#both bonding over being people who SHOULD be dead but are not

[brokenhardies]

Chance, Coincidence and Luck (a dw plot bunny)

There isn't much that 18 year old Luna Derbyshire could give to this world, she thought. So when monsters invaded her small town and killed her, she expected that to be the end of the story... At least... Until a strange man with floppy brown hair wearing a bow tie saved her. Little does she know how important he's going to be to her story...

Now functionally immortal, trapped in a Schrödinger's cat like situation, Luna attempts to take her life back from the brink... Only for every day to start with her waking up in a blue police phone box that's bigger on the inside, with strangers who claim to be the man who saved her in the first place. Welcome to the world of time jumping.

Starring Kaylee Bryant as Luna Derbyshire and Doctor Who cast as themselves.

Taglist

@darth-caillic​ @sterling-writes​ @divatoxx​ @reirvival​ @arrthurpendragon​ @foxesandmagic @eddysocs @superspookyjanelle (want to be added or removed? send an ask or a dm!)

[blueberrypancakesworld]

I am yours and never ours

Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : Spoilers for Gladiator ii, hurt/comfort, kissing, implied mother issues, mention of violence, cuddling, no use of y/n

Summary : It was a mistake to kill the hero, to not give him the mercy he should have received. The riots a sign of overthrow and fall and entrenched in the palace the two brothers and Caracalla's wife, nerves are thin and after a forgetting of temper it seems only love can calm a frightened Caracalla to bring order to the situation.

info : omg the scene was so sad and tense, the bond between the two, i'm fully in my gladiator era. Have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had only taken a fraction of a moment, the sun had been right over the Colosseum, giving everyone a chance to get their bearings. Shouts of cheers, boos and cries mingled with the loud voice of Rome.

The emperors sitting impatiently on their chairs, the younger one screaming for death at last, the older one seeming to grow more agitated with every breath, and in the centre the weeping princess as the arrows pierced her beloved.

Justus Acacius was dead, unjustly killed despite the surrender of both fighters, a death that had the emperors rejoicing, but a death that only a few hours later at nightfall had the people roaring.

What at first was still disbelief and shock had become a popular uprising, at the latest with the tumult, the flames raging in the streets and the numerous courageous citizens.

The two brothers also became aware of the uprising and the royal family withdrew in disbelief and indignation to avoid being drawn into it.

Even the Sun of Rome, Caracalla's wife, could not reassure the people who loved her; they seemed to hate her as much as her husband and brother-in-law.

Looking out from behind the solid walls of the palace, she saw the metre-high flames, saw the angry crowd and the few troops of the emperors who could hardly do anything.

Gods have mercy on us she thought and took another sip from her glass as she heard more screams of death and moved away from the window, going back to her family but seeing only the same tension in Geta.

Rarely had she seen him like this if he didn't burst under the pressure at any moment so she was sure he would storm out himself, ,,There may be many but they don't have the weapons and courage of our troops" she said calmly and tried to pour Geta another glass but he turned away.

His gaze had barely noticed her so absorbed he seemed to be thinking about how he could save them all, ,,Ungrateful" he hissed as he looked out and saw nothing but treachery.

The silence in the palace was interrupted only by the footsteps of Macrinus, who withdrew in her presence, she did not trust him and he did not trust her, but her concern lay more with her beloved Caracalla.

She glanced at her husband, who was sitting on a lectus and feeding Dundus his little monkey to calm himself down somehow. However, he looked just as miserable as his brother, they both looked tired, exhausted and completely overwhelmed by everything.

She gave him a smile, trying to keep him amused, ,,You'll all see blood," Caracalla said, returning the smile - it was to be expected that he wanted a whole bloodlust. A betrayal hurts deeply.

Even if it hurt inside her, helplessness and fear had a grip on her too…only Dundus the monkey seemed happy as he let out another little screech when he got a grape.

A mistake.

All of a sudden all she could see was Geta hurrying around, ,,Get that annoying monkey out of here!" shouting at his brother and slapping the wine in his brother's face.

Startled, she gasped, calling out Geta's name in warning, his eyes filled with anger and remorse, she knew it was the situation, knew the tension but nothing would help.

As she hurried over to Caracalla and gently placed her hand on his shoulder, he looked more like a weeping dog than an emperor, ,,Come my king, we should feed Dundus somewhere else" she said, helping him up slightly and telling him to go ahead into the throne room.

She walked past Geta who just looked down shaking his head and cursing himself, he had taken it too far. ,,I'll be right back why don't you get us some wine Macrinus" she said and didn't bother because his fake smile told her all she needed to know as he disappeared and she sighed and hurried on her way.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridors and the throne room, Dundus shrieked and she heard the sniffle, ,,Love? My King Caracalla, where are you?" she asked quietly, swallowing down the lump rising in her throat as she thought back to the episodes he had already had.

She and Geta loved him but this madness would be the downfall of them all. She continued to walk around the room, first looking behind the throne where he sometimes hid, but he wasn't sitting there.

,,Caracalla? It's your sun, do you understand?" she asked and finally saw the blond head of hair peeking out from behind one of the curtains behind which he had curled up.

She heard his crying, the sniffling as he peeked out from behind it and she got down on her knees, ,,It's-It's all right, come here to me, you know who I am, don't you?" she continued to ask calmly, hiding the slight trembling in her hands under the fabric of her clothes as she saw the man she loved so fragile.

Slowly he emerged from his ‘hiding place’ and nodded cautiously as he crawled towards her, ,,You…you're my wife," he sniffled his words barely intelligible as Dundus continued to tote on his shoulders and the chain rattled.

Nodding hastily, she smiled slightly relieved that he at least recognised her, sitting in front of her probably not quite knowing what he wanted or needed, ,,You are mine" he seemed to understand instead as he placed his hand on hers and she didn't pull it away.

Yours, mine, ours words she had heard so often, she was his wife but our joy.

It's like a coin with two sides only one can come up and the other stays in the shadow, only the balance on the edge can go but with enormous precision or trust and love…something that was all the more difficult at such a time between the two brothers.

She nodded again and pulled him close, lying in her lap like a boy with his mother, his, ,,I'm yours," she assured him, carefully using the sleeve of her dress to wipe his face.

Mostly delusional, she quickly realised that he was like a small child who simply needed her mother, a woman who had died at an early age and she filled that role.

An initial squirming soon turned into an amused laugh as she wiped the wine from his face and at least he wasn't crying, ,,Tickled" he muttered and she couldn't help but smile bitterly, the delusion was a horror and a blessing in one.

Another coin.

Dundus played with the blond curls as Caracalla's fingers, which had been playing with each other before, slid to hers, ,,He's been hurting me since we were sin the womb, you're not his or ours…you're mine…like Rome should be mine," he suddenly said, gripping her tighter.

Blue eyes showed the fire of madness and she stroked his cheek, she knew the story of the womb, but she knew just as well that madness could be transmitted by whores, was it a lie or the truth?

Trying to stifle a shaky breath, she placed a kiss on his lips, tasting the wine, tasting sage and tasting blood, ,,You two are like the creators of Rome, two sides my love. But think what Geta has done for you, for me, for all of Rome…you are the king, Geta is the god and I am the sun," she reminded him of the story she had made up during one of his episodes.

Caracalla a king of honour who could have all the blood in the world, his brother the political god and she the sun who held them all together.

A story that made him pause, his memories shrouded in mist, he needed time while she continued to hold him gently and stroke his cheek, his grip on her hand tightening and softening, ,,Yes? Yes, I think so…I think so...despite the pain, I-I still have you" he slowly realised and sanity returned to his being.

As he cuddled up to her and laid his head in the crook of her neck and held her like that for a moment, tears in her eyes as she blinked them away and thanked the gods again that nothing bad had happened.

Caracalla's hand was also on her cheek and she saw the gold tooth as she smiled, ,,Thank you my sun" she heard him say before he pulled her into a kiss, finally back to her senses as he slowly pulled away from her and helped her stand up.

Despite the riots, despite Geta and despite the madness, the Emperor was still here, gently grasping her hand and once more locking her in a kiss, even if Rome fell they would not give up trying to help him out of this doom.

From the moment she had taken him as her husband, she knew that she would always be there for him and that Caracalla would never stop loving her. Because even in madness there was nothing stronger than love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @rainbowbox , @thankyouperconte , @myromanempire81 , @k-yurieee

[blackjackkent]

Jaheira is Not a Deadbeat

I am, as always, deeply in love with the kids' ambient dialogue while waiting for Jaheira to come inside. And it's time for me to have Opinions.

FIG: I saw her! I swear! RION: Are you sure? Maybe it was just a laborer holding a shaggy grey mop! FIG: Be serious, Rion! Who puts braids on a mop?

FIG: She'll be here any second. Maybe she's sneaking! RION: Doubtful. We'd hear her knees cracking.

And of course my favorite:

RION: Enough, Fig. There's no point getting your hopes up. She'll be back when she's back. FIG: You don't think she will! RION: I know she will. But we'll wait a little longer, if you like.

😭😭😭😭

Rion absolutely knew perfectly well what she was supposed to do from Jaheira's instructions. She just didn't want to. She's been hanging on to the desperate belief that Jaheira was going to walk through the door and make it unnecessary - and, as it turned out, she was right.

OK, fuck it, I'm doing a post about this now. :P

Despite what the Tumblr BG3 fandom would have you believe, Jaheira is not a "deadbeat mom." Is she a parent with emotional constipation issues and way too much time at work? Sure. But so are plenty of other parents on both Toril and Earth. It's SUPER clear from the way all the kids (including Rion) talk to and about her that they LOVE her and she has been an enduring presence in their lives, and that her recent disappearance was both unusual and devastating. 

There are books she reads the kids up in the bedroom! Fig is so excited to announce she's back, indicating that the absence is not a normal occurrence! Jhessem has convinced herself they share a bloodline! Jord got to go to the market with her as a boy! These are not the circumstances of children who do not give a shit about their parent or vice versa!

The devnotes about Jord’s conversation in particular do not show a picture of a man with ill-will towards a mother who felt it customary to abandon him:

JORD: I tended to it. I just let it... thrive in its own independence. You know, same way you raised us. (Devnote: Well meant potshot at his mother, no malice in it) JAHEIRA: I raised you to be a sweet and kind boy. What happened? JORD: I watched what you did instead of listening to what you said. (Devnote: Amused, gently mocking his mother) JORD: This house has taken in a lot of children over the years. Mother dear was sometimes more commander than, well... mother dear. (Devnote: Smiling, explaining why he and Jaheira trade barbs. No criticism, just understated affection)

It is, perhaps, worth noting at this point as well that Jord - and Rion, and Fig, and even Jhessem - speak with that teasing, mocking tone towards Jaheira… but so does she - towards the people she cares most about, including you as the player. The kids are acting as they have learned, and words like this can and should easily be read as gestures of affection. And they clearly trust Jaheira enough to bring this playful rudeness to the fore without fear of it being misconstrued or turning into hostility.

And if they are like Jaheira in this way, they’re also not going to be comfortable showing the real depth of their feelings in front of you, the player character - who is fundamentally a stranger who has just walked into their house. Why would they? Jaheira clearly doesn’t; indeed, even her more serious conversation with Rion only takes place outside where even the other children aren’t listening. 

Perhaps most significantly, I truly don’t understand how anyone can interact with Tate for even a moment and think that Jaheira does not have a deep, if often unspoken, bond with the kids she raises:

JAHEIRA: I hope you were hibernating, little cub, I can’t think of another reason you wouldn’t come down to say hello. TATE: Jaheira! I d-didn’t… didn’t w-want to see if you were r-really dead. They said… JAHEIRA: Who said? TATE: Jord and Rion. They didn’t think I c-could hear… JAHEIRA: You little sneak-thief. Well, they were wrong. Look! Not dead! I just… had a few adventures.

She is so soft and gentle with him in a way that she is with no one else, a way that indicates that she knows him and how his personality is different from the others. And he in turn has clearly been utterly devastated by the idea that she might be gone.

Take, as well, the evidence provided by Minsc when he is present in these conversations! There’s plenty of evidence to indicate the degree to which Minsc is guided by Jaheira’s behavior - to the degree that a doppelganger wearing her face was the key ingredient to binding him temporarily into the Cult of the Absolute. And Minsc - far more comfortable with emotion than Jaheira, at least in some ways - is clearly very affectionate with the kids as well:

FIG: STAND ON YOUR LIVER! MINSC: It is stand and *deliver*, little Fig. Though I think I like yours better. You bellow like a true berserker!

JHESSEM: A fine day to you, saer. Are you known to this court PLAYER: Eh? JHESSEM: Ugh - play along, would you? MINSC: Lord Boo is most pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady! Word of your grace has spread far and wide among the hamster houses. (Devnote: Swooping in to preserve the child's make-believe after the player ruined it.) JHESSEM: Enchanted!

MINSC: Boo is also very well! And happy to see *you*, Rion. RION: And I him. Enough that I’ll let him keep his lumbering, sweaty steed inside.

Would Minsc have taken it upon himself to have such a comfortable relationship with these children if Jaheira did not? I doubt it. He’d be friendly, certainly, but this familiarity goes a great deal beyond that.

And as for Rion herself - it's definitely reasonable to assume that she's had a strained relationship with Jaheira as she's grown older. (I have a lot of headcanons about this for my specific worldstate canon, but even just sticking to the game canon, it definitely seems like that's the case.) But leaving aside that - can you blame her for being upset at this particular moment?

As far as Rion knows, her mom was recently emotionally devastated for an indeterminate reason. (Minsc's apparent death. None of the kids are surprised to see him arrive, so clearly none of them knew he was supposed to be dead - but also there's no way that Jaheira didn't look afterwards like someone hollowed her out from the inside.) Then, without further explanation, she disappeared for what appears to have been several months (again, clearly not standard procedure), and after weeks of no contact, sends a seven-word message indicating she is about to die.

How exactly is Rion supposed to feel at this moment? This is an incredibly emotionally fraught circumstance, and if it's precisely representative of her overall relationship with Jaheira I will eat my hat.

Also - much is made by the game, by Rion, and by the fandom about that seven-word message, but if you try to chastise Jaheira about it, she gives further context:

PLAYER: Only seven? That’s cold, Jaheira. JAHEIRA: The cleric who cast the Sending was wounded. Should I have sobbed on her shoulder?

Jaheira was caught in a no-win situation. Trapped in the Shadowlands, a terrifying ordeal all by itself, with a gaggle of Harpers she had to protect, many of whom had apparently been injured by their encounter with Ketheric Thorm. If the only cleric she had access to was wounded, this was before they reached Last Light and met Isobel. 

Jaheira had ZERO reason to hope at this point - but she also still felt her own inescapable responsibility towards the people under her command. To send a longer and more emotional message would have been to put strain on her injured comrade and also risk making it very clear that she felt the situation was hopeless. The Harpers very well might have broken and scattered, condemning themselves - and, frankly, many others, given their crucial contributions to the final Act 2 fight - to death.

And then she lives, against all her own expectations, and returns to the city. And her dialogue reflects her conflict over this fact as well: 

JAHEIRA: I have given you much reason to think that Harpers hoard secrets like precious stones. But I promise you, this was not some intrigue. Just, ah… plain and simple foolishness. As if by keeping clear of my family, I might keep them clear of the cult in turn. And if this fight were to go against us, well… they had already done their mourning. Why visit it on them twice?

She then goes on to discuss the city and her place in it - and relates it directly back to her kids as well.

JAHEIRA: I was wrong to think I could keep my children from this fight. They’re Baldurian born and bred - the only damned reason I root myself in this place. This city is a cesspit. An open sewer of the soul, that taints us with its filth and churns us out when all that is good has been stripped away. It also happens to be their home - and so it is mine. Ugh. That might be the first time I have said that out loud.

If Jaheira wanted to disappear and leave her kids to handle themselves, she would have done it a long time ago. It wouldn’t be hard; she is fully capable of vanishing into the wilderness never to be seen again - and in truth, there’s every reason to believe she would be considerably happier to do so… except that it would mean leaving her children behind. They “root” her in Baldur’s Gate despite all of her previous inclinations and everything that comes naturally to her, and everything she does is guided ultimately by the need to protect the city because it is their home.

And that, my friends, is love, a love that she shows even if she does not know how to voice it.

TLDR: Jaheira's absence in the Shadowlands was definitely not a normal occurrence, and her kids clearly love her deeply and were devastated by her apparent disappearance. That she is a woman who keeps herself far too busy with work and has no idea how to express her own strong feelings does not, has not, and never will make her a "deadbeat."

[duckimate]

GRUMBO WEEK DAY 3 - " Nightmare " @grumboweek

"read more" at your own discretion. messy+wordy explanation of the concept coming:) .

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pardon me for being late but i really couldn't stand leaving this looking unfinished so. had to spend a bittt more time on it (might even post for grumbo week even after the event's over if thats okay!!)

we all got over the progression from their friendship to their betrayal of eachother in Last Life too soon. i need people to mourn with me

"Nightmare" made my mind immediately jump to the series that waffle duo really got their share of angst from, Last Life. How an unbreakable bond of friendship strengthened by literally passing eachother something as valuable as a life so quickly crumbled into them both betraying eachother in the end, a Nightmare scenario that the two of them would've never even considered for sure. even grian, who upon turning red was still clinging onto the hope that their bond was so strong that mumbo would join him as a redname. (concept) even red mumbo, who in his last ditch desperation tried reigniting post-red yellow life grian's humanity by giving him the spyglass, the southlander's physical embodiment of their friendship, only for grian to crush it mercilessly ,,,,,,,,,

anyway for this piece i tried real hard to cram in as much symbolism and imagery and intent behind my lines and colors as possible, so heres some of it! (theres more but thats on you to figure out!)

Composition + just some of the details : the main concept that i really wanted to drive home is the use of the SPYGLASS as symbolism for the progression of their bond throughout Last life, up until the end. yellow-side grian holds up a spyglass, looking towards the right

day4 past and future concepts ahead the spyglass extends through the past to the present, like a solid line of sight into the future before its unfortunately crushed by red-side grian (him shutting down any friendship or reconciliation from mumbo) mumbo, back against the future, faced twoards the past, reaching his spyglass out looking for who his friend was, only to see a cracked figure of him staring back grian, faced towards the future in both drawings, but also looking back at mumbo, with different emotions but both with the same desire to move forward, one with adoration and another with the desire to move on from mumbo's dead body and focus on self-preservation. he knew he had to move on, and he was right.

SOUTHLANDERS BADGE: mostly for visual interest! but also unlike the spyglass, is an unremovable physical reminder for post-red grian (literally lodged deep into his shoulder)

CLIPPED WINGS: i felt like i had to mention that they're supposed to look clipped in the second drawing:) "HE NEEDS TO LEARN" was a real quote that was directed at both jimmy and mumbo, but we gotta adapt pfft ,,, this post is long. LOng long. i should stop. special SPECIAL thanks to my dearest @justrelaxhere for their hours worth of dissection of my drawing! god i could always count on them to squeeze every drop of symbolism out of my work. without them i wouldn'tve been able to fully articulate my ideas! okay thanks for reading people:D

[theoldsports]

Moody.

Coriolanus Snow x Reader | 3.3k words

depression, arguing, manipulation/toxic marriage, fucking each other over, possessiveness. it’s tamer than some of my others in an objective sense, but emphasizes dark thoughts and internal monologue.

requests always open! thanks for your kindnesses. i think this one is more experimental than the others. the objective here was to show how both of them mimic regular human feelings because they know they should, but it’s a poor pantomime. two sickos with nothing else but each other <3 i think i am going to call these works the Truculent series.

Coriolanus grew cold fast and did not tolerate heat well. He only slept only in his underclothes and wore heavy layers at the first sight of winter. His alarmingly fair complexion meant excessive sun wasn’t in the cards. In spite of his name, his scrappy build wasn’t meant to cut through harsh January terrain either. His nails chipped at labor, and his mind grew uneasy at laziness.

The world was tough on Coriolanus and he was tough right back on the word.

There was little Coriolanus was designed to do. Many people were strong, or smart, or wealthy, or drop-dead-gorgeous, or violent, or talented. There was something about every person Coriolanus could think of that made them stand out. He could easily categorized people by them. Here was the group of people known for their beautiful voices; here, those who could benchpress four-hundred pounds… Coriolanus could not be quantified like that.

Coriolanus Snow had to take what was left, like a runt. He was only good at two things: enduring and controlling. Since those were the only options leftover for him, Coriolanus became the best at them both. When, like Coriolanus, one has been gifted such shitty talents and nothing else, they have to figure out how to use them well enough to win against everyone with a better gift. Eventually, he realized his talents were not the ability to endure and the ability to control, but actually the ability to win. Eventually, he won so much, Coriolanus forgot there was ever a time when he lost (most days).

(The days he didn’t forget were the Bad Days).

Coriolanus felt like he couldn’t get out of bed on the Bad Days when the crushing weight of his failures and his ego landed across his chest. He told himself he was done with love after Lucy Gray. Disgusting Lucy Gray, a name he never wanted to even think again. He thought he would marry someone he hated and be done with love.

But junkies and addicts quit every Monday anyway.

Once he found [Y/N] again after their childhood together, there was no quitting. He knew it was bad for him, so he married what was bad for him to make sure he had an endless supply. How he hated that familiar feeling of obsession, the feeling of being so desperate that he had to rely on something other than himself. Somehow, he would have to sustain the feeling without losing his girl like an idiot. Marriage was likely the thing to steel their attempt at a bond.

Upon waking up to the alarm that morning, Coriolanus knew this was one of those Bad Days. Maybe it was the weather, the stress of Games. First year as head Gamemaker had almost driven Coriolanus mad under the pressure to succeed. He reached over to turn off the clock that buzzed painfully at six in the morning every day ending with a Y.

“Coryo…” [Y/N] mumbled, hearing him stir beside her. The sound must have woken her. She tossed an arm over his chest.

“‘Mornin’, Darling,” Coriolanus replied, wishing he were dead.

[Y/N] immediately picked up on the flatness of his tone, but she knew better than to push him too far. “All good?” She asked.

Coriolanus grumbled passively. He rarely did anything passively. Coriolanus grabbed the hand over his chest and dragged it up to the side of his face to rest it there, but only after he had kissed [Y/N] palm.

“You’re affectionate this morning.”

“I just missed you. I’ve been busy.” He said dismissively, pressing his face further into her hand.

“Well, thanks, dear, but don’t you have work?” [Y/N] asked. She propped her chin up on his shoulder to stare at him inquisitively. This attitude was odd. First thing in the morning during Games seasons, she got a kiss on the forehead and then Coriolanus was gone for a run and a shower and out til nightfall, barring special occasions.

“Don’t you?”

“Not til early evening today. Normally, you’re up and out of here first thing on a Tuesday morning,” [Y/N] told him, as she rubbed from his cheek to the side of his throat gently. She dragged her hand up his face to rest on his worried forehead. “You sick, or something?”

“No.” Coriolanus replied weakly. He closed his eyes again. He couldn’t face the legendary blunder he had made at work. Coriolanus had allowed his aides to code the program for the arena wrong. The open water was nowhere near as deep as was needed for the aquatic muttations. It was causing all sorts of trouble. The Games would end too fast if he didn’t do something, yet the stress of thinking of reaching across the nightstand for his Communicuff was paralyzing.

“You sure? You don’t feel feverish,” She confirmed. [Y/N] sat up to press her lips to his forehead just in case her cold hands had misread his temperature. “I can call the doctor, though.”

“[Y/N], stop. I’m fine.” Coriolanus lied harshly. He tried to sit up, but his psychological anguish made him feel like vomiting.

“Call in. Stay here.” She suggested, watching his weak movement to sit up.

“I’m head Gamemaker, I don’t get to call in. I need to go for a run’n I’ll be fine.”

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow. “So you aren’t currently fine? Because you said—“

“I know what the fuck I said, okay?” Coriolanus barked. “Wanna recap anything else, or can I go?”

Sharply, [Y/N] scooted away from him to the other side of the bed. His moods were hardly predictable. She sighed. “Fine,” She said, averting her eyes to her hands like a scolded girl. “I was merely concerned that you—“

Coriolanus scoffed at her and shakily stood up from the bed. He quickly stepped into the closet and stepped joggers and a wifebeater. [Y/N] hoped he would grab a jacket as well; the weather was much too cold for mid summer. The Capitol itself got disproportionately cold often. She didn’t say anything out loud, though. “Get off my ass. Can’t you sit there and be grateful for once? With all that I do for you?Fucking hell.” Coriolanus said. He did not so much as look back at her as he stormed out of the bedroom.

[Y/N] could not understand what she had done wrong. The only things she had were provided through Coriolanus or simply the man himself. Once Coriolanus was presumed out of earshot, [Y/N] dropped her head into her hands and cried. Not tears of frustration or anger, but tears of self-pity that her one lifeline had yelled at her like that.

—

By the time Coriolanus returned from his run, it appeared his wife had gone out for the day. Strange since she usually capitalized on the extra sleep if she was not working downtown with Capitol News until evening shift. Since their reckless young adulthood of media stunts, Coriolanus had watched [Y/N] grow a stifling love for spectacle. With his support and their shared deranged name recognition, she had quickly risen from an editor, to a correspondent (brief. He had helped her but her way up and out of that position) to Associate Head of Programming for Capitol News. It helped to have his wife steer both their media narratives from the inside.

Except for when she was mad at him.

Coriolanus wiped the sweat off his brow in the shower as he thought. There was no doubt in his mind that [Y/N] was going to run some sort of primetime bulletin that made him look a fool during his Games coverage that night. It was bad enough that Lucky Flickerman was beginning to look like botox had gotten better of him, in addition to Coriolanus’ own fuck up with the muttations. Fact of the matter was that viewership was down and [Y/N] was going to make it worse. She was going to make his Bad Day worse and he knew it.

He could feel his heart rate racing as he stood under the shower’s cold stream. His equally cold blue eyes glanced across the bathroom at the clock. Six-fifty AM. Realistically, he need to be into the Gameroom by no later than eight-thirty, but it frustrated him to be in later than eight. In roughly an hour, how could he perform the maximum amount of damage control? Coriolanus’ head began to ache at the thought.

She had never run that harsh of a piece on him before, but it was a Bad Day, and no doubt she was angry with him for his attitude. [Y/N] was capable of a great many horrible things. Wouldn’t Coriolanus himself want to sting somebody back who he had known was pissy with him?

When he exited the shower, Coriolanus rushed to dress himself. [Y/N] said she wasn’t working until late. But where, then, had she gone? With all the thinking about his own feelings, he hadn’t considered that conundrum.

—

Coriolanus called her secretary, a boring woman with a name neither man nor wife could recall. According to that woman, [Y/N] had not gone early to work. He rang Tigris. Tigris said [Y/N] had not been over unless she was lying which Coriolanus wouldn’t put past her. The Plinths swear they had not encountered her.

Coriolanus stared down at his datapad of phone numbers. He refrained from calling all of their friends because he didn’t want to to exude the panic he was starting to feel for letting his wife run away. None of her belongings seemed out of place. Her suitcase was present in the back of their closet. Still, Coriolanus was terrified in the back of his mind that his wife had finally left him. A year and half was a dreadful lifespan for a marriage in his opinion. [Y/N] was not getting away that easily.

However, his watch told him it was eight and the Games weren’t going to run themselves.

Throughout the day, Coriolanus could not get his heart rate to settle. It made him feel ill. So ill, in fact, that he couldn’t keep down most of breakfast, or all of lunch. He skipped dinner all together. Who was [Y/N] to up and leave him like that?

The slight rational segment of his brain told him to walk it back, but the rest of his brain paid no mind. Coriolanus had nothing going for him other than gut instincts and his gut instincts now were implying something was fundamentally wrong.

Coriolanus’ decision-making was way off of its game at work. Coriolanus, for ratings, could not allow the Hunger Games to end on a Tuesday night. Somehow, he would have to create obstacles to last the four remaining tributes til Friday. He didn’t much like those odds. He was going to cave and hand in his resignation before the end of the day, he was certain.

Though, at eight in the evening, the primetime announcement or chiron that Coriolanus was a shitty husband or a murderer never cut through his broadcast to make his Day irreparably Bad. Nor did it at eight-thirty, or even nine. Coriolanus felt shaky. Maybe with relief for his reputation, maybe because he had nothing in his system.

If nothing had aired at Coriolanus’ expense on TV, had something happened to [Y/N] while he was on his run, or later? Was this some rebel attempt to bring the head Gamemaker to his knees? An attempt from a bitter rival to play games with him? Coriolanus frowned. Many things could have happened to his wife between six in the morning and nine at night. Coriolanus could barely stand up as it was. He clocked out and summoned his driver as quick as he could.

The second Coriolanus’ key entered the lock, he started shouting with the energy he had left. The door had yet to even close behind him. “[Y/N]! [Y/N], my love! Are you here?” Coriolanus pushed open every cabinet and closet on his way to the bedroom. Empty. He checked the closet - her suitcase remained. Coriolanus had called her office on his way home. She had not shown up for work. Unheard of.

Coriolanus ran through every room of the townhouse shouting [Y/N]’s name over and over until he felt hoarse. He could only imagine what the neighbors thought. Then he saw the attic door open.

The door remained open, but the stairs to the attic had snapped back up halfway and gotten jammed. “Coryo!” He heard [Y/N] yell faintly from upstairs.

“Darling, are you… in the attic?” Coriolanus shouted back cautiously under the open door. He watched as [Y/N]’s tearstained face peered around the edges of the attic door. It was really her. Not a Jabberjay, not a setup. Coriolanus exhaled for what felt like the first time all day. “Let me come up. I’ll come to you. Hold on!” Coriolanus’ finally left behind the Bad Day as he leapt into action. Protecting his wife was his job before Gamemaker, or any other obligation. Anyone in the Capitol would remember their vows, or her smashing cake into his face much to his dismay. Marriage was socially his most binding contract of all. Coriolanus did not take contractional obligations lightly.

Coriolanus had not realized that his wife was so delicate and helpless as to get stuck in the attic. She needed him more than he thought. His heart swelled with pride. Coriolanus grabbed a broomstick and hooked the hinge in the stairs. He yanked with all his strength until the ladder descended. Quickly, he dropped a large sack of rice from the kitchen counter over the bottom step in hopes it would weight the stairs down and he took off up them.

“[Y/N], are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, popping his head through the attic door

There on the unfinished attic floor sat [Y/N], bundled up in her thin teddy she had been wearing when Coriolanus left. She had only that and a too-short blanket Tigris had crocheted as a child. There was very little in the attic at all. Some of the Grandma’am’s belongings in clear glass bins and whatever surviving relics had carried on from their post-war childhoods.

It was clear [Y/N] had been crying. “I thought you would come back.” She sniffled.

Coriolanus urgently climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and sat carefully down beside [Y/N], wrapping her in his long arms possessively. “I thought something happened to you,” Also, that you tried to leave me. “You’re freezing… How long have you been up here?”

“Since you went on your run.”

“Shit… All that time?”

[Y/N] thought her tears had long since stopped, but seeing Coriolanus appear upset about ignoring her all day made her want his attention more. She wanted him to feel bad.

The tears started flowing the second his arms were looped around her waist. [Y/N] rested her head on Coriolanus’s shoulder heavily. “Coryo, you just left. I come up here all the time to think and I didn’t think it would—“

The blonde man’s heart softened at the sight of her. “Darling, Darling, shh, don’t cry,” Coriolanus combed his hand through sobbing [Y/N]’s hair. “You’re okay. I’m here now.”

Coriolanus felt like he was able to play the role of comforter and protector nobly tonight in a way he had recently felt inadequate at. With ease, he draped her legs across his lap and adjusted her arms around his neck so that her body was completely supported by his. She clung to him like a desperate child. The skin-to-skin contact was most appreciated by Coriolanus after the Day he’d had. Coriolanus excitedly drew a breathe from her neck, taking in her scent.

[Y/N] sobbed dramatically into Coriolanus’ dress shirt, but he pretended not to care like a good husband. “I’m sorry. I c-couldn’t—couldn’t get down. I th-thought you would come get me. I shout-ted for you,” she played up her tears. [Y/N] played up everything for attention; they both knew that. But the situation was mutually beneficial for people that liked attention so damn much. “You didn’t hear me.” You never hear me.

“Oh, Princess…” Coriolanus rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping it would warm her up. He pulled away from her regrettably and stripped off his blazer. He wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled it carefully in front of her. He knew [Y/N] would like the gesture. Now, Coriolanus did not say I’m sorry. It was not his fault that [Y/N] had fled to the attic. He did instead try to make good from now forward. “I was so worried, I started to think something happened to you. I wanted to give you space, but then I didn’t hear from you all day. I’m relieved to know the only monster that got you was the attic,” Coriolanus leaned into her neck to kiss her in his favorite place. “You sat up here in all this junk and dust today; how are you still so stunning?”

[Y/N] laughed through a wet sniffle as Coriolanus searingly kissed her neck. “I didn’t know I’d worried you this much.” She muttered.

“I didn’t know I’d upset you this much,” Coriolanus agreed. That was as close to I’m sorry as she was going to get. “What did you do up here all day?”

“W-Went through some boxes. Found your old uniform.” [Y/N] smiled back.

“My Peacekeeper uniform?” Coriolanus asked in surprise. He hoped that she had not found anything else, if there was anything more scathing up in the attic.

“Mhm,” she affirmed. [Y/N] stood shakily from the floor, snot dripping from her nose. Snot, which she knew better than to wipe on the sleeve of his blazer. She followed where the beams were in the floor nimbly so she didn’t put her foot through the ceiling below her. [Y/N] collected a decently sized metal crate with a handle on it. PRIVATE SNOW, CORIOLANUS B. was stamped on top of the dusty, dented metal. She carried it back to Coriolanus and sat down with it in front of him.

“I didn’t go through everything in here, that felt intrusive, but I did pull this out,” they both knew that was a lie and that she had absolutely gone through every item, but Coriolanus let her keep going without cutting in. [Y/N] decided she would still let him explain the history behind every item he wanted to share anyway.

When she shook the long gray-blue jacket out of the box, something happened that hadn’t happened last time she took the jacket out. “Coriolanus, what’s this?” [Y/N] asked, plucking a bulky chain off the floor that had tumbled from the coat’s breast pocket.

“Ah, I’d forgotten where those went. Dog tags from my time in Twelve.” Coriolanus said.

“I still have my father’s. You were like a real soldier then, huh?”

“Peacekeeper.” Coriolanus corrected.

“Yes, Peacekeeper.” [Y/N] agreed quietly.

[Y/N] held the two identical pendants in her hands.

SNOW, CORIOLANUS

CITADEL, CAPITOL

4147769218S 12

O NEG

CREMATE

His entire identity all on two pieces of nickel. While she squinted at the embossed metal, Coriolanus leaned forward across the box that had once held his entire world and grabbed the chain she was holding as well as her hands. [Y/N]’s red weepy eyes met his crystal clear blue ones. “Would you like them?”

“You don’t want to keep them?”

“Certainly not. My name right there on your chest? That’s preferable to them sitting in a dusty box forever. People will know who you belong to if you wander off like this again. ‘Know you’re not, hm, like… up for finders-keepers.” Coriolanus shifted them out of [Y/N]’s hands and dropped the chain around her neck as if it were the finest gold necklace he had ever purchased her.

Coriolanus put that box up in the attic because he had not wanted to think about it ever again. Above all, though, Coriolanus Snow was an opportunistic man and he put those dog tags on [Y/N] just like he had Lucy Gray because he knew this move was flattering. If it worked once, it would work again. Sickeningly, he pulled out the same words he had used before too: “There. All mine.”

“All yours.” [Y/N] replied.

TAGLIST:

@badwicht @stelleduarte @cinnamongirl127 @prettyppetty @soulessien @bejeweledreverie @jjstyles @arminsarlerts @chmpgneprblem @co1dmountains @miscellaneousmoonchild @lille999 @pumkinnxsmut @taykorsyogurt @ndycrls @watermelonharry @nananarwhal @ohantonia @catlover420sstuff @justaproudslytherpuff @notarabellasstuff @scarytiger111 @zucchinimalfoy @secretsicanthideanymore @h-l-vlovesvintage @dannydevsbbg @clintsupremacy @lookclosernow @10ava01 @or-was-it-just-a-dream @lucielsstuff @fairyydvst

as usual, apologies if your tag didn’t work. tumblr’s tough like that. also so sorry if i forgot anyone! remind me if i did!

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do a scenario about Nemona, Penny and Arven with a real who has type null please? Maybe something about it transforming in Silvally?

YES NULL/SILVALLY TIME

I have one in Sword who I call "Bestie", and it's carried me through the Crown Tundra DLC. I want it in Violet so badly aaaa

Also this just reminded me of my fic that I wrote prior to Sun/Moon's release. Ya'll can give it a read if you so desire <3

That being said, this scenario will be like a sequel of sorts

........

Revealing Type: Null--or "Nully" as you've affectionately called it--to your friends was something you were initially nervous about...

But today was finally the day.

Moving away from Alola to attend school here in Paldea was quite the stressful journey, especially for your masked companion who had never know any place besides stark white labs and sandy beaches.

People kept warning you about how dangerous it was, but you never listened...and now your bond with the mysterious normal type has never been stronger.

Ever since you rescued it from an Aether Foundation facility that exploded due to its rampage, it put its trust in you and loved you unconditionally.

Learning the truth behind that supposedly "good" organization and its leader broke your heart. Although nothing devastated you more than realizing Nully had been held captive there as both experiment and prisoner.

You've tried researching its species, checking for notes and hacking into secret files the foundation kept under lock and key--and you discovered that Type: Nulls were basically created as "tamer" versions of Arceus, even having memory discs similar to the plates manufactured. They were meant to kill the Ultra Beasts should they invade Alola.

Instead, they went on a rampage (of course, that's what happens when humans try replicating a god's powers) and were confined to masks and put into cryogenic stasis. The whole project was deemed a failure.

As tragic as it was...you were relieved to have found Nully when you did and get it away from that horrible place.

Even so the mask still made it feel absolutely miserable, but unfortunately you couldn't find any further information on how to remove it without causing your precious Pokémon serious injury. There were no visible clamps to unlock, pulling it off would only cause it great pain, and cutting seemed too risky.

The only benefit was that it made Nully immune to critical hits, but the cons definitely outweighed the pros.

Maybe one of your friends knew more about the Type: Null species, and so you decided to call them all over for a picnic if they had free time.

All you could do was pray that they didn't lose their cool and scare your companion.

That's the last thing either of you needed.

Arven was the first to arrive, with Mabosstiff at his heels as usual, but he stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the bizarre-looking Pokémon standing by your side. You could tell he was trying not to look too worried, considering the poor thing was hiding behind you now.

Still, it's obvious that he didn't have the slightest clue what he was looking at, so you explained everything to him: where you found Nully, why it looked like a rejected Arceus, and the memory discs you kept in a small folder.

So far, you haven't figured out how to utilize them in-battle. But despite the space they took up in your bag, you refused to throw them away.

"Are you sure there isn't a slot for these somewhere on its mask?" He stared at one of the floppy discs, before glancing back up at Nully, squinting. "It looks like there should be one."

"We've been pals for nearly three years, Arven..I'm pretty sure I would've found the slot by now if there was one." Shaking your head, you took it from him, sighing. "My only option is to get that thing off. The slot's probably on its body somewhere."

"Right...maybe there's a stomach hatch or-"

"¡Mira! You were right, Penny! They do exist!!"

"Nemona, slow down!! They're not going anywhere!!"

Hearing the shouts of two certain ladies from afar, you and Arven looked to see both Nemona and Penny coming over the horizon. The student council president was dragging the poor girl by the arm, with her stumbling to keep up and not lose her glasses.

When they arrived, Penny was dazed and annoyed as she scowled at Nemona, tearing her arm free of her iron grasp. But her attention was quickly set on the peculiar Pokémon who was cowering behind you yet again.

"Wow...I..never thought I'd see one up close before.." Adjusting her glasses, she gazed at Nully with interest.

"You've heard about them before?" You asked.

"Back in Galar, I found some top-secret stuff about Macro Cosmos trying to make their own instances. They literally stole the blueprints from the Aether Foundation."

"...yikes." Nemona remarked, tilting her head as she tried getting a better look at Nully herself. "It seems shy. Maybe a battle will help it-!"

"No battles, at least not right now." You smiled apologetically, patting it on the head as you looked at each other. "I know you're nervous, Nully..but it's okay. They're nothing like the jerks back in Alola who used to pick on us. They're my friends. You can trust them, I promise."

Nodding its head, it relaxed its haunches as it cautiously stepped away from your side, gazing at the trio and seeing their smiles, too.

They weren't looks of pity.

They seemed genuinely thrilled to meet it.

It stood there for some time, taking in everything you've said to it and thinking about how far it's come since you rescued it that fateful day.

Somehow, it knew it was always meant to be your companion--from the very moment you held it as it cried in the Pokémon Center, reassuring it that it's not a monster, but a sweet creature worthy of love and care.

Ever since then, your friendship has grew...and now it feels stronger, willing to put its life on the line for you if need be. Even though most of its powers have been concealed, it didn't feel like some weak and helpless lab experiment.

Oh no.

It was far from that now.

Thanks to your bond, it felt unbelievably strong.

So much so that....the normal-type realized an extraordinary change was imminent.

And you were about to witness it.

"Look! Nully's glowing, [y/n]!" Nemona pointed, her eyes widening as your companion was basked in a familiar light. "Is it evolving???"

"Oh my god...I think so." You gasped, never realizing the possibility of it evolving, but you're now certain that friendship is what triggered it at last.

The most noticeable thing were the cracks that started appearing all over its helmet, pieces of what you assumed was indestructible alien material falling apart. Nully shook its head vigorously, trying to get rid of it as much as possible.

Then it turned its attention to a nearby boulder, letting out a cry before performing a move similar to a Headbutt, ramming into it and letting the rock shatter the helmet completely.

At last, it was free.

When the glow faded, you and your friends gazed in awe as Nully looked back at all of you.

With its mask finally gone, what lied underneath it was a beautiful creature made of both nature and machine, with a beaklike mouth that smiled proudly.

"Nully...?" You murmured, stepping closer.

"Ally." It chirped, walking up to greet you.

Tears began forming in your eyes as your grin widened. "I can't believe it...friendship was all it took to-"

Suddenly, your rotomphone decided to ruin the sweet moment by flying out of your pocket.

It displayed a new entry in your Pokedex, and you grabbed it to read what it had to say, while Arven, Penny, and Nemona checked their own phones.

"I see, you're Silvally now." You gazed back up at Null--Silvally, watching it bow its head respectfully. With a small laugh, you mimicked the gesture, before petting it lovingly as you sighed. "Wow..."

You noticed one of the metal bolts on its face open up like a CD player, indicating that something had to go in there-

"Wait.." Remembering the memory discs, you took one out and held it up. "Do you want me to use this?"

Silvally nodded, although before you could do anything, Arven interjected.

"Hold on, which memory is that?"

"The Dark Memory. It probably just changes its type, but I believe this represents all the pain Silvally had to endure while being trapped in that mask, not knowing what it did wrong or why people shunned it for simply existing." You placed a gentle hand under your companion's jaw. "But now I think it's ready to turn that painful memory into power. So let's see what happens.."

"Silllllv!"

Carefully inserting the disc into the open slot, you watched as it closed up. Then you stepped back, seeing the colors and spikes on its body turn smoky black.

Even its eyes changed, and when they opened they looked even more menacing than ever.

And they stared directly at you.

With a low growl, it crept closer to you, while your friends held back..tense and worried that the pokedex entries were correct: this wasn't something you could so easily control.

There was probably a very good reason for the mask-

Yet any hostility Silvally seemingly expressed disappeared, as it smiled and licked your cheek affectionately, causing you to laugh once more. "Hey, that tickles! C'mere you!"

Hugging its neck, you grinned as you received even more kisses, hearing it purr with happiness. You petted its feathery crest, relieved that it completely trusted you now.

"Wow..it's way cooler than Arceus!" Nemona laughed. "Do you think I can battle it-??"

Silvally just shot her a wary look, and she immediately fell silent, a nervous smile on her face. "Haha, you're right. Not yet. But I swear we're gonna have an epic battle one day!"

"Yeah, one day. But for now, I have something special for this big guy."

"Sill?"

You managed to regain its full attention with a simple yet supereffective move of your very own:

It's called "chin scritches", something that none of your other Pokémon could resist receiving.

The mask obviously made it difficult for Silvally to receive proper affection back then...and you vowed to find a way to break it so you can do just that.

Now it was free of that awful and heavy thing, having a brand new life to look forward to: battles, friendships with other Pokémon, and more.

Even better?

Your three closest friends in all of Paldea were here to witness its evolution--a sign that despite all the odds...your bond was unbreakable.

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

I want to put focus on how significant parents are in the Hunger Games franchise, most especially on the role a parent has in shaping their child’s psyche and I want to do this by using Katniss, Peeta and Snow as reference. 

In the books and the movies, parents are more or less background characters. We truly only see glimpses of them. Both of Peeta’s parents are alive yet we rarely see them featured prominently in the books/movies. Both of Snow’s parents are dead and we only get to hear of them in passing and while Mrs. Everdeen is alive, she’s often relegated to the background because of how dismissive Katniss is towards her mother. 

Yet these characters and the very essence of their beings are shaped by their parents. 

Beginning with Katniss, we saw how deeply her father’s death wounded her. He was their provider, the sole person responsible for bringing food onto their table. We know how deeply he was loved by his children and his wife and how beloved he was by the other citizens of 12 by Katniss’ stories. Mr. Everdeen was a well known figure in the Hobb and Katniss firmly believed that it was because of him that people took pity on her and allowed her to bargain with them. It was his death that served as a catalyst to Katniss’ journey to becoming a Victor. Without his death, without Katniss being forced to hunt to serve her family, she wouldn’t have made it out of the arena. To Katniss, her father was the hero deserving of being placed on a pedestal and it was his values and actions that she tried desperately to emulate to protect her family. 

On the other hand, Katniss scorned her mother. She hated Mrs. Everdeen’s inaction when she spiraled into a deep depression after her husband died. And though it wasn’t Mrs. Everdeen’s fault, I can’t blame Katniss for feeling this way about her mother. She and her sister were near the brink of death by starvation on the day she met Peeta. Even when Mr. Everdeen was alive, Katniss was partial to her father because he stoked the rebellion in Katniss’ heart while it was her mother who tried to stop it. Katniss perceived her mother’s depression as a weakness and even after she got better, Katniss was determined to keep her at arms length. The love she felt for her mother may have been unconditional but she constantly put her mother under the test. Waiting to see if she would disappoint her, fail her by abandoning her once again. And when Prim died and Mrs. Everdeen left for District 4, Katniss’s unconscious bias against her mother was once again reaffirmed. 

It’s why Katniss struggles to form a good bond with motherly characters like Effie but maintains relatively good relationships with fatherly figures like Haymitch and Cinna. Katniss openly admits that of the two people who guided them throughout the Hunger Games, it was Haymitch she was most alike. They grew up at the Seam, and shared similar features and she was adamant that should she have been forced into becoming a mentor like Haymitch was, she was looking at what her future would have looked like. Drunk and continuously intoxicated like Haymitch was. 

On the other hand, we have Peeta. 

Peeta was routinely abused by his mother. While we don’t know the full extent of what it was he had to endure, we know that it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Peeta’s mother took pride in the knowledge that District 12 would finally have another Victor, and she wasn’t referring to Peeta. We saw him take a beating to feed Katniss and whatever relationship Peeta had with his father was practically nonexistent. It was his mother that served to be the looming presence in his life the same way Katniss’ father haunted her. It’s why I believe Peeta got along so well with Effie and why Effie likely preferred Peeta over Katniss. Aside from the fact that Peeta was so much more civil to Effie than Katniss was to Effie, Peeta always deferred to Effie. He and Effie are similar in the same way Katniss and Haymitch are similar. 

Peeta was characterized to be of the merchant class, the “upper” class of District 12. As a given, Effie is from the Capitol, the upper crust of Panem. It was Effie who provided Katniss and Peeta with the script necessary to ensure their survival after the 74th Games and in return, Effie knew how effectively a person’s image and reputation could mean life and death in the arena and in this, Peeta is in agreement. While Katniss may have used a bow as a weapon, Peeta used his words. He always knew the right things to say and do to get people to side with him, so much so that he managed to convince the careers of the 74th Games, his biggest enemies in the arena, to ally with him. Had anyone else been in his situation, they would have been killed. Peeta craved Effie’s maternalism the same way Katniss craved Haymitch’s paternalism because these were the things they lacked growing up.

And then there’s Coriolanus, who lost both his parents and it is both of these parents who haunt him. His mother, described to be beautiful and kind, was represented by the powder compact he kept with him constantly. His father, harsh and cruel, represented by the handkerchief that Snow kept with him.

In TBOSAS, Snow has two mentors himself. 

Dean Highbottom and Dr. Gaul.

It’s not lost on me that in them, the characterization of the two are reversed from Snow’s parents. Highbottom, like Snow’s father is stern and harsh. He is Snow’s biggest critic and while I doubt Mr. Snow would go so far as to hate his own child, he would not have been kind to Coriolanus had he lived past the war. Yet Highbottom and Mr. Snow’s similarities end there. Because of Highbottom’s remorse and the kindness that he showed Lucy Gray after she won the Games, he takes after Snow’s mother in that regard. He is compassionate and filled with horror at the abomination he created.

On the other hand, Gaul treats Snow with a gentleness that Highbottom never had for him. Though Snow finds Gaul creepy, it is Gaul that takes him under his wing. It is Gaul who stitches up his wounds after he is attacked in the arena and retrieves Sejanus and Gaul who praises him for his ingenuity at suggesting the sponsoring system. Gaul genuinely likes Snow and begins grooming him to become her replacement in the event that she dies. But while Gaul may have been a woman with the capacity for gentleness, she is a terrible human being who threw children into the arena to fight for their survival. She is the same woman who hung a child for running away from the games and paraded the corpses of children on the streets of the Capitol. She is pure evil. She is exactly like Snow’s father. 

It isn’t loss on me that Snow, who has an abundance of maternal figures in his grandmother and Tigris, chooses to take after Gaul, who is externally like his mother but internally like his father, rather than Highbottom, who is the opposite. 

At every instance Snow had to do good, to choose to do the right thing and be like his mother, he intentionally continued to do the evil thing for the sake of his selfishness and be like his father. 

“You look just like your father, Coriolanus.” Were the words Tigris used to describe him at the end of the movie because that is precisely who he chose to become. 

And as Snow poisons Highbottom and becomes a gamemaker under Gaul’s tutelage, he kills whatever remnant of his mother he had left in him, fully embodying his cruel father’s ideals.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

I'm obsessive over my Constantine Jr Au (which still needs a fic name for, I'm open to suggestions) because

this is a cranky danny. he's spent years fighting with no end in sight, with parents who he can't trust and his only companions never truly understanding what he's going through.

he vapes CBD for the pain he's constantly in. he drank alco/hol once to help him sleep, but his parents smelt it on his breath and, just like with their research, took that to believe EVERYTHING they'd ever suspected about danny to be true: that he drinks, he does dru/gs, he's in a gang. the only thing they've never suspected their son of--being a ghost--is the one thing he actually does.

then, right on the cusp of eighteen and freedom, he gets outed. AND transformed into a seven-year-old.

this is not a danny who is willing to play at being a child. and if anyone tries to, they're in for a foul time.

Danny was 17, transformed into a 7 year old and hides in Bludhaven, and is 8 when the police finally figure out that, hey, this weird kid who keeps altering us to crime scenes is usually right on the money about who the killer is, we should investigate that. Officer Grayson is on the case!

And discovers that he absolutely can't STAND this kid.

He thought he liked kids! Everyone thought he liked kids! but this kid...

This isn't called the Constantine Jr AU because Danny is a supernatural detective, or because Danny might be Constantine's kid. Its because Danny is an unrepentant little bas/tard and he makes it everyone's problem.

Danny vapes and blows bubblegum smoke in Grayson's face.

He takes out a flask and Grayson's grabs it, learning its full of orange juice. Danny then takes out a second flask, this one with vod/ka.

He wears a trenchcoat he found in the trash (the same trenchcoat Nightwing wears in DC vs Vampires, if you know you know) but the end and the sleeves are cut off for his hands and legs. the pockets are roughly around his knees.

Grayson is desperate to figure out more about this kid, but he doesn't go to batman because, time-line wise, this is right before red hood starts running around. Jason is dead/alive-in-hiding, Tim is Robin, and Dick is mad about it. (ages-- Bruce: ? Nightwing: 24 Jason: 19 Tim: 15 Danny: 8 Damien: 7-8)

he doesn't really bond with the kid until they're both kidnapped by a gang for hostages, and Danny's big kid emotions get a hold of him (he thought he could escape them bc he's an adult, he's gone through worse, but nope! child brain chemistry). Grayson is worried that he's hurt and in pain, but Danny confesses that he's always in pain. he has nerve damage all over his body, and the only thing he really trusts is CBD. He feels like shit for taking his juul away, but more importantly, because he's been treating Danny like a irritant and just a little kid.

they get rescued and Grayson tries to take him back to his home, but Danny reveals he's homeless, saying something like "I sleep where it suits me, just drop me off whereever."

Absolutely not, Grayson is taking kid back to his place for a bed, food, and a shower, in whatever order the kid wants.

Danny stays semi-perminantly at his apartment, but Nightwing tries not to push it, because this kid practically screams flight risk. unfortunately, the paparazzi have nothing better to do and snap a pick of Grayson and Danny getting dinner together, speculating that Dick's taken after Bruce

Danny doesn't care too much; I think his ghost form is the same, if glitchy, so his parents don't know about the deaging. Grayson is mildly panicking, but its not like he HASN'T been considering adopting the evil troglodyte. Even Bruce, Tim, and Alfred aren't the problem.

No, the problem is the Red Hood, a crime boss who just cut 8 people's heads off, seeing what looks like Nightwing pulling an innocent kid into the neverending fight against crime and Seeing Green.

Edit: Had to censor sh!t because ths wasn't showing up in the tags

[spoopdeedoop]

hi i have some disorganized thoughts/hcs abt the found family human doctor au

(one of the thoughts being i should really give it a better name. another being YES this is only the nuwho doctors atm bc that's the only series i've watched so far apologies. if i ever get around to watching classic who i will add them trust)

BEHOLD my random, not at all in-depth headcanons

nine is the only one with a car out of all of them. they all keep bugging him to drive/pick them up from places -- he has mixed feelings about being the assigned taxi driver

both twelve and eleven are teachers -- college professor and preschool teacher respectively. twelve's students love them because he will say the most stupid, hilarious shit with a straight face without even knowing and eleven's students love him because he is the only teacher at the school that will dance with them during musical chairs (he doesn't even play the game. he just dances)

i want to make one of them an actual doctor but i don't think any of them could handle it unfortunately

they all share an an apartment flat on the same level -- nine, twelve and fifteen live in one room, ten, eleven and thirteen live in the one across from them. of course there are other people in the building too but they're all used to the strange loud hyperactivity of that particular flat. i think i'm using the right terminology here. yall know what im talking about

(i'm so tempted to make some companions be their neighbors)

nine and ten are the most insomniac of all of them, so they're used to bumping each other in the dead of night on their way to raid each other's respective fridges or something. very rarely thirteen will join them and they're like "WELL FANCY SEEING YOU HERE"

twelve does sleep, but like. he's nocturnal

eleven and ten hate each other in a sibling kind of way (see: day of the doctor). they are constantly sending each other death threats or tripping each other over. everyone is sick of it

sometimes when they're out shopping you'll hear ten yell "GET OUT OF THE FROZEN FOOD YOU NUMPTY WE ARE NOT BUYING FISH FINGERS" over the aisles and you'll hear eleven whine "WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH" back

(if you're lucky you'll be able to catch fifteen mumble "why did we put them in the same apartment. are we asking for an eviction notice")

eventually eleven will pick a random stray cat off the side of the road, take her home, and name her bowtie, which is a stupid name, so everyone just defaults to calling her kitty

kitty's favourite person is twelve, to eleven's absolute despair

(my original idea for this was to initially have ten hate the idea of living with a cat, since he's stated full on in the show that he doesn't like cats, but apparently there is some very obscure doctor who comic run in which he falls into a depressive spiral and adopts a cat whom he names rose-the-cat, so he might actually like cats idk?)

anyway ten hates her until he doesn't lmao. he vents to her when there's no one else home and she will Stare at him back and it is a very nice friendship

kitty and nine watch shitty romcom together

they have a joint groupchat together -- half of it is just thirteen and fifteen assigning everyone outfits they find on pinterest and the other half is eleven asking where everyone went (he keeps getting lost when they go out)

nine doesn't know how to download pictures off the internet and so resorts to manually editing memes together to send to the groupchat and everyone's like "girl that's so much more effort........."

(yes he doesn't know how to press save image to camera roll but he knows how to use a photo editor flawlessly. such is the logic of the idiocy of the doctors)

eleven and thirteen get along very well i think. they're the only two of the group to play video games and so they bond over that. they also have ridiculously similar clothing taste

sometimes they'll succeed in getting fifteen to play pokemon with them and then they'll proceed to not see him until the next day when he comes out of his room and goes "you didn't tell me plusle couldn't evolve i've been levelling it up all fucking night"

friday is assigned movie night (it's always big hero 6)

eleven is the only one to actively seek out physical affection, usually really abruptly like clinging to thirteen's back as she passes him in the hall or bapping ten with the palm of his hand until he sighs and gives him a hug. he does expect a platonic kiss on the forehead from anyone before he goes to bed and will complain if he doesn't get one

anyway thats it i'm sick in the head and really sad. if this keeps up i may be forced to actually write a fic

[bonefall]

Cat? Gray. Eyes? Blue. Hotel? Trevago.

Design babble stuff below

BLUESTAR

Good god it's been over a year since I last drew her. I can do so much better now

I give her a wolf motif for BB, because in my mind it's about the myth of the lone wolf. Lone wolves aren't normal, they're pack animals. At first, Firestar sees her as this ideal, strong leader who stands independently of everything... but he's wrong!

She's NEVER acted fully alone! She's always been devoted to her family, even as it dwindled. Her ruling style is to protect other Clans, unlike any leader who's come before her. In BB, she even had a mixed-Clan friendgroup called the Forget-Me-Nots.

She helped to depose ShadowClan's tyrant. She sent Firestar to fetch WindClan, even against the wishes of the other two. She even fought Nightstar and Crookedstar when they tried to drive them out again.

She even takes the code SO seriously that she refused to kill Brokentail, extending a mercy that ended up backfiring.

And Firestar learns everything about leadership from her. Grace, diplomacy, fairness... and she was fair to a fault.

Both her and her apprentice would eventually face down Tigerkin, Bluestar during the coup and Firestar even lost a life after defending Hawkfrost for several books.

The only time Bluestar ever became a "lone wolf" was in her cruelty arc, when she was dragging everything she ever stood for down with her.

Her wolf motif shows up in her entire family, to connect them. It's in her nephew Whitestorm, her uncle Goosefeather, her daughter Mistystar, even all the way down into Curlfeather and Frostpaw who are descended from Reedwhisker in BB.

The scar comes from her fighting a badger to rescue Darkstripe and his sister, Cricketclaw, when they wandered off as kittens.

CROWFEATHER

He's a mix of spiky and swirly, as a cross between his dad Deadfoot and his mother Ashfoot.

He's older in BB to change that he was an apprentice on the Great Journey, and also to fix an inconsistency where his dad would be dead when he was conceived.

I think it was a huge missed opportunity that Crowfeather's bond to his mentor, Mudclaw, is barely mentioned in-canon. In BB they were VERY close and Mudclaw was incredibly influential to his personality.

Deadfoot is dead-- Mudclaw was like a father to him.

Crowfeather is torn between the influence of his mother, who was a Forget-Me-Not in her youth, and the hard ideology of his mentor. All the while, the ego boost he got from being selected to go on the Great Journey massively affected him, in a bad way.

He ended up taking Mudclaw's side in the rebellion-- not because he believed that ThunderClan had told a lie (in fact he defends his friend's honor) but because he believed Mudclaw would be a better leader.

But eventually, he found himself surrounded by cats he didn't want anywhere near WindClan. Good intentions or not, Mudclaw was willing to work with cats like Blackclaw and Hawkfrost-- people who want a second TigerClan.

Crowfeather betrayed the rebellion, running to fetch Brambleclaw and ThunderClan reinforcements. In the fight, his nose was scratched in a chevron, the shape of Mudclaw's stripes.

I like the idea that he carries it with him, but always tries to put it off his mind. He mistreats and misuses other people, ignoring the reminder that he is a fallible person that's carved onto his nose.

died of infection. Sad!

All of his kits resemble him in some way. Lionblaze inherited his tail, Hollyleaf has the spikes, Breezepelt has the build, Jayfeather is a miserable git has the ear swirls

He was head of Kitchen Patrol until BB!OotS, but I'm actually planning for him to NOT be deputy in BB. His character growth feels a lot more satisfying in realizing he really doesn't handle power very well, and should stay away from it.

He has old relationships and burned bridges to mend, and staying part of Kitchen Patrol seems like the way he should plan to do that.

I talked about him a lot in Nightcloud's summary and he's going to be coming up in the outline of Nightcloud's Pannage a lot. Much as I love taking potshots at him, he's got a very kind arc laid out.

CINDERPELT

She is the daughter of LIONHEART whY don't you people give her A MANEEEE

let her be THICK

In BB, the Frostfour are actually from two different litters. Cinderpelt and Brackenfur were in the older one.

Frostfur was head of Kitchen Patrol at the time, and very overworked lmao

So Cinder and Bracken both have an "older sibling" energy. Their mom was usually involving them in every little activity to get some help. Brackenfur is over-responsible, and Cinderpelt was always trying to help out other people and prove herself.

Of course, it also lead to her running right into Tigerclaw's trap which was set for Bluestar-- she wanted to be helpful.

The injury didn't heal right and she has chronic pain. She has severe mobility issues in the hip, and usually keeps the leg bound to her body so it doesn't drag or hurt.

She could have still been a warrior if she wanted to, but discovered while healing that she loved working with Yellowfang. I also interpret it this way in canon, to be fair, but TNP decided to remember it completely differently.

After saving Littlecloud's life they became absolute best friends. They worked on a mobility device for Wildfur together.

They style their manes in a similar way, pushing it up into that "spike" on their heads and out of their faces.

ASHFUR

Moonkitti's blonde Ashfur remains iconic, I fear

I draw him like a cheetah so he has the funky cheetah cub hair

I'm a HUGE fan of what the Erins did with the direction of Ashfur's story, with him being an obsessive spurned lover, but that's not really the sort of story I tell in BB!

So I approach his obsession on Squirrelflight as being very... Judge Frollo-esque.

Frollo's ultimate goal isn't to possess Esmerelda. He wants her, but it's a wrench in his plans to commit ethnic cleansing using his religious justifications. Hellfire is about how he finds a way to shift the blame for his own lust onto her, and offers an ultimatum; "She will be mine or she will burn (along with everyone else I plan to slaughter)"

In Frollo's mind, he "forgives" her for what she's "done to him." For what she is. He sees what he's doing as giving her an "escape."

It's not for her benefit. It's for HIS. By giving her this "escape," if she takes it, he gets to think of her as redeeming herself (and thus being worthy of him).

If she does not... then it's no skin off his back. He's Done His Part. Everything was always her fault. He is blameless.

Either way he gets to walk away feeling justified.

All that to say-- that's how I approach BB!Ashfur.

He wants to punish codebreakers. He wants the Clans to suffer for how far they've fallen from where they should be. They've become vulgar, ungrateful, unworthy of StarClan's grace.

He tried to kill The Three because he'd learned of the Fire and Tiger prophecy, and was only trying to protect the Clan. If Squirrelflight had CHOSEN HIM, then none of this would have happened.

He was righting a wrong, you see, and StarClan understood, in his eyes.

When Hollyleaf slaughtered him, violating the Code, it only confirmed he had been right all along.

And again and again and again, he offers Squirrelflight what she needs to redeem herself. He wants her. He wants her to "be better."

When she lets him down... then it's not his fault. She's forced his paw.

SO the blonde hair isn't totally just a fun reference, I also find it fitting because aside from the cheetah motif, he sees himself as angelic.

It's also why I don't portray him as "grubby" like some folks do, BB!Ashfur is much more vain than Canon!Ashfur, caring immensely about his appearance. Thinking about it, he probably won't even let his Bramblefake vessel fall into disrepair, he'd feel more grossed out than usual.

He also gets a very cool boss fight form at the end of BB!TBC which I still need to design lmao.

[screeblees]

Hello! I love your work!! Can I please request a really lovesick yandere who starts killing people to try and get their best friend/crush to get scared and rely on them more, but their darling is so stupid they don’t even bother to think it could happen to them and isn’t affected at all by the murder spree their yandere is on?

I feel like that’s be amusing to watch.

Lovesick ! Yandere x Oblivious ! Reader Headcanons

Hi! Thanks soo much!!

I love this request and I really hope I did it justice!&lt;3

Sorry it took so long to answer, been quite busy over the holidays but wanted to get something out for New Year's Eve!

Lovesick ! Yandere is Gender Neutral and Oblivious ! Reader is also Gender Neutral

Find my Masterlist here !

Please enjoy!!<33

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who has been your Best Friend for so long at this point that they think you’re practically in a relationship.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who always thought you were a little clueless and were happy to wait for the day you notice them romantically just as they had done the first time you called them your Best Friend.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who realises they have to take matters into their own hands and be a bit more forceful once you begin dating in high school, whilst they turned down any confession sent their way.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who begins simple, manipulating convincing you to spend more time with them, come with them to that place you wanted to go, do that activity with them, not whoever you were briefly with.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who stalks you on every single date you go on, and snaps whilst watching you on your most recent date as you let whoever you were with kiss you.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who realises whilst watching one of your favourite horror movies together that fear, trauma bonding and such scenarios always bring couples together in movies and so it should work on you, too.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who wants with all their being for you to come running to them after hearing about each murder, terrified of the big bad killer and the only thing able to comfort you is being enveloped in a hug from them, with your head tucked into their neck as their arms wrap around you, their words and touch the only safe space after everyone else you know is dead or missing.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who begins their killing spree with those in your classes who can’t seem to take a hint from your Best Friend’s possessive hand placements every moment they’re with you, and instead lets their words become a little too friendly.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who wants to build the stress and anxiety in you, and have you break in their arms as the string of murders slowly get closer and closer to you, socially.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who has long since had a list of people close to you, containing every touchy classmate, and useless ex, as well as your friends both distant and close to you. All arranged in order from how close they are to you, and crossed off as they all begin disappearing one by one.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who initially plans not to hurt your immediate family… unless they - for some reason - suspect your dear Best Friend and try to force a larger gap between you than the one they were trying to fix in the first place, then your loved ones won’t be so fortunate.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who thinks that you just didn’t see the news or pay much attention to your surroundings, they already knew you could be pretty oblivious at times.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who overhears a conversation between you and their next target, said target bringing up the increasingly violent murders, sharing their fears, whilst all you have to say in reply is a dismissive “Oh yeah, I heard about them,”.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who decides to ask you for themself one night while having a sleepover, “Aren’t you worried you could be next?” the police had officially announced it being a serial killer that day, “Me? Nah,” is all you had to say, too invested in the activity of your choice. Confused, your Best Friend probes further, “But…don’t you know all the victims personally? What if the murderer is someone close to you?” You shake your head dismissively, “No way, it’s definitely a coincidence,” you say without a hint of sarcasm, completely unbothered.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who plays with the idea of having you come across a body, to really shock you and make you realise how real what’s happening is, and how close it is to you.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who can’t quite understand your intense denial of your relation to the murders, are you trying to avoid the topic? Maybe to stop yourself from breaking down? 

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who was surprised one night on a call with you where you brought up the topic first this time, complaining about your most recent group project partner going missing because now you have to do it all by yourself. 

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who took the opportunity to spend time with you and be your replacement project partner despite not taking the class it’s for, remaining confused at your flippancy in bringing up the “tragedy”.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who can’t decide in the end if you’re really this oblivious (stupid), or if you know and just don’t care. Although they do fantasize at the thought of you secretly knowing that your Best Friend is the one behind everything and feeling safety in knowing that this is all for you. Either way, your Lovesick ! Yandere is elated.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who loves you all the more despite your confusing reactions and ruining of their plans. All they want is every smidge of your attention and you to be as obsessed with them and their safety as they are with yours. It all makes you more lovable, though, like a big dumb puppy.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who continues with their killing spree despite it not having a direct effect on you as they quickly found it discouraged those around you - those that are left, at least - to begin avoiding you as people started collecting the dots and spreading rumours. Nobody else approaches you anymore, not that you seem to notice though, too busy rambling to your Best Friend.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who is just as pleased with this outcome as the one they had been aiming for when they started their rampage. All they had really wanted was to become the centre of your world once more...

[onlycosmere]

Brandon Sanderson doing a reading from Stormlight 5.

Transcript of the reading is below:

Chapter Shallan One

Shallan lingered atop Lasting Integrity, the great fortress of the honorspren, thinking about all the people she'd been. The way she changed based on perspective. Indeed, life was largely about perspective. Like this strange structure: a hollow, rectangular block hundreds of feet tall, dominating Shadesmar's landscape. People—spren—lived along the inside walls, walking up and down them, ignoring conventions of gravity. Looking down along one of the inside walls could be stomach-churning, unless you changed your perspective. Unless you convinced yourself that walking up and down that wall was normal. Whether a person was strong or not wasn't usually subject to debate; yet if gravity could be a matter of opinion...

She turned away from the heart of Lasting Integrity and walked along the very top of the wall, looking out to survey Shadesmar. Rolling ocean of beads in one direction; jagged obsidian highlands lined with crystalline trees in the other. On the wall with her, an even more daunting sight: two spren with heads made of geometric lines, each wearing a robe of some too-stiff, glossy black material.

Two spren.

She'd bonded two. One during her childhood, one as an adult. She'd hurt the first and suppressed the memory. Shallan knelt down before Testament, her original spren. The cryptic sat with her back to the stone railing. The lines and pattern that made up her head were crooked, like broken twigs. Int he center, the lines were scratched and rough, as if someone had taken a knife to them. More telling, her pattern was almost frozen.

Nearby, Pattern's head pulsed like a vibrant heart, always moving, always forming some new geometric display. Comparing the two broke Shallan's heart. She had done this to Testament by rejecting the bond after using her Shardblade to kill her mother.

Testament reached out with a long-fingered hand, and Shallan, pained, took it. It gripped hers lightly. But Shallan got the sense that it was all the strength Testament had. Testament responded to being a deadeye differently from Maya, who stood nearby with Adolin and Kelek. Maya had always seemed strong of body, even as a deadeye. Spren broke in different ways, it appeared. Just like people.

Testament squeezed Shallan's hand again, bearing no expression but that torpid motion of lines. "Why?" Shallan asked. "Why don't you hate me?"

Pattern rested his hand on Shallan's shoulder. "We both knew the danger, the sacrifice in bonding to humans again."

"I hurt her."

"Yet, here you are," Pattern said, "able to stand tall. Able to control the Surges. Able to protect the world."

"She should hate me," Shallan whispered. "But there's no vitriol in the way she holds my hand. No judgement in the way she remains with us."

"Because the sacrifice was worth something, Shallan," Pattern said, uncharacteristically reserved. "It worked. In the end, you recovered, did better. I am still here, and remarkably, I am not even a little bit dead. I do not think you will kill me at all, Shallan. I am very happy about that."

"Can I heal her?" Shallan asked. "Maybe if I bond her again?"

"I think, after talking to Kelek," Pattern said, "I think you are still bonded to her."

"But..." Shallan looked over her shoulder at him. "I broke the bond. That did this."

"Some breaks are messy," Pattern said. "A slice with a sharpened knife is clean. A slice with a dull one is ragged. Your break, done by a child without full intent, is like the one ragged. In some ways, that makes it worse. But it does mean there is still some Connection between you two."

"So..."

"So, no," Pattern said. "I do not think merely saying words again would heal her." His head pattern spun a little more slowly, as if he were contemplating something profound. "These numbers are unfamiliar, Shallan. Strange. Irrational. And a sequence I do not understand. I mean... I mean we are walking on unfamiliar ground. A better metaphor for you, yes. Unfamiliar ground."

In the deep past, deadeyes did not exist. It was what they had learned, in part, from the honorspren and from Maya. The deadeyes—all of them except Testament—had been bonded to ancient Radiants before the Recreance. Together, they had rejected their oaths, human and spren alike. They thought it would cause a painful but survivable split. Instead, something had gone terribly wrong. The result had been the deadeyes. The explanation might lie with Kelek, the very person Shallan had been sent to Lasting Integrity to kill.

She squeezed Testament's hand. "I'm going to help you," Shallan whispered. "Whatever it takes." Testament didn't respond, but Shallan leaned in, wrapping her arms around the cryptic. Pattern's robe always felt hard, yet Testament's bent like cloth. "Thank you," Shallan said, for coming to me when I was young. Thank you for protecting me. I still do not remember it all, but thank you."

The cryptic slowly but deliberately put her arms around Shallan and squeezed back.

"Rest, now," Shallan said, wiping her eyes and standing up. "I'm going to figure this out."

* * *

Shallan and Pattern left Testament to rest and crossed the wall at Lasting Integrity to meet with Adolin, Maya, and the Herald Kelek, who were speaking with a kind of spren that Kelek called a seon. She manifest as a hovering ball of light roughly the size of a head, with an odd symbol at the center. Other than them, the wall top was empty this day.

"You don't remember?" Pattern asked softly as he and Shallan walked. "The events with Testament? I thought you did. I thought, with Veil gone..."

"Veil is not gone," Shallan said. "She's part of me, like she always was."

"I don't understand."

"It's hard to explain," Shallan said, "and I'm not sure I've entirely figured it out. Healing is not an event, Pattern, but a process. I've incorporated Veil into myself so she doesn't take control any longer, but she's not gone. Veil is me, but Veil is not always Shallan."

"But... you are Shallan."

"Imagine it," she said, "as Veil moving to the back of the wagon as we ride to the future. She's still there, coaching me, and we're both aware of the world." There was more to it than that, of course. Shallan had projected some uncomfortable aspects of herself into Veil; now she had to face them. She'd worried that Adolin would find it difficult, but, well... Adolin Kholin was storming wonderful. After the discussion last night, he seemed to understand. Together, they knew that there was work to do, but Shallan had taken an enormous step toward healing. And along with it, acknowledged something important: she didn't deserve hatred, but understanding. It was hard to believe, but Veil insisted they try anyway.

"But..." Pattern said, "Radiant is still separate?"

"More separate," Shallan said.

"Mmm... so still in the front of the wagon."

"Yes. That might change. It might not need to change. I'm figuring this out as I go, Pattern. But I do feel better. More importantly, I no longer need Veil to stand between me and the memories."

"So you do remember!"

"Yes and no," Shallan said. "It's a jumble. I was young, and the events were traumatic, and there was so much pain associated with memories of my mother. I need time to process."

"Mmm... humans are squishy. Not just bodies; minds, too. Memories, too. Ideas, too. Mmm..." He seemed pleased by that.

As a child, she'd bonded a spren. Something her mother had not liked. A man had come, either to hurt Shallan or separate her from Testament. Her father had fought him, and during their struggle, Shallan's mother had come at her with a knife. In self-defense, Shallan had killed her mother with an early manifestation of Testament as a Shardblade. Shallan, in trauma, had rejected her nascent oath and buried those memories. But if her bond with Testament had never been fully broken, what did that mean? And which memories of those days between her mother's death and the arrival of Pattern... which of those involved Testament?

I knew I had a Shardblade, long before I had bonded Pattern. I thought about it in Kharbranth. She'd convinced herself that the weapon belonged to her father and had been kept in a safe. She'd gone there before leaving and drawn it out to dismiss it, pretending it was an ordinary Blade, pretending she had ten seconds to summon it. However, a part of her had known, even then, it was Testament, a friend to whom she'd done great harm. That was the one thing Shallan clearly remembered. Testament was her friend. A dimpled pattern on the wall that had delighted, then engaged, then protected a young girl.

Her spren had never been as talkative as Pattern. Indeed, Shallan could only remember rare, soft fragments of speech, encouraging her to stand against the darkness in her family. Shallan had loved her mysterious spren dearly. Though her memories were jumbled, the emotions shone through the pain. Strength could be a matter of perception, sometimes, and today Shallan found she could choose strength.

They approached Adolin, Maya, and Kelek. Shallan still found it incredible that this man was one of the Heralds of the Almighty. The short, balding fellow kept rubbing his hands together, as if washing them with an invisible soap and water. Adolin and Maya practically towered over him as they spoke to the ball of light.

Maya was obviously paying attention. She wasn't completely healed; her eyes were still scratched out, and her coloring wan brown instead of vibrant green like the others of her kind, but she was getting better. She no longer wandered off or just stared blankly during conversations. She was even starting to talk more, here and there.

"I worry about what is to come," the ball of light was saying. It had transformed into an approximation of Wit's face, made all of soft white-blue light, and spoke with his voice. The spren was a way to contact him, as they'd discovered a few days ago. "The war is about to intensify. It all rests upon the contest of champions. Odium's chosen warrior against whomever old Dalinar chooses."

"Father will choose himself," Adolin said. "When the Blackthorn needs to be certain something is done right, he will do it himself." Adolin paused, then glanced at Maya. "Storm him, he's probably our best chance, though."

"Wit," Shallan said. "It's really happening?"

"It is indeed. The contest is set, contracts agreed to. Shallan, they've set it for ten days from now."

"So soon?" Shallan asked. "Storms. Where?"

"Urithiru," Adolin said, arms folded. "They've already sent Windrunners to get us, apparently. Should arrive today." Shallan chewed on that, trying to to feel emotional whiplash. It had taken weeks to reach Lasting Integrity, but Windrunners could have them back to Urithiru within the day, depending on how much Stormlight they brought.

She found herself eager to return. She'd had enough of the honorspren and their elitism. She missed blue skies and plants that didn't crinkle when you touched them. Though Shadesmar had a sun, it was distant and cold. She could never thrive here. Plus, as she'd indicated to Testament, she had work to do.

"Wit," Shallan said, stepping closer, the glowing version of his face focused on her. "My brothers are safe? You're certain?"

"Very certain, Brilliant One," he said back, soft. "You're sure the Ghostbloods will move against you?"

"Yes," she said. After a year and a half of flirting with the Ghostbloods, she'd finally stepped up and said no. Doing so had essentially declared war on them. She found Adolin's hand for support. He knew the entire story, now. "Wit, I know their faces, their plans. I'm likely the greatest threat on the planet to their organization, and they've tried to kill Jasnah for less. Everyone I love is in danger."

"I have to manage Dalinar and try to prepare him," Wit said, "but I think I can help you, as well. I've been watching Mraize's little crew; I'll send your people my drawings of their members. But take care, Shallan. I know this group and their leader; they can be brutal."

"As can I," Shallan whispered. She glanced at Kelek, who was staring out over the bead ocean and the deadeyed spren who still stood on the shore. Despite him, she felt safe here, with Pattern, Adolin, and Maya. Safe enough to voice it. "Wit, I'm worried, though. Am I ready?"

"I ask myself that same question, now and then," he said. "And, Shallan, I'm ten thousand years old."

"During the trip," she said, "I started to create a new persona, Wit. Formless. A version of me, but..." How did she explain it? "A version of me with no face. A version of me who could do terrible things. I walked away from it, Wit, but that capacity is still inside of me."

"Shallan," he said, and she looked up, meeting his eyes. "If it weren't for that capacity, then what good would choices be? If we never had the power to do terrible things, then what heroism would it be to resist?"

"But..."

"Did you turn it away?" he asked. And Adolin squeezed her hand.

"Yes."

"Then heroism it is, Shallan."

"I'm remembering what I did to my mother," she said. "And my father. And, to a lesser extent, Tyn and now Mraize. I'm going to have to kill him, Wit. Is that my destiny? To kill every person who has ever mentored me?" In that, finally, her fears found voice. Did it sound silly, foolish, ridiculous? This pattern she'd seen in her life?

Wit did not laugh, though, and he considered himself an expert on what was ridiculous. "Would that any of us," he said, "could protect ourselves from the costs of heroism. But, again, if there were no costs, no sacrifice, then would it be heroism at all? I cannot promise you that it will be easy, Shallan, but I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of you," Radiant whispered.

"I'm proud of you," Veil—the part of her that was Veil—agreed.

"Thank you," she said.

"I have to go," Wit said, "but I'll leave you with this. The Ghostbloods want something extremely valuable, and you have the key to it standing with you right now. If you want to destroy them, you might not need to kill every last one of them. Instead, you might just need a powerful leverage over them."

The glowing sphere melted from his face, back to a sphere. "He's gone," the spren said. "I'm sorry."

Wit's final words lingered with Shallan, reinforcing something she'd been considering: a way to protect Roshar from the Ghostbloods. And indeed, she knew what their next target was likely to be. They'd sent her to Lasting Integrity to get intel on one of the Unmade, and the Herald standing with her had the secrets they all wanted to know.

"I need," she said to Kelek, "to know everything you know about Ba-Ado-Mishram.

The Herald wrung his hands and looked to the side, as if seeking to escape.

"We're not going to hurt you," Adolin said calmly. "You know that by now."

"I do," Kelek said. "It's just... I wasn't supposed to be involved. None of us are."

"I don't think the other Heralds follow that," Shallan noted, folding her arms. "What did you do, Kelek?"

"Not much," he said, putting his hand to his head. "I... I can't do much, these days. I don't know why. I can't decide. I..." He looked up at them and then formed fists, pulling them close up to his chest. "I was at Urithiru when the plan to capture Mishram was conceived. Then I joined them on their mission. I guess I'm the only one alive who actually knows what happened to her. It's why the Ghostbloods and their cursed Lord of Scars want me."

"Just tell us," Shallan said.

"Some of us learned you could capture spren inside gemstones," he explained. "Mishram, for all her power, was a spren. The Radiants prepared a flawless heliodor, the color of sunlight, and they trapped her inside, and then they hid her prison. Not in the Physical Realm, and not in Shadesmar." He bit his lip between his teeth, then forced out another part. "In the Spiritual Realm. Melishi hid it there."

"How?" Shallan asked, sharing a look with Adolin."

"I don't know," Kelek said, backing away. "I don't know. But now... now they'll send more people for me, won't they? They'll trap me in a gemstone; or they think they'll be able to." He looked to the two of them, wide-eyed, and fled toward the way down. None of them gave chase. This was, unforunately, usual behavior for Kelek.

Maya grunted softly, watching him go. "He's gotten a lot worse," she said.

Shallan started. "You knew him?"

"Met him a few times," Maya said, then took a deep breath. "Never... never thought much of him, even then."

"Well," Shallan said, "we know something more about Mishram, at least. Her prison is part of what Mraize has been hunting for a long time now, I suspect. I might need to find it first, before he can do so."

"Ba-Ado-Mishram," Adolin said, thoughtful, leaning back against the wall's battlements. "The most powerful of the Unmade. What would the Ghostbloods want with her, though?"

"Mmm," Pattern said. "Power. So much power. She was nearly a god. She bonded the singers, once. Could Mraize be wanting to do something similar?"

Shallan shivered, considering and thinking of Mraize and his master Iyatil, somehow commanding the entirety of the enemy army. Was that possible? "Whatever the reason," Shallan said, "I have to stop him."

"Her prison is in the Spiritual Realm, though?" Adolin said, frowning. "What does that even mean?"

"Mmm," Pattern said, "means we will never be able to find it."

"Surely it's possible," Shallan said. "The ancient Radiants put it there; we should be able to take it out."

"You don't understand," Pattern said, holding hands apart and gesturing in his way. "You think Shadesmar is odd, yes? Black sky, little sun, Pattern with arms and legs for perambulating." His head spun a little faster. "The Spiritual Realm is stranger by orders of magnitude. It is a place where the future blends with the present. The past echoes, like the striking of a clock. Time and distance stretch, like numbers, infinitely repeating. It is where gods live, and even baffles some of them."

Shallan took that in, then glanced at Testament, huddled in the shadow of the wall further back along the walk. "Our best guess," she said, "is that the deadeyes were created because Mishram was imprisoned, right?"

"Agreed," Pattern said. "Mishram became like a god to the singers, the parshmen. She connected to Roshar, and echoes of that filtered to the spren. Ah, so wonderfully odd. Her imprisonment is the reason broken bonds now have such an effect on the spren."

"It's because," Maya said, "humans have no Honor. The god, I mean... I heard that... that Mishram had been captured. I heard that... the Radiants would destroy the world. That is why I decided.... decided it was done." She shook her head. "I don't know it all. I'd... like to. Considering the breaking... what the breaking... breaking the bond did to me..."

That day, the day Mishram had been captured, something deeper had happened, an event connecting humankind, Honor, spren, and the bonds. "We need to figure out how Mishram or her prison has power over bonds," Shallan said, looking to Pattern. "We need to go into the Spiritual Realm and find that prison, however difficult it is."

His pattern slowed, then finally he laced his fingers together. "Very well. Though, you know what I said when I said I was sure you wouldn't get me killed?"

"Yes."

"I should like," he declared, "to make a retraction.

 

Chapter Shallan Two

It was nice for Shallan to take a few hours to think, for once. Sitting, wearing a bright blue havah, rather than her traveling clothing, settled at the top row of the stone, open-air forum within Lasting Integrity, drawing. How long had it been since she'd simply let herself draw? She'd sketched a little during her trip, but that felt like an eternity ago.

She relaxed, flowing with the drawing, a depiction of the vertigo she felt looking up along the inside walls of Lasting Integrity. A surreal painting, like something from one of the older art movements, where perspective was intentionally alien and off-putting. She liked to think that the old surrealists had made contact with spren in Shadesmar, warping their minds to new ways of seeing things. Though she'd never been quite as good with landscapes as she was with people, she was proud of the sense her sketch gave of falling. Yet into what? You could not see, because the unnatural perspective held your eyes upward.

Like others she'd done today, a strange face kept sneaking into the art. In this case, she'd absently warped the shadings of one wall into that face. Feminine, a singer with angular carapace and shadows and curves forming a strata-like design on her face. Shallan flipped through her sketchbook. Each drawing done today had that singer face hidden somewhere, and she didn't remember making them. She'd done something similar at Urithiru, where the presence of an Unmade had warped her sketches. She tried not to let it disturb her quite so much, this time. Then, it had been a message. Was there a similar one, now?

She looked toward Adolin, who paced at the center of the forum, a place where just a few days before he'd been on trial. Today, he'd been joined by Godeke, a lanky Edgedancer. Shallan's agents had joined them, as well—Ishnah, Vathah, and Beryl—along with their cryptics. Together, they waited for the Windrunners, and for the fruits of some final efforts in Lasting Integrity. She started another sketch as they waited.

In the end, twelve arrived. Twelve honorspren, from a population of hundreds. That was how many showed up in response to Adolin's call to arms. He and Godeke greeted each one with a smile, but she knew he'd expected more.

One other did arrive. Notum, the former sea captain, still had his unique facial hair, though he walked on unsteady feet. They still didn't know why he'd been assaulted by those Tukari that Adolin had saved him from. Notum didn't join Godeke and Adolin, but instead walked down the steps to join Shallan. "Radiant Kholin?" he said.

That was still odd to hear, even a year after the wedding. It hadn't been assumed that she would take Adolin's name. Among the Alethi lighteyes, either party was equally likely to keep their name as adopt a new one. In her case, she was needed in the Kholin line of succession. She doubted she'd take a throne that Adolin had turned down, but Dalinar wanted people he trusted in line. Her adoption in the Kholin house would strengthen their claim, should it come to that. In explaining this to her, Dalinar and Navani had been speaking pragmatically. But Shallan knew she'd remember that day differently. For her, it was the day when a set of parents had, for the first time, wanted her.

Notum settled down beside her. "Your mission was a success. Twelve new Radiants."

"We expected more, though," Radiant said, emerging. "After the support Adolin got at the trial, I anticipated an excellent recruitment effort."

"A good number of the honorspren support him," Notum said, "but that doesn't mean they want to be bonded. One can be irate at the honorspren leadership and think humans are deserving of support without wanting to take that step."

Down below the twelve honorspren started to fade. "I've never seen this before," Notum added. "I thought they'd go in a blink. Instead, they fade away to nothing."

"Not nothing," Radiant said. "They'll appear on the other side."

"I hear it's traumatic," Notum said. He had a stiff, formal way of speaking, even when the words were casual, clipping each word as if he were making an announcement from the quarterdeck of a ship. "Spren on the other side forget themselves."

"Only briefly," Radiant said. "These will probably stay in a group, which helps, and immediately make their way to Urithiru, drawn by the squires training there."

"Do you even need them now, though?" Notum asked. "Isn't the war soon to end?"

"Windrunners are our primary method of traveling long distances, and I suspect they'll be helpful in peacetime. Beyond that, even if Dalinar wins the contest, I worry about what is to come next. I think, the more Radiants we have, the more stable our position will be."

"Then I should hurry," Notum said, standing. "To join them. So that I'm not left alone."

Radiant approved, but Shallan... she noticed something. "You sound reluctant," Shallan said.

He looked at her, glowing the same soft blue of all the honorspren. His uniform, his hair, everything about him was made of the same soft light. Solid, not transparent, but also not quite real in the way she understood reality. "There's nothing more for me here," Notum said. "I've been rejected of mine and seen their pettiness. I should like to be of service. Though, I admit, I do not wish to bond a human. I loathe the idea. Is that petty of me, in turn?"

"Absolutely not," Shallan said. "I have two bonds, Notum, and understand the cost better than most. It's not pettiness or even cowardness to be hesitant. Just like it's not cowardly or petty to reject any relationship."

"Pardon," Notum said, "but other sorts of relationships don't lead to soldiers with remarkable powers."

That did, admittedly, complicate the matter. But after learning what she'd done to Testament, who sat with Pattern a few rows down, Shallan couldn't help but question their mission itself. They needed Windrunners, yes; but it made her increasingly uncomfortable to demand that a spren bond. It wasn't intimate in the traditional human sense of the word, but it felt as deeply personal. "We can use every Windrunner, yes," she said, "but I don't think you should force yourself to bond a human if that makes you uncomfortable. You can be a good person and say no, Notum. I've learned that."

"Perhaps," Notum said. "Perhaps I will stay a little longer here, then. With effort, I might persuade others of my kind to offer you support." He pointed and drew her attention to a group of honorspren walking past wearing traveling clothing and carrying gear, as if to leave on a long hike. They waved to Shallan and Adolin but did not join those fading away.

"Objectors?" Shallan asked as Adolin waved back to them. "Those you mentioned earlier?"

"Yes. They don't agree with how you were treated but also don't want to go to war. They leave Lasting Integrity to make their own way."

She nodded. "Well, Radiant Godeke is staying to continue to normalize relations with the honorspren, and I might leave one of my agents, as well. If you stay, that would help. They could use a solid ally here."

"I am your ally," he said, "but as I warned you, the honorspren leadership does not care for me, even if they have been forced to revoke my exile." His expression grew distant. "We have an entire navy that once sailed the bead ocean. It is a shame to see those boats abandoned in the shipyards. It gives the enemy full control of Shadesmar's seas. Perhaps I could sail under honorspren authority again."

Storms. If Shallan hadn't said anything, Notum might have actually gone to become a Radiant spren. Meaning she'd just actively gone against their orders in coming here. Perhaps she wouldn't mention that part in her report to Dalinar.

No other spren came. Lucintia, the spren who had been Shallan's guide since her arrival at Lasting Integrity, made no appearance. Shallan had hoped she would change her mind, despite their occasional clashes.

"Notum" Shallan said, "thank you. For how you stood up for us during the trial."

"I am one person stretched thin, Radiant Kholin," he said, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. "Like colors on the mast, which have waved too long in the wind. I don't know what I believe or trust any longer. But what was done to you was not right. I could not play the sham role they demanded of me. I ask your forgiveness for even considering it."

"It was natural to want your old life back, Notum."

He turned to her, blue eyes meeting hers. "I lay on the ground, battered and assaulted, and watched your husband rise in my defense against overwhelming odds. He saved me with no expectation of reward. In that moment, I knew that Honor lived." He nodded curtly to Shallan, then walked down the steps to talk with Adolin.

Shallan slowly turned back to her sketch, where she soon found that she'd drawn yet another face in Adolin's shadow. Storms. Don't be unnerved, she thought. You were upset when you drew Pattern for the first time back in Kharbranth. But look how that turned out. She would not be afraid of her own art. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to flip to the next sheet and start drawing again, until someone else settled down beside her. Kelek leaned forward, hands clasped, seeming small and fragile.

"I'm not going with you," he said softly. "I... I can't."

"It's not safe for you here," Shallan said, sketching, fingers moving as if of their own accord. "If I got to you, Mraize's other assassins can do so."

"I... I will hide. Better. But I can't leave the seon, and she can't travel right now. It wouldn't be good for her."

Shallan didn't argue. It never seemed to work with Kelek. Instead, she lost herself in a sketch of him. A Herald to add to her collection. She might have said this was the rarest of gems to obtain, but was a Herald actually rarer than anyone else? One might say, because of their immortality, they were less so.

"We are broken, Shallan," Kelek finally said. "We are not the heroes you wish us to be. Not any more."

"I know how that feels."

"I don't think you do," he said, wrapping his arms around himself. "I don't believe anyone does." He looked to Adolin, chatting with Notum and Godeke. "You're really going to try to find Mishram?"

"If I don't," Shallan said, "my enemies will."

"Then what?" he said. "Will you release her? I... I cannot decide. Always cannot decide. I have preached for her freedom in the past, but now I worry. She might join and strengthen Odium. She hates humans." He put his hand to his head. "Ishar says all the Unmade should be contained. Yet what we did to the singers by imprisoning her..."

"I'll worry about that when we find her gemstone," Shallan said. "Honestly, I'll probably bring it back to the Bondsmiths and let everyone decide together."

He didn't decide to respond, so she continued drawing. The familiar sound of charcoal pencil on paper, the distilled attention of creation, like the most potent of alcohol. She attracted a few creationspren, like little swirling lights. These ones, though, behaved oddly. In here, she'd never seen them change shape like they did in the Physical Realm, but these started adopting the look of her pencil and eraser.

She kept drawing, lines imitating life, freeing it, but altering at the same time. You could never make an exact copy; that wasn't the point. Every sketch was a picture of the artist, as well. Their perspective, their emphasis, their instinct, reclaiming a moment otherwise lost. Once you got to the end, it was sublime. The moment when you basked in the thing you'd created. The feeling of awe mixed with disbelief that this beautiful object had come from you, accompanied by the slightest worry that, because if you didn't understand how you did it, you maybe didn't deserve to have been part of the creation. She loved the feeling, even the uncertainty of it.

"Radiant," Kelek said, hands clasped as he stared down at the stone floor of the amphitheater, "what do you fear?"

What kind of question was that? "I don't know," she lied.

"I fear options," he said. "I see every choice I make, and I see the terrible results that could stem from them. If I stay here, I see you fail without me. If I go, I see my presence—broken as I am—cause your failure. I cannot continue. I do not..."

She rested her hand on his, then handed him the sketch. He took the picture, frowning, then his hands widened as he saw it depicting him standing tall, wearing robes and striding from a fanciful city with colorful walls and strange trees with long fronds she'd made up. He carried a staff with an odd shape at the top and strode toward the growing light on the horizon. Though, in the picture, he looked backward, and his face was determined. Decisive.

"Do you often do this?" he asked.

"Sketch people?" she said, then blushed. "Yes, I kind of do it all the time. When I'm feeling like myself, at least."

"Not simply sketching, child. Do you often draw upon Fortune? Glimpse someone's possible selves, then pull one forth? Touch, in some way, what could have been? What might still be?" He glanced at her and must have seen the utter confusion in her eyes as he sighed. "Is this a skill commonly employed by Lightweavers during your time?"

"Not that I know of," she said. "But I don't exactly understand what you're saying."

He glanced toward Pattern and Testament. "Two spren... Of course, you've bonded two. Strange things happen when a Nahel bond is imbricated. There were rules against it once, I believe. How long have you had them both?

"For some time" she said. "Though I didn't know it. I didn't remember it until just recently."

"And how often," he asked, holding up the sheet, "do you glimpse into the Spiritual Realm, then manifest it in your art?"

"I..." She thought back to pictures she'd done, like one found in the pocket of a dead man. Like sketches of the Unmade lurking in Urithiru, or faces turning up in her art without her intending to draw them. She began to feel like a fool for objecting so quickly to someone who obviously knew far more about these things than she did. "It might happen now and then," she said. "There was an Unmade at Urithiru, and it showed up in my art. Now, these faces." She turned one toward him.

He nodded. "Because you've been thinking about traveling to the Spiritual Realm and finding Ba-Ado-Mishram."

"That's her?"

"One interpretation of her, yes," he said. "If you were someone else, I would assume you had seen some ancient art and were unconsciously influenced by it. For you..." He shrugged. "Fortune can do unthought, <phantotic> things."

"I'm sorry? '<Phantotic>'?"

"It means 'unnerving,'" he said. "I'm sorry. I don't keep up on shifts in language, nor am an expert on Fortune. Best speak to Midius, your Wit, about that. A <phantotic> man himself, that one."

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Welp. With the Vs airing out the dirty laundry how long until the Hotel is attacked AGAIN? And how long until Hell views Charlie not as a weak princess, but a cold hearted one?

ayyyyyyy....

what if the first person Charlie ever kills is a sinner trying to get revenge on Vaggie for being a former exorcist? for being caught on camera killing someone THEY loved??

the switcheroo of, Charlie princess of hell, too soft hearted for her own good trying to save her people from heaven with therapy and hugs, to Charlie zero hesitation fully killing one of her own people to protect her murder angel girlfriend?

Sinners were attacking the hotel to get to Vaggie. No they're avoid it out of fear of Charlie

and she's.... weirdly okay with that

and maybe. it turns out for the better. somehow?

imagine everyone at the hotel expects her to freak out over the killing thing because she's CHARLIE she didn't even want her dad to off the guy who murdered her FRIEND.... she's so calm about it and they all think she's in shock....

But what if Charlie finds out she really is fine with killing someone to keep Vaggie safe. Even when she didn't have too.

there were other ways to stop the attack and Charlie took the one that made sure this person would never get another chance to take Vaggie from her

Charlie already has too many nightmares about Lute and a sword- but that was a fear coming from heaven, far away and a known expected threat, something Vaggie hates and will fight against. Vaggie didn't fight against the sinner who came for her. Charlie and terrifying shock of understanding they're surrounded by people who want Vaggie dead now and Vaggie is vulnerable to them in a way a shield won't fix. So Charlie used her trident instead. She cut down the number of people who could ever kill Vaggie by one. She made and example. Gave a warning.

and it's not upsetting to her. It should be and isn't

What if THAT'S what she'd slowly start breaking down over?

Charlie and Lucifer bonding over how falling in love ends with them both falling from their own ideas of grace, and how being fine with that doesn't stop it from hurting

Charlie and all of HELL bonding- maybe, in a weird twist, Charlie becomes closer to her people after defiantly broadcasting a song about how she doesn't regret what she did and would do it again in a heartbeat- so DON'T fucking TRY IT- Vaggie has killed thousands, she's got more blood on her hands than most of the sinners in hell, she's down here fighting for them and trying to heal with scars that never really will and Charlie loves her and will tear apart her own morals to protect the life they've built together

there'd probably a lot of sinners in hell who can feel for that. maybe it turns out that a princess who's more like them is what they needed. it's something they can respect and open up to

they still hate Vaggie tho :/

[wherewisteriaends]

It really took me 24 hours to realize something. It's not that the ending is a bad ending. I mean, take us back a week ago. We all said that their kiss would be the kiss of death. We all predicted that Agatha would sacrifice herself for Teen. We also saw that the Road was it was very probable that Billy or Agatha (turned out both) could have created the road. If we all thought it, that says something and that is this ending made sense. So why are we all so angry ? Because even if it was an ending that made sense, they didn't write it in a way that it would make sense. And I'm not saying we didn't get a redemption arc when we should have. I don't think Agatha should have had a redemption arc. However we should at least have had her accepting Death as the end. And also her bonding with Teen. Because yes she has bonded with him but clearly not the point of choosing to die because he mentions Nicky. Which seriously, this sentence made no sense, gave absolute no explanations. Another major issue is the dynamic between Agatha and Rio. Them in episode 8 has nothing to do with all we saw before. It really feels like something happened that we missed or like the story was different. What they showed us of Nicky was beautiful, also doesn't explain Agatha and Rio dynamic in 8 while 8 makes the conflict all about Nicky. Apart from the grave, the whole scene in Agatha's basement was ridiculous. When Agatha is in Teen house, he doesn't act at all like he wants to kill her. And all of sudden he wants to banish her. I'm serious, they fucked up the relationship dynamics and developments. Same goes for Jennifer. She makes it out of road and she doesn't even search for Teen ? Because that would be the best reaction for someone who just said she wasn't letting anyone die under her watch again and that doesn't know Teen is behind her torture. Again, at the opposite of the development we saw of Jennifer. And Billy, which his portrayal is completely chaotic since episode 6. One time when Agatha comes out of the mud he appears like he wants to see her dead. Then in 8 he trusts her with his life all over again. And don't get me started of the nonsense of Billy in episode 9. And no I'm not a Billy hater, but they certainly write him as an inconstant character that obviously results in him being mistrusted by the viewers. Also what pisses me off is that Lilia's ending was perfect, and even Alice sour departure was beautifully handled. Which adds even more to it the sense of ruin.

And there was strong dialogue, strong acting skills in those two last episodes, beautiful scenes on screen. But it still doesn't make sense. I solemnly thank the actors for their portrayal, I thank the whole production team, makeup, costumes, light, cut, sets, everything because this was by far one of the best MCU projects - if not the best. And I doubt it's someone fault for what happened with the last episodes. SO PLEASE DON'T GO HATING ON PEOPLE. Please, think of your own humanity, and even if media make it very easy to succumb to hate, no one is responsible, no one deserves your hate for their part into the production of a show. What gives me a bit of hope is that they were so much left untold that it is possible we get a season 2 or other projects centered around Agatha or Jennifer or other witches. And because there was so much blur, we, as writer and reader, can see the opportunity to partake into a fiction we all so loved. So don't give up on Agatha All Along just yet and see a bit of the bright side. And because, the MCU ethics seriously should be questioned, wait on me, I will come with an essay down the line. And if I do and if you think it's worth readable, I'll send it to Marvel teams.

[artsy-waffle19]

Rating dynamics between characters in Dead Boy Detectives that never actually interacted that much or at all, for absolutely no reason.

- Starting off with probably the most reasonable as number one: Charles and Monty.

I absolutely adored the quiet bitchiness between these two. Not a word was said and everyone could see they can't stand each other now make them solve a case together. Bonus points if they actually bond over shitty parents or the fact that they're basically different flavours of the same person. Solid pairing I give it a 7/10 and I would love to see more of them in s2.

- Up next we got number two: Jenny and The Cat King.

I genuinely don't know why everyone is sleeping on this pairing, this is a comedic goldmine and i will not take any criticism on it. I mean...goth & slut is such a funny concept for a duo and I REALLY want the two of them to be forced into solving some kind of minor case. If we want to ramp up the chaotic energy we should absolutely add Maxine into the mix (bonus points if she's a ghost and becomes besties with CK) 9/10 i love it.

- After the strong one let's go with a chill one for number three: Tragic Mick and the dandelion sprites

Just imagine them, in their silly jar on the counter of the shop and trying to insult him and cussing out his customers. Imagine people entering the shop, trying to buy something and being forced to listen to his tragic backstory while getting roasted for their haircut at the same time. Fun concept but not my fav so I'll give it a 5/10.

- For number four we've got: Edwin and Kashi

I feel like this could actually be an incredibly funny combination. All-time-trauma-olympics-winner and Guy-who-got-swallowed-by-a-giant-fish-and-refuses-to-let-it-traumatise-him. The more thought i put into this, the madder i get that this wasn't actually in the show this could have actually had some super interesting influence on Edwins character development and it's a comedic goldmine. Confident 10/10 would love to see it.

- Next up is number five with: Monty and The Night Nurse

Either they would get along great or one of them would start crying. Generally I think they would be a team that Gets Shit Done and I, for one, would love to see it. All in all it's pretty similar to the Niko and NN dynamic tho so I give it a 7/10.

- Number six iiiiisssss (drumroll pls): Night Nurse and The Cat King

I know both of them were mentioned before but fr this is hilarious. Either he would end up dead or she would quit her job immediately, no inbetween. They don't have much conflict besides annoying each other to the death so there aren't that many possibilities to elaborate on the dynamic but it would have been a funny side dialogue in the show. I give it a 7/10 (bonus points if we throw crystal into the mix, simply because she would enjoy frustrating the shit out of the other two and I need that kind of content in my life).

- Last but not least with number seven, we've got Esther and Maxine

I feel like they would become best friends. They would get along ✨flawlessly✨. Not necessarily because they have much in common but simply because they match each others freak and would feel very validated. Imagine them, having a girls night and gossiping about crazy shit they did due to a relationship gone wrong. Honestly flawless I would have loved seeing Maxine as an evil goon. (Bonus points if she ends up getting a crush on Esther, who thinks it's incredibly entertaining). Can't find any minus point in this so I'll give it a 10/10.

feel free to add ur own to this

[dixons-sunshine]

The One That He Wants | Negan Smith x Grimes!Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: Negan knew that he shouldn't want you. You both fought on opposite sides of the same war. But god, you were damn near irresistible.

Genre: Suggestive? I don't really know.

Era: Alexandria, Saviour arc + post Saviour arc.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos.

Word count: 1.1k

A/n: In celebration of JDM's birthday today, I decided to write a little something for Negan! I probably won't write for him on a consistent basis and I doubt that I'll open requests for him, but this was fun to write. I hope y'all like this!

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Negan knew that he shouldn't be looking at you. You were Rick Grimes' sister, unofficial royalty to the people of Alexandria. If he wanted to keep Rick loyal and working for him, he shouldn't be making it obvious that he wanted you. Besides, you hated him, and if that punch you landed across his jaw on that first day he had come to Alexandria was anything to go by, you'd probably take great pleasure in bashing his head in with Lucille, his beloved baseball bat.

Negan knew that he shouldn't find it hot when you glare daggers in his direction. When he brought Carl back from the Sanctuary, he had found you seated on the couch, clad in shorts and an oversized T-shirt, cradling Judith in your arms. If looks could kill, he would've been a dead man that day. The nasty looks you had sent his way that day was enough to shake any man down to his core, but he didn't scare easily. He found it absolutely hot, and he couldn't understand why. But you had also managed to have a semi decent conversation with him without biting his head off, and had actually managed a smile at him, and that radiant smile of yours was enough to make butterflies do somersaults in his stomach.

Negan knew that he probably shouldn't have hesitated to kill you when the war broke out. You, Carl and Rick were lined up and all he had to do was bash your head in to show Rick who was in charge and not to mess with him. But one look at your face was enough to make him rethink what he wanted to do, and that gave the people of the other communities the opportunity to strike and take down a ton of his men. As he fled the scene, he felt confused, pathetic and downright disappointed in himself. You weren't someone he should find important or special, so why couldn't he kill you?

Negan knew he shouldn't have enjoyed it when you visited him in his cell. Your demeanor towards him had shifted immensely. No longer did you see him as the monster he had become. No, you actually looked at him like he was another human being, like he was someone worth keeping alive, someone worth saving. You spent a couple of hours each day just talking with him, telling him about what was happening outside, about Judith, just about anything in general. You even talked about your life before the apocalypse, and in return, he shared stories of his own. The two of you had formed an unlikely bond, and it was unnerving yet amazing to him. Over the years, you continued to come down just to talk to him, even when your brother seemingly died. You had become the highlight of his dreary days, and what initially had started out as want turned into something else, something deeper.

Negan knew he shouldn't have kissed you. He had a chance to escape due to Gabriel's negligence, and by god he was going to take that opportunity. Just as he was climbing over the wall, you had stopped him in his tracks. However, instead of shooting him or making a ruckus, you had instead handed him your gun, as well as some ammo and a bag filled with some supplies.

“Stay safe out there, and don't cause a scene. If you do, I'll hunt you down myself and kill you,” you had told him, taking a step back.

Negan had laughed and nodded. “Wouldn't expect any less from you, doll,” he had said, and before he could stop himself, he took a step forward and kissed you. However, instead of pushing him away or slapping him across his face, you had kissed him back. After that exchange, he had left, but his heart stayed with you.

Negan knew it was stupid to return to his cell. He was free, he could go wherever he wanted, but for some unknown reason, he wanted to return. Whether it was the safety the cell provided him or the food he was getting, or the fact that you were there in Alexandria's walls, he didn't know. What he did know, however, was that seeing you again filled a hole in his heart he hadn't known he had. And finally, after six years, he wanted to know why you treated him like you did.

“Why don't you want me dead? Why'd you try to stop Maggie when she wanted to kill me all those years ago?”

“Because Carl saw something in you. He believed you could change. He believed you could be better, and I believe it too. Call me stupid, call me naive, but I really think you're not a bad guy. If you were, you would've killed me back then. I care about you.”

“I've done things. You've experienced first hand what I could do. You should hate me.”

You had smiled at him and slowly opened his cell, before reaching for his hand and pulling him out. He had allowed you to take it and interlaced his fingers with yours, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“I've never been one to play by the rules. If I was, I wouldn't be down here talking to you. I care about you, Negan. And if you'll let me, and promise to be discreet and come back to your cell right after, I'll show you how much.”

“What about the guard on duty? We could get ca—”

You had silenced him by gently cupping his cheek and pulling him into a kiss. The kiss was so soft, so tender, so undeniably you. He found himself melting into the kiss, but you pulled away to soon for his liking.

“It's my shift tonight. The next guard doesn't come to switch with me until dawn.”

Negan knew he shouldn't have taken you up on that offer. Michonne could've caught you sneaking him out of his cell and into your small home, but he couldn't resist you. For seven long years, he had kept himself at bay, but not anymore. He had you all to himself in that bedroom, and he was going to worship you like the goddess he saw you as.

Because for seven long years, you've been the one that he wants, and now he finally had you.

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