fact wouldn't be too surprising. Tim had always been a very capable individual, but every now and then he became too in love with how capable he was and he would trip over his own ego. Usually the boy could get out of the messes he created, the sudden humbling giving him a clear head, but this time, he didn't think he could climb his way out on his own. 

The first shovel of dirt of this metaphorical hole came over 4 years ago, lining up with the first shovel of dirt of a literal hole. 

Jason Todd had died. Robin had died. 

Batman was in shambles. 

And 13 year old Tim Drake thought that because of the knowledge he had, it was his responsibility to fix him. 

Batman needed a Robin, and despite what Nightwing had implied, Tim was nowhere near cool enough to be Robin. 

So what would make Batman get his own sidekick? If his enemies had one! Batman would be forced to find someone else to deal with the sidekick while he dealt with the actual Rouge. 

The Joker was obviously out. Beyond the fact that the Joker was horrible, Tim may be joining up with a villain but that didn’t mean he wanted Batman to hate him. 

That meant he needed to find someone Batman didn’t enact a lot of violence on. That got rid of the Scarecrow and the various crime bosses (Black Mask, the Penguin, etc.). Bruce had been close to Harvey Dent, but a 50% chance of death was a percentage that was just a little too high for Tim (oh how that would change). Most of the lower tier Rouges (Kite Man, Mad Hatter, etc.) had gone under after the got wind of Batman's fury, not to mention that Tim really didn't want to spend his days smelling like ketchup. Poison Ivy and Killer Croc were cool, but their skills weren't exactly ones Tim could replicate. 

That left Mr. Freeze, Catwoman, Harley Quinn, and the Riddler. 

The Mr. Freeze was more gentle with kids, their “villiainly” being based on the actions of adults, and the latter three were in it for their own interests rather than the purpose of killing or invoking fear, Catowman wanted shiny things, Harley wanted chaos and fun, and while the Riddler didn't share the same soft spot for kids, he respected intelligence. 

Tim chose Catwoman; the least lethal, and the closest with Batman. The skills she could teach him would also be more helpful in other situations.

It took about a week from the day he knocked on Selina Kyle's door to convince her to train him, but soon enough, a couple days before his 14th birthday and a few more calls to 911 about petty thieves left in the wake of Batman’s grief then Tim would have liked, “Stray” entered the scene. 

And his plan was working! 

The first time Batman had seen the second pair of cat ears he had paused mid ass-kicking of a carjacker and followed the duo, leaving the guy with more teeth then the others.

Slowly but surely, as time went on, the punishments the Batman inflicted started to fit the crime. By the time Tim was 15, he even thought he had seen a small upturn at the corner of Bruce’s mouth as he witnessed a bit of friendly banter between the two cats!

This was when the young villain had started to become a tad bit overconfident. In his defense, he had managed to keep his identity hidden from even Oracle! Lifts in his shoes, a voice modulator, make-up to disguise his facial features, along with a set of the same goggles Catwoman had kept and physical information from being revealed, and Tim Drake never interacted with Selina Kyle so there was no reason that anyone should have suspected him.

That overconfidence is what led him to replicate his plan. If one Rouge sidekick had benefits, then two Rouge sidekicks would mean double the benefits!

Solving riddles wasn’t too hard for the young boy, being able to see double meaning and red herrings was a skill taught to him by Janet Drake, and he took to the escape-room-esque plans for his heists quite easily. The thing he couldn’t figure out was creating riddles of his own. Mother had taught him that knowledge was power, you only reveal it if there was something to be gained, so purposely revealing information about his intention, helping his opponent was not something Tim was accustomed to, not bound to the compulsion to always tell the truth.

If the boy truly wanted to replicate the Riddler, then he would have to learn from the man himself.

Convincing the enigmatic man to teach Tim was easier than it had been with Catowman, the impressive display of bypassing the puzzles that hid the location of the game-playing criminal certainly helping.

Now, 15 years old with an unexplained skill boost in his AP Lang class (the lessons on wordplay were a definite help), The Riddler’s protege, ‘The Puzzler’ became the newest addition to the Gotham Rogues. He resented that name by the way. It was supposed to be Sibyl or Sphinx, they were on theme because they spoke in riddles and though he would deny it, the use of greek figures were his own little way of mocking Oracle, who still couldn’t figure out his identity. But apparently Poison Ivy and the Riddler had brunch once a month (something about being the green Rouges?) and she had heard the Riddler refer to him as “the little puzzle piece” when he was talking about his apprentice and the puzzle theme stuck despite how uncreative the name was.

This is when things became a bit hectic. Not only did Tim have to hide his nightlife from Batman and his parents, now he had to keep his two mentors from realizing that their mentees were the same person. 

He managed to convince Selina that the reason he was so busy lately was the AP classes that came with sophomore year, and while it wasn’t a lie, it certainly wasn’t the full story.

Nygma was easier to deceive. Tim had refrained from sharing his actual identity with the man (just because he would tell the truth in his puzzles for the sake of theme didn’t mean that he would be sharing personal information if it wasn’t needed. The only reason he hadn't hid it from Selina was to gain her trust, something that wasn’t needed with the Riddler) so just saying that he was busy was enough.

All the effort was worth it though. Things kept getting better.

Nightwing was seen in Gotham more often, and Spoiler (someone who Tim initially thought was trying to steal his thing by being a sidekick of the Cluemaster, only to realize she was working against him) had been seen fighting alongside the Batman one or twice. 

On an unrelated note, Stephiane Brown suddenly had her tuition for Gotham Academy paid for in full by the newly created Jason Todd Foundation.

Since things were going so well, he decided to push his luck a little further.

Unfortunately for Tim, he would soon realize the reason he was known for his bad luck in the future.

It started off like other times. Tim convinced Harley Quinn to take him under her wing, and “Ace” made their debut along with Tim’s 5 in AP Psych (Thank you Dr. Quinzel).

Steph and Tim happened to share a few classes together, and went from study buddies (Tim helping her in Chem, and Steph helping him in American History) to close friends.

Spoiler officially joined the Bats, and there were rumors of another bat joining the clan as well. Well there were no actual rumors, but the newest Wayne kid, Cassandra, had started joining him and Steph at their lunch table so her becoming a new bat wouldn’t be too surprising.

Soon enough though, things went to shit.

To start off, the first time Spoiler met Ace, she threw a brick at his head.

Second, His parents had caught him sneaking out and had grounded him, meaning that he now had to wait until they did their last check on his room at 12:00 to sneak out. 

The lack of sleep was starting to catch up to the highschooler. Handling 3 separate nightlife identities was hard enough, but doing so while exhausted was even harder.

After pulling an all nighter to study for a test the night before, he had gone to Selina’s apartment dressed as Ace, and had both costumes not been mostly black he would have been undoubtedly caught before he managed to fix his mistake.

Puzzler once spent a whole night sounding like Stray, and he didn’t think that his “sore throat” lie was all that believable.

Tim accidentally made a cat pun instead of a bat one when engaging in vaguely flirty banter with Spoiler as Ace and Harley had set him down to have the talk, stating that she would love him no matter who he liked and she would be happy to serve as a wingman for him and Catwoman’s protege. It would be funny if it wasn’t so embarrassing.

Third, Cassandra Wayne definitely knew something.

Tim’s “rumors” were right. 2 weeks after Cass had first joined their table Black Bat made herself known. By pinning Puzzler to the ground.

The next day Cass spent the entire lunch period staring at Tim. When he attempted to throw her off by invoking a mix of Stray and Ace’s mannerisms she stopped staring, instead choosing to freak Tim out more by smiling knowingly. At his wide eyes she mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key only throwing Tim off further. Cass was too smart to not have known, but there was no reason she wouldn’t tell if she did know, right?

Last, but not least, and the worst of all:

Jason Todd was alive.

~~~~~~~

I have no clue where i was going with that last line, but i see a vision, so I'm hoping it will come back to me, but if not, any suggestions or constructive criticism (or a better puzzle themed name for tim) would be helpful

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 39 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Don't be mad at me, ok!

TW- talks of R*pe, SA, Violence, talks of assault, (please let me know if I missed any).

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, not hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, @b00ks1ut , @mstiemountainhop, @awaterfalls, @lovememadly92 @lucyfromtheoldhouse @blueberry-ovaries, @next-autopsy anyone else please let me know.

It felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. My body shook with each second that ticked by in silence. The room had frozen, I looked from face to face, each with its own horrified grimace or rage filled stare. I glanced over my shoulder, Bull and Martin still held me steady but their faces had paled in colour, Bull appeared as if he was going to be sick as Martin’s had turned from grey to crimson.  

No one uttered a word, the decision of what we were going to do hung on the Captain's shoulders. Speirs still hovered over the man, his glare set firm. He looked like a man ready to kill, and I was ready to see it happen. 

Speirs cocked his gun, the only sound that filled the room. I stilled. Waiting with anticipation, yes kill him! 

Speirs raised the gun to the man’s head, finger on the trigger. The men stepped back, turning away from the scene. But I watched never taking my gaze off the replacement, I wanted to watch the light leave his eyes. If Emily was really dead like he said, I needed to watch him die just like he had her. 

The thought alone almost broke me, he was the last face she saw. So many questions flooded my brain, did he drag it out? Did he make her suffer? What was she thinking of when she had died? The questions alone filled me with so much fury I clenched my teeth together so hard they felt as if they were going to crack. 

How was I going to survive if Emily wasn’t here? Speirs’ actions hushed my racing mind.  

Speirs stood still, raising the gun at the man, a slight tremor to his hand. I could see him fighting with his morals. But this was Speirs, the ruthless killer. Or were those just tales. The Speirs we had heard about wouldn’t have hesitated, he would’ve pulled the trigger without a blink of an eye. But I watched the Captain, as he stared down the man. The man that had killed multiple other people, had shot Grant, had raped my Emily and murdered her in cold blood. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shoot the man who had done the most awful things to innocent people. So maybe they were just tales then.   

He pulled the gun back, the soldiers in the room letting out the breath they were holding. Speirs glanced down at his hand covered in the replacement's blood, he wiped it on the man’s shirt. Looking disgusted. He took off his hat, straightening himself. 

I couldn’t hold back anymore, I ripped free from my fellow soldier’s grip. Striding forward I took a hold of the Captain’s collar, I was foaming at the mouth with rage. 

“What are you doing?! Shoot him! Kill him!” Ron’s face remained neutral as if I wasn’t screaming in his face. 

“Malarkey, two wrongs don’t make a right.” Speirs slipped free from my grasp. 

“He killed people! He deserves to die! I thought you cared about Grant and Em?” I threw insult to injury, I wanted a reaction from him, he was too calm. 

Ron’s head whipped around as he stalked back to me. 

“I do care.” His finger prodded at my chest. “He’s a drunk piece of shit that should be held accountable for his crimes, killing him would be putting him out of his misery. I care for my soldiers, Emily included, and that is why I will not kill that man.” Ron’s voice echoed around the room. 

“But they're dead, he took them from us, so now we get to take what is owed.” I challenged him.  

“Have the MP’s take care of this piece of shit.” He ordered the other men standing around us, not giving me an answer. 

“Grant’s not dead Malarkey. His shot wasn’t fatal. I didn’t kill him, because I have every hope that Emily is still alive.” Ron didn’t let me utter another word, he turned on his heel marching from the room. 

“Grant’s alive?” Tab asked the Captain as he left. 

“Kraut surgeon says he’s gonna make it.” The Captain reported. 

“We have to go find her.” I tried to dart from the room but hands held me still. “We’re running out of time! Let me go!” But the man's hand never let me free. 

“LET GO OF ME!” I yelled, but Bull shook his head. 

“No, Don, we need to make a plan. You can’t go running off trying to find her by yourself.” Johnny said as the rest of the men nodded. 

“We don’t have time!” I argued. “She’s hurt, she’s alone.” 

“We know, but Don if we don’t think about this we are increasing her chances of not making it back.” 

“Don, we will find her, she’s tough!” Babe said from over Johnny’s shoulder. The rest of the men agreed. 

They started making plans of teams of people and where they would search for her. I sat staring at the door. Everyone’e voices fading into the background, why didn’t the two men who witnessed it say anything about her being with them. Why didn’t I check on her before we left? I should’ve had her with me in the first place. I was frustrated, and angry. 

How hurt was she? Was she still alive? What if she isn’t alive?

I felt like I was being suffocated. My breathing was shallow and fast. I was panicking. I couldn’t hear anything over my own pounding heart. 

“Ok so Lieb, Babe and Malark are going to go to the road.” I heard Johnny say, I didn’t even wait for him to finish, I was up and out of the room. I heard footsteps behind me as Lieb and Babe fell into step with me.

Emily POV:

“Captain Speirs! Captain Speirs!” I called running up to the man who had left the main building. 

It had taken me quite some time to walk back to the base after the replacement had driven away. I didn’t make it my mission to get back as fast as I could though. I used the silence of walking to process. 

I couldn’t really, it was too hard. It hurt too much. So I grounded myself as I walked, what could I see, hear, touch and smell. Every time I fell back into the event I would ground myself. For now it was something I would push to the back of my mind. The man looked shocked to see me, shit.

“Emily?” The man stopped in his tracks as I approached him. 

“Sir, is Grant alright?” I asked puffing from my run. 

“He’s alive.” He stated, his eyes scanning over me.

“Good! I’m glad! Th-the man?” I asked hesitantly. 

“MPs are sorting him.” I nodded, sighing. 

“Emily, he admitted he hurt you too.” He uttered softly. I nodded again, unsure of what to say. My left hand was clamped over my right shoulder, but I knew that wasn’t the injury he meant. 

“Right.” I hadn’t really thought of what I was going to say, I didn’t really think I was going to make it back. The last thing in my brain had been how I was going to deal with the consequences of his actions. I truly believed that this was my last night here on this earth.  

But here I was standing back at the base, in somewhat of one piece. 

“The replacement hurt me, yes.” I uttered. Ron looked weary, his eyes sunken into his face as lines of worry formed on his brow. 

“I’m ok though, I think.” I couldn’t see the one man who had been so steadfast in all my times of need, looking so distraught.    

Concern marred his face as I lied through my teeth. I wasn’t ok, but I was still breathing, that had to count for something. 

“Em, you don’t have to be brave.” Ron stepped forward, his hand coming to cup my cheek. I stared at the ground unable to look him in the eyes. I knew if I would I wouldn’t be able to hold it together. 

I took a deep breath trying to steady the swell of emotions that tightened my chest.

“I know.” I uttered, my voice not sounding as solid as I needed it to be. 

“Where are you injured?” Ron’s had still held my face, his fingers gingerly titling my chin up so that my gaze met his. 

“Shoulder, throat, cheek, I think that’s everything.” I stated my injuries like they were items on a grocery list. 

“He shot me in the shoulder, strangled me, and hit me over the head with his gun.” As well as violated my body and soul, but I didn’t add that to the conversation. I wanted to keep some semblance of dignity. 

“You need to be treated.” Ron replied in a monotone voice. 

I studied his features, his cold mask had slipped back and was set firmly into place, looking down at me as if I had only scraped my knee. But a flicker in his eyes told me all I needed to know, he was holding it together for me, but only by a thread. 

His stare looked ready to kill, the slight clench in his fist at his side before he flexed his fingers trying to shake loose the rage that rippled through his body. With each breath he took his nostrils flared, like an angry bull. Ron wanted to hurt someone, but he didn’t, for me.  

“The men are planning to look for you, I’ll tell them you’re back.” He turned quickly, going to head back into the main building. 

“Ron.” I called after him. 

At his name he froze, his back still facing away from me. 

“Let me tell them.” My voice was weak, I felt small again, I had been through war literally but in this moment I had never felt more vulnerable. 

Ron turned his eyes scanning me up and down taking in my demeanour. I stood straighter trying to show I was fine, but my face seemed to give me away. 

“I can tell them.” I tried again, putting some strength behind the words. 

Speirs hesitated before nodding. He marched off to where he was going in the first place before I interrupted.    

I took a deep breath before heading to the building I had been only hours before, happy and unaware of my horrific future. Funny how things could change so quickly.  

I made my way into the building, the foyer was empty, but I could hear voices murmuring. Following the sound of the voice I find the men huddled in the main lounge, before I can announce myself I am hit by a solid wall. 

My eyes travel up the figure I barged straight into, trying my best to hide the wince of pain that shoots through my shoulder from the impact. 

Wide-eyed and shocked Don stares down at me, looking at me like he’s seen a ghost. Babe and Lieb peer out from behind the man curious as to why he had stopped so abruptly. Their faces also pale at the sight of me. 

A tight smile finds its way onto my lips, trying to pretend that I am fine for the sake of the men who all look as if they are going to hurl. 

“Em.” Don says softly, moving forward slowly. 

“Hi.” My voice sounds hoarse, I swallow the sharp pain in my throat. 

“EM!” Web calls from behind Don, as he sees me, he surges forward with open arms. 

The sudden movement sent panic rising in my chest, I knew it was only Web but the alarm bells had already been raised. 

I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I gasped for air. My brain was only shouting one thing, survive! Survive! Survive!

I stumbled back, raising my hands to fend away his attack. 

“No!” I yelled hysterically. I pitched backwards, my back harshly colliding with the table behind me. The table tipped as the contents that were scattered over it clattered to the floor.  

My breathing was ragged, outstretched hands shook violently, the only sound I could hear was the erratic pounding of my heart. 

Web stopped in his tracks, watching me with concern on his face. As did the rest of the men, they looked at me like a wounded deer. 

I gagged, my stomach churning as it did so. I clutched my hand over my mouth and sprinted back out the front door. I desperately searched for somewhere to hide, I scrambled over to the hedges that framed the front of the property. Keeling over I emptied the contents of my stomach into the bushes. My hands clung to my pants as I reached, dry heaving until there was nothing left. 

A soft hand landed in the middle of my back causing me to turn around in fright. Don held his hands up showing me he was no harm. 

“Sorry, you startled me.” I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. He stepped forward again but I raised my arm out keeping him at a distance. 

“Just let my panic attack finish and then you can touch me.” I begged, I hated that I had to push him away but I feared if anyone was to touch me at that moment it would trigger another episode. 

I knelt to the ground gracelessly, my jelly-like limbs not leaving much support. My shook with such vigour it chattered my teeth, my breaths were shallow and fast, as the waves of nausea made my head spin. 

Panic attacks weren’t uncommon for me, but I hadn’t had one this bad since my mum died. After she passed I had at least one a day for years. With some anti-anxiety meds and some therapy they finally died down. 

I practised my grounding techniques, focusing on slowing my breathing and distracting myself with my surroundings.    

“What can I do?” Don asked cautiously as he sat at my side. 

“Talk to me, tell me a story.” I said in between my breaths. 

“I will tell you about this girl I met-”

I peeked out of the corner of my eye and a confused look pinched my brow. Don chuckled. 

“Just listen before you get upset.” Don looked over at me, his charming smile shining through the darkness that clouded my mind, a simple gesture eased the pain slightly in my chest. I nodded confirming for him to go on. 

“I met this girl on a tank. She sat up front looking nervous and a bit shell shocked, and for some reason I just wanted to make her feel better. So I asked her where she was from, just to distract her, but I also wanted to see her face clearly in the daylight.” 

New tears welled in my eyes, but it wasn’t from the horrific events prior. He was telling me about the day we met. Right from the start he had only wanted to care for me, he didn’t even know me. 

“We talked for a bit before all hell broke loose, I was kind of in a daze after I had spoken to her. The way she smiled and laughed at my jokes, that’s all I wanted to make her do, smile.” 

I was so focused on his soft voice I forgot completely about the panic that had been strangling me from the inside. I felt my muscles relax and my heartbeat steady. 

“Then we were tossed into battle, she had been ordered to hang back and pick up the strays, but then all of a sudden she was in front of me tending to my best friend. She wasn’t the nervous girl I had met on the tank, she was a force to be reckoned with.” 

“Don.” I whispered. 

“Yeah?” He paused his story, turning to look at me. 

“Thank you.” Reaching out I took his hand that rested on the gravel we sat on. We sat silently, our hands intertwined looking up at the stars in the sky, his fingers brushing over the back of my hand in a soothing manner. 

“Em.” He breathed, I glanced over to him, his brown eyes glazed over as tears brimmed. 

I shifted forward, kneeling beside him as I took him into my embrace. His arms wrapped around my back as he held me tightly, burying his face into the crook of my neck. Don’s body shuddered as he wept, my fingers tangled into his hair as I pressed kisses to the side of his head. 

“I’m ok, Don. I’m ok.” I soothed him. 

“I could’ve lost you.” He pulled back, his wet tears stained his soft checks. Don’s eyes held so much sadness it broke my heart. 

“What would I do without you?” The comment made me think of my decision that loomed over my head. Was I staying or was I going if the time came. 

“I’m here, I’m safe. You have me.” I squeezed him tighter as he sniffed, his hand stroking down my back.   

“I’ll let the guys know you’re safe and then let’s get you to Doc.” He pulled away, letting me dry his tears with my fingers. I bent down pressing the softest kiss to his lips. 

Don’s POV:

I stopped in my tracks, trying not to run into the person who appeared in front of me. My heart almost burst from relief as I took in her face. She wore a blank expression, her cheek cut open and bruised, blood had stained the side of her face, but there were tear streaks that ran through the crimson. 

She gave me her tight lipped I’m-ok smile, which almost always meant she was not ok. I could tell she wasn’t ok just from her eyes. They looked haunted and lifeless. Em’s eyes usually sparkled with joy and light, now that light had been put out, and it killed me. 

“Em.” Her name fell from my lips with ease. I stepped forward slowly, like she was a scared kitten so skittish one false move would send her under the table. 

“Hi.” Her voice was hoarse. Her eyes searched mine, even from here I could see the horror of what they had endured. Web startled all of us, when he yelled her name, running towards her. 

The look of pure panic etched into her features. That moronic idiot didn't even notice until it was too late. She clung to the table, her body shaking as she gagged. Em’s face paled, her pupils  were so big you would think her eyes were black. 

The “no” that wretched itself free from her lips was haunting on its own. But paired with the way she had shaken her head so furiously trying to get her point across, crushed my heart right there in my chest. 

She didn’t feel safe. 

Web stopped, finally taking in her demeanour. But it was too late, she was already out the door quicker than anyone could yell for her to stop. 

Eyes fell on me, but I was already marching out the door, sending a glare over my shoulder in Web’s direction. 

I came outside to find her kneeling on the ground, her body heaved as she vomited. 

Em asked me to distract her, the only thing that came into my head is the first day we properly met. She had sat right on the front of the tank, nervously taking away to Bull, who had been distracted. I watched her realise that he wasn’t listening and let her conversation die on her tongue. 

She nervously shook her leg, even from behind I could see her shoulders were tense as she tried to find anything to distract her. So I had, it was more for selfish reasons really. I wanted to be the one she nervously rambled too, not Bull. 

The whole tank ride we had spoken to each other, she talked so animatedly, her bright blue eyes shining in the warm sun and her rosy cheeks that flushed when I told her jokes. Em was the most beautiful person I had ever seen, inside and out. I think I had fallen in love with her then. 

But then I got closer to her, she made friends with my friends and I found she was the only thing that I could think of, day and night, it was only ever her.  

But I hadn’t told her all of that. I couldn't form the words. 

I sat beside her until she had declared it was over. Pain still haunted her eyes. I was losing her again. I had just gotten her back. I couldn’t lose her. I needed her. I don’t think she even knew the impact she had on me. 

I remembered one night when she woke screaming from her nightmares, she said she had felt selfish. I dismissed her idea immediately. Never had she ever been selfish, she gave everything to me, she leaned on me when she needed and I did the same with her. 

I’m sure she didn’t even notice when she was doing it. Her small jokes, the way she touched me gently, her look of concern and care, the way her eyes found mine in every room she walked into. We looked after each other from the very start.

Em was a light in the darkness. But even sunshine could be covered by clouds. 

I told her I would inform the men she was safe and then take her to get treated for her injuries. I’m sure they had questions, we all did. But she would tell us with time. We wouldn’t push her.

**************************************

Chapter 40

[the-guilty-writer]

Death by a Thousand Cuts

Request from anon: Spencer x daughter!reader (like 19/20) after the JJ confession she like storms into the BAU to confront her and basically is really mad that she told him that whilst married

“He told me, about the date. I was too young but I just remember him crying.”

“You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to choose when he matters to you and when he doesn’t. You don’t get to tell him something like that knowing you have a family and he only has me. It was a shitty thing to do. You’re so f****** selfish”

Sorry I went off I just hate that scene it was so pointless hahha

But I need some protective daughter!!!!

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: After you hear about JJ's feelings towards your dad, you tell her the truth about how you feel about her too... and it's not friendly.

A/N: This is basically just the reader yelling… I’ll let you guys imagine how the conversation afterwards might go (this will not have a part 2). I changed the dialogue a bit to have it make more sense but kept it the same for the most part. This is also unintentionally Taylor Swift inspired. The lyric just fit so I put it in.

CW: Spoilers for S15, swearing, reader is kinda really mean to JJ (it's understandable thought)

---

Trying to find a part of me you didn't take up Gave you too much but it wasn't enough But I'll be all right, it's just a thousand cuts -Taylor Swift, Death by a Thousand Cuts

---

It was a conversation that you were sure you weren’t supposed to hear… honestly, it was a conversation that your Aunt Penny wasn’t supposed to hear either. You were on your weekly phone call with her when she told you about it… what JJ had said to your dad. Well, she didn’t exactly tell you as much as you could tell something was off and then you pressed until she spilled.

At first you had kept your composure- simply saying goodbye to Penny. You’d driven peacefully from your college campus to the BAU. You were pleasant while going through the security check. It wasn’t until the elevator indicated you’d reached the sixth floor of the building that your vision went red, anger burning inside you like a fire that was burning at the edge of its confinement, blood boiling in your ears.

You stepped out of the elevator and went straight through the glass doors, not even bothering to say hello to Agent Anderson as you passed him in the hall. The team was in the bullpen, all at their prospective desks, calmly working on files when you marched your storm of anger right through the office.

“You bitch!” Your voice was filled with fury as you seemingly hurdled yourself towards JJ’s desk. “You selfish little-”

Luke grabbed you hard before you could swing your fists in the direction of the blonde woman you once would have trusted with your life. You strained against the man holding you. The sounds of voices filled the bullpen and agents were getting out of their seats but no one bothered to reach for a side arm. You weren’t a real threat.

But you didn’t need a gun to kill someone.

“(Y/N)-” Your dad’s voice stuck out to you. “What happened?”

You looked at your dad for only a split second before turning your head to meet JJ’s gaze. Both of you knew what happened. You stopped your struggle against Alvez and he loosened his grip, letting you go, but your eyes never left JJ’s.

“If there’s something you need to talk about, you can do it in my office,” Emily offered, but in your feeling of anger you didn’t want help from the woman who faked her death, leaving you and your dad to mourn her only to find out she was alive seven months later.

“How could you?” The fury was beginning to taste bitter with sadness. “How could you do this to my dad? How could you do this to Will and Henry and Micheal-”

JJ cut you off. She was calmer than you, but just as loud. “You don’t get to bring my family into this-”

“Yes I do!” you screamed. “Because I actually give a shit about people! Because for ten years Will took care of me while you guys were out on cases and Henry brought me to show and tell as his older sister when he was in kindergarten and my name was one of Micheal’s first words! So yes- I do get to bring your family into this because I care about them. I care that someone loves them because that’s what they deserve! They don’t deserve to have a wife and a mother who tells another man that she’s always loved him- especially when that man is their godfather! You don’t get to say things like that when you had the chance to do it fifteen years ago!”

JJ’s eyes were filled with tears. Her voice was meek as she spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really?” Your laugh was humorless and dry. “Because I do. I was only four at the time, but he told me about the date. I was too young to understand what was truly going on but I just remember him crying. You had your chance, JJ. You had a choice and you decided against my dad. He’s always cared about you. You could have at least told him that he mattered.”

“Your dad matters to me-”

“No!” you cut her off this time. “You don’t get to do that- you don’t get to choose when he matters to you and when he doesn’t. You don’t get to tell him something like that knowing you have a family and he has me. It was a shitty thing to do. You’re so fucking selfish. You hurt everyone who cares about you and you don’t even see it because you’re too busy making sure everything goes the way you want it to. Fifteen years ago you made a choice and you sure as hell don't get to go back on it and damage everyone around you, especially not my dad.”

The bullpen was silent, the venom in your words lingering in the air. Having said what you needed to, you turned away and walked back towards the glass doors. Before you pushed against them, you stopped and turned to glance back.

The entire team was staring at you, utterly bewildered by the events that had just transpired. The only one who wasn’t looking at you was JJ- her eyes averted from the person who had called her out on all her bullshit, every mistake she had made, every insecurity she had now out and open for everyone to see.

And some malicious part of you was happy she was in pain.

“You know,” your voice was calm now, “my mother was a bitch, but at least she was kind enough to break my dad’s heart and leave. But you, JJ? There isn't a single part of our family- our lives- that you didn't touch. You've taken everything and it's stil not enough for you, so the rest of us have to suffer death by a thousand cuts.”

Without another word you pushed open the doors and left.

[chaotic-orphan]

Noble Consequences

“You see now?” Villain yelled across the street, a building levelled behind them. Smoke and dust partially obscuring them from moment to fleeting moment. They were panting, twin trails of blood making lines down one side of their face. They stepped forward, or more, limped forward, their usually pristine coat in tatters.

Superhero watched them move, only very distantly aware of the sirens in the distance and the chaos on the street. Unlike Villain they were frozen in place, looking at the place behind Villain, at the rubble, at— at Hero’s apartment block. Their mind couldn’t comprehend that fact. It wouldn’t let them, certain that their brain would crumble as quickly as the bricks and foundation of the apartment block did. Destroyed right in front of their eyes.

“You can’t save them,” Villain screamed, still hobbling over to Superhero’s statue-like form. “They don’t care about you, or me, or anybody or anything!”

Superhero’s mouth opened, as if to reply, but any words escaped them. Surely… surely Hero wasn’t home at the time, surely… they were alright. Somewhere else. Far from here, having coffee or dinner or something. Something normal, living people did.

Villain was in front of Superhero, grabbing their shirt in both hands and shaking them. “Supervillain is a monster,” Villain howled, voice broken and filled with heartache and fury and pain. Superhero’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, struggling to work properly. “Look at what your kindness did! Look at where your second chances got us! Hero is dead because of you.”

“No,” Superhero mumbled, the words clogging their throat as they shook their head. “No… no, no, no, no. Hero is… Hero’s not—”

“We have to kill them, Superhero.”

Superhero tore their gaze from the rubble to Villain in front of them. “W—what?”

“We have to kill Supervillain, or they won’t stop.”

Superhero bristled, putting a hand over Villain’s and pulling them off, stepping back and their legs buckled and hit the floor. “No… no, no. No, no,” Superhero repeated, like a fucking tape stuck on loop.

Villain dropped to their knees with Superhero, supporting them as they fell. Thick wet tears rolled quickly down Superhero’s face as the first firetruck pulled up onto the scene.

Villain grabbed Superhero’s face, tilting it to face Villain again. “We have to kill them, Superhero. Promise me.”

Superhero didn’t respond.

Villain shook their head again and screamed in a guttural, heartbroken voice: “promise me you won’t stand in my way. For Hero… they…”

A sob ripped from Villain’s throat cut them off and once they started, Villain couldn’t get them to stop. Their grip on Superhero loosened as they fell forwards, loud, pained cries of agony wracking their body as they wept.

Superhero wrapped their arms around Villain and let them cry on their shoulder, holding them tightly, like Hero would’ve if they—

Superhero blinked, and sniffed and said: “okay, Villain. We do it your way.”

[musclesandhammering]

Unpopular Phase 4 & 5 Opinions

Quantumania is the worst Phase 4/5 movie. And it wasn’t even because “kang got beat by ants.” (I liked kang in this movie). It’s just that the Spy Kids aesthetic & bad acting & overall weird vibes just weren’t for me.

Love and Thunder is no worse than Ragnarok. I would argue that it’s better in a lot of ways, actually. I really liked it.

Taika Waititi ruined thor with bad humour all the way back in Ragnarok tbh, but y’all weren’t complaining about it then 😒.

BuckySarah is better than sambucky every day of the week.

The Marvels was a good ass movie & they’re one of my favorite teams in the mcu. I’ll never forgive cbm sites & online dudebros for killing the hype from the moment the film was announced.

I adore America Chavez & Kamala Kahn and I want to see them in everything. They must be protected at all costs.

Multiverse of Madness had shitty characterisation & basically just copy-pasted the ‘grief made me go off the deep end & hurt people, then I realised and stopped myself’ storyline from Wandavision… but Wanda was extremely selfish & apathetic to other people’s suffering from the time she was introduced in the mcu. MoM didn’t make her like that.

Wanda should’ve been looking for Vision (her actual real life boyfriend whom she spent years with irl) in MoM instead of the kids that weren’t even real that she spent like a week using as characters in her sitcom.

Making everyone forget Peter Parker wasn’t profound or poetic in any way- it was just frustrating and needlessly cruel.

I’m begging marvel to understand that heroes don’t have to be in constant suffering to be heroic & villains don’t have to sacrifice themselves to achieve redemption. Let characters heal and atone, you absolute weirdos.

What If…? is the most boring show ever. I’d rather watch Secret Invasion or She-Hulk.

Season 2 of Loki is, in a cinematic & artistic sense, the best marvel project period.

Loki season 1 was meh- more of a fun au than anything because his characterisation kinda sucked. Season 2 fixed it, though, and made it way easier for me to incorporate this version of Loki back into the larger mcu.

Having Steve stay in the past with Peggy was stupid af.

I don’t hate Peggy (or Captain Carter), though. I actually think she’s pretty cool.

I don’t really love Steve. He’s arrogant & they never really let him have flaws & something about him being a perfect metaphor for the American military industrial complex (and marvel painting that as a good thing) doesn’t sit right with me.

The Illuminati got done dirty and the only reason they went down so fast was because Wanda had all that plot armor.

I thought the retcon of having Wanda be “destined” to become the Scarlet Witch since birth was an annoying cop-out. Her powers originating from being experimented on with an infinity stone was way more interesting.

Loki & Wanda have almost the exact same powers.

Nebula deserved a bigger rule in killing Thanos & everything else moving forward.

I love Kathryn Newton but her acting as Cassie Lang was the worst acting I’ve ever seen in the mcu, like it was outrageously bad.

I’m glad Sam is the new Captain America and not Bucky.

The fact that Bucky probably isn’t gonna be one of Thee lead characters in the upcoming avengers movies feels sick and twisted.

Secret Invasion was actually passable until the G’iah scene at the end. That ruined it. And Nick Fury deserved way better for his solo series.

Kang is so much more interesting than Doctor Doom. I really hope they just recast him.

Carol Danvers does NOT deserve the hate she gets.

I actually disliked Carol until The Marvels. That movie made me a stan.

The way people treat Monica as Wanda’s little inferior pet creation or smth & then brag about it is uhh very sus.

I don’t like sylvie (bc she’s an amalgamation of 3 different comic characters- which killed any hopes of them appearing individually in the mcu, the creators used her existence to butcher Loki’s genderfluid rep, & she was written poorly) & I HATE sylki (bc it’s weird & unnecessary).

Marvel isn’t dead. I actually love where they’re taking things. But that’s just me.

[cooliogirl101]

sayuri and tiny feral shen jiu!!! i am so interested in what their dynamics would be like

“What are you waiting for? Get rid of the girl already,” Wu Yanzi demanded impatiently.

Shen Jiu stiffened.

“There’s no need. She won’t tell anyone,” he answered, keeping his voice carefully even. “Shizun, the authorities will be here any moment. We should leave.”

“All the more reason to kill her quickly, then,” Wu Yanzi sneered. “She’s a witness and if you’re too stupid to see what a liability she is—”

The remainder of Wu Yanzi’s words would forever have to remain a mystery, however, because the next moment he was staggering back, both hands clutching the knife lodged in his throat, voice trailing off into a wet gurgle. Shen Jiu gaped, then whirled around to see Qiu Haitang standing up, apparently not unconscious after all, casually brushing the dirt off her clothes.

“Haitang,” Shen Jiu managed. His tongue felt slow and heavy inside his mouth.

“A-Jiu,” she returned. If she was at all bothered by the fact that she’d just killed someone (and he still couldn’t wrap his head around sweet, innocent, bright-eyed Tangtang taking a life), she didn’t show it. “I suppose I owe you a great deal for uncovering this scoundrel’s scheme and arriving in the nick of time to save my life. It’s unfortunate that the rest of the household didn’t make it but at least their souls can rest easy knowing their killer was caught and killed in the middle of executing his plan.”

She said all this very blandly, with about the same level of emotion as someone reading last month’s budgetary reports out loud. Shen Jiu vaguely wondered if he’d hit his head on his way out of the burning building.

“Haitang, I promise you, I wasn’t— this isn’t— I can explain. Your family—” He stuttered, stumbling over his words in his rush to get them out.

The look of absolute hatred that crossed Qiu Haitang’s face at that moment made the words dry up in Shen Jiu’s throat.

“They’re not my family,” she hissed, icy fury saturating every syllable. “My family would never have done the things they did.”

Shen Jiu swallowed.

“You knew.” All this time, he’d thought—

“A recent development,” she admitted, the coldness in her eyes receding and reverting to its prior emptiness.

“I never wanted you to be involved,” he stated, the closest thing to an apology he could bring himself to say. “I should go.”

“Don’t be a fool, A-Jiu,” Haitang huffed. “There are few ways to make yourself look more guilty than by fleeing from the scene of a crime.”

“But the authorities—”

“Haven’t we already established that you were the one to uncover that murderer’s plan and arrive just in time to save my life?” she said blandly. “You’re a hero, Xiao Jiu.”

“You can’t possibly believe that’ll work,” Shen Jiu said incredulously. There was no way it could be that easy. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“Lucky for us, the only other witness is in no state to provide a credible statement at this time,” Qiu Haitang said, aiming a rather vicious kick at Wu Yanzi’s corpse.

Shen Jiu looked at her for a long moment. All this time, he’d thought that she’d been the one person ignorant to his situation, blinded by her own naïveté and love towards her father and brother.

He didn’t know her at all, he realized with a faint note of wonderment.

“Why?” He asked, desperate to understand. Why give him an alibi? Why help him cover up the murders of her own family? Why help him?

She was quiet for a long moment.

“Because if I don’t have you, I don’t have anyone,” she said finally. “Isn’t that enough?”

Shen Jiu thought about Yue Qi and broken promises, about staying behind on a sinking ship long after he should have swam for safety, all for the tiny glimmer of a hope that he still had someone in this world who cared about him. Who would come back for him.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he answered.

[songofthesibyl]

The last interview excerpt I want to post is where I finally found the domestic abuse victim resource info posted. It’s in a special edition of ACOFAS, at the end of the interview—so, it is not in other versions of the novella. I don’t necessarily want my views or interpretations fed to me. But I wanted to get more insight on where the author was coming from apart from pithy sound bites, and got this relatively nuanced take on Tamlin. To keep in mind, however, the books are not about him, nor is she making excuses for him (considering the info at the end and all):

“But with Tamlin, I knew I needed to make their romance believable in the first book. She had to fall in love with him, and fall in love with him while not quite seeing the red flags. After all, it was the first time in her life that she’s ever been in love and felt like someone was taking care of her. Feyre had always needed to take care of everyone—her sisters, her father—and to suddenly be in a place of luxury, where now she isn’t the caretaker but is instead being cared for…that’s a situation, at least for me, where I think it’s easy to imagine how someone would fall in love with Tamlin. After all, he was the first person to ever prioritize her.

But I also knew that whatever happened Under the Mountain to Feyre and to Tamlin would really break her—and break them. Prythian’s not our modern world. They don’t have therapy. They have magic, but they don’t possess some of the resources that we do in our modern world, or even the vocabulary to be able to talk about trauma and PTSD the way we can.”

On the importance of tackling mental illness, depression, and PTSD in her characters:

“I never wanted Feyre and Rhys, or even Tamlin, to have all their suffering swept under the carpet. To be magically happy again, because that’s not how it works. Maybe some people can just keep going, but for a lot of people, myself included, sometimes those traumas linger and need to be faced and healed.

In Mist and Fury, Tamlin doesn’t do that and it destroys him.”

She goes on to say it almost destroyed Feyre too, and went on to describe Feyre and Rhys’ healing journeys.

I think Tamlin is meant to be a foil in many ways—not all of which succeed for me—but if that healing is the central theme of ACOMAF, and the original trilogy in general as she says, then Tamlin is also a foil in this very important way. He doesn’t have a healing journey because he does not face these things—she said he is destroyed. It shows what can happen when one doesn’t face things, and that to me is the central conflict of his character—that avoidance, that depressive, fatalistic aspect of his thinking. He disassociates after killing the Bogge, in a scene very similar to one in Jean Cocteau’s La Belle et La Bête; he is ashamed after killing the Naga, and I think having to perform the Great Rite as well. Instead of dealing with it he avoids and runs away and bottles it up. His first real love might have been Feyre, just as the author says Tamlin was Feyre’s, and he was desperate to hold onto it—but he ultimately wasn’t in a place to have that be a healthy relationship.

The scene mentioned above from Jean Cocteau’s La Belle et La Bête in which Belle observes Beast walking down the hallway in a kind of trance.

These kinds of characters have always fascinated me—not necessarily at the expense of the protagonists, but in addition to them. I don’t think they are necessarily misunderstood good people—often they aren’t really good people at all—but that spark of good, the high ideals that they fail at, becoming “the very thing they swore to destroy”—all of these things are very interesting to me. Most often these characters are dismissed as whiny and boring and bad. But even as failures, as antagonists and sometimes even villains, I like to know what motivates them, how they fail, the consequences and regret—and yes, the hope they might get better. But these are often tragic characters, as Tamlin most likely will be. That doesn’t make him any less interesting or compelling to me.

[good-beanswrites]

Another Truman show thing: the scene where Truman gets kinda physically violent, maybe with mu, she would break character maybe at one point (T3)

This was such an interesting concept, thank you!! OUGH I didn't realize my silly fix-it was capable of such angst until I started writing 😭😭😭 There's no graphic violence/gore, but still warning for Es pushing Muu around.

Muu’s tears for Haruka may not have been real, but these ones were definitely genuine. If anything, she’d been jealous that Haruka got to spend the majority of this trial in the plushy facility rooms with good meals, while the others were still in these cold cells. However, face-to-face with Es, who was grieving someone she cared just as deeply about, she found her sobs came easily.

“You could have stopped him.” Everything about Es was shaking – their voice, their hands, and as she would soon realize, their composure. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“I d-didn’t know…” She covered her mouth, shaking her head frantically. “I didn’t -hic- think he would…”

“But you did!” Es’s arm flung out, knocking over their chair. The clatter rattled in Muu’s ears. “You knew, because we all knew!”

Muu leapt up, in part due to the clatter startling her, and in part to speak her piece. “Then why didn’t you stop it? If you -hic- if you had just –”

“If I had just what? Forgiven you?” They roared.

“O-o-or him!” 

“You’re trying to pin the blame on me? How dare you!”

Es shoved her backwards. She gasped as she hit the concrete wall.

“But why -hic- why is it my fault? You let it happen, and he did, and Shidou, and everyone!” 

“You really can’t take an ounce of responsibility, can you?” 

Muu tried to flee, but as emphasis on their last words, Es pushed her again. She went flailing and grabbed onto Es’s uniform. The pair went tumbling to the ground, Es still trying to jerk her around. Muu winced at the pain as she slammed into the cold stone.

“Why are you doing this to me? -hic- It wasn’t me, I swear!”

“It was all you!”

Es was on top of her, their voice shrill and their eyes wild. She had always thought it was an exaggeration when Jackalope gave them notes to make their eyes look so intense and frenzied in their videos. 

All of the sudden, she realized that people really do have that look when they’re ready to kill you.

“You monster!” 

Muu’s vision sparked as Es’s palm struck her cheek. She’d never been slapped before. The sting seemed to seep all the way under her skin. 

“People like you are –!” 

Their words were cut short as Muu delivered a slap of her own. She hadn’t meant to. She’d been so focused on keeping her mouth shut, and not blurting out the best defense (“he’s not dead!”), she hadn’t even considered her self preservation instincts would kick in. Her whole body itched to throw Es off, to hurt them before they could hurt her. In all honesty, it was a miracle she’d only tried a slap.

The pair stared at each other with wide eyes. The shock had snapped Es out of their fury.

“But you… how…”

The prison bell rang, far earlier than it should have.

Muu shook her head. “I… don’t know…” 

As the room changed shape around them – revealing intricate parts of machine that did absolutely nothing – she lay there crying. Crying about what Es had said. Crying from fear of them. Crying that she may have ruined the whole experiment. Crying because in every way, she had failed the people she wanted to help.

Es rose, stumbling away from her. 

“Muu.” Their voice was hoarse. “I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand.” Their eyes flicked nervously to her, wondering what had caused this sudden breach of the prison’s main restriction. “Perhaps… Milgram makes exceptions when I’ve taken things too far. I… I didn’t mean to push you to that point.”

She nodded weakly, rising off the ground. She took her seat again. 

There was a moment where they both sat in heavy silence; both afraid of what Es was capable of. 

“Prisoner 004, sing your sins.”