#but god the dread and existential crisis is so bad

[skitskatdacat63]

Why can I only ever feel dread and never excitement, I'm just incapable of being excited until I'm physically doing whatever it is

[rivilu]

ok you know. the Ellu in dav crossover au is very fun but i am a little bit enchanted by the concept of him AND Rynn at once. Best of both worlds in a sense.

[amoristt]

trust i seek, and i find in you. | pt2

part 1 (x) part 3 (x)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

tags: sfw // mild violence, reader is having an existential crisis, gi-hun is baby girl as always, lots of fluff but like also some slight angst lol a/n: i tried to keep readers backstory vague enough to be kinda relatable but also clear enough to understand their motives/struggles LOL i loved writing this chapter i hope u enjoy

Tug-of-war was like hell.

Almost all of you had died, that bottomless pit taunting and swallowing anyone who fell over the edge whole in the blink of an eye. Your team had clear disadvantages much to Sang-Woo's dismay, who struggled to hide the disdain in his eyes as he watched other teams build muscle whereas yours seemed to build... Outcasts.

Player 244 made you uneasy like a sinking boat in murky waters. Trepidation built up within you like a simmer into an inferno as the elevator climbed up to the planforms. You'd seen group after group perish and tumble over the edge, dragged down like sacks of led before the ropes were cut short, their lives along with it.

It was a close call. Even with Il-nam's strategic placement, even with Ali's strength combined with all of your own, it was close. Watching Gi-hun dangle over that cavern made your entire world stop.

But perhaps 244 had spoken some truth, because when you begged the Lord above to save him, he provided. Dragged Gi-hun right back to that platform and sent the other team spiraling to their dooms.

Your team managed a sour win.

It was hard to forget the look on your opponents faces as they fell, link by link.

Exhausted beyond belief, slick with sweat and heavy with your aching muscles, you were more than ready to get a nights sleep. Everyone was silent on the ride back down on the elevator. Silent during the walk back to the dormitioties.

This heaviness tainted your morale. You knew you shouldn't torture yourself over it- it was your life, or theirs. There wasn't a choice. But between your own rapidly crumbling resolve and 244's ramblings you were struggling to keep your composure.

You missed your neighborhood- which was funny, because you swore you spent years cursing it with your every breath. God, you missed your bed. Shitty as it was, it was yours.

Or maybe it was less longing for your bed and more missing the way you used to be able to sleep with both eyes closed. Staring up at your stained and leaking ceiling, you remembered being so miserable, telling yourself one day things would be different. You would come out on top. Now you'd give anything for it.

It was decided (much to your dismay) that you and Gi-hun would be the first pair to watch over your sleeping comrades. Your hearts were heavy. Your arms feel even heavier. Sore and aching. Gi-hun didn’t say much for a while afterwards. The woman with the long curly hair, Player 212, really put a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. Before the game had even started you were already fed up with her. As you were sitting with your friends, debating who to invite to your team,

"You need some real muscle on your team, not these skinny girls," She'd harped. She'd plopped down beside you and slung an arm around your shoulder despite the way you grimaced and bristled. "You look pretty tough. The two of us could make a good team, yeah?"

She had nerve to do it after everyone witnessed the way she clung to 101 until he'd discarded her like trash. It made your skin crawl. And she didn't stop there, following you and your team around like a lost dog going on and on about absolutely nothing. You really didn't have the energy for it. No one did.

Even Ali had a snark up his sleeve, taunting her for being so unwilling to cooperate with Sang-woo’s quick thinking idea. You didn't think it was possible.

By the time lights out had come, everyone except you and Gi-hun were quick to fall asleep. It had been such a dreadful day, all you could do was pray tonight was different than the last.

You both sat side by side watching. Waiting.

Gi-hun’s eyes were farther away than you’d seen so far. The moment the lights went out, he’d stared off into the darkness, blinking every few seconds in an empty glare. It was odd to see him like that, and honestly sad to know a little bit of that warmth that had drawn you in so intensely had been distinguished. You could the games starting to weigh him down, the lines in his face growing deeper with each passing day.

Just before bed, everyone began to move their beds, forming barriers around every entrance of their forts. And your group did the same. During so, that man, player 101, approached Gi-hun. Taunted him, threatened him. Though it wasn't the first time they'd both had an intense interaction, something was different about the way Gi-hun spoke to him. He wasn't defensive, or apprehensive as 101 approached. He merely stared him down, unfaltering. Glared right into the barrel of that gun. 

“Can you really trust your team?” He asked, voice low and grave. “If that was me there, once the fighting starts to happen, you’d be the first person I’d go for.”

You’d never heard him sound like that before. It’s intimidating. And it worked. 101 stared hard as his team over his shoulder, watching them wrestle like buffoons while the rest of the room prepared their defensives. There was this dubiety in his eyes you hadn't seen yet, his usual sneer falling flat.

Gi-hun had changed, even if just by a little. Hard not to after everything. But you hate seeing the difference. Not so trusting. Not so naïve. 

But… he was still good. Still Gi-hun. 

You suppose you’ve changed too. Maybe in the opposite direction, though. You’d come in so confident and ready to take on anything and everything in your path. A train that wouldn’t stop for anybody. But for some reason you’d found yourself derailed. Whether if it was because you’d clearly overestimated your abilities, or something else entirely, you weren’t sure, but your priorities were shifting right before your own eyes.

In moments of great, great terror, your first fear wasn’t that your life was to be cut short. It was that someone else’s- one of your friends, would meet their demise. 

Even the fact that you were considering them your friends at all was a problem, and you knew it. But you couldn't help it. You valued them. It made you sick to your stomach with worry.

Why was letting people in so fucking hard? Granted you survived this somehow, would you always suffer like this?

Love, even platonically, was foreign. You felt like you couldn't cope, sometimes.

And it was all thanks to Gi-hun. Him and his heart. It was contagious, infected you like a sickness you couldn’t quite shake. Changing and manipulating the very core of your DNA. 

He’s still staring forward, unfocused and lost in thought and tense when you speak. 

“You alright?”

He damn near jumps when your voice cuts the silence. He stammers, recollecting himself from something you couldn’t place. 

“Hey.” You reach out, and you hesitate first, but you touch his arm. He turns to look at your hand, resting faint and unsure on his bicep. 

“This barricade,” he starts, with a shake in his voice. “It reminds me of… an old job I worked at.”

You tilt your head, a little piece of his puzzle shifting into place. 

He told you about his old job. How he'd sank over a decade into it making car parts, had a baby on the way, when suddenly a majority of the crew was fired- dropped off like trash. So naturally, they’d held a strike. 

It takes a moment for him to get it all out, but when he does, his eyes fall downcast. 

So much violence.

Your words betray your thoughts, soft coo’s of comfort even though the smart part of your brain demands you stop right there. 

It was becoming too real for you. Makes you squirm in your skin- you shouldn’t be learning all this about him. He’s crossing your barriers. But you can’t stop yourself. 

You realize, after he shares with you, that the weird disquiet in your gut isn’t brought on by conflicting feelings. It’s guilt. Guilt over the fact that he was so transparent, and raw with you. Meanwhile you lied about something as little as what dish of food you like. After all he had done for you, too. Took you in with a bright smile and never once led you astray. Saved your life during the night attacks. Held you when you couldn’t break yourself from the hysteria. 

Trusted you even when you didn't deserve it. That alone drove you do better, just for him.

He falls quiet again. 

“I lied.” You blurt suddenly. Gi-hun glances at you from the corners of his eyes. You chew the inside of your cheek, guilt eating away at your conscience. Man, he had really fucked up your game plan. “I, uh… I don’t really have a family. I never did.” 

He looks at you with an expression you can't quite read. Not anger, or confusion. It’s softer than that, but not quite happiness either. It makes your stomach roll. 

“I know.” Is all he says, nudging you with his elbow. 

He knew? This entire time? 

You blink at him. “How?”

“Everything you’ve said about your childhood has just been so… Unclear.” He sighs and leans forward, elbows on his crossed legs, eyes still scanning the room. “You’re so vague about your dad. You don’t even call your mom mom, just my mother. And- and, in the first game, you were one of the first to cross the line. And you already knew how to play tug-of-war! So I thought to myself, she doesn’t seem like she’s never played games!” He paused briefly, you stared at him slack jawed. Then, he smiles, and he laughs and it rings through your ears. He turns towards you. “And if you really stayed inside reading and coloring all day, dalgona would have been a breeze for you.”

For a long moment, you’re bewildered. He was so observant and you hadn’t even noticed it. The gears in his mind were always turning, eyes always watching.

“You never tried to trip me up.” At first it’s supposed to be a question, but it leaves your lips like more of a statement, or more of an appreciation.

“I'm sure you have your reasons.”

You stare at your lap. This level of consideration and thoughtfulness was new to you, and you weren’t sure how to navigate it. Your cheeks warm up, your breath quickens. He had such a way of drawing you in, even despite your brain warning you to do otherwise. To keep him at an arm's length.

But you don't want him at arms length. Sometimes, when you're lost in thought in the quiet moments that grow more rare by the day, even an inch seems too far away.

“So why are you here, then?” He asks. 

You have this knee jerk reaction to lie through your teeth again. But then you see the way he's looking at you, studying you, taking in every curve of your face, and suddenly you can’t bring yourself to.

“To prove to myself, and to everyone else, that I’m not worthless.” Your voice is so small. 

“Who is everyone else?” 

You shrug. You honestly don’t even know the answer to that, yourself. 

“Are your parents even alive?” He suddenly asks, and the abrupt question almost knocks the wind from you. 

“No.” You answer plainly. Then, you start again. “Well, I don’t know. My dad died when I was a baby and my mom…” You chew the inside of your cheek, ignoring the sore spot you’re starting to create. “She may as well be. I haven't seen her in years. We don’t talk.”

You expect him to sneer at your answer the same way almost everyone else does. You never talk to her? you can already hear him saying. What kind of daughter cuts contact with her own mother?

But, once again, he shocks you. He seems to do that a lot. After a beat of silence, he says, “Ah, So it’s like that, huh? I get it. Relationships are hard. You try to do your best, but…”

Your heart rate picks up again. He gets it. The end of his sentence falls off and you’re sure you could finish it for him if you had to. The same boat. 

Relationships are hard.

“Do you talk to your mom?” You ask quickly, trying to hop away from the topic of your own mother before that annoying lump forms in your throat as it always did when you actually put thought into the whole ordeal. He nodded. 

“She lives with me. Er, or, well, I live with her. She’s been struggling with some medical issues over the weeks but she’s still just as stubborn as always.” His eyes are far away now, somehow softer than before. You feel like you’re at the edge of your seat. “That’s why I came here. She needs surgery but, well… I’ve been… A lousy son, I suppose.” 

He tells you bits of his life in bite sized moments. You learn about his issues with gambling, his struggles with finances. The up’s, the downs, the rock bottoms. How the strike, the violence he’d seen that day had been a catalyst for years of struggling.  Stealing money from his own mom to fuel his addictions, losing custody of his daughter. Missing her birth. 

She’s moving to America, He’d sighed, forlorn with fleeting tears soaking his waterlines. 

It's shocked how much he's willing to tell you. It's almost like he'd been waiting for someone to ask. Or maybe, waiting for someone to actually give a shit.

For some reason, your heart hurts for him. This was his shot to really make it up to those he’d wronged in his life. To spoil and give rather than to cheat and steal. It made your reasoning feel so much less… Worthy. Petty. The moment your mental scale begins to teeter in his favor, your brain tries to fire off the flares all over again. 

You shouldn’t be doing this- bonding with him.

But it’s hard. You want to know everything there is to know. 

There could only be one winner.

And suddenly, the thought that used to bring you comfort, pains you. 

Only one.

Unease planting seeds in your chest, the vines worming their way through your resolve. How cold you’d felt when he was in danger, how you threw yourself in harm's way to help him without even thinking. It was beyond survival. You liked him. Felt for him. Put his life above your own, even if it was just for a second. 

You were supposed to be the one to make it. You, not him. But, oh god, the way he looks at you. Like you’re something actually worth giving a damn about. Someone worth listening to. The way you want to spill every last secret to him. The way you want to know every last bit of him down to the minute detail.  

Fuck, you dont want him to die. 

You were screwed. 

You should sit in silence, and stop this conversation dead in his tracks and get some sleep trying to fight away the conflicting thoughts of him you harbored. But you don’t. 

He tells you stories of his time at bootcamp, with his best friend, Jung-bae. Some were funny, some were a bit scary. At least the way he told it, anyways. All of them successfully blanketing you from the harsh reality that was the games momentarily. You giggled and leaned towards him subconsciously, opening up to him. Letting him in, bit by bit. So you give just a little more of yourself. Tell him stories of your days spent playing in the afternoon sun. Ball, tag, wrestling, tug-of-war. Always covered in bruises and scrapes and always running on an empty stomach, but never really giving a damn. Once you broke your foot jumping from the top of the swings, trying to land farther than your friend had. You did, in fact, draw a farther line in the sand. It was too bad your ankle had to bear the consequences for it.

Gi-hun couldn’t help but laugh at your wild stories growing up free. That’s what you preferred to call it, anyways. Free. And definitely not neglected. 

That’s when he also told you a particularly funny story. One that he didn’t find funny at all but it made you have to cover your mouth while he went over the details. While he was learning to dance for his wedding, he once fell on his instructor, a woman, and he’d fallen just right and broke the poor lady's arm. He remembered how she cursed at him as she was taken to the hospital, demanding he find a new instructor. 

“Guess I didn’t miss out on anything, then.” You snorted, quietly, trying to keep your voice down. He shook his head, trying to shove the bad memory out of his mind. His eyes settled on you. Low, forbearing.

“Missed out?”

“I never learned to dance.” You chirp, leaning back on your palms, like it’s something to be proud of. 

“You really don’t know how to dance?” He asks, incredulous, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. 

You shake your head. “Nope. Never had a reason to.”

He faces forward into the vast span of the dormitory, nibbling his lip in thought. You wonder what he’s thinking. Probably mulling over the fact that you laughed at his not-so-funny-but-also-super-funny story. You almost worry you’d offended him somehow, but then he finally speaks up.

“You should learn how to dance.”

Wow, he’s really stuck on that, isn’t he?

"I'm fine." You scoff. “Not like it matters, any. Look where we are.”

“I can teach you.” 

You freeze.

“What?” Now it’s your turn for your eyebrow to raise. 

“I’ll teach you.”

You’re sputtering for a reply, unsure what to say, or even do, next. The room is suddenly uncannily silent, your friends breathing in tandem around you. The next thing you know, the option is being stripped from you. He stands up and grasps your hand, drags you up with him. He looms over you, and for some reason it only just now strikes you that he’s got almost a full head of height over you. He’s standing so close that you can feel the warmth of him through his tracksuit, hands finding your shoulders.

“It’s easy,” he hums, like you aren’t on watch for your lives. Carefree as a child. He makes it easy to forget your lives are constantly at stake. “Hold, here.” He brings your arm up over his torso, rests it on his neck. You flush a furious red. Was this seriously happening? Right now?

Why are you just letting him do this?

You try to keep your breathing under control when he runs his fingers down your other arm, captures your hand in his and brings it up. His hand is warm and soft. Fitting for him. You feel like you’re going to combust. It gets even worse when snakes his other arm around your waist and bumps you against him, nearly chest to chest now. Surely, he could hear your heart hammering away in the cage of your ribs. And surely you’re gaping up at him like a awe-struck fool. He, on the other hand, beams with a sort of tender glee you've never had the pleasure of witnessing until now.

“Follow my lead. It’s easy. Take a step back when I take a step forward, take a step forward when I step back. Like this, see?”

You’re barely even registering what he’s saying. Too caught up in how you can hear his quiet breaths and the way his thumb is making idle circles into your waist.

He’s killing you. He’s killing you. 

And he’s leading you. Tugging you along with every step. Backwards, forwards. You’re fighting to keep your breathing under control but he captures almost all your attention, eyes on yours. It feels like time isn’t real. As if it’s just you and him. He’s humming something, just barely audible, but there none the less. You don’t recognize the tune, but you realize he’s following the rhythm of it, stepping in time with the tune. You chest feels full. You imagine him from years ago, nervous and misaligned and anxious for his wedding. You imagine his eyes so full of life and shining with love. 

Carefully, he starts to turn, guiding you by your waist. You can’t believe it’s this simple- you can’t believe you’d never had this before. Always on the sidelines, never under the spotlight. Never having anyone's arms wrapped around you. You always told yourself it never bothered you- you didn't need anyone but yourself. No one would ever understand you, no one would ever be worth changing for. 

A fugacious life full of loneliness so profound you wore it like armor.

But now that you’re here, following Gi-hun’s every little movement, leaning into him, flushed tomato red with shaking hands and racing thoughts, you don’t know… Maybe you have been missing out. The way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room is so alien it feels almost wrong. Like this sort of intimacy wasn't made with you in mind. It takes your breath away. 

You wonder how you're supposed to go through the rest of your life without it.

Ali rolls over in his sleep.

You're supposed to be watching.  

It’s like being thrown into cold water. Your heart lurches as your line of sight snaps at the sound, suddenly acutely, painfully aware. The façade is broken. 

Gi-hun could die at any moment. 

You suddenly feel sick to your stomach. 

“Where’d you go?” His voice drags you back to him. You meet his gaze once more, concerned. “There you are. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? What’s fucking wrong?

“I-...” Your gaze flickers anxiously between him and the wide open space just outside of the bunk bed barrier. Anyone could just show up, anytime. You wouldn’t be ready. 

Have you always been this neurotic?

You misstep. 

Your stomach drops at the feeling of losing your balance, but he’s quick to catch you, jumps forward and you fall into his chest, your gasp muffled in the fabric of his top. With your ear pressed to him, you both hear and feel the rumble of his quiet laughter.

It’s soothing in the way you imagine car rides are for infants, a wave of tension leaving you in one deep breath. 

“It’s okay. I did the same thing.” He murmurs, and he says it so delicately it makes you nearly recoil. 

“H-” You flounder in your attempt to speak, having to settle yourself before you try again. “Hopefully no one breaks an arm this time, right?”

His grip, even if he doesn't realize it, tightens around your waist. He shakes his head. “Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Is not.”

“...A little bit.”

Gi-hun sighs into the crown of your head. You realize, with a stuttering heave of your chest, that he’s pressed his lips to your scalp. And he’s smiling- you can feel it. He’s swaying back and forth with you tucked against him like you’d done it a thousand times before. Your mind races and stills all at once. Your heart can’t decide if it wants to drop in foreboding gloom, or if it wants to flutter. Maybe both. 

Nothing makes sense anymore.

You aren’t sure how he’s managed to worm his way under your skin like this. Even more so confusing, why you’re letting him. God, it was so easy to let him. There was something different about him- like, if light were to be a person, it’d be him. If love were to be a person, it had to be him. 

Long ago you’d told yourself you’d never be vulnerable for anyone, ever. 

But. It had to be him. 

Back, forward. Left, right. 

You can’t help the way your lips upturn when his pets his hand down your lower back comfortingly. He drags it out of you like a snake to a song even when you’re upset. Even when you’re scared- and god, have you been downright terrified over the days. 

You wished you could dance like this forever. 

Back, forward. Left. Right.

Ali stirs again from the floor. Him and Sang-Woo would soon take over, and you’d be given the grace of getting some real sleep in before tomorrow came and you’d find yourself faced with-

Don’t think about that right now.

Your brain puts the breaks on your spiral. You’re not sure when it learned how to do that. 

Just focus on right now.

Gi-hun’s gentle breathing, ghosting over your hair. His hand on your waist, the other clasped with yours oh so sweetly. 

Back. Forward. Left. Right.

You shut your eyes and press your face into his chest. This could be the first, and the last time.

You let yourself have this. 

Time slows again. It’s just him. He begins to hum again, and you teeter on every note. 

“Ready for the best part?” 

His voice is just a whisper, but you’re confused, because how could it possibly get any better than this?

Your conjoined hands are brought down between your chests, gently pushing you backwards. Without his arm wrapped around your waist, you try your best to not stumble, watching him with a strained expression, unsure what to do next. His eyes crease at the corners in excitement, and then, he spins you.

It’s slow, and it’s choppy as you struggle to not topple over, but you spin. Once, then twice. The dormitory is just a nonexistent blur of darkness, Gi-hun’s hand the only thing in this world truly anchoring you. It feels beautiful. After the third spin, it feels dizzying. Then you’re fished right back into his arms, his lips pressed against the top of your head once more. And that… That feels perfect.

Meant to be. 

“Woah.” You say into his chest, partially referring to the light feeling in your head, partially referring to the way you’re in active motion of understanding the true depths of your feelings for the man before you. He chuckles at your amazement.

“Pretty fun, right?” 

You wished you could stay right there. Prayed that somehow, tomorrow wouldn’t come. Or that it’d be different. Anything but what you know is coming. You don’t know if you could bear to see him get hurt. At this point, you weren't sure if you could handle seeing any of your little rag-tag group get hurt. The night everyone had slaughtered one another like animals… the way you felt knowing their lives were on the line.. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before. 

You’d never cared before. It’s a difficult feeling to navigate- a concoction of adoration and trust blending and twisting with non-stop anxiety for their wellbeing. 

To have is to lose. You never had much in your life. But, the things that were yours, you were so tired of losing. 

You can't lose this.

When Gi-hun separates from you, it takes all your willpower to not chase him. He sets his broads hands on each of your shoulders, and you gaze up to find his line of sight. You can’t read his expression- something far away, or maybe something close, at the tip of his tongue. His thumbs brush the sides of your neck. 

You'd never had the urge to kiss someone, but it's there now.

But then, Ali sit’s up and yawns with a wide, broad stretch. Gi-hun’s hands leave you- and you’re suddenly aware how cold you are. Everything just feels wrong, disappointment dragging a frown out of your previous smile.

But you greet your friend regardless, crouching down in front of him as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

“Your turn?” You breathe. He nods. There’s no mistaking the let-down that thrums at your heart. 

Gi-hun leans down to tap at Sang-woo’s shoulder. The sleeping man rises in silence and he's quickly sitting up without so much as a groan. The moment his eyes opened, he did a head count, his eyes settling on you afterwards.

“It’s been quiet.” You already know what he’s going to ask, so you beat him to it. 

He nods once, eyes passing between you Gi-hun quickly. “Good. Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

So cynical.

Even if he was right- you found the taste in your mouth always so much more bitter when Sang-woo spoke than when Gi-hun did. 

Despite it, you agree.

Gi-hun lays down before you do. Practically throws himself on the ground with an oof. You take more care, kneeling down before you plop onto your side and let out a breath of content. 

Ali’s voice is low from where you had been moments before, murmuring something to Sang-woo. You can barely see the outline of them sitting side by side. What you can see, however, is Gi-hun rolling onto his side to face you. His expression looks deeper, eyebrows furrowed in thought like something was truly eating at him. You tilt your head and prop yourself on your elbow. 

“You okay?” 

He stares at you. 

“Is your favorite food really Bulgogi?”

“No.” You snort. There he went, surprising you again. He was such a strange man. A strange man that really gave a damn about your likes and dislikes. The thought of food makes you hungry, and you remember your favorite dish your friend's mom would prepare now and then. It was one of the few warmer memories you’d stored. “...It’s grilled fish.” 

His eyes light up. It makes your heart swell. “Mine too. Grilled mackerel.”

“I can’t say I’ve had mackerel.” You murmur, eyes starting to slip shut.

“Yet.” He’s quick to retort. 

You blink at him. Something bittersweet and knowing blooms in your belly, but you echo him regardless.

“Yet.” 

It's a promise of some sort. You're sure of it.

He smiles again, something real and dear, before he rolls on his back and hums. That same little tune he’d played in the soundtrack of his mind while he brought you to himself and danced like there wasn’t a care in the world. It makes you happy. Content. 

He’s the last thing you think of before you fall asleep. You don’t even try to force the reoccurring lovely thoughts away, either. In fact you’re almost too happy to welcome them in, allow him to infect your dreams and hurdle over every wall you’ve built to keep yourself safe. 

Only one winner gnaws at you from somewhere deep and buried in your brain. 

Your eyes crack open to stare at the high ceiling overhead that seems to be lost in the darkness. 

You were so damn screwed.

[themanwhomadeamonster]

DD2 crackpot observations: the Rift vs the Dragonsplague, Nihilism, and the Moon/Eclipse/Eyes

Brainstorming a bit about repeating motifs and speculating stuff about the plot. Thanks to loremaster @whitefoxes for providing me some insight on the stuff here and fact-checking hehe

The Rift and Dragonsplague

To start off, this time around DD2 has smoothed out aesthetic associations with the Rift, namely everything to do with the Rift is now cyan. Ferrystones are cyan and cause a blue flash when thrown instead of being black and having a golden flash. Portcrystals are also cyan instead of purple, and the Rift is a cyan-coloured fog now as well instead of the vague blue. What I presume is the foggy path towards Bluemoon Tower (itself obscured by fog) hinted in some shot sequences in the trailers are also a dim cyan. The Lambent Flame itself is the same cyan as the Rift. This makes me think that the Pathfinder is also a Rift entity.

I think the Lambent Flame may be the key to curing Pawns from their Dragonsplague affliction. "Lambent" means a soft and flickering flame, but it also means to be witty without being unkind, the opposite of what the Dragonsplague does to Pawns ("bold in their speech and behaviour"). In Japanese the Lambent Flame is called the "Flame of Blessing/Protection", against the Calamity of what Pawns can bring, so I think the Lambent Flame is what will help us against the Big Bad.

(Side note I think the Moon is associated with the colour blue as well, but rather a dimmer blue like the one shown in Bluemoon Tower and in the trailer behind the Dragonsplague)

Dragonsplague seems to be a symptom of the Calamity (which seems to have happened before, judging by how fearful the Battahl people are of Pawns and their capabilities as well as their folklore), and is affecting Pawns' behaviour to act out aggressively and boldly, unusual when they're supposed to obedient towards the Arisen as their will is an extension of the Arisen's own - they're beginning to act independently. Normally, the appearance of a Dragonsplagued Pawn resembles a possessed Pawn, where their Arisen's will is temporarily replaced by a Dragon's (interestingly here, Possession shows both colour motifs - light blue and red).

So where did their newfound confidence and self-determination come from?

Nihilism

While nihilism in the first game was more of a philosophy well-accepted and relatively stable by the Seneschal that nothing is inherently meaningful except for the Cycle that pushes this system, it's still upheld by a human. Humans no matter how strong their will are imperfect. So what if the collapse of one's will - perhaps a Seneschal's own is what's causing everything to come down? The Dragonsplague and the Calamity are symptoms of a Seneschal breaking down. But how does a lack of will drive a Pawn to act out? It could just be an inversion of what's typical of a Pawn, or it could be a self-destructive drive reflecting the crisis of the Seneschal.

In the action trailer, there is heavy emphasis of tempering your will by several characters. There's a voiceover of someone straining to speak telling you to "Make manifest your will that at last this world might-", Vermund's ex-Oracle Luz telling you to "Hold fast to your will", and the Red Dragon saying, "Thy will, thy soul, these are all the means thou hast to carve thy path anew." These lines are making me think that the world is in fact breaking down due to the will of the world (i.e. the Seneschal) collapsing. Nihilism can't hold for everyone no matter how strong your will is - when the Seneschal was faced with the existential dread that told them that the world was meaningless, that there was only a cold indifferent stare of the universe watching down on them, this is the result.

The Moon/Eclipse/Eye motifs

In the previous game, the Moon seems to be associated with being the domain of the Gods, the Bluemoon Tower was supposed to be a Nexus to the Moon where you'd fight the Seneschal. The game over screen is represented by a void resembling an Eclipse, outlined in red - the inversion of the Rift's light blue. Considering that the Moon is supposed to be home of the Seneschal, the will of the world, an Eclipse could symbolise the last thing a Seneschal wants in themselves: nothing. Or, nihilism. A lack of will for the world. The Eclipse on the death screen was the abyss, the "truth you'll find staring back from this world's utmost depths."

This goes back to the motifs of eyes. The Eclipse in the game over screen not only depicts the inversion of the Rift, but an actual eye. Eye motifs are present throughout the game, including in armour especially the iconic armour of DD2, this sort of thing wasn't present back in DD1. Grigori, the speculated name that is dropped in Wyrmspeak during the beginning cutscene of the Red Dragon from DD1 means "Watchful". Talos also has the same bright red eye as Dragonsplagued Pawns. The Brine is also a similar colour to Talos' plume and the "aura" from Dragonsplagued/Possessed pawns. Makes me wonder about what powers Talos as an automaton and its relation to the Brine, since Talos in the myths circled the shores of Crete (in this case, Talos approaches the Bluemoon Tower). And that makes me wonder if the Brine is related to everything else.

On top of this, there's a particular quote at the end of the trailer: "Yet your wicked schemes will avail you not, Watching One." Who else could be responsible for watching over the world, if not the Seneschal? Outside of the politics between Vermund and Battahl, in DD2, the big bad isn't just another Seneschal, it's a Seneschal who wants to destroy this world.

[monstersinthecosmos]

Your Marius playlist is so good ‼️‼️‼️🫢I never would have thought of wardruna and heilung for him but it’s perfect 100/10

dgdsgaklsd thank you !!!!!!!!! I'm really excited that you like it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Marius playlist if anyone is curious (: )

Sometimes people think I'm crazy because I don't really hear lyrics when I listen to music so all my playlists are built on VIBES ONLY. Marius playlist is like: Music That Could Be the Score of an Existential Crisis When You've Lived in Centuries of Darkness and Also Have Trauma From That Time You Were Murdered By a Pagan Cult. Any time I'm listening to music in the wild and I hear this vibe, it gets dropped into this playlist, regardless of lyrical content LOL.

The neofolk half of it speaks for itself, I think. I've also written meta about how I think black metal feels tonally appropriate for the Ancients. And like neofolk is one of those genres where like, so many of the fans are metalheads LOL. (I mean i got into Wardruna because of Gaahl haha it started there). And like I absolutely lose my mind over like pagan black metal/blackened folk metal where they bring in all the historical instrumentation into the metal like HJDKALGDS THE TEXTURE, I DIE, it's my fav genre of music. And it's just so incredibly bleak, but also so patient. It feels so heavy and existential and full of dread!!!!!!!! 😍 And thinking in a vampire context it's like ANCIENT OLD TRAUMA!!!! Bad memories from CENTURIES AGO. Idk man it just feels so good.

It's frustrating because like all the EXTREMELY SPOOKY ANCIENT MOOD MUSIC tends to be Nordic and I wish I could find some what had more Italian influence (this is a thinly veiled rec request if anyone has any) because every time I do go down the rabbithole and look for Italian neofolk it isn't what I'm looking for. I need like that deep terrifying Wardruna sound you know? It's gotta be out there, I will keep searching!!!!!!!!!!

There's some Balkan & Greek bands in there which are so great (Negură Bunget & Rotting Christ lol) and I have to go back and drop in more Karl Sanders for Akasha vibes lol. There are some really cool Middle Eastern metal bands too that use cool instrumentation (thinking of Melechesh) but they're not gloomy enough LOL. I need to go take a stroll and see if I can find some spooky stuff. And there's some really great Greek pagan/folk which probably is similar to what I'm trying to find but I'm looking for like the more neofolky half, like I need Greek Wardruna LOL.

But I really love most genres of music as long as it's gloomy and like the overlap of neofolk with pagan/black metal is like the perfect type of gloomy for me hasdkjga AND LIKE WHEN IM DAYDREAMING ABOUT MARIUS IT FEELS REALLY GOOD BECAUSE THE SOUNDS FEEL SO ANCIENT. And bands like Wardruna and Heilung give me so many God of the Grove feelings it just makes me think about the cult trauma. 🍿 (even if the regions are a little inaccurate please let me live, I'm doing my best with what I can find.)

[iamtaran]

WIP Title Game! oh good lord

rules: in a new post, post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how nondescriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet and tell us about it!

thanks @allyunabridged for the tag! Lmao I stared down the barrel of not one, but two google drives to gather these and all I can say is

😬

IN AN ORDER ONLY THE GODS UNDERSTAND:

The Twilit Gate (BG3, when in want of more fey bullshit in your BG3, do it yourself!!! TavxAstarionxGalexliterally everyone i'm gay alright???)

Island (The Guest/손 AU, horror and survivalism; Hwa Pyung, Choi Yoon, and Gil Young follow Park Hong Joo's and Park Il Do's machinations out to open sea, to an island with long forgotten history where the real struggle for survival begins.)

But For Grace (SW:Preq's, modern-character in GFFA aka "what to do when you accidentally change things and the Chosen One dies?", started as a silly question but now I'm committed; Qui-Gon Jinn lives; what would happen in a galaxy without Anakin Skywalker?)

The Mage's War (DA2 + DA:I, what if Bethany Hawke was the Herald, Modern/Avvar OC, playing Fade chicken with the Dread Wolf nbd, put on my tinfoil hat for this one re: the Fade, the Abyss/Void, Forgotten Ones, etc.)

In God's Eye (Vampyr, human!Jonathan, ekon!McCullum, Mary lives, I'm a hobby WWI & Spanish Flu researcher so hold your britches I have FEELINGS)

For Want Of Two (Vampyr, wanted more mythological beings & nemrod lore so I'll do it myself gdi, put-that-thing-back-where-you-found-it-or-so-help-me-god.gif ; JxMcCxOC)

Lights All Hung On Nothing (Star Wars Preq's to Clone Wars era, modern-character-in-SW with a big twist, Force + time fuckery, Ani + Obi focus, the butterfly effect changes everything)

The 72nd Cycle (SW: Mandalorian, AU - Grogu is not the only Force sensitive prisoner Gideon had captured. Without room in his ship for multiple students, Luke tags along, not expecting the sad Mando's ride Boba Fett (w h a t) to show up and offer the poor guy use of his bacta tank; well, soon-to-be-his. He just has to kill its current owner, Bib Fortuna, first. You know. On Tatooine(WHAT!!). Meanwhile, on Tattooine: Cobb Vanth gets the nagging feeling his life is about to become much more stressful.)

A Heavy Thing (KOTOR, amnesiac Revan works a shitty food service job on Taris and definitely isn't a Jedi/Sith/Soldier, I mean, clearly. Slice of life becomes tragedy becomes adventure becomes mystery becomes ??? RevanxCanderousxCarth DON'T LOOK AT ME)

Life, Happening (The Shining/Doctor Sleep introspective piece on Danny Torrance, life & death, what it means to be gone, and not gone.)

Led To Water (Mandalorian, Din takes off the armor having broken his Creed and, unsure what to do next, returns to Kuiil's homestead to brood and sweat manfully through his existential crisis; his friends help him through it.)

Mando'ad'ika (Mandalorian/Original SW movies, The Mandalorian is taken into custody and now Leia has to deal with a sweet but stressed frog lady, a green gremlin with too much Force power, and this intimidating tin can who won't budge. Since Han laughed at her, she decides to make it his problem, too.)

Time Travel, & Other Ways To Die (Mandalorian/SW:Bounty Hunter video game, Din & Jango centric, whilst trying to get to Grogu on his magical big rock, Din & Grogu end up chucked through time onto an outlaw space station. Jango Fett's no good very bad day begins. Coincidentally, it coincides with Din Djarin's SUPER no good very bad day. They most assuredly do not bond over this.)

I am, or was. (Dragon Age: Inquisition, a spirit takes an interest in Solas after he helps it in the Fallow Mire and begins following him around like a lost puppy. Which would be cute, if it weren't possessing more and more alarming vessels to do so. The Andrastians are starting to get a bit twitchy.)

Rookie, Shiny, Soldier, Spy (Mandalorian/Clone Wars, Din Djarin accidental time travel into the Clone Wars AU. Caught without his 'gam on a battle field and forced once again to wear trooper armor, he is Not Impressed--and why do all these guys look like Boba?)

This Prodigal Son (Hades/Dragon Age: Inq, Zagreus goes through the wrong Chaos portal. Magister Alexius finds a powerful spirit in the Fade and, as is his way, decides fuck it, we ball. Also his way, it doesn't go very well for him.)

Send me a title via ask and I'll post my favorite bit I've currently written!

Lmao this was wild to throw together given how many WIPs of age past are staring me down; these are just all the recents. Go ahead and chuck some WIPs out there if you're interested @singoallala @narwhalninja @mauverawrites @in-a-trans-like-state @terresdebrume and @jackironsides ! And if you don't/aren't currently writing, everyone loves to see the pet tax paid C:

[viaannh]

Literature Review I

“Dagon” by H.P Lovecraft is a horror story that feels almost real through the elements it introduces.It follows an unnamed narrator, a merchant mariner, through his experiences in World War I. By his accounts, the ship he was working on had been captured and sunk by the Germans in the South Pacific Ocean. His crew is taken on to a German ship, but our narrator makes the decision to escape on a small, unseen boat. He drifts aimlessly for days with no land in sight. Evidentially this takes a toll on his mental health, as it is revealed that this is a suicide note and he is a morphine addict. One of these isolated nights, he wakes up from a dream to find himself in an environment nothing short of hellish. In his exploration of this new environment, he stumbles upon huge white monuments, creatures that almost depict man. He attempts a desperate escape from this pit, and wakes up in a San Francisco hospital after being rescued. Once recovered, he seeks out information on what he has seen, particularly interest in the lore of a fish-god, Dagon. He loses himself to madness.

This story is an interesting one. Published in 1919, it established a standard for “weird” fiction. It draws on themes of humanity and existential dread, making it feel familiar to readers, as well as an element of cosmic horror to bring in the concepts of fantasy. This is common around the works of Lovecraft, centering on the unknown and the inner workings of fear.

One of the elements that makes this story so intriguing to audiences is the vivid, twisted imagery presented. It is not quite the picture you see when you think “horror”, leaving out most of the blood, gore, and ghoulish apparations. Instead, it draws focus on the terrors of the deep sea, a fear that is common among people, even myself. This story resonates with me as something I would never want to witness, or I fear I can understand out narrator isn the loss of himself to madness over what he discovered. The imagery presented is incomprehensible, allowing readers to imagine the worst that the human mind can possibly draw up. 

Another unique element of this story is the format of it. It begins as a suicide note, and this is made immediately clear to readers. Clearly, our unnamed narrator is in a mental state that is indescribable, paired with his morphine addiction. This is the set up for a completely unreliable narrator, which allows the reader to wonder whether or not what the narrator witnessed was real. It could simply be chalked up to the trauma he experienced during the war, his fear of the sea, and the delusion that can come with being alone and starving on a boat for days at a time. It could potentially have been a bad dream. I personally was reminded of “The Life of Pi” in this way, and how the main character of that was thought to be hallucinating his experiences by the end. 

Another element of horror brought about in this story feels more real, and has potential to connect with every audience. The idea that humanity is insignificant in a vast world, especially when we have no idea what could be out there beyond what is discovered. This is a common trope in horror and fantasy, but what separated “Dagon” from the others is how Lovecraft forces audiences to consider it. It draws on those feelings of dread, and almost has the potential to send audiences into an existential crisis with the narrator. Considering there are forces far more powerful that we could ever imagine, and if I had believed I was witness to something, I probably would also lose my mind. 

Overall, I really did enjoy this story the second time around. It is horrifying to think about, which surely means that H.P. Lovecraft is doing at least something right. The combination of an unreliable narrator with a concept as scary as other worldly beings, it's the perfect pair for a long think and contemplation about what on earth is here with us? 

[ooc-miqojak]

I mean, Jesus was killed because he was an outspoken liberal who hung out with whores, and dirty commonfolk. Jesus was like... the chillest guy, and Christianity shouldn't be confused with what pseudo-Christians have been brain washed into believing. I'm not all that religious these days (the Bible says we can pray and God can hear us so... why listen to some racist/bigot calling himself a preacher?), but I grew up around it and was heavily immersed in it... and at the end of the day? Christianity says to accept all people (no exceptions!) - God loves all people (no exceptions!) - and not to be a dick. All you need are the commandments that amount to "don't be a piece of shit person" and the parables about Jesus that are like "he supports sex workers, children's rights, he feeds the homeless, and that time he saw people trying to make money off of religion he literally grabbed a whip and beat those people".

As far as I'm aware, anyone can become a church leader/pastor/preacher, so why wouldn't bigots and racists take over the churches and teach people the wrong thing? No one reads the Bible for themselves anymore, or they'd have a lot of questions about why they're being told to hate gay people (nothing about that in the Bible btw - God loves everyone) - or to hate anyone at all. And even if there were some arbitrary rule about being gay (there isn't), a real Christian would utilize compassion - not hate. There's some line from Jesus when he's confronted about hanging out with the 'dregs' of society, and he says that the sick people need the doctor - not the healthy ones. Which amounts to - if you think someone needs God's love or guidance... you'd show them compassion. Not revulsion.

Like most religions, Christianity is about being kind to others, and generally not being a shit person. But like many influential things created for good... bad people see it as a tool. And again, I have plenty of days where I have existential dread and lots of doubt... most days, really. But this isn't about my crisis of faith - it's just important to me that people be able to distinguish between what Christianity IS and what its being used FOR - not just in the modern era, but for a long time. God didn't support ye olden Crusades, and he sure as fuck doesn't sort the modern kind either. People love to use God for an excuse to do bad deeds, despite that same God very explicitly having rules that oppose what they're doing.

(Also feel free to troll those pseudo-Christians that maybe they have mis-read the Bible: God hates figs... you know, because Jesus once smote a fig tree while he was hangry.)

psa for the christian girls that interact with me:

your religion was manufactured by males out of a deep-seated envy over women's control of life. it insists women are less than men and that rape is a part of gods plan. i do not care about respecting religion. especially when a core tenet of that religion is that my sex makes me subhuman and subservient to males

[serpent-under-the-flower]

Warning: This is nothing but Drarry birthday crack.

Draco decides as soon as he wakes up that he is not 40 because 40 is OLD.

Also, he decides he is staying in bed, wrapped in blankets that smell faintly of herbs and Harry’s shampoo forever because he won’t turn 40 until his feet touch the ground (shut up, his mum and dad taught him that he gets to make the rules on his birthday)

So he lays in bed, basking in the sensation of being a youthful 39 forever and hiring an army of servants to carry him everywhere and fetch whatever he desires...

Except then his wand buzzes and he has to get up because being an adult is fucking horrible and he has a meeting with the goblins who don’t accept birthdays as an excuse to miss meetings and then lunch with his Mother and Pansy who don’t accept an existential crisis as a reason to miss anything

So he rolls out of bed and his feet hit the floor.

Fuck. He’s 40.

He does not sulk all the way to the shower and he is definitely not poking his tummy to test it for sudden 40 year old flabby softness when strong arms wrap around him from behind and pull him firmly against a very wet, naked chest. He can’t help but shiver when Harry breathes “Happy birthday” against the back of his neck.

Harry slides his open mouth around the nape of Draco’s neck, nipping and sucking at the side of Draco’s throat and Draco can’t help but moan and push into Harry’s hand when he reaches around and cups his cock. His grip on Draco tightens and he nuzzles into his jawline and whispers “I know you’ve been dreading today, so I plan to make you come 40 times.” before sliding to his knees.

“Forty times! Potter, that’s impossAHH!”

It IS howerver possible to come twice in the shower and once while bent over the kitchen table before he even leaves the house.

Draco is in a great mood. He is well-fed and well-fucked and on schedule to arrive at his meeting a good 15 minutes early when he is suddenly and rudely abducted into a supply closet and ferociously eaten out against the door by his gorgeous, talented, oh god so talented don’t you dare stop, husband. His legs are still shaking when Harry stands up, pulling Draco’s trousers with him and fastening them.

Harry’s hair is a wreck, his lips are deliciously swollen, and his Auror robes are hopelessly crumpled and he looks so good that Draco could almost get hard again when Harry adjusts himself, pats Draco’s bum, cheekily blows him a kiss and opens the closet door.

Draco swears he hears Harry murmur “Thirty-six to go” over his shoulder as he struts off and he starts to get a little worried about his penile durability.

He is right to be worried. Harry is waiting in his office after his meeting and he ends up sucking Draco slowly, curling his tongue around the head of Draco’s cock and lapping up the side of his shaft before swallowing him down and moaning around the cock in his throat and Draco knows he is going to be sore afterward but can’t summon up the will to protest when Harry is obviously enjoying himself so much. He congratulates himself on his selflessness as he comes all over Harry’s face.

Draco prods his poor dick after Harry sweeps out of his office to go do Auror things. It just lays there, unmoving. He doesn’t want to be forty and impotent and he wonders if he can ever get hard again.

It turns out he can when Harry ambushes him in the men’s room at the restaurant during lunch with Mother and Pansy. He is sore but Merlin it feels so good to fuck Harry into the wall, quick and dirty. When his balls draw up painfully, he fleetingly wonders if he should enter the Wizarding Witness Protecting Program for the rest of the day to prevent his cock from eroding away.

Draco stops by the apothecary to buy a cream for chafing and spends the rest of the work day hiding in the dusty records room and jumping behind piles of ancient files every time he sees the color red. At 5pm, an interdepartmental memo finds him behind a stack of failed unicorn-taming legislation from the 12th century. It reads: “6pm at home. Don’t be late.” The noise Draco makes is periously close to a whimper.

That evening, Draco sneaks into the house as quietly as possible with the intent to “borrow” Harry’s invisibility cloak and hide under the desk in the library with an ice pack on his junk when Harry suddenly slides around the corner with a happy grin on his face. Draco panics.

He points his finger at Harry and yells “No, Potter! I cannot come 40 times today! Do not even look in the direction of my cock for at least a week, you sex maniac!” and flings the tube of chafing cream at Harry. Just as the cream hits a stunned Harry in the center of the chest, Draco notices their friends and family standing frozen in the parlor behind him.

“Surprise!” Harry says, weakly, as a violent blush blooms on his gorgeous, stupid, gorgeous face.

(It actually ends up being a nice party when Draco stops trying to hide under the cloak.)

Late that night after everyone has left, Draco lays wrapped up in Harry’s arms in sheets that smell like herbs and Harry’s shampoo as Harry caresses every inch of his skin reverently, pressing chaste kisses to his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the corners of his mouth, and he softly counts each one: twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one...

Draco drifts off to sleep thinking that maybe 40 isn’t so bad and he can’t wait to see how many times he can make Harry come on his birthday next month. He makes a mental note to stock up on chafing cream.

[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen (part 10)

A/N: Part of this chapter is inspired by the song 2 Years by Thomston. Thank you to the lovely anon that told me this song reminded them of this fic! I highly recommend listening to it! 

word count: 3.9k 

tw: mentions of childbirth, slight season 9 spoilers, otherwise fluffy 

masterlist: “A few months later we were in Boston, on that strangulation case. It’s a pretty hard case to forget, I mean, you delivered a baby. A real human baby, that you brought earthside with your own two hands. You delivered him, and she named him after you. Baby Spencer. 

Morgan and I dragged the unsub out into the street, hearing that poor woman scream and cry as you brought her baby into the world, but you did great, and he was beautiful. Just like his namesake. When I walked back inside I saw you give her the baby, and my heart just about melted into a puddle on the floor. You and kids, it just does something to me. It feels like my heart comes out of my body and into your hands like putty. It's an odd feeling, like you’re physically poking around in my chest. In a weird way I’ll miss it. 

Then I saw JJ give you a side hug, and put her arm on your chest. She even leaned into your neck, with a soft, sweet little nuzzle. You probably didn’t notice it, but I did. I always noticed. A million little ways to say ‘I love you’ without actually saying ‘I love you’. Right?

Yet again, I said nothing. I had no logical reason to be worried. She was married. You told me daily how much you loved me, how special I was, how beautiful, how amazing, how lucky you were. It’s a shame you didn’t feel like that at the end. But I made it okay. I told myself I was just overthinking it all, like usual. I buried it all down. Again, and again, and again. 

That night we went to that bar Rossi loves and everyone was happy, talking about how you delivered a baby. 

Alex asked you, “How on earth did you know what to do?” 

You explained how you memorized all the delivery manuals when JJ was pregnant, just in case. I often wonder if you’d do half the things you do for her, if it were for someone else. Or are some things just for JJ?

I just smiled and laughed, still pushing the feelings away. It was a night to celebrate and I was determined to not be a party pooper. Instead, I went the other way. I was the life of that party. We all got on stage and sang ‘Piano man’ karaoke, and if anyone was making love to a tonic and gin that night, it was me. Many, many, tonic and gins. I stumbled into an Uber with you and ended up at home. You helped me into bed. You wiped off my makeup and undressed me, putting one of your large shirts on me, leaving a bottle of water, two advils, and a note that said “i love you, love” for me to see when I woke up. Stuff like that makes me wonder if you’d only ever do some things for me. It sounds selfish, but I hope wiping my makeup off and putting my moisturizer on for me is something reserved for us. I know there are many things I have reserved just for you, Spence. No one will ever be that kind to me again, and that’s a fact.”

Are some things just for JJ? Really? He was irritated for a passing moment, why were you mad about him caring about his best friend? Before he had even met you?

But then that anger was soon replaced with confusion. Why’d you never mention it? In all the fights you had, you never once mentioned JJ. You never once threw the feelings that were so clear to everyone in his face. Why? Why not? 

Every word made him feel like he didn’t really know you, but also made him wonder if you even knew him? Because if you did you would’ve known he did nothing for JJ, but everything for you. 

“I immediately fell asleep.

 I woke up at some point, maybe around four am, and you weren’t in the bed next to me. I remember patting the sheets, looking for you as I usually did at night. To sleep, I needed to feel you pressed up against me. I didn’t. I panicked. I looked at the note, and for half a second I thought you left. It did look a little like a goodbye note, Spence. I yelled your name a few times, and when I didn’t get a response I really started to worry. I got out of bed and stumbled around; my head was still fuzzy. I walked around the house calling your name. You still didn’t answer. I finally found you on the balcony. 

It was warm for April, and you were sitting on a chair in your pajamas, staring at the stars. 

“Talking to the moon again?” I said, and you turned to look at me. 

The moon was a waxing crescent (thank you for that) so I couldn’t see you well. If it had been full, maybe I would’ve seen your sad eyes. 

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” You whispered.

I sat in the other chair, “I woke up and you weren’t there, so I came to find you. You scared me half to death, Reid.”

 I was looking at you but you wouldn’t look at me. I needed you to look at me.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Only if you come with me.” 

I was trying to be funny, but the pit in my stomach was insane. I really felt like I was staring the end in the face. That was the first time I ever saw you like that, completely shut out from me. You were always forthcoming with me, no matter what was going on. Your voice was rough, like you were getting a cold. You cleared your throat. 

“I think I want to stay out here a while longer.”

“Okay, then I’ll stay with you.”

“Y/N...” You were warning me, I should’ve listened. 

I stood up to walk back inside and I patted your shoulder. I disappeared to get a tub of ice cream and two spoons. We both knew your stomach would hurt afterwards, but we didn’t care. The comfort that binging on ice cream when you’re sad brings is well worth a tummy ache. And even in my half drunk brain fog, I could tell you needed it.”

Spencer chuckled, remembering how you always kept two tubs in the freezer “just in case.” Whenever one of you was having one of those days, the other would grab a tub, and you’d sit in silence and eat. That was back when each other’s company was enough. He still kept one tub in his freezer, hoping in some weird way that you’d be back and the two of you could sit and eat in silence, and somehow that would make it all okay. 

“We sat in silence staring at the sky and taking turns grabbing spoonfuls of cookie dough ice cream. It was comfortable, domestic, calm. 

“So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

You shook your head, “Nothing’s bothering me.”

“You only talk to the moon when you’re upset, Spence.”

You sighed, knowing I was right. The ice cream was for bad days, but the moon was for when you needed to think. And think alone. You said staring up at the moon helped you feel grounded; it reminded you how important we are. It always reminded me of how small I am, how I am literally a speck of dust on a planet that’s a slightly bigger speck of dust that’s hurling through time and space. It reminds me of how small we all are in the grand scheme of the universe. Then you’d tell me: “Everything that makes up us is from those stars. We’re literally made of stardust.” Then I’d feel important too, because you made me important. I mattered because I was in this place at this time with you. You’d tell me about the big bang and the million miracles that led to us being here, alive in this moment. You’d say it reminded you how lucky you were that you got to exist in this world with me. I don’t know if I believe in God, Spence, but if there is one I thank him for letting me exist at the same time as you, even if it was only for a finite time.”

He had to remind himself to breathe. How could words suffocate? How could ink take his breath away? Spencer wished it was nighttime, so he could talk to the moon again, so he could feel important again, so he could feel lucky. 

“You didn’t answer.

“Was it the case?”

You just nodded slightly, as if to say ‘sort of’. 

“This is literally as good as it can go. We got the guy and you brought someone’s baby into the world. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier ending.”

“No.”

That’s all you said, and I let the silence fester. We both just kept eating the ice cream. After about fifteen minutes you said, “The world looks different from here.”

“From the balcony? Yeah I guess, the city looks small, tiny ant people.”

You chuckled, “No, like from where I am right now in my life. I just see the world different than I did yesterday.”

“And I’m sure we’ll look at it differently again tomorrow.” I was trying to help, but it was 4:30 in the morning and I was still slightly buzzed. No amount of ice cream or an existential crisis was going to get rid of that. 

“I held a human being in my hands as it took its first breaths today, Y/N. I was the first thing he ever saw. I literally held his life in my hands.” 

“I know. Maybe you should take up obstetrics.” Another failed attempt at a joke.

 “It just made me think.”

“About what?”

“I just, I always thought I wanted kids,” you said it doubtfully and with a shrug. You looked at me in my eyes finally, and wow did it hurt. 

“But now I’m not so sure.”

I’m pretty sure my jaw almost dropped. How did delivering a baby make you no longer want a village of kids on Christmas morning? I thought it’d have the opposite effect. I thought it’d ignite your baby fever, like it ignited mine. My heart sank, “Why?” 

“I-I don��t know.”

I tried, again, to lighten the mood, “Is it because of the actual birth part? Because I promise I can handle it. No epidurals for me.”

You half smiled, “No, no it’s not that.”“Well then what is it?” I had this dreadful feeling that you were going to tell me that it was me. That I was the reason. That you wanted kids, but you didn’t want them with me.

 “How am I supposed to pass on these genes?”

“Your super smart, tall, handsome, magnificent genius genes? C’mon Spence,” I scoffed. 

“I meant schizophrenia.”

The air went cold between us. 

“You don’t have it though.”

“Having a grandparent with the disease increases your chances of developing it by 5%.”

“Yeah, and I have bad eyesight and terrible allergies and had braces as a kid, which our kids will inherit.” 

“You don’t understand what I mean.”

I rolled my eyes, “No, Love, I don’t. But I do know that you can’t be scared of what ifs.”

You ran your hands through your hair, and just groaned. You sighed, but I kept rambling. I blame my loose lips on Rossi. He kept buying, and I kept drinking.

“And there’s so many what ifs. What if they do get schizophrenia? But what if they don’t and you didn’t have kids because you were scared?”

“It’s not just that it’s—”

“It’s what Spencer?”

“I-I didn’t have a dad! I don’t know how to be one.”

We sat in silence. I didn’t know what to say. 

“I just don’t think it’s for me anymore.”

I felt tears sting my eyes. If we weren’t on the same page, this conversation was going to end horribly. “

But if you don’t want them then—“ I stopped and shakily wiped my face. 

“Then what?” You sounded scared.

I stopped myself from saying something that I’d regret. I wanted to say ‘then I can’t do this.’ Thank god I didn’t. 

“I just, I always thought my kids would be your kids too. I don’t think I want to be a parent if you aren’t there with me.”

Your eyes were shining from the tears and the sliver of moon when they met mine, “Really?”“

Yeah, I’ve told you this a million times, love. You will be the best father because you know what it’s like to not have one. You become better than the people before you.”

You dropped the spoon into the almost empty tub, “I know, I know. I just got in my head about it all.”

“Stop thinking about years ahead, Spence. All you have to think about is right now. I know it feels like we’re running out of time, but don’t rush life.”

You smiled watery and I went to sit on your lap. You rubbed your hand against the small of my back and we watched the sun start to rise. We were done talking to the moon. I dragged you inside, the new day’s sun was coming in through the windows. 

“Do you really think you’re running out of time?” You asked me, holding me close.

 I nodded, “Yeah. I always feel like I am. I thought I’d have two kids and a golden retriever by thirty-one, but I have none of that and I’m getting close to thirty-two. Twenty-four hours just feels shorter and shorter everyday.”

“That’s because each day is a smaller and smaller fraction of our memories. Time feels quicker and quicker every day.”

There you were. There was my love. My you. 

I squeezed you, “I know. It’s just scary. I feel like I’m behind.”

“I feel like that a lot too. You know I thought I’d cure schizophrenia by twenty-five?”

I smiled, “Even you can’t do everything, love.”

“Do you want to catch up?”

“How so?”

“We could get a golden retriever.”

I laughed, “Sure, and next you’ll be saying ‘let’s have a baby.’”

You shrugged and swooped me in front of you, “Why not? Me, you, a baby, sounds pretty good.” 

You said it as a joke, but it didn’t feel like one. “

You mean that?” I looked up at you and could see that longing in your eyes. You could see it in mine too. Always so pensive, Spencer Reid. 

“I didn’t mean like right now, but we can soon. We have to get married first.”

I rolled my eyes, “Who says we need to get married first? JJ and Will didn’t get married until Henry was four. They’re perfect.”

“Henry wasn’t planned.”

“And?”

“And, I’d like to marry you before knocking you up,” you said it like a joke again, peppering me in kisses. 

“We don’t need a stupid piece of paper from the government, Love.”

“So you don’t want to marry me?” There was amusement in your voice. 

“Oh, I want to marry you. I want to marry you so hard, Spencer Reid.”

We laughed, “I want to marry you so hard too.”

You kissed my forehead, and then my lips before moving away from me. 

“So, we both know we want to marry each other and we just agreed to have a baby, like soon?” I clarified. 

“Yes. We did. So, what’s stopping us from doing it right now?” You started milling around in the book case, looking for something. “

Don’t you dare get down on one knee right now, Spencer Reid. I told you already, I am not getting engaged without my nails done.”

You smiled, “I wasn’t! I wasn’t! I was just going to put on some music.” You held up a CD, and I smiled. You came back and pulled me close, and we started to sway back and forth. I always wanted to dance in the kitchen with the love of my life. That morning I did.

After the song ended, we went up to bed finally. I remember laying down and kissing you, going to the place we usually went. Afterwards, you held me against your chest again, “Did you mean it?”

I nodded, “Every word.”

You sighed happily, “So did I.”

I looked up at you, grinning, “So does that mean puppy Reid and baby Reid are coming soon?”

You rolled your eyes, “Puppy Reid, I can handle. But baby Reid is after Mrs. Reid. Call me old fashioned, but that’s how I want to do this.”

I toyed with your hair, “I can handle that.”

While I was packing, I found the CD you were rummaging for. I put it on and danced around the kitchen again. It wasn’t the same. ‘Your Song’ by Elton John is a love song, and love songs just hurt when you’re alone. I swayed in the sunlight, imagining you were swaying with me, talking about having a baby and getting married. I miss that feeling. I miss talking to the moon. I miss ice cream. I miss dancing in the kitchen to Elton John. I miss baggy tee shirts. I miss little notes. I miss the way “How wonderful life is when you’re in the world” felt when I was in your arms. I miss late night kissing. I miss the way you feel with me. I miss us. I miss you, but I miss that you. 

You’re probably wondering what your souvenir from that night is. I thought about giving you the CD, I thought about giving you some ice cream and a spoon, I even thought about giving you the moon, but I decided on the note. “I love you, love.” 

The note was badly wrinkled and his pencil chicken scratch was faded with time. He smiled, remembering the hundreds of notes he probably left you. They always ended in “I love you” with a little doodled heart. He remembered dancing in the sunlight and looking at engagement rings and rescue dogs. He missed you, and not just the version of you from that memory. He missed the version of you from the end. He hated that you didn’t miss that him too.  

“I thought going through all of this would bring me some closure, and now that we’re halfway through I realize that was a mistake. Instead of stitching me up, this opened wounds I thought I had long since healed. This brought it all back. I hope this doesn’t do that for you. I hope it’s the period on the end of this run on sentence. I hope this is closure for you. We both need that.”

He took the letter and the note and walked to his bed, flopping on it and staring at the ceiling fan. It was soothing, in a weird way. He fell into a trance. 

His phone ringing tried to snap him out of it. He didn’t reach for it and waited until the vibrations died. They came again, and he forced himself to look at it. 

JJ. 

Great, first Derek, now JJ. He knew they were just being good friends, but it was getting tiring. He wanted to just be alone, and he especially didn’t want to hear from JJ. His relationship with her was a point of contention with you and he didn’t even know. Between what he had just read and the photo from her wedding, all the old feelings he had for her were brought back to the surface and made him feel gross. He now realized the way your face would turn sour whenever he would pick JJ up in a spin and your off remarks when he’d mention going out with her. In hindsight, you were being jealous but somewhat reasonable. Before he met you, he wondered if he was just waiting for an alternate universe where he could be with JJ. One where there was no Will and no bad Redskins date, where he could look at her without it hurting. Now he knew he’d only be waiting for an alternate universe where he could be with you. 

The phone buzzed again and he finally decided to grab it and answer. 

“Hello?”His voice was groggy and hoarse from not being used. 

“Spence? Hey, it’s me, I just wanted to see if you were okay?”

He didn’t answer, eyes still trained on the fan. 

She cleared her throat, “I just talked to Derek and...”

“What’d he say?”

“He told me about the letters, little dramatic huh?”

He could hear her roll her eyes. JJ was the sweetest person alive, but when it came to Spencer the claws could come out. 

“Yeah, I’m up to number ten,” he kept his voice steady and almost bored, not wanting to reveal anything to her. 

“Out of how many?”

“Fifteen.”

Spencer stood up and walked to the window by the chess table.

 “How are you doing?”

“Did you know every seven to ten years our cells regenerate completely?” Spencer spoke into the phone, staring out the window. It was mid afternoon by now and the snow had stopped. The cars on the road had ruined the innocent white snow, leaving dark gray slush in their wake.

“Every cell?” JJ said back, the phone making her voice crackly and hard to hear. 

“Yeah, skin cells live two to three weeks,” He swallowed thickly, “So the skin she has right now is skin I’ve never touched. Those cells don’t know who I am. My lips are already on the second cycle. They’ve never kissed her. Eventually I’ll have a body that doesn’t recognize hers and she’ll have a body that recognizes someone who isn’t me.”

JJ didn’t speak, just sighed, “You know that isn’t true.”

“It is, Jennifer,” He ran his hands through his hair, “I’m going to be stuck here and she’s going to move on and it’s killing me.” His voice cracked at the end.

 “Then don’t think of it as being stuck, think of it as a turning point. You get to choose a direction now. You’re at a crossroads, Spence, you can choose to move on.” 

She sounded earnest and he knew she was right, but he couldn’t help the feeling. It’s like he was in quicksand and no one could pull him out. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. 

JJ sighed, “Do you want to talk about the letters?”

“No,” he said harsher than he intended, “I just want to finish this and then figure out what I’m supposed to do.”

“Well, if you need any help, you know where to find me.”

He nodded as if she could see him and whispered, “Bye.”

He hung up before she could respond. He threw the phone on the window sill and walked to the bathroom, splashing cold water over his face. He stared at his own reflection in the mirror. It looked foreign. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, his skin looked pale, and his hair looked like he had just rolled out of bed, which he kind of had. He felt like his whole body was bruised. He toyed with his hair to get it to a tolerable place and sat back down on his bed, grabbing the tenth letter.

part 11!

taglist! (just let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings @ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog @blameitonthenight21​ @goldentournesol​

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

Sanders Swap AU

So, I’ve heard tale of a new AU circulating in this fandom. Basically, it’s an AU where the Sides swap jobs and powers with the other sides.

Here’s my take on who’d get what (this isn’t even a theory, just what I hope happens)

First off, it’s the same characters with the canon-verse history. However, Thomas decides that if they all swapped jobs and powers for a day, they might understand each other more and stop arguing 24/7

This may have been Emile Picani’s idea. I’ll figure it out (the sides need to go to Emile’s therapy sessions).

So!

Janus is Morality

-And he’s having fun with it

-”Why pursuing a false sense of morality is more detrimental than taking a singular self-care day: A 256 Slide Presentation”

-He only starts not liking it when he realizes how much responsibility Pat is really under

-He doesn’t know the answers to everything! He can’t deal with all of these emotions! HE ISN’T READY TO BE A FATHER

-It’s really easy to forget that Patton’s job is also dealing with all of Thomas’s emotions. Patton has practice at repressing everything, but it’s all hitting Jan like a truck

-There will be angst.

-Also now he has to kind of take care of all the light sides, including Virgil. So, more angst!

-Reactions Of The Other Sides

Roman: How Dare You Stand Where He Stood

Virgil: Nope. Nopity nope. NOPE.

Logan: It probably isn’t the mature, logical thing to do to laugh at Janus struggling with the FamILY. But he technically isn’t Logic at the moment, and it is kind of funny.

Of course, when Janus starts really struggling, that all stops.

Remus: Jan has to pretend to be the boring one! This is fun to watch!

Patton: He knows what it must be like for Janus at the moment. Trying to help him.

Patton is Dark Creativity

-Patton’s going through a crisis of conscience at the moment, so turning him into a dark side has Angst Potential

-He’s determined to fail at his job. Unfortunately, he’s quite good at the religious guilt part of Remus’s job.

-I think he’d like conjuring stuff though

-He’d try to conjure kittens, but since Remus’s powers work the way they do he’d conjure the ugliest sphinx cats you’ve ever seen in your life

-But Patton’s allergies are better around hairless cats! So he keeps the cats even after the drama is over and learns to love them

-He has no idea what to do with a morning-star or deodorant. Deodorant tastes like deodorant to him, and he doesn’t get why Remus eats it.

-Is this entire AU an excuse to have Dark Creativity be the one to say, “Language!”? Maybe so.

-Reactions Of The Other Sides: 

Roman + Virgil: They already have complicated feelings about both him and the dark sides. This is just a calzone of weird.

Logan: Not that much has changed, in his opinion.

Remus: The guy who thinks babies come from fucking STORKS is him?? NO.

Janus: So many thoughts and none of them intelligible. More like a long, drawn out scream.

Remus is Logic

-However much of a shitshow you think it’s going to be....it’s worse

-He goes full mad scientist. He eats his glasses. He knows the science of so many things he was curious about.

-He can justify anything with “It’s for science!”

“Why did you release goats into the living room?” “FOR SCIENCE!”

“Why did you draw all of these dorks on the ceiling??” “FOR SCIENCE!”

“WHY IS THE HOUSE ON FIRE???” “FOR SCIENCE!”

-Remus is Logic now, baby. And the world will burn.

-Reactions Of The Other Sides: 

Roman: Logan’s cool! Remus most definitely isn’t! He has no right to wear that tie.

Virgil: Terrified? He shouldn’t be in charge of anything!

Logan: Please. Could someone please get him to stop. THAT IS NOT PROPER LAB SAFETY-

Patton: Welp. That’s disturbing. Time to pretend this isn’t happening.

Janus: Entertained beyond belief. 

Logan is Anxiety

-Existential dread o’clock! Ever considered the true size of the universe when compared to you? Logan is the feeling of terror you get when you look at the sky and realize just how little it cares about you.

-Logan is a better Anxiety than Anxiety, because instead of being emo he’s informed (and potentially emo, since the concept of an emo Logan is quite a concept)

-And people listen to him more. He doesn’t even use the demon voice option. People just pay attention to him when he’s like this. God, no wonder Virgil acts the way he does!

-No but emo Logan consider it

-Him having to go back to being Logic after this would certainly do things to his character arc

-He still can never get into Evanescence, though.

-Reactions Of The Other Sides: 

Virgil: Why is he better at his job than the actual Anxiety? Is he even important to Thomas?

Remus: Likes Logan’s new aesthetic very much

Patton: Is happy that Logan seems happy, but knows that they’ll have to change back eventually. Worrying about all of his kiddos, honestly.

Janus: Was the first one to be hit with the Existential Dread. Freaks out.

Roman: Thank the gods that he isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to go back

Virgil is Creativity

-He hates everything about this.

-The imagination is confusing, Thomas’s hopes and dreams are worryingly fragile, and he is constantly suppressing the urge to sing Disney songs.

-The only thing he likes is the sword. The sword is awesome.

-Conjuring feels weird, like sticking your hand in a magician’s hat full of scorpions to do a trick. But he manages to conjure the darkest eye-shadow known to man, so there’s that.

-He wants out of this little experiment ASAP. He may not be the villain any more, but that doesn’t mean he was born to play hero.

Reactions Of The Other Sides:

Roman: Why is he so bad at this?? Thomas is going to need a creativity!

Logan: Worried that he’ll accidentally destroy all of Thomas’s hopes and dreams.

Remus: He prefers this to his insufferable brother, so

Patton: Swords are sharp DON’T STAB PEOPLE

Janus: He could have conjured a million dollars and given it all to his former best friend, but no. He went for the eye-shadow.

Roman is Deceit

-At first, he loathes it with every fiber of his being. Now he can’t even pretend to be a hero?

-But lying is just good storytelling, and he hasn’t been able to spin words like this in ages

-Plus, he gets to sing villain songs for once

-And he does love the shape-shifting. For once, he doesn’t have to be Roman Sanders, and it’s the best thing in the world

-After a while, he hasn’t looked like himself in the mirror for days. It’s much easier to tell you’re not the evil twin when you don’t resemble him at all.

-He isn’t going back.

-Reactions Of The Others: 

Virgil: Oblivious to the danger at hand, but would scream if he knew because he can’t be creativity forever.

Logan: Conflicted as heck. He knows that they both have to go back to their old jobs, but it’s harder to say it with conviction when Roman is encouraging him to stay.

Remus: Ugh. His brother is the one who gets Jan’s job? Typical.

Patton: Roman doesn’t seem okay. Why is everyone in his family not okay

Janus: AfraidTM

Just my thoughts!

Now I have 39 fics to write

[virlath]

The Dread Wolf

Some speculation on Solas’ dread wolf form (Tevinter Nights spoilers below)

All around us was light and color, a dizzying array of the magic that makes up the world of spirits, and it swirled around the Tevinter mage and his ritual knife as though he were the eye of a hurricane. Something huge trembled around us—a spirit so great that it shook parts of the Fade I had always considered to be neutral, devoid of life—and high overhead, where the Black City shadowed the sky, I heard a great booming roar.

But before the Tevinter mage could complete his ritual, the Dread Wolf arrived.

It was no elf, no mortal mage. It was a beast unlike any I had ever seen. Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon, and it came to us on wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons as the Dread Wolf landed before us.

-Dragon Age Tevinter Nights 

So, I’ve been thinking about Solas’ dread wolf form, and what it it means /entails.

In Tevinter Nights, the Dread Wolf appears from the fade to stop the Mortalitasi’s blood magic ritual.

Based on the Mortalitasi’s story, I theorise the terrifying Dread Wolf form is Solas himself and not a separate entity like Nightmare serving Corypheus. 

===

First, the backstory

Personally, I think there is a lot of strong evidence Solas was originally some kind of spirit before manifesting as a physical, mortal elf. He doesn’t identify strongly with people and elves, saying to the Inquisitor he only thinks of himself as “me”. His only friends are spirits, and he has spent a lot of time justifying to himself why spirits should be considered people. He gets very passionate about this topic if you walk into his rhetoric on the matter.

Solas understands spirits because I think he was one to begin with. There have been hints that the ancient elves used spirits and bound them to their will. It would explain why Solas is so against using spirits and twisting them against their nature.

While we might visit the Fade, it is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him gladly.

After the events of Trespasser, and the events in Tevinter Nights, I think Solas has taken the form of the six-eyed wolf to reside in the fade physically. I presume this is advantageous for him so he can ensure his ritual to tear down the veil completes successfully. Using the dread wolf form allows him to build up his terrifying image  while also scaring away mages and spirits from disrupting his plans. 

We already know with the anchor he would have been able to walk the fade physically. With Mythal’s power now within him, there is nothing stopping him from living there permanently. Instead of shape shifting into a dragon like the evanuris however, Solas shapeshifts into a massive reptilian wolf. 

I don’t think the wolf form is a separate entity, nor do I think this wolf form is a spirit serving him like Nightmare was serving Corypheus.

Solas may have many parallels to Corypheus but using a spirit or even a person as one half of his persona is not his MO. Solas only relies on himself- he wants to be the one in control at all times. He may rely on spirits to help with whatever tasks he needs to carry out, but I don’t think he would ever rely on a spirit so much so it formed one half of his dread wolf image.

===

The Dread Wolf of the Fade

Now I think Solas’ origin/spirit self is important, because it will play a part in how we truly see him, and thus, form how we redeem or stop (”kill”) him.

Around the start of DA:I, he says:

The fade reflects the mind of the living. If you expect a spirit of wisdom to be a pride demon, it will adapt. And if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the spirit? They can be fast friends.

I don’t think his physical/fade form is like anything we have seen in any previous games or lore before. He says himself, the ancient elven gods weren’t truly gods but “mages”, or "something this age has not yet seen”. I don’t think he’s an abomination like Anders, but closer to a spirit that has manifested and evolved like Cole, over millenia. If so maybe the term demon is more appropriate to describe his form (and to be clear, I think Solas is definitely not a simple spirit but something much more - he says himself in dialogue with Cole “I am not a spirit, and sometimes it is hard to remember such simple truths). 

What Solas has is the understanding and kinship of spirits coupled with the physicality of a mortal body. He can walk the fade and affect the minds of others through dreams. If you remember Feynriel in DA2, it was said a dreamer abomination would be extraordinarily powerful and they would be able to affect the dreams of others. Perhaps Solas is a bit like Feynriel except he *is* the only entity- rather than possessing someone, he is the sole physical manifestation of his demon self. When he is in the fade, he can shapeshift into his wolf form by using the fear inspired by his Dread Wolf persona, much like Nightmare can.

Whatever you know of this mage, put it aside. Whether he is truly the Dread Wolf of elven myth, I cannot say—it is not uncommon for powerful spirits to be worshipped as gods, as the Avvar do. But whatever fear the name of the Dread Wolf carries, he has earned. While we might visit the Fade, it is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him gladly. They whisper in my dreams now, accusing me of crimes I never committed and promising vengeance if my wards fail. A weaker mage would be dead already, or mad.

And as clear as the Dread Wolf’s anger at what we had done—the Mortalitasi binding spirits he considered his own, the Tevinter mage using forbidden blood magic—was the feeling that we had disrupted his own work.

He intends something for the Fade, and if he wants the idol, then whatever he intends will be terrible.

This is why Solas positions himself as this big scary wolf demon to begin with. He wants people to be afraid of him because he can use their fear against them.

If our protagonist gets the chance to see him as a person or even a friend, they will see him in the fade for who he truly is- someone who at the end of the day, is a morally grey person with "good” intentions. And if they see him as a big bad wolf who wants worldwide destruction, he can use that fear to feed his wolf form as well.

This is where it’s important to note the distinction between humans and spirits. In Cole’s personal quest, spirits forgive by simply “forgetting”. Contrast this to physical beings, who forgive by working through pain and accepting it. I think DA4 will feature a pretty big existential crisis for Solas - where (hopefully) we can steer him towards the path of being a morally grey physical being, or the one track minded spirit intent on fulfilling his personal destiny at all costs.

Solas vs. himself

If you look at the murals and tarot cards in DA:I, he and the wolf are in sync with each other. Benevelont, looming, scary, confident, prideful, terrifying. In all the Inquisition artworks, he is in a position of control, actively using the Dread Wolf persona to carry out his actions.

Contrast this to the teaser mural, where the wolf has literally turned it’s back on Solas. Meanwhile, Solas stands his ground with his hand outstretched against the evanuris (the semicircles), the idol, and the wolf all at once.

In Trespasser, if Cole is made more a spirit he says this:

“When this is done, I will slip back safely, a spirit. Someone is hurting. He needs me to remember who he is.”

I think he is most definitely referring to Solas in this case.

Cole knows way more about Solas than he lets on throughout the game, and in a way, he has access to the bigger picture which we can only speculate on. This is why, when you say you want to kill Solas at the end of Trespasser, Cole greatly disapproves. It’s also why so many spirits willingly serve the dread wolf in the fade. Solas’ actions are clearly beneficial for the spirits of the fade, but whether or not he accounts for people in reality will be up to our own personal choices in game.

The more Solas takes on the form of the Dread Wolf and the more he resides in the fade physically, the more of his mortal self he will forget. It’s just the nature of being “part spirit”.  If spirits encounter information they don’t want to process or understand, they simply forget. His inner struggle is the part that wants to be a spirit vs. the part that has mortal ties and emotions based in reality. This is why when he says “I will never forget you” to a romanced Lavellan, it is so significant, and so tragic.

"Wisdom knows enduring is pain. He hurts for her, another of many he couldn't save. He carries necessary deaths." (this quote refers to his spirit of wisdom friend in his personal quest)  

If Solas wanted to, he probably could simply forget. He did after all, make Cole forget “They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them... (Gasps.) Where did it go?”

Him choosing to remember the pain is what differentiates him from any conventional spirit.

This is ultimately how I think Solas’ arc will culminate in DA4.

Will Solas inevitably lose control of his Dread Wolf persona and take up the mantle of the uncontrollable, power mad villain he swore he never was? 

Or can we get him to realise the more human side to him, the side that accepts and deals with pain and mistakes and regret- the side that believes in the right of “all free willed beings to exist”?

[project-ohagi]

Dabi x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Greyromantic: Can experience romantic attraction, but weakly or infrequently; feeling alienated from romance; only feeling attraction in specific circumstances.

Asexual: Having little/no sexual attraction or interest in sexual activities.

Questioning: Process of exploration regarding gender, sexual orientation, sexual identity.

----

The phenomenon of love is a complex, chemical concoction that has long been weaved into the fabric of our society. It is presented as a requirement, with those who find the concept either too challenging to thoroughly comprehend, or lacking in appeal, branded as anomalies. In its pursuit of normality, it quickly alienated those whose hearts just couldn't conform. In a different society, one not quite so dominated by this 'normality' of romantic and sexual interests...you might be forgiven for your limited knowledge. But this one...it seems to blanch at the very idea that happiness can be attained in the absence of romantic attraction.

As such, those identifying along the Aromantic or Asexual spectrums are often overlooked - even shunned. But, the greatest truth of it all is a lot simpler than you may expect: an emotion as profound as joy cannot be induced solely by succumbing to carnal desires, or tasting the lips of another. No...it is through self-acceptance, and the acceptance from those for whom your heart beats - parents, siblings, friends...and perhaps in this manner, the meaning is amplified.

But...what happens when you are forced into complacency, into setting aside your own interests, to 'further evolution', or to 'finally be normal'?

You were still trying to figure this out.

Who were you...really? Why couldn't you summon an emotion as free and universal as love?...Romantic love? Why did it seem so incomprehensible, so...intangible? These were the thoughts you battled with, every waking moment. They burrowed deep into your mind, so that you could never pull them out. They were elusive, yet...constant, nagging.

Why am I so different? Everyone else has crushes...even Toga likes that one UA boy! Ah, yeah...she asked me if I have someone I love. I just said "No". Saying: "I don't even know what 'love' is" seems a bit...she'd definitely call me weird. Then the others would probably laugh at me...

You felt...incomplete, like a jigsaw puzzle with only half the pieces. You felt the isolation, suffocating you. It hadn't been a conscious decision. You didn't awaken one morning and think 'You know what? This whole 'love' thing? It just isn't for me! ' You craved a connection, a bond of some kind - holding hands...a hug at most. Anything more was frightening to imagine. What if someone...pressured you? Or stole a kiss, as an offhanded action? You couldn't bear it...not even the mere thought. It was likely the main contributor to your chronic anxiety and paranoia. Your treatment at the hands of society, the ridicule and the fear of phrases such as "It's just a phase!" or, "You need to find the right person!"...they fuelled the flickering spark of villainy in your eyes.

After all, outcasts and monsters are interchangeable to most common folk.

But you didn't want those labels. You were a lost lamb, wandering aimlessly - what you really needed was guidance...someone who would listen and advise, someone who would accept you and every burden you carried, without question or quandary. But you said nothing...so you got nothing in return. Dabi was the closest to a...a source of strength? Motivation?...Potential love interest? But...how would you ever truly know? How could you discern the romantic from the platonic? It seemed impossible - simply a waste of time. Still, you never fully resigned to this fate of...loneliness.

You wanted to cherish, and to be cherished.

You wanted to love, and to be loved.

Perhaps it was the unyielding voice of fear, of desperation and pain, but...you just didn't know! You didn't know...and, it was difficult. You studied Dabi's face, and while nothing immediately heated your cheeks, he wasn't...unattractive. Aha! Maybe that was love? Alas, you discovered it to be more aesthetic attraction. It was a little disappointing, but perseverance should've been the key, right...?

Why? Why do I feel so little? Dabi is there for me, right? So surely if anyone, I should love him!...Do I love him? How can I tell? Is there some sort of test? How would a test even be administered? What kind of questions would I have to answer? I don't think I could answer them, even with study. If I'm struggling so much now...

And anyway...Dabi was a dominant male, whose sexuality was unclear. Even if you managed to settle on a definition of 'love', and figure out what role it played in your life...there was no guarantee that Dabi would want you. The jury was still out, on your gender - 'questioning' was your placeholder for the moment. But, you usually dressed masculine...would he be okay with someone so indecisive? Someone who might be neither male nor female? And, what if...what if he wasn't the one?

Say I can find love, and I start to understand it...who's to say that the person I love will be Dabi? It could be anyone! Maybe they were right, and I just haven't met the right person...but, I kind of want it to be Dabi? Is that...bad? Oh god, it sounds so selfish! He'll just be tied down, and if we find out that I don't actually love him...what would he do? At the very least, he'd be angry...

Dabi...the more you recalled his honey-laced voice, all the flirting you failed to notice until it was pointed out (clearly, he was doing that in jest), and those blue eyes (steely from years on the run, that probably depleted the pools of guilt and regret often accompanying mass killings, thievery and other criminal acts), the more confusion festered. You just didn't understand! Was it love? Or was it conversion? Were you trying to become 'normal'? Well, as normal as a villain could be...? Or did Dabi really mean something...something greater than you believed? Something...beyond what you currently knew?

This journey of self-discovery had approached a torturous junction.

Why were relationships so sought after, so expected? Even you desired one. How else could you ever hope to form a deep bond, or receive that fabled 'feeling of ecstasy' from holding hands or hugging? If there was no romance, mainstream media would lead you to the conclusion that there isn't a 'proper' or 'deep enough' connection - there can't be. You wanted to experience these things with Dabi. No-one else. You couldn't explain why. He was...an unusual character, mysterious and with perhaps a similar level of complexity as the daunting questions you were asking yourself. But mentioning your plight to him simply wasn't an option. Villains were responsible for themselves; the League was nothing more than a safety net.

Besides, Dabi was heartless.

...Or so he liked to be portrayed.

Urghhh...why is this so complicated? How am I supposed to know if I love him? The signs are...increased heart rate and blood to the face, right...? That seems unhealthy...is that actually supposed to be a good thing??

"Hey, you stopped spacing out yet, (V/n)?"

Shit! No, no, no! I haven't finished spacing out!

Sheepishly, you turned in the direction of the voice. Why did Dabi always seem to materialise out of thin air, whenever you thought about him? Did you magic him here, by accident? Subconsciously? However you managed that...you hated it. Your existential crisis really didn't need a spectator. Break out the popcorn, why don't you?

Can't I have a break down in peace? Wait...am I even in my room?...Did I seriously question my entire existence right here in the bar? It's a good thing there's no-one else here...I don't need more people telling me that I'm crazy...

You sighed. "...Yeah."

His brows furrowed - this was unfamiliar territory. Helping people had never been his speciality, especially given his own trauma . But for you...it was certainly worth a shot. "What's up? You on your man-period or something?"

Off to a spectacularly dreadful start. "I - I don't know if I'm a man, though...how could I-"

"Relax, it was a joke. Your pronouns are they/them, right? I'm not gonna call you a man just for the sake of argument. Nah...Hey, scoot over." A for effort.

"You could sit literally anywhere else."

He smirked. "You gonna stop me, sweet-cheeks?"

Sweet...?

"Thought not. Anyway, what's going on? You've been all doom-and-gloom for the past...two hours." He motioned over to the clock.

Had you honestly spent so long in contemplation? Gods, you could've unlocked the secrets of the universe, but no. "I've...kinda been asking myself that."

"Oh?" It was obviously a prompt, but talk of your romantic inclination (or lack thereof) would likely be regarded in the realm of 'stupid' and 'childish', so...could really you trust him?

I've always been too nervous to take risks...Guess now's as good a time as any to change that.

You swallowed down the uncertainties, the anxiety and everything in-between. They didn't help - they only hindered. And...you did need to release this burden, that weighed you down so heavily.

"Um...it's - it's...confusing. Really...confusing. I guess, I simple terms: I don't know what 'love' is. I know it probably sounds really dumb to you, and I feel stupid for even saying it, but...I've never...never had a crush, never been in love. I don't...I don't feel anything romantic towards, well...anyone!"

"Not even a bit?" He asked, blank-faced.

"I - I don't know. I really want to, though. I'm just...I'm scared. There's always this underlying fear of...what if - what if someone forces me? Y'know? What if...I date someone, and they can't accept that I'm different...that I might never feel anything for them? I don't want to be lonely forever, Dabi! I want someone, I really do! I say I've never been in love, but...the truth is, I just don't know! I know that I don't need to kiss someone. That's what I...what I don't want, but...I - I still want to hold hands with someone! I'd still like a hug, every once in a while...I don't know what I'm doing, or really...who I am."

For a few moments, he was silent beside you, just drinking in the flood of information. He refrained from reaching out, or gazing too intently. It took time to settle on an appropriate response. "You're looking at it as an issue, though - something you've gotta resolve, before you can move on. I'm not the best with advice, trust me...but I can tell you that it's a journey. It'll continue and evolve, as long as it needs to. You'll...probably know when you're ready, or...something. All that sappy crap. You don't have to force yourself to understand it all now."

I'll know...?

"When I'm...ready?" You repeated, eyes tracing the lines on your palm.

"Yeah...probably."

Just before you lost all coherency, a single thought fluttered to the forefront of your mind: My heart...just...skipped a beat?!

[Word Count: 1775]

[revasserium]

Can I have 34 with Sugawara? thank you

hq!!reqs temporarily: closed ; all other reqs: open

send me a number a character and i’ll write you a drabble ;

34. insomnia: the owner’s instructions suga ; 1,659 words 

a/n: suga, the type of stay up at night bc of an existential crisis. 

the truth is – everything ends. it’s one of those fundamental, incontestable truths, a silver thread in the very fabric of reality, a cornerstone fact upon which the world was built, precarious and everlasting: everything ends. everything. and maybe it’s pointless to let the encroaching shadow of existential dread keep him up at night, but sugawara koushi is just that kind of person. he lies awake thinking about the probable heat death of the universe, and the fact that try as he might, nothing he does, nothing truly, really, actually means anything. 

he flips onto his side, sighs, tugs his phone from beneath his pillow and flicks open the screen. the time glares at him – a jarring 4:33am. he groans and buries his face in his pillow. 

shit. 

and he has morning practice tomorrow. 

double shit. 

he peers at this phone again. 4:34am. 

he opens up his messages and scrolls through his history with you, grinning at all the stupid memes you send each other. his eyes pause on your last message to him – night, love you. sleep tight. 

he’d responded in kind, except exclusively with emojis that perhaps trailed into the questionable territory of being suggestive. but i mean. eggplants are perfectly innocent vegetables, aren’t they? 

his fingers hover over the keys. 

why the fuck not. she’s probably asleep anyway. 

can’t sleep. miss you. wish u were here. 

he hits send, and almost closes out the app when the signature three dots appear at the bottom of his scene and he freezes. why the hell are you awake? 

it seems that you shared his sentiments rather exactly, as your message appears with a little bloop. 

why the hell are you awake? 

he crinkles his nose, fingers already flying. 

said i couldn’t sleep. :( u never read my texts properly. 

a moment later, his phone buzzes and he sees your caller id flare up over his screen. he grins, tapping the green answer button. 

“i do too read your messages.” 

he laughs, the sound just a tad strange in the echo of darkness. 

“fine, fine, yeah you do. i was just teasing.” 

“when are you not.” 

“fair.” 

quiet. the moonlight bleeds slivers between his curtains, the light slicing his room into bits – he raises a hand, staring at his bisected palm with a light frown. 

“are you thinking about the end of the world again?” 

your voice startles him, even across the line, he can hear the way you must be raising your eyebrows, that teasing smile he loves so much twisting your lips. you sound exasperated. and rightly so. he’s exasperated with himself too. 

“may…be?” 

“hm. figured.” 

he lets his hand fall back onto the bed, rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling. 

“what do you think happens after we all die?” 

he hears you shift in your bed as well, and a moment later, you sigh.

“the universe world keeps on spinning. nothing much changes.” 

“right, but like… isn’t it weird to think that all this has existed before us, and it’ll continue to exist after? like. what are we, even?” 

you laugh, the sound making his stomach flutter. 

“cosmic fallout.” 

“wow,” suga rolls his eyes before remembering you can’t see him. though he’s sure you can hear it in his voice. you’ve known each other for way too long. longer than he cares to try and remember. maybe that’s what it’s like to not worry – to trust something enough not to question it. to not have to question it. 

“that’s not depressing at all.” 

you hum, “well. it is. but it’s not like anything we can do will change that. so why lose sleep over it? it’s got no sway on how your life will be.” 

“right, but it’s just… strange – isn’t it? like. how did we even end up here? with like… phones and computers and internet and – and relationships.” 

you’re laughing again, and he closes his eyes. one of these days, he thinks he’ll tape it, the way you laugh, and maybe loop it so it can be the backing track to his entire existence. maybe that’ll give it some meaning, at least – 

he wishes you were there. so he curls up onto his side again and cradles the phone to his ear. 

“i miss you.” 

“i know. i miss you too.” 

“you should come over.” 

“koushi. it’s 4am.” 

“almost 5.” 

“has anyone told you you’re terrible at convincing people to do things?” 

and this time, he laughs, lets the sound shake through him like the first ray of daylight on a rising sun – warm and sharp and hopeful. 

“once or twice.” 

another silence. suga thinks he can almost hear the sound of the world turning, it’s so quiet. and then, your voice cuts through the invariable darkness. 

“by accident.” 

“huh?” he blinks, unsure of if the line cut off. 

“that’s how we all ended up here, a massive, cosmic series of accidents. everything happened just so, all the stars that have ever lived or died – they all did it in just the way they had to for us to somehow end up here, and be able to hold hands and stay up late at night worrying about death and the end of all time.” 

“one hell of an accident,” suga mumbles, crinkling his nose. a wave of tiredness washes over him. he wants to tell you to keep on talking. maybe he’ll record that too, just you talking about something, anything, everything. maybe that’s the cure to insomnia – just you and your voice, lulling him to sleep every night. 

he wonders if that’s weird, and decides that well, he’s your boyfriend, he can be a little bit weird with this kinda stuff. 

“still, pretty amazing right? all that happened so you could accidentally confess to me during homeroom.” 

suga squawks. 

“will you cease and desist? god – you’re just as bad as daichi and noya! they made fun of me for months – months! can you believe it? my own fucking teammates.” 

your laughter washes over him, soothing his fraying nerves even as he huffs and tries to be angry with you. but it’s impossible – it’s been impossible for a long while now, and he wonders why he still tries. 

maybe it’s because he’s so in love. 

“but – whatever happens after we’re all gone,” you say, your voice soft and steady and full of a tenderness so striking it makes his chest squeeze, “at least we had this while we were here, right? at least by some strange conspiracy of the universe, we met each other. and – and fell in love. and… it doesn’t really matter if it doesn’t last forever. cause i’ll remember it happened. and you will too.” 

you take a breath that sounds like the meeting of truth and tragedy, or perhaps the two finding out that they were always one and the same. 

suga holds his own breath, forgets for a moment that he even has lungs. 

“and… i think that’s enough. for me.” 

he lets the breath go, his body curling into itself as he lets his eyes fall shut, his heartbeat thrumming to the sound of your breaths. 

“wow,” he says again. though, it carries none of its former irony. 

and, after a beat. 

“you’re a sap.” 

and this time, you’re the one sighing. 

“i’m hanging up.” 

“wait! not yet – c’mon, you know i didn’t mean it.” he’s laughing again. he does that a lot with you. 

“fine, but only until you fall asleep.” 

he smiles, a pleasant warmth already spreading through his limbs, making heavy his eyelids. 

“i’m already getting sleepy.” 

“good.” 

quiet, once more. the moonlight falling across his room seems to spell out eternity, and it’s moments like this when suga wonders what it’d be like to live forever. not in the sense that he wants to live for a million years, but that he’d like to live in this moment for long than – well, this moment lasts. 

he wants to stretch out the seconds like taffy between his fingers, relish in the sound of your voice, your laughter, in the smell of your hair after you’ve just washed it, the way you kiss him, on the lips, on the cheek, over his eyelids till they see in nothing but daydreams. 

“hey,” he says, whispers into the phone like a secret. 

“hm?” your voice answers back. 

“i think i love you.” 

you pause, and for a moment, just a moment, he thinks he can taste that unattainable forever. he wants to live inside that moment. for as long as he can. 

“i think i love you too.” 

and, even though they’re words you often say to each other, repeated so many times they might lose their meaning – there’s something about the time – the hours caught between morning and night, something about the foreverness of those precious few moments, that makes those words – that specific sequence of letters and sounds, mean so much more than they usually do. 

suga realizes that this is also truth – a kind that he’s always neglected to think about. the truth of beginnings, and middles, and the eternities that live passed the endings. 

because there are certain forevers that live outside the realm of time and space, forevers that are contained within their own special fragments of realities – his and yours, for instance. 

and just for now, for this one moment – love is not an ever-ending thing. 

and the truth is, no matter how dark and dreary the eventual end of the world might be, at least he had this. at least he met you. and at least, he’s known the taste of falling in love. and that’s something. 

isn’t it? 

– 

taglist: @thewaterlily @dorkyama @undertheseabass @miyulovestowrite  @writing-in-monotone @lceiji @vventure @writeiolite

(pls let me know if you’d like to be added to the list! or if you’d like to be removed! u__u) 

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately

Jonathan Sims has been head archivist for just a few months, but he has memories of holding the position for years. Somehow, he'll have to keep everyone safe from what's coming. Meanwhile, his assistants can't understand why their prickly jerk of a boss has gone sappy all of a sudden. 

(I went ahead and started a fanfic inspired by that Jon-sends-his-memories-back-in-time comic by @questbedhead. Not sure whether I’ll add to it, but thought I’d post this much at least.)

Read on Ao3

Jon woke suddenly and bolted from his chair. He made it halfway to the door, stumbling in a blind panic before reality caught up with him and he remembered where he was. The room that was half his flat came into focus. Shadows pooled against the dim light coming from outside.

He breathed slowly as his heart rate returned to normal.

Jon’s dreams were his own now, and in them he was only himself. Mostly they were nightmares, and mostly the nightmares were bad. But he’d still take them any night over the pitiless, helpless consumption of secondhand terror that he knew was the alternative. Still. This one had been awful. He could still see images of it, lingering in his mind. In particular he remembered Martin’s face, twisted in an expression of pain and fear for just a moment before his grimace turned into an unnatural, too-wide smile . . . Jon shuddered as he tried to forget it.

His phone was on the table that served as both desk and eating space, and he checked the time. 8:15. He’d nodded off in his seat and slept for less than an hour.

Jon stared at the phone’s screen and wondered how Martin was doing. There were several months to go before Jane would attack the institute. The table that had held the thing that once took Sasha, the centerpiece of this particular nightmare, it hadn’t even arrived yet. Martin would be fine in the archive, Jon knew that. He’d sleep there without incident for months, unharmed. There was no need to worry about his safety just yet.

The image from his dream remained in Jon’s mind, unmoved by his own reassurance. He found himself wishing, not for the first time in recent days, that he could reach into the ocean of Knowing that had once pressed so forcefully against his mind. That he could just Know if Martin was all right, See what he was doing right now. But the door in his mind wasn’t just closed, it was gone. Not yet built. Never to be built if Jon could help it. There was nothing to reach for and nothing to give in to. It was just as well, he supposed, since he’d promised to give Martin privacy. Lacking the ability to check just removed the temptation to do so.

Without really thinking, Jon ran his thumb over his contacts and scrolled until he found Martin’s name. He tapped it, opening their history. The last message visible was still from Jane Prentis and Jon frowned at the sight of it. Martin had a new phone now, of course, but the number was the same.

Jon could call him if he wanted to. Just check in, make sure he was all right. Reassure himself that nothing terrible was happening.

Sighing, Jon set the phone down. Hadn’t harassing his staff been one of the things that caused so much trouble the first time around? Martin didn’t need Jon bothering him every hour of the day and night with all his worries. He’d have enough of his own after his encounter with Prentiss. No. Jon would go in to work tomorrow, see Martin there, and everything would be completely fine - or at least as close to fine as was possible, under the circumstances. It wouldn’t be that long until morning.

He checked the time again. 8:17.

Of course, if he happened to stop by the institute because he’d forgotten something there, he’d be sure to run into Martin. Then he could see for himself that he was safe. That would be perfectly all right, wouldn’t it? He nodded to himself as he got his coat.

On the train ride downtown, he thought about another Martin. The one in his memories - his new memories - who had tried so hard to keep Jon safe and present and whole. Who’d somehow kept a grip on hope even after everything fell apart, a hope so blind and powerful that it alternately seemed like foolish, sad denial and like a beacon that could rival the dread powers in its brilliance.

In another time, another life, another world, Jon had watched that light grow slowly dimmer as the cruel reality of the new world smothered it. The world he had brought into existence.

Jon had spent so long in despair and resignation by then. He’d even been frustrated at times by what seemed Martin’s unwillingness to face reality. It was really rather ironic how much he had panicked when he began to realize that Martin was giving up as well. The final blow had come after Jonah was destroyed. When they learned that killing him had accomplished nothing except binding Jon to the Panopticon completely. Jon had felt his body go limp, his edges softening, his body merging with with the flesh of the tower as a thousand eyes he hadn’t known he’d had opened at once. He was fairly sure he’d have have accepted his fate without a fight if it hadn’t been for the look on Martin’s face.

So he’d done the only thing he could. He’d drowned his mind in the Knowing that howled at the edge of his consciousness. Dove as deeply as he could, drinking it in, reaching for anything that might give them a chance. Perhaps it had been his regret, his childish desire to go back and undo all of his mistakes that had guided him to the answer. He’d already known that he could force knowledge into the minds of others, just as Jonah had. But Jon was more powerful than Jonah had been and he had now been placed permanently in the center of the Beholding. He could send his knowledge anywhere. Possibly across time itself. He could send all that he knew - his memories, his experiences - back to a time when he might still be able to do something with that knowledge.

It had been a long shot, an unlikely gamble. But as he explained his plan to Martin he’d seen light return to his eyes. Watched a tearful smile bloom in him as he held what remained of Jon’s hand.

If Jon did nothing else good with his life, if he truly couldn’t escape what he was and everything fell apart again this time, he’d still be proud of that moment. When he’d found a way to rekindle that precious spark of hope Martin had carried. If one day he found himself back at that tower, trapped in the knowledge that he could only repeat this horrific cycle over and over and over, he would still have that.

Of course . . . it hadn’t really been him who’d done that, had it?

Jon looked at the smooth, unbroken skin of his hand. His palm was soft, unblemished, and free of pain. His wrist lacked the twisted trails he’d memorized the locations of. He remembered the Carousel and Night Street more clearly than he could recall what must have been last week for him, but what felt like it had happened years ago. But he had never truly been to those places. He only had the memories of them.

What had happened to the man who’d be there? And what had happened to his Martin? Did they exist in some future that was still being unwritten? If Jon could stop this all from happening, would they blink out of existence along with the rest of their world? Or worse, would they continue on in their horrific timeline that could never be changed or erased? And if it became clear that nothing could save them, would that spark in Martin finally die, forever?

Jon shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. There was no way of finding out the answers to those questions, and he had to focus on the world he was in. On the people who were here, still alive, still with him. On the Martin that hadn’t given up. And even if he wasn’t truly the person in his own memories, if his skin was unmarked and his mind was distressingly quiet and still, he still felt like that person. It was one unbroken chain of events to him - from the institute to the safehouse to the tower and back here.

It was harmless, he decided, to keep thinking of himself as that Jon. He had enough on his mind without adding on another existential crisis.

It was 8:57 when he reached the front door of the Magnus Institute, walked in and headed for the archive. His neck still ached from the awkward position of his unexpected nap, and he rubbed it irritably as he walked. He’d gotten so disconnected from his body after the coma. Even pain, which had been his constant companion for a long time, had begun to feel abstract to him. Now every physical sensation was loud and demanded attention.

Maybe it was the distraction of that ache that kept him from noticing the noise coming from beyond the archive door. He barely had a moment to recognize the thing that was hurtling towards him before it came within inches of his face.

Jon’s reflexes were not enviable. He did not leap back gracefully so much as yelp and stumble into the desk behind him. A heavy wrench sailed through the air just inches away as his back hit the desk’s edge. He slid to the floor, arms splayed, trying to get his balance again. Things might have gone quite bad for him if his would-be attacker hadn’t stopped, frozen in horror, to stare at him wide-eyed.

“God! Jon! I’m - - I’m so sorry!” Martin dropped the wrench, hands shaking. “I didn’t hit you, did I? Please tell me I didn’t - -”

Jon’s brain took a moment to catch up with what he was seeing, adrenaline still flooding him as he connected Martin’s expression with the blow to the head he’d just avoided. He’d been defending himself? Had Jon’s fears been right, was there an attack on the archive ahead of schedule?

“I’m so sorry,” Martin looked more distressed by the moment, and Jon heard a crack in his voice. “I didn’t know it was you. Are you hurt? Tell me if you’re hurt, please - -”

“I’m fine, Martin.” Jon did his best to sound calming. “Really. You just . . . startled me.”

“Good. Thank God. Ah. . . sorry.”

Now assured that he hadn’t given Jon a concussion, Martin bent down to hesitantly offer a hand up. Jon took it, the shape of Martin’s palm around his own natural and familiar. He placed another hand on Jon’s back, pushing him gently upwards and holding there for just a moment. The difference in their height and size, the sheer physicality of Martin’s presence was immensely steadying and Jon felt some disappointment as he pulled away. If Martin noticed this he gave no sign, still nervously babbling apologies.

“Martin. Martin,” Jon cut him off. “It’s fine. I’m all right. What’s going on? Were you just . . . lurking behind the door, wielding a blunt object?”

“I just - - I heard - - I don’t know.” Martin rubbed the back of his neck, beginning to look more embarrassed than afraid. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here and it’s so quiet at night and I just - just heard something moving around and I thought maybe - - ”

Something finally clicked for Jon.

“Martin . . . .” he said. “Did you think that I was worms?”

Martin’s face flushed and he looked down, muttering. “I mean, you could have been worms.”

“Yes. I suppose I might have been worms.” Jon agreed, biting his cheek to hide an amused smile. “Perhaps a slim chance of that. But given everything you’ve been through I can’t bame you for being on edge about that.”

“I’m really sorry - -”

“No harm done. Let’s not worry about it anymore.”

Jon smiled fondly and reached up to pat Martin’s shoulder. Nothing lingering. Just a few, quick taps, a ‘there there’ motion. Surely that was all right, wasn’t it? That wasn’t too familar? Maybe it was - Martin looked uneasy and confused more than anything else. But he stopped apologizing and nodded, so that was something.

“Er . . . what are you doing here?” Martin asked. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt - presumably one he slept in, given the flannel pajama pants that he also wore. It had a cartoon bear on it that Jon was fairly sure was from a video game. “I thought you went home.”

“Ah. I did.” Jon remembered the excuse he’d come with. “Yes, I went home. But then I realized that I’d left something important in my office, and I had to come back for it. Which is why I’m here.”

Don’t ask what it is. Jon thought desperately as he went through the motions of walking towards his office door. Please don’t ask what it is.

“Oh. I see.”

Martin didn’t ask what it was, to Jon’s relief and gratitude. He made some pretense of rummaging around in his desk as Martin appeared in the doorway, hanging there hesitantly. Jon noticed he’d picked up the dropped wrench and was holding it at his side. He paused, looking at it.

“Sorry, but - -” Jon asked “- - were you planning to hit the worms with a wrench?”

“Oh - -” Martin looked at the tool in his hand, laughing nervously. “No, uh. I mean there’d be too many of them for that to do any good, right? I just . . . well, I could tell that it was a person moving around, or at least something person-sized. And I thought if it was Jane, I - - I didn’t want to get trapped again so I was going to make a run for it. But I wanted something in case she tried to grab at me, you know?”

“I see. Yes, that would make a bit more sense.”

It didn’t escape Jon’s notice how tightly Martin was gripping the wrench, or the way his eyes would occasionally dart to the corners of the floor. Or the fact that, despite his apparent embarassment over nearly bashing Jon’s head in while in his pajamas, he was lingering in the doorway rather than returning to the room that he’d been staying in.

He was right to be afraid. Jon knew he was right to be afraid. The worms were most likely already there. They wouldn’t attack for some time, true, but they were still present. Waiting. Martin would sleep safe and unharmed night after night, his worst fear writhing in the walls around him. The thought made something deep in Jon’s stomach squirm.

It was only when Martin shifted uneasily that Jon realized he’d been staring. He fixed his gaze on his desk again, moving some papers around.

“I know this place is unsettling at night,” he offered.

“Yeah . . .” Martin exhaled. “I do appreciate you letting me stay. I’d probably be a lot more jumpy if I was back at my flat right now. At least the archive’s sealed off.”

“Still, if you’d feel more comfortable I could - -”

Jon stopped himself mid-sentence, the offer halfway out of his mouth before he even realized what he’d been saying.

Could what, you damned fool? he thought. Stay here tonight? Sleep in the narrow cot with him? Hold his hand and stroke the crown of his head if he wakes up afraid, the way you used to when he had nightmares? Yes, surely that’s what he wants to hear from his prick of a boss that’s never been anything but unkind to him.

“. . . Could see if there’s some way to . . . enhance security around here,” he muttered after far, far too long a pause.

“I mean, if you think it’s worth looking into.” Martin chuckled nervously. “Not sure if there’s anything a burgler alarm could do about worms. But at least Jane could maybe be kept away?”

“I’ll look into it.” Jon said, insincerely.

“Could convince Elias it’s worth doing just for general security, right?” Martin asked hopefully.

Jon didn’t try to hide the contempt in his voice “I’m sure he’s very concerned about employee safety, yes.”

Martin went quiet at that. Jon had probably been pretending to rummage around in his desk for too long. He pulled a few papers out of his top drawer, tucked them in a file and stuck it under his arm. Then he hesitated. He really didn’t want to leave. These months in the archive had been hard for Martin, Jon knew that. He’d gone to sleep every night afraid that he’d wake up with worms boring into his skin. And more often than not the people around him - Jon especially - had treated his anxieties like an annoyance.

Jon wanted to stay, to give Martin the comfort of another person’s presence. He knew all too well how being alone with one’s thoughts sent them spinning into further extremes of fear and paranoia. He wanted to be there for him this time.

And it wasn’t just for Martin’s sake. It was perhaps absurd for Jon to think that he missed someone he saw daily, but it was true. He’d felt adrift in the week since he’d gained his knowledge of the future. This Martin - truly, the only Martin there was, the only one that was real - didn’t lean into him or laugh when he was annoyed. He was nervous around Jon. He flinched back awkwardly when their hands brushed accidentally, and seemed like he was always waiting for some admonishment.

There was nothing for it, though. He’d just have to stick to the plan. Soon enough Sasha would be approached, and though Jon wasn’t thrilled at the thought - - he knew how sharp those hands were - - he knew Michael wouldn’t harm her. Once the fire suppression system was replaced with CO2, he’d just have to wait until the others were gone, find some excuse to send Martin away, and take care of Jane on his own. Martin would just have to endure a few more bad nights in the meantime.

“Well,” Jon gestured to the file under his arm. “This is what I came back for.”

Don’t ask what it is, he thought. Please don’t ask what it is.

“Oh? What is it?” Martin asked.

I am being punished for my crimes against this world.

“Ah. Just. Hmm. Some things I’ve been working on at home. Statements.”

Martin seemed to accept that. It was probably best not to add any unnecessary details.

“It’s sort of a personal research project of mine,” Jon continued, mouth moving without the consent of his brain. “Trying to work out some patterns I’ve noticed between statements with similar themes.”

Stop, you fool. Jon thought.

“Really?” Martin seemed genuinely surprised. “Honestly, I kind of got the impression you thought the statements were mostly fake.”

“Well, I do. Of course.” Jon fumbled. “But ah, there can be some value in categorizing even the, uh, the ramblings of the delusional. It’s revealing. Teaches you about what people are afraid of.”

“Uh . . . right.” Martin raised an eyebrow.

“I should go.” Jon’s formerly pressing desire to stay was overruled by a need to flee before he started babbling about Smirke’s fourteen and made Martin’s nightmares even worse. He hurried towards the door.

Martin stepped aside to let Jon pass.

“Right. Er, good night.”

Just as Jon reached the archive door, a thought occurred to him. It wasn’t much, and he doubted Martin would take advantage of it. More than likely it would just confuse the poor man even more. But if he was destined to keep doing reckless and foolish things, at least one of them should have a chance of easing someone’s fears instead of feeding them.

“If you hear something again.” Jon said, “or perhaps just think you hear something, you should call me.”

Martin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You said you were worried that Jane might come here. If you ever have reason to think she might be. . . .”

“I mean . . . thanks, but, shouldn’t I call 999 if that happens?” Martin tilted his head. “No offense, but I mean . . what are you going to do against the worms?”

Emergency services wouldn’t exactly do much against them, either. Jon thought, but did not say.

“You should certainly do that if you’re in danger.” Jon said. “But I imagine you’ll hesitate rather than phone them at every odd sound.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“As I said, I know this place is unsettling at night,” Jon shrugged. “A second perspective can be a breath of fresh air. Can . . . help make it easier to tell whether something is a true danger or just in your head.”

Martin stared at him, brow furrowed, looking like he was trying and failing to solve a particularly difficult math problem.

“And I keep odd hours,” Jon continued, waving his hand. He kept his tone stern and dismissive, as if that might disguise the fact that he’d essentially asked Martin to call him if he was feeling scared so he could talk him down. “So don’t worry if it’s late at night. Believe me, it won’t matter.”

“Um. All right,” Martin blinked, an uncertain smile that Jon considered a victory forming on his face. “Thanks.”

Jon nodded. “Sleep well, then.”

He hurried out before he could spoil this rare triumph with more reckless words, then ran to catch the late train home.

[softpine]

sorry for coming to you with this but i really don’t k know who else to express this to. i’ve been having really bad death anxiety lately out of nowhere. like just realizing me and everyone i know is gonna die one day. basically just existential crisis shit lol. i’ve always been into true crime stuff so idk why this randomly is happening. i can’t even watch true crime vids anymore. do u ever go through stuff like this?

hey!! i’m so sorry you’re feeling anxious lately :( i personally don’t really get existential / death anxiety, but when i watch a lot of true crime stuff i start feeling super super empathetic for the victims, to a point where i think about them when i’m just going through my day and it makes me feel incredibly sad. that’s when i know i need to take a break! so honestly i would suggest you take a break, watch some happier content (god knows we all need more happy content this year), and definitely talk to a therapist if you have access to one!! existential dread is super common, and usually it helps to talk it through with someone 💖