#but like i said before it's all more insidious than she understood

[mollysunder]

I think it was a mistake for s2 of Arcane to gloss over the implications of Amara and the Black Rose's deception in Mel's story because it fundamentally unmoors her perspective. Mel believed that violence like war could be avoided through diplomacy, and she applies that philosophy by maintaining the complex political environment in Piltover where every house is in some way content.

In the face of the nobility's discontent with Jayce's anti-corruption measures, Mel sought to appease them to stave off retaliation. Through her lesson to Jayce, Mell didn't just help potentially enrich her colleagues but also the woman and by extension the organization that KILLED HER BROTHER AND STOLE HER FAMILY'S ASSETS.

Can you imagine the horror and disgust she would feel at having trusted Piltover to be different? Mel thought she understood the game but she wildly underestimated the machinations of the nobility in Piltover. Mel accepted Piltover's corruption as a means to avoid violent conflict, only to indirectly enable the recent violence harped upon her own family. And the worst irony is that even though politics and corruption have largely been viewed as a cynicism game, for Mel this was an avenue she genuinely believed conflict could be avoided but in fact it was just more insidious.

The opera scene was a lesson for Jayce in politics, but the effects should be the real education for Mel as she heads to Noxus. From what I can tell Noxus is in its pre-Trifarix but post-First Invasion of Ionia, which means Swain has his demon powers but he hasn't overthrown the emperor yet. She will probably ally with him as they're both opporpsed to the Black Rose's existence, however once he's in power he will alienate a large portion of the nobility as they root out the Black Rose's influence.

The challenge for Mel (possibly as Guile) is to deal with these disgruntled nobles because as Piltover proved, you can appease them through corruption all you want, but once their ideology is truly set against you, diplomacy becomes a far more complicated balancing act.

[pillarsalt]

Imo stock has her own issues. She recently wrote this, https://unherd.com/2024/02/whos-scared-of-a-female-brain/ which struck me as extremely ridiculous, because she uses huge leaps of logic with no supporting evidence for claiming women are “more emotional or irrational than men by nature” based off of a study that simply said AI has detected a way to tell apart male and female brains. Like no where in that study or elsewhere does it attempt to connect extremely preliminary and not yet understood results to a conclusion of women being “more emotional or irrational than men by nature”, Stock literally just pulls that from her ass and runs with it. Idk what she’s smoking lately.

Article link / Study link

Yeah after reading all that I'm definitely with you. The study even says this at the beginning:

Which makes the whole thing seem pretty redundant to me. I mean we already know about neuroplasticity and how experiences shape neural pathways in the brain, and we know that men and women are heavily socialized with gender roles from birth, so it doesn't come as a surprise to me that there are some differences in the brains of men and women. The study was only conducted on young adults as well, I'd like to see how apparent the differences are in children and even preverbal babies. We really can never truly know what a brain unaffected by gendered socialization looks like until we have no systems of gender, which is the goal, but a goal that's going to take many many more years.

Stock seems to be preemptively defending the notion that male and female brains are different from "reality-denying feminists," but I don't think any reasonable feminist would refuse to acknowledge that there are differences, just that these differences are socially ingrained and not biologically ingrained. Her example of one such feminist is Gina Rippon, who says this in a Guardian article linked by Stock in the original article:

I guess Stock's main point is that if we do find out via brain scanning that women's brains are inherently worse at, say, math, we as feminists should not deny this fact even if it is inconvenient for the feminist movement's goal of complete equality for women. But there is just no evidence that women's brains are this way inherently, that we as a society couldn't erase the social message received when we're only children that girls are bad at math and therefore you will be too.

I mean in Cordelia Fine's Delusions of Gender, she talks about how detrimental gendered priming is; that is to say, when women are reminded of our gender role stereotypes before performing a task, we usually perform worse at tasks we are stereotyped to be bad at. When a mixed group of males and females are told they're doing a written test that males usually do better on, those women will perform worse than the men, whereas another group who writes the test without being primed has about equal results between the men and women. Priming is a vicious cycle. (Note: this is also why having everyone state their pronouns, especially before academic activities, is really insidious. They are setting up girls and women for failure.)

What I think is going on is that she's wary of feminism becoming a cult-like echo chamber à la transgenderism, where we ignore scientific evidence if it is not conducive to our cause, and she wants to preempt that. But that just isn't the case with this study. A weird ass article for sure, maybe she really is smoking that good good lmao. I think Material Girls is still solid reading, but ABSOLUTELY read Delusions of Gender too, that one changed everything for me.

[makibeni]

Ch. 15 -With Her Own Voice

Kobeni's hand hovered over the door handle, trembling with anxiety. She'd come to Makima's office with a simple request, an offer to hang out together. It's something she'd done before, a few times now in fact, it should have been a simple task at this point. But something about it was different, all those other times it was less Kobeni asking for Makima's time and more carrying out orders Makima had given her. An indirect request for an invitation she was simply fulfilling like a dutiful employee. That context made it easier, it got her past the first hurdle, beyond which Makima was often more than willing to fill in half her sentences for her. She understood Kobeni, held her hand and helped her navigate through the darkness. Without her, that simple first step started looking more like a mountain.

She pulled her hand back but stopped herself half way, clenching her fist. She'd come this far, and backing out didn't feel like an option anymore. That was Kobeni's plan, of sorts, to push herself forward bit by bit until she was in too deep to run away. To force the confrontation upon herself, in spite of herself. But ultimately it was still far easier said than done. Kobeni had been standing in front of Makima's door for several minutes now. At least she assumed so, she was too afraid to actually look at a clock, ashamed of the judgement she presumed it would thrust upon her for the time she'd spent staring at the wood grain in trepidation.

She stalled in front of the door, filling her lungs with a shaky breath before exhaling with a matched quiver. Sooner or later she would have to open the door and take a step forward, but knowing that it was still ahead of her gave her some sense of comfort. She could dither here, on the precipice before the jump, where all her intrusive thoughts had to patiently wait their turn, unable to proceed with their lines of inquiry until the task she'd started was concluded. But for as much comfort as she found in this quiet solitude, there was something greater waiting for her on the other side, something she'd have to risk getting hurt to get to, but something her heart yearned for enough to try.

Kobeni moved her hand down to the curved brass and swallowed the lump in her throat before opening the door. She crumpled her body against it, hiding herself behind it as she slowly nudged forward. To her surprise, she felt a pull from it from the other side. Glancing up, she noticed slender fingers softly wrapped around the door. A curtain of red hair filled her view, followed by Makima's rippled yellow eyes. The room behind her was lit up by gilded rays of sunlight that shone through her window, blanketing Kobeni in Makima's shadow.

"M-m-m-miss Makima!!"

She was caught off guard, like a deer that just walked in on a mountain lion. Had Makima been waiting for her at the door? Did she know she'd been standing there? Did she know how long she'd been standing there? Panic started mounting in her brain as whatever script she'd prepared in her head was rapidly disintegrating, replaced by disorganized, panicked thoughts not cogent enough to even string a sentence out of.

"Did you want to see me?"

"I-I... y-yes! I mean I-I um~ I..."

Makima's words were enough of a jolt of reality to snap her out of her own head. She balled up her fists and shut her eyes tight, resolving to brute force her way past her own inhibitions.

"I w-wanted to ask if you wanted to g-go to the a-aquarium together this weekend"

Her hands were clenched, and packed firmly by her side, her head bowed down as beads of sweat ran down her brow and caught on the corner of her eye. Whatever happened now, she'd have to bare it's repercussions alone. A slow creeping dread was already crawling up her leg with it's insidious questions, prodding at her over her presumptuousness. She had come this far by closing her eyes and shutting her ears, but now she had to wait for a reply, and all the anxieties she'd been suppressing were ready for her. She began to tremble, praying for acceptance and bracing for rejection, nervously opening up one eye to try and read Makima's expression.

Makima grabbed Kobeni's wrist and pulled it up, holding it between the two of them. She slid her hand up the girl's palm and unfurled her fist, sliding her fingers between Kobeni's and wrapping her hand around hers. Time seemed to slow down as Kobeni began to process what was happening. The torrent of discord that was moments from sweeping her away was gone. All she could feel is the warmth of Makima's hand, and the pounding of her heart, as the tension slowly spilled out of her. With a calm, steady exhale, she looked at Makima, who replied with a gentle smile, a streak of blush just visible on her cheeks. The two lingered like that for a moment, each sating their own needs before slowly releasing their grip.

"I'd love to"

[writeradamanteve]

Can I add additional speculation here, OP?

Because what you said: “this poor boy did spend all winter thinking of how to get her to come back home after she left” is so freaking compelling and thought-provoking.

Here I go:

We know that other than Lockwood’s phenomenal gift of Sight, his other—arguably stronger—superpower is persuasion.

This boy has persuasion down to a science.

He starts with piling on the charm and charisma, and then he goes in with his points. His points almost always seen reasonable, and it’s hard to say whether it’s the charm or the reasoning that is actually so convincing, but it almost always works and Lockwood knows it. He is always confident that he could talk anyone into giving in, and if he doesn’t, he knows that there’s an insidious force at work. Basically, it can’t be his charm that’s lacking. It is something else entirely, so he needs to think of a different approach.

We saw him do this for when he thought he could convince Barnes to send a Taskforce with Lockwood & Co during the Chelsea Outbreak. When Barnes refused to be convinced, Lockwood was certain Barnes was being prevented from doing so by something else. So Lockwood found another way.

Given this example, and the fact that Lockwood took 4 months before he spoke to Lucy again after she left, it is ABSOLUTELY possible all he did at that time was plot. It wasn’t anger that kept him away for that long. It wasn’t even pride. Though Lucy had broken his heart, our boy loved Lucy enough to keep their friendship, and he wanted that back for real. It was the plotting that took so long.

But wait, it wasn’t rocket science. Persuasion being his talent, he knew that all he needed was to convince Lucy that they needed her Listening talent for a case, and because he is not trying to scam Lucy, he wanted it to be a real need, not some invented, over-hyped need to hire her as consultant. Lockwood wanted to preserve her trust. He wanted the need to be real. And he figured that out early on, so that 4 months? He was waiting for an actual case. He needed a real case, because he knew that Lucy wouldn’t stand for bullshit. Because he respected Lucy enough to wait for that real case to come their way.

And it did, but it took 4 months for that to happen.

If Lockwood had gotten such a case much sooner, do we think he would’ve waited any longer? Not at all. He would’ve gone strait to Lucy the first opportunity. He wouldn’t have wasted a second more to come knocking on her doorstep to ask her help.

He knew that if he could get Lucy to work with them again, he can more slowly convince her to stay permanently. You know this is what he was doing because throughout the job, all Lockwood did was remind Lucy how good they were working together, how he missed this, how only she can do this or that, and how no one else could do it like she does.

He was always very careful not to push so hard. One of the things he kept doing was allowing her to think that this was all temporary, and that he understood that. Ultimately, if Lucy refused to come back after all that, he wasn’t going to stop her, because towards the end of The Creeping Shadow, he finally has that conversation with her of “well, ok. So are we gonna keep pretending this is temporary or are we just going to make it official?” Granted, he did this while they were in the middle of a ghost tornado, but it was a Now or Never Moment and you gotta respect the timing here. They could very well die in the next few seconds, so Lockwood just wanted to know where they stood in case that happened.

All these little details are just amazing to me. All of it.

Thanks for the thought gremlin, OP.

Spoilers for The Creeping Shadow:

THIS is a scene that I desperately need from Lockwood's POV, from inside his head. Because the fact that he just SAYS this, out loud, in the middle of a very high-stakes situation, says so much. After all, this poor boy did spend all winter thinking of how to get her to come back home after she left.

Lucy probably doesn't see it clearly in this moment, but he is so caught up in the thrill of being there with her. She's back by his side, and he couldn't be happier. He lets the mask slip here.

I mean he's basically saying "I love you, have loved you, will love you. You came back to me. Even if you hadn't I would have loved you still."

[retvenkos]

Grishaverse Deep Dive: The Darkling is a Character that lives in a Society.

((spoilers for ALL of the grishaverse))

Ah, yes, Shadow and Bone season 2 is gearing up, the birds are singing, I have a cup of earl grey tea before me -  it is finally time to sit down to talk about the Darkling, and explain his tenuous relationship with the Grishaverse.

The Darkling is a character greatly contested. When simply looking at his motivations, we see a rift in the fandom. Add in his backstory and it fractures even more. When you pepper in the third ingredient of his relationship with Alina, you get an entire war. The Darkling is a divisive character. He gets under our skin and lingers for days afterwards.

I am going to take you on a deep dive of the Darklings character, and try to tease apart the problems that lie within the creation of his character. Why were so many fans betrayed by his ending? How did he muddle the messages of Shadow and Bone, and why is his ending so complicated that it satisfies very few? Today, we’re going to look at The Problem of the Darking: An Essay in Six Parts.

A little history lesson;

So first, allow me to take you back in time, to 2012, when Shadow and Bone was first released.

Two years prior, The Hunger Games Trilogy had finished coming out and, in a rather stunning turn of events, shifted the popular Y.A. category from the genre of the paranormal romance (thank you, Stephanie Meyer) to the dystopian society. 

Now, this is not to say that there weren’t dystopian stories prior to The Hunger Games, or that there weren’t paranormal romances in the Y.A. genre afterward. Both have survived, but the boom of dystopian stories and the whimper of paranormal romance was definitely felt.

So 2012 hits. In comes Shadow and Bone, in a time where we have some interesting precedents that our Y.A. forefathers created: 

Firstly, let’s talk about themes.

Carried over from both genres, is this idea of duality. There is light and there is dark, and whether or not there is a middle ground is up to the author. As the Y.A. target audience is quite large, there’s a lot to be said for how nuanced this idea can be. In many stories, it’s a nail on the head. In others, the lines are a little more blurred. In most stories, you get some semblance of Good = Light, Bad = Shadow. In the end, the ultimate goal is to embrace one or the other. At the end of the series, we’re either in the midday sun or the midnight darkness. The peak of the story leaves very little middle ground.

Then, brought over from the dystopian genre, we have the idea that The Current Regime is Bad for insidious reasons, and it needs to be torn down and built anew. This is often the main focus of dystopian stories, and our main characters are revolutionaries that see the world in a new, free light.

Finally, a trap of the Y.A. category is it’s simplistic idea of good and bad. Again, we hark back to the vast target age range, and you can see why this would be so prevalent. There is very little by way of morally grey, in the Y.A. category, and if there is moral greyness, it almost always falls into two categories: (1) it is held by the main character alone, and that is why we root for them, or (2) it is martyred and killed. Moral greyness is either the Ushering of a New Era, or The Ideal that Could Not Be. If greyness is to survive, it must exist in the main character who, readers hope, will usher in a new dawn of peace (and light moral greyness) either through their small acts of love (the angel loving the demon) or in large displays of change (the morally grey character rising to be ruler).

These are all themes we expect to be present in Shadow and Bone. And for the most part, they are!

But now let’s talk about character tropes.

Carried over from the paranormal romance, we have the introduction of the “Othered” love interest. This character has a condition that sets him apart from others, and (whether it be vampire, demon, werewolf, etc.) is so prevalent that he cannot fit in. And because of his differences, he has been shunned by Society. This character, notably, is not the “light” or “pure” paranormal figure - he is not the angel - but rather, the demon. The angel would be able to slip into society (presumably because his goodness grants him some kind of godly camouflage). The demon cannot. He doesn’t fit in, and he never can. This creates tension in him, and so he shuns others just as hard as they shun him - he has done so for a very long time until he meets our main character, who gets close to him and breaks down his walls. This character is often the eventual love interest, for reasons that will become apparent later. 

Sometimes carried over from the paranormal romance is the idea that the main character is secretly an “other in hiding” (an angel without her wings, etc.). This creates a bond between the “Othered” love interest and the main character - a bond that can’t be deteriorated once it’s been made, because the main character can’t be un-Othered. They can’t take back the forbidden knowledge they’ve obtained. If this character pops up, the “Othered” love interest is almost always chosen, if he exists.

The dystopian genre has a branching version of this trope, as there is almost always a healthy amount of othering. The main character usually comes from a group of people that is Othered from Society, but our main character is even more unique/different from their “Othered group.” This “specially Othered” character is superpowered in that they can navigate both “Othered” Society and “normal” Society. They can be the go-between.

Sometimes found in the paranormal romance is the “normal” or stereotypical character. This is the average human - the character that doesn’t understand the “Othered” love interest, and wants the main character to go back to the way things were before. This character can sometimes make up the other leg of the love triangle and become a love interest. Other times, it’s a family member or a friend or even an abstract ideal. The point of this character, however, is to show the main character that they can’t go back to the way things were. Too much has happened. Too much has been discovered.

All of this is to say that when Shadow and Bone came out, audiences had expectations with long standing. It is safe and fair to say that the Darkling was set up as a character to be viewed in a certain light, and then the rug was pulled out beneath fans, who had already invested so much in his character.

Shadow and Bone: The characters that Don’t Fit;

So now let’s look at Shadow and Bone in the scope of history and audience expectation. Let’s look at the characters as well as the Grishaverse, in broad terms.

The Darkling is, in the first half of Shadow and Bone, the stereotypical “Othered” love interest. He can summon shadows, which is remarkably different from the other powers of Grisha, and his “forefathers” have done terrible things with this power, making him not only an other in talent but an other in animosity and fear.

In comes Alina, and she is a perfect fit for the main character being an “other in hiding” as well as a “specially Othered” character. She was otkazat’sya before she realized she was Grisha, and she is seen as the go-between for these two different worlds - she can bring them together. Furthermore, she is stronger than your average Grisha - distinct from all others, excepting the Darkling.

Alina is understood by the Darkling. She is discovering parts of herself that she didn’t know she had. This is all decidedly Good, and the romance that is forming is living up to reader expectation.

We also have an interesting occurence of duality. Alina, with her light, is the equal and opposite to the Darkling and his shadow. Together, they have limitless power, a common goal, and perhaps a purifying dynamic as Alina can “save” the Darkling. Her light can banish his shadows. 

History is leading us to believe they are the endgame ship.

This is only inculcated when you have Mal, who is the “normal” character. Through the framing of the story (not seeing Mal, holding on to him only causing Alina to not reach her full potential), we see that the love story with Mal is the Romance That Cannot Be. They are fated to be apart due to the tropes that readers know and understand.

But then the second half of the book kicks in, The Darkling is proven to have been manipulating Alina, things go South, and readers are left unaware of what’s coming next. In this moment, the theme of The Current Regime is Bad slaps readers across the face.

So let’s take a second to look at The Current Regime is Bad, because how the Darkling and his motives exist in that tempest is thought provoking, to say the least.

The Darkling is, decidedly, a part of The Current Regime. He is a general and close to the King, after all. He is a part of this life... and yet he is not. Remember that The Darkling is our “Othered” character. He cannot be a part of The Current Regime because he is shunned by it. And yet, he is tied to it like a prisoner. 

The reader thinks: is the Darkling bad? He is shown to be a part of Society. He wants the war to continue - he doesn’t want to tear down the Fold.

As the reader is grappling with this revelation, we are told (in the same book!) that the Darkling is actually not a part of The Current Regime (which is Bad), but rather, had been working against it. 

Okay.

So now the reader thinks that since Society is Bad, and the Darkling is against it, he and Alina do have a common goal, and his status as a love interest can be saved. He can be redeemed as a character because Alina can purify his methods, then together they can get rid of the current regime, and they can be Others together.

It’s a solid thought process. After all, the “Othered” characters have been consistently good at heart, and Alina can redeem him. We still have a bad guy to take down - and it’s not the Darkling.

But...

Leigh Bardugo decides that is not the story she wants to tell, and she has to pull out some literary gymnastics to give us an explanation. The idea is, no, the Darkling is Bad and his “Othered” status is not relevant because it doesn’t justify his actions. He is a part of a radical portion of The Current Regime and is just as Bad. 

Enter Nikolai Lantsov, who can take over The Current Regime, because as the reader is constantly reminded, Alina no longer wants novelty - she wants normalcy (which is represented by none other than Malyen Oretsev).

So, what does all of this mean? The Darkling decidedly Doesn’t Fit into any of the currently accepted (and expected) tropes of the Y.A. genre. This, on its own, is not inherently Bad or Wrong, but you can see how readers were thrown and consistently, ideas were stretched to fit the simplistic ideas of good and bad that run rampant through the Y.A. category.

The Darkling: What We Left Behind;

We have all heard the critique that the most frustrating thing about the Shadow and Bone Trilogy is how the treatment of Grisha is never fixed. It’s mentioned, but it’s never addressed.

To play the Devil’s Advocate, I am going to tell you all that this problem was never fixed because it was never part of Alina’s Narrative. As I will now attempt to point out, The Darkling is an ill suited antagonist for Alina’s story.

As I like to joke with my friends, the Darkling is an Adult Fantasy character inside of a Y.A. Fantasy story. He cannot be properly served because the story does not fit him, and it doesn’t really try.

Y.A. stories are incredibly focused. There is usually a lot going on in the wider story, but the reader is confined to one point of view and one narrative. This is why the main character is always leading rebellions and fighting in the thick of things. In order to address the problems of the wider narrative, the main character needs to be pretty front and center with the problems.

Alina is at the center of an inner conflict of power vs. normalcy. She is not at the center of the Grisha’s problems. 

Time and again, we see that Alina largely doesn’t care about how terribly Grisha are treated, as a whole. She has moments of clarity where she is angry (notably the scene in Ruin and Rising where the nations’ treatment of Grisha is described in detail), but her remorse doesn’t really extend past sympathy. In the end, she still does nothing to save Grisha.

Alina is a terrible hero when matched to the problems the Darkling is trying to solve. She doesn’t understand their full breadth, having not grown up with them, and she doesn’t want to fix them.

The Problem of The Darkling is that he is a character with problems and motivations that get shrinked and discarded because they do not fit into the Alina Narrative.

Alina’s story is about three things: (1) learning that a lust for power is bad and only corrupts; (2) tearing down the Fold, which is the representation of lusty power; and (3) returning to normalcy. (If you’re wondering why Mal is a rough™ character, it’s because he’s supposed to be the ideal of normalcy, that Alina both wants but can’t have as long as she seeks the amplifiers.) The Grisha don’t factor into that equation.

Alina doesn’t have a solution for giving the Grisha a safe existence where they won’t be sold into slavery, won’t be persecuted by the world, and won’t be forever Othered. She stumbles upon the vague promise of fixing the last of those problems when she runs into Nikolai (purely by chance, or, if you want to stretch it, The Darklings machinations). Furthermore, she doesn’t want to do any of that - she wants normalcy, remember? Her story isn’t going to be saving the Grisha - that’s not what it’s about.

The Darklings entire character motivations focus on all of the plot points that Alina doesn’t hit. He wan’t to make a safe existence for Grisha, he wants Grisha to no longer be persecuted and Othered. How is he going to do it? By ugly means, yes, but he’s going to achieve it nonetheless.

The Darkling has motivations that are not addressed in the Shadow and Bone Trilogy. They aren’t what the story is about, or what the story chooses to focus on. His story is a braided narrative that is too complicated for the simplistic, black and white story that the Shadow and Bone Trilogy is. 

So here’s the problem: the story insists the Darkling is the bad guy, but he can’t possibly be the bad guy if his intentions are Good, and there is no other way. Until Alina finds another way, he is a martyr - he is the Starless Saint. The Saint who was misguided, sure, but the only Saint who tried to solve things.

The Darkling is not fit for Shadow and Bone. His story and what he advocated for isn’t resolved by the end of the trilogy. So when he dies, it feels unearned. It’s tragic - and perhaps there is some beauty in that tragedy, or some lesson to be learned about how you cannot justify evil means for a good end - but it feels undeserved. His problems aren’t addressed. He is defeated, but his cause and his essence aren’t put to sleep.

King of Scars: A Cause Without Its Martyr;

Which leads us to the Nikolai duology.

Like I said - The Darklings’ problems are forgotten in Alina’s narrative. So what happens when we break out of that point of view? After a brief (and iconic) interim with the Crows, we are back in Ravka and the Grisha are still struggling with the problems that Shadow and Bone failed to address. Ravka is still dying, but now that we have gotten rid of a reluctant cast of characters and have made distance from the trope-heavy Shadow and Bone, we are better equipped to save her.

But here’s a question - can we ignore the man who pioneered these problems in favor of a more palatable cast? Can we not address the Darkling while picking up the sword he used?

Leigh Bardugo needs to reclaim the Grisha Problem by stealing it from the Darkling’s grasp. That proves to be difficult, given that we’ve killed him and have given him a tragically beautiful death. Absence has made the heart grow fonder, and in his final moments, the Darkling was not the evil Shadow Summoner but rather Alexander Morozova - the boy within. Readers (even those who didn’t like the Darkling) might be more endeared to him now that everything is said and done.

We need to separate the Darkling from his cause.

Enter the Cult of the Starless Saint and the Condemnation of the Starless.

To remind readers that the Darkling is bad, Leigh Bardugo does a few things. Firstly, she has her characters repeatedly condemn the Darkling. On one hand, it makes sense and feels genuine. On the other hand, it can be a little excessive. Sometimes, the vehemence reads like what it is - Leigh Bardugo is giving us reasons to hate the Darkling again. Add on the fact that Nikolai’s monster is Bad and one of few remnants of the Darkling still surviving, and you get a lot of hate.

Except, ah! The more we talk about the Darkling, the more we are reminded of what he stood for!

So we have to strip him of that - we have to take his legacy and drag it through the mud. Thus, we create The Cult of the Starless Saint. They represent the Darklings legacy and status in history - were his intentions Good Enough to grant him mercy? To give him Sainthood? 

Spoiler alert: They are not. Not as portrayed by the Cult of the Starless Saint.

The Cult is a laughing stock. They don’t have a stance of the Grisha, they’re worship of the Darkling is meant to be seen as mocking Alina’s sacrifice, and the main priest readers interact with is the receiving end of a slew of jokes. They don’t care about anything the Darkling cared for, and they don’t really want to help Grisha. This is done to muddy the waters - if the people who emulate the Darkling are selfish and without cause, well... the Darkling clearly wasn’t Good. They just think his shadow powers were cool and want him to be a Saint. They exist to slander the Darkling.

So now we have separated the Darkling from his cause, and the story continues. The Darkling is Bad. He doesn’t have a legacy. His cause is passed on to others.

But (because we’re Delta airlines and life is a f*cking nightmare) it doesn’t end there. We bring the Darkling back from the dead.

*long sigh*

Resurrection? The Curse of a Second Life;

I have wracked my brain for many an evening, trying to give reason as to why we brought the Darkling back. The obvious answer is for his role at the end of Rule of Wolves - we need him to hold the rift of the Making at the Heart of the World together. However, when Leigh Bardugo introduces real Saints, he’s not needed. Suddenly, we have a slew of characters who could do the same. Furthermore, part of why this rift exists is because the Darkling was brought back. If he is both the cause and the solution, the conflict didn’t need to be there in the first place - especially considering how inconsequential it was to the narrative.

If I had to pin a reason as to why we brought the Darkling back, it was simply to further push the Darkling from his original motivation. He comes back and... doesn’t do much. He doesn’t seem to have the same care for Grisha, he has watered down character traits, and he largely does nothing. The Darkling in the Nikolai Duology is Not The Darkling because he’s a shell of the character he used to be.

Bringing him back from the dead was unsatisfying, and it weakens his original ending. As I have mentioned in other posts, the Darkling coming back cheapens whatever meaning readers gleaned from his ending. The Darkling is resurrected and he doesn’t truly seem to care about anything - which is the direct opposite of what the Darkling has been shown to be.

The Darkling has been bastardized in any appearance he’s made after The Demon in the Wood, and ultimately, it leads to a rather anticlimactic end for such a distinctive, hallmark character.

But let’s really quick establish why the sacrifice the Darkling makes at the end of this book is unfulfilling.

Because, in the final moments of Rule of Wolves, the Darkling gets his moment of penance and sacrifice - he chooses to hold the rift. It’s said he will have to hold it for eternity. You would thing that this would leave an impact! 

However, as is, this ending leaves much to be desired for a few reasons:

The Darkling has been so far removed from his character, that when he states, “Everything I did, I did for Ravka,” it feels... incorrect? It sounds like the hollow, misguided claims of a tyrant king, because for an entire Duology, the Darkling has been bastardized and has been the cause of a blight that is killing Ravka. His presence is actively killing the country he claims to serve, and as for actions, he has done very little for Ravka, and nothing for the Grisha. The last time he did anything of substance was before Six of Crows!

None of the characters present for his sacrifice have any sympathy for the Darkling. The Darkling chooses to sacrifice himself, and we get no emotional closure. Alina isn’t there to whisper his name and mourn him, and while Zoya gets the glimmer of weak pity, we have much reason to believe that Zoya mostly feels disenchanted because he will be praised as a martyr and not hated as the evil man she knew him to be (more on that here). There isn’t sympathy so much as there is bitterness and the semblance of the remnants of tattered respect shining in the dim light.

The final chapter of Rule of Wolves tells us that it’s all going to be made inconsequential in the coming books, when they are going to replace the Darkling with something else. The Darkling won’t even get his full sacrifice, because he is undeserving of a redemptive act of selflessness.

So now, where do we leave the Darkling? For two books, we have separated him from his initial cause, watered down his character and motivations, and given him ends that are largely unsatisfying. 

We’ve actually started to fix the Grisha problem, and there’s something interesting to be said in that it’s fixed by Zoya Nazyalensky, who goes up through the chain of command in a very similar fashion as to how the Darkling planned. She was a General, and then she became Queen of Ravka - the acting monarch, no less - with a beloved public figure on her arm (which, in the Darkling’s case,  would have been Alina).

So I am left to wonder - was the lesson, then, indeed, that you cannot justify evil means for a good end? Was the moral of the Darkling all along about how you must be good throughout - with good acts and good intentions - in order to make change and be revered for it? If so, why did Leigh Bardugo slander the Darkling retroactively, the way she did?

If the problem was his actions and not his intentions, why insist that his intentions were devoid of meaning, as well?

Aleksander Morozova: What We Buried;

Now, you all knew I was going to get here eventually, and if you’ve made it, congrats. We are now talking about the emotion behind the deed, the man behind the monster, the boy swallowed by the shadows.

I believe it is pivotal to understand that Leigh Bardugo has always wanted us to struggle with our feelings over the Darkling. She wanted a character that you could sympathize with, she wanted a character with humanity, and she wanted a reason for his villainy. I think that Shadow and Bone, for all of its failings, gave us that. There’s a reason why there is such a big divide over the Darkling in the original trilogy. He was a compelling character! Somewhere along the way, Leigh Bardugo lost that nuance of her own character. At some point, she resorted to stripping him of his meaning and slandering his image. 

Perhaps I am playing the Devil’s Advocate again, but I believe this was intentionally done.

Because one has to ask - why slander the Darkling? A large portion of the fanbase already hates him, so cheapening his character is doing nothing for them other than giving them sweet vindication, which is unnecessary and only disenchants the other half of your audience. There has to be some deeper reasoning. Leigh Bardugo wanted this character to be sympathetic, so why, now, does she want him to be two-dimensional?

Once more, I am asking you to think back to the original trilogy. What was the main moral? That power, no matter how good-intentioned the pursuit of it is, corrupts. What is the Darklings purpose of coming back again if not to simply have power? He certainly shows no other motive than lusty greed, after being resurrected.

And even if we ignore his lust for power, as he so willingly gives it up to Zoya Nazyalensky in the end of Rule of Wolves, we have two other corrupting forces that could account for the degradation of his character - time, and  death.

We know the Darkling to have lived for eons, and he would have continued to live on for an eternity more. There is nothing like time to truly corrupt a character’s vision, and there is nothing like death and resurrection to husk a character.

In fact, if Mal’s character did anything of importance when it comes to effecting the Darkling, it lies in the epilogue of Ruin and Rising, where it is stated that “the boy and the girl had both known loss.” Mal’s loss is equated to Alina being stripped of her power - that is the power of having died, and being forcefully brought back to life. That is a vague basis for which we readers can compare what it must have been like for the Darkling to come back - even if he is so desensitized to feeling, that he doesn’t remark on it himself.

But let’s keep chugging on.

When we first met the Darkling in 2012 Shadow and Bone, he was unfeeling. He was cold and harsh. There was something beneath the surface, yes, but there were thick sheets of ice in the way. You had to mine for it. Time had already warped the actions of his intentions. It’s expected that time would continue to do its damage, and when he is revived in King of Scars, his intentions are warped as well. He is nothing of the person he used to be other than memories and power. That is why, at the end of Rule of Wolves, when he states that he did everything for Ravka, it feels hollow - that was once true, but the Darkling has even lost that. He has the vague impression of it, but nothing you can sink your teeth into.

I think, had this idea been looked at in deeper depth, it would have been a far more compelling story. Had Rule of Wolves really dedicated itself to showing the Darkling’s conflict of his current apathy, and the knowledge that there was once a time he possessed meaning, we could have found the marrow of his arc. If the book had made an allusion to this concept, his character would have been more satisfying. But as it stands, the Darkling is just degraded in the later books, and unless you really search for meaning, there isn’t any.

And perhaps, if the Darkling had been a different character - a character who, at his core, was more unfeeling - the way we left him would feel okay.

But while The Darkling was harsh and cruel, Aleksander Morozova wasn’t, and that’s what has us all hung up on his character.

If you haven’t read The Demon in the Wood for whatever reason, do yourself a favor and read that instead of revisiting the show’s version of his villain origin story. The show made the Darkling far less compelling by showing him as the grief stricken Black Heretic, rather than the boy within. When we meet Aleksander, he is a boy who is afraid of the world, who has never belonged in it or with others, and who is, ultimately, afraid of himself. With his mother, Baghra, he has taken on a thousand names and traveled a thousand places, and all the while, he is afraid of getting too close to others because he is an amplifier and he knows that if any Grisha were to find out, they would kill him for his power.

Thus, there is so much nuance to his relationship with the Grisha. He is one of them, but he is not. To hark back to our history lesson, he is the exact opposite of the “specially Othered” character that is so often given to protagonists. Instead of acting as a go-between, he is the one person that everyone - Grisha and otkazat’sya - can come together to kill.

And as a little boy, he knows that. He knows he has to stay in the shadows, and yet, he is deathly afraid of the dark - afraid of that which sets him apart, and that which he cannot escape.

This is poignant because at the root of every great character is a singular, vulnerable emotion, and for the Darkling, it is fear. And most importantly, fear of the shadows.

When he meets Alina, we truly see the strength of their duality. We truly see why he was so drawn to Alina - why he could so easily fall in love with her, despite the years and despite the tide, and despite his fear of letting others in. She is his equal and opposite - with her, there are no shadows. There is no fear. The fact that he lets Alina use him as an amplifier is so telling of his deep feelings for Alina.

Where each reader draws the line between their dynamic - either him truly loving Alina, or him simply loving and obsessing over the idea of her - is for the individual to decide. The wonderful thing about the Darkling in his current state in the original Shadow and Bone Trilogy is that he still has good intentions within him, no matter how corrupted by his evil actions. Whether or not they truly could have been is up to each person because the question over whether or not Alina could “purify” the Darkling was never deeply explored. We will never know if she could save him, or if it would have destroyed her in the end. Whether or not you want her to try is personal preference.

Again, Alina didn’t want to fully commit to that act, and so we readers will never truly know. Luckily, fanfiction exists.

But, I didn’t name this section “what we buried” for nothing, and I think it’s important to note that even in the beginning of The Demon in the Wood, the Darkling was already on his way toward a darker, harsher existence.

Baghra, from presumably the moment he was born, groomed the Darkling to be a certain way - the same way as her, a survivor with little hope, living for the sake of living and fighting for the sake of a meal. She had no plans to save the world - it was only after the Darkling had a run in with the possibility of death that he unearthed a deep desire within him - the desire to save the Grisha. Before that, it was buried.

Before that, the Darklings' desires were buried beneath his mother’s words and buried beneath the dirt that settled over his heart like a shallow grave, because his connection to others was buried as well. Baghra did that, and whether or not she was misguided or if she was the smarter of the two is an essay better tackled by looking at her, specifically, which we won’t do here.

As we’re reaching the end, I feel like I have earned the right to be cliche and quote the Darkling’s thoughts from when he was still a boy, but already a shadow. In The Demon in the Wood, he thinks:

“My father is dust. You all are.”

At such a young age, the Darkling has already lost his grip. Already, he knew he would outlive and outlast anyone, and this heavy knowledge was already piling up, and he was slowly being buried alive in his own infinence.

It was only ever inevitable that his story would end like this - with a detached man who was once a hopeful boy, but could no longer recall what such confidence tasted like - so perhaps the tragic beauty in the end of Ruin and Rising was not that he died, it was that he wasn’t given an end.

— Special kudos to @onceupon-a-decembr​ who let me scream about this with her, and another kudos to @musicallisto​ who introduced me to a book series that I will never stop screaming about. Ever.

— tagging: @maybanksslut, @musicallisto, @catsbooksandmusic, @thefifthweasley, @thegirlwhocriedwerewolf, @amirahiddleston, @lachichapequena, @mrs-brekker15, @amortensie // add yourself to the taglist here!

[mikeshanlon]

i really enjoy the way young royals explores the theme of legacy and how detrimental it can be to have to live up to a legacy or be obsessed with reputation. (analysis and thoughts under the cut)

i think wilhelm resents the fact that he has to live up to the role of being in the royal family and yet is very afraid of ruining that legacy bc of all the pressure. before he was sent off to hillerska he went to a normal school and wanted normal people around him and was content with erik having to take on the responsibilities of crown prince. and when he does have to assume that role he says he can never be erik, that he’s always had to be compared to him and obviously doesn’t like that. but even before erik passed and he had to take on those duties he was afraid of fucking up the legacy of the crown, when he sees that sign in the hallway that says you are in charge of your own legacy after he holds hands with simon, his anxiety worsens. you can tell it’s been instilled in him for a long time that what is most important is the crown’s reputation rather than his own wants. in the scene where him and simon fight about alexander being caught, he obviously wants simon to stay, but he focuses on how him doing drugs will fuck up his family’s reputation if it gets leaked. as much as he cares for simon, his legacy and his duties are like this oppressive cloud hanging over him. 

i do think that wille cares for his family of course but to me it’s different that the sort of loyal unconditional care with simon and his sister/mom. erik and wille had unconditional love, erik understood how difficult being a prince in the public eye was, and wille obviously cared for him deeply and felt like he could to talk to him about issues. his relationship with the queen is much more strained, she wants a tailored, doctored representation of him in the media, he cannot be anxious and bite his nails, she makes all the decisions for him. family is important to wille partially because it has to be bc of how special his family is. he helps his family, he helps august pay his tuition, and then makes a point of disowning august after his betrayal as his new “brother”. but again, because of the royal status and expectations upon the family, that supersedes and colors all of their relationships with each other. it seems to be more a sense of “duty” than unconditional love. especially after erik’s death, wille always has to consider how the crown’s image will be impacted, even though he never wanted to have this responsibility, or even the responsibility of being the “regular” prince under erik. being a family unit that is under constant public scrutiny is going to strain relationships. the queen knows that the anxiety of fucking up his legacy will get to him, and she uses that to get wilhelm to back out of admitting it was him in the video and coming out. wilhelm has to choose between his own happiness and their reputation, is forced to think that denying it’s him in the video is the only way. he loves simon and wanted to live freely, but that pressure of legacy won out.

i don’t know if i think wille necessarily values the crown over his own personal happiness and relationships, like in the way maybe the queen does--i don’t think it comes from a place of “i’m lucky to be prince and owe my duty to the crown, so i do what i have to do to stay that way” (like how the queen said the crown is a privilege not a punishment), but from fear of destroying the legacy and his family. afterall, he still wanted to pursue a secret relationship with simon, i think if he fully valued the crown and uplifting legacy and fulfilling his duties he wouldn’t have tried that. he wouldn’t have made a point to tell simon he loves him. hopefully we get another season because i think with the iconic ending revolution rendition and him looking in the camera, which also parallels the shot of him being forced to apologize/go to hillerska, he is realizing that focusing on legacy is taking away what’s important to him, and he’s going to shake shit up.

august is definitely the most obsessed with legacy, wanting to carry on his father’s business, being persistent on befriending wilhelm and trying to social climb, wanting power and perfection with being prefect, rowing captain etcetera. he is so obsessed with perfection and reputation he gets addicted to drugs, he fucks with simon and makes him get stuff for parties he can’t afford because good parties will make him look better, he manipulates sara multiple times, he mostly wanted felice because of her nobility, he fucking films wilhelm and simon and OUTS him, his own cousin. he hates that wille has everything he wants but isn’t as interested in preserving and more importantly improving the legacy he’s inheriting. meanwhile august’s familial legacy is dwindling, and he holds on to the last bit of assets and names that he can.... v much sick and a weirdo that shows how harmful being obsessed with legacy is

the queen is of course v focused on legacy and it really breaks my heart and makes me angry that she doesn’t care about wilhelm’s happiness more than their reputation, and moreso doesn’t get august in trouble for literally leaking child p*rn of her kid for the sake of appearances?!?!?! like how is he even remotely trustworthy she is wrong for that! like i said earlier the obsession with legacy puts a strain on their mother/son relationship. she doesn’t even really say anything about wille’s sexuality or his relationship, and barely comforts him, mostly goes in with a plan she’s already concocted without him to fix everything. 

erik seemed to understand and accept his role as crown prince but obviously had issues with it as well, like when he makes the plan for him and wilhelm to run from the press, or when he tells wilhelm to enjoy himself while there aren’t so many eyes on him that care. erik shows someone who has more unconditional love and empathy but still has to focus on legacy and is much more inclined to continue his legacy, but we do see those glimpses over how even the most “ideal” attitude of preserving legacy causes issues.

felice is expected to live up to her mother’s legacy, of being an equestrian, of being the lucia, but she doesn’t want either of those things. her mother wants her to be thinner and straighten her hair, and find someone of nobility to be with. obviously she does find wilhelm attractive lol but i think the main reason she pursued him and definitely why she pursued august was because she was expected to social climb and have royal kids. felice feels the need to portray a false narrative of herself on social media to uphold a certain image of herself. it’s very fucked up that her mom wants those values instilled in her but i love that felice was putting up boundaries and pushing back against her mother and the narrative she’s supposed to live up to. her giving sara the role of lucia and focusing on supporting her friends more in the latter half of the season shows growth and i’m excited to see where her story goes. 

sara is interesting because she seems to want to reject the legacy of her family and being working class and to fit in with the elite of hillerska. sara hates micke, hates that simon contacted him because it’s bringing in this “shameful” and painful part of their past (which i mean is def fair). other than sara’s betrayal in 1.06, i think the scene where she tells her family that she wants to reside at hillerska really exemplifies where she’s at in her relation to legacy/class. after dining at hillerska and living amongst the elite she gets annoyed at eating around the TV, she blames her mother for not leaving micke sooner, she gets angry with simon for caring for her. she wants to lead her own life, be popular and wanted because people want her, not for pity (even though i think simon of course truly cares abt his sister she feels annoyed with his protection and care). felice says early on that she thinks sara doesn’t care what other’s think or having friends, and sara says she still wants friends though. i think sara’s biggest thing is she wants to belong, her and simon moved schools after she was bullied for being autistic so i think that definitely affected her even though she tries to act nonchalant about hillerska at first. we see sara’s longing to fit in in smaller ways at first, like her asking her mom for a better piece of her uniform because hers are “cheap” and already worn out. she gets annoyed at simon for chewing loudly, or her mother sitting casually at the table. as she gets closer to felice and madison and all the other students, the allure of the upper class and their lifestyle draws her in more. so much to the point where she gets very anxious and upset at the idea of her and simon leaving hillerska because he’s having his own crisis and doesn’t consider his pov. so much so that she effectively betrays simon and felice, the people she’s closest to, to make a deal (and make out lol) with august to room there and “be just like him”. personally i think sara’s attraction to august is mostly that allure of the elite and that he seemed to “desire” her when he kissed her because he was being a manipulative dickhead--again that want to fit in and be wanted. and  i think there is a really interesting angle of jealousy and competition in female friendships, even if it is really subtle or not intentionally insidious or anything, sara does slowly start to trying to assume all the roles/fashions/mannerisms of felice to live that life she wants. i do think felice and sara’s care for each other is genuine and one of my fave parts of the show, but i think a lot of people who experienced being a teen girl know how we are always pitted against each other even in our subconscious because of how society treats and values women.

simon seems to be the character that is least interested in upholding legacy and tradition or giving a fuck what anyone thinks (as omar said here lmao) and that makes him a really interesting foil to wilhelm. there could be something said about micke fearing that simon is following in his footsteps, but to me that plot more so reveals how the upper class (august) continually exploit the working class for their benefit, and the trappings of generational oppression. the other thing that can be said is simon signing up for private tutoring and rowing, but again i think that serves to further show that he is forced to “play” by the game of the elites because the school/society is corrupt, and also, that simon has further ambitions outside of where he’s at. he wants to get good grades because he wants to explore new places and avenues. to me simon’s biggest motivations are his passions, the things and people he loves--music, his family, wilhelm. he isn’t loyal to others just because he’s expected to be, or uphold a certain image but because he really cares. he doesn’t watch out for sara because that’s his expected role as her brother to do so, but because he cares. he wasn’t interested in knowing wilhelm because he’s a prince like everyone else, he makes it clear he thinks the royal family are privileged and exploitative, but he is interested because he saw the real wilhelm. he’s out and proud even though his elite classmates are more conservative, he doesn’t care about voicing his unpopular opinions, he has no problem walking away from august’s dickhead behavior or calling him out on his shit. simon doesn’t care if people don’t think of him in the best light. (the only exceptions ig are the drugs conflict and the video, though literally anyone would have a problem with that because it’s much deeper that public opinion and has ramifications and is deeply traumatic--but just adding that before someone is like “well actually!”) i also think it’s interesting that most of the songs simon sings has themes of pushing back against the societal norms, and being remembered in history, plus of course the revolution song motif, and how much those songs affect wilhelm, he seems to connect deeply, like he wishes he could do those things but simon is the one who gets to sing them and actually live them.

[ambertea]

together

(read on AO3)

Day two of the Doctorrose Fic Marathon! Based on the prompt "holding hands".

“I want a job.” He announced one morning. Rose was hovering over a mirror as she lined her eyes with dark pencil. “I was thinking Torchwood.”

She stayed silent, her eyebrows furrowing as she rubbed at the mascara that had fallen under her eyes. His feet lead him to stand behind her, and he watched his nervous face reflected back at him.

“Is that okay?”

She nodded at herself in the mirror and straightened. “Talk to Pete.”

“Well, actually, I was thinking your department sounded more interesting.”

She turned and stared at him flatly.

“Tell me what my department does.”

“Alien…stuff.” He replied, rubbing at the back of his neck.

She brushed past him and his hands snatched at her wrists, quickly dropping them at the look on her face.

“Rose, please.”

Her eyes flicked to the clock behind him. “I’m running late.”

“Tomorrow, then?” He asked eagerly. She nodded.

“Tomorrow, yeah. Sure.”

The door banged behind her, and he collapsed onto the bed and let the silence taunt him once more.

It was nice, being stuck in one place, nice in a way that made his muscles tense and his fingers curl. The next-door neighbours always smiled at him when he put out the bins, and the girl at the coffee shop didn’t even ask for his order anymore, just thrust it at him with her usual dreary rage. The kids on the street all knew his name – well, one of his names – and called out to him to play football with them or help them with their homework.

Rose enjoyed it less. Everywhere she went, whispers followed. People eyed her nervously in the supermarket, would press themselves against the shelves as though she was an elephant thundering past, rather than a small human woman trying to buy milk.

Everyone he asked about it had just shrugged. Rose herself had ignored him entirely, but whether that was due to the question itself or just his presence was unclear.

He had spent three long years away from her, yet he had never missed her quite like this. She slept beside him—apparently, the only proof he had was slightly creased sheets and makeup stains on her pillows—and then would disappear with a cursory “Torchwood” thrown over her shoulder. Her phone, that was literally always in her hand, was apparently incapable of picking up his calls or answering texts, and his own only mocked him with read receipts.

He had thought she would understand this new him. He had changed his entire body before, and it was less than a day after that she had been holding his hand and snuggling into his side. It had been four months now, in this universe, four long and agonising months of sitting indoors and waiting for something to happen. Every time he looked at her, he hoped for some flood of recognition, a moment where she realised he was still him and so they ought to just get on with it.

Every day that passed brought less and less hope that that would ever happen.

“Wake up. Hey, wake up.”

He opened his eyes, blinking against the bleariness of sleep. A fan of blonde hair tickled the sides of his face, and brown eyes watched him blankly.

“Rose?”

“Come on.”

He sat up, stretching out his arms and working the kinks out of his back. The windows were dark, and the traffic outside was only loud, rather than its usual deafening. Rose folded her arms and stared down at him, and he fidgeted slightly under her gaze.

“What’s going on?”

“You wanted Torchwood. It’s time for Torchwood. Put these on,” she ordered, throwing some boots on the floor. “We need to go.”

“Right.” He said, limbs failing in his haste to stand. The room flickered with darkness for a second and he cursed stupid human blood pressure. “Where are we going?”

“Coast.”

“Which coast?” He asked, wrestling the boots onto his bare feet. Rose rolled her eyes and threw a jacket at him.

“The one next to the sea. Now come on, hurry up.”

He thrust his arms into the jacket and hurried after her retreating form. A blast of cold hair hit him like a bucket of cold water, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his sides as he shuffled forwards. Rose’s phone was at her ear, her voice hard as she barked out her instructions.

“Solomon street. Now.”

A green SUV whizzed round the corner, skidding to a stop perfectly in front of them. A young man stepped out, ginger and pale, and immediately saluted.

“Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Stewart. I’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The boy turned and marched down the street, picking his direction seemingly at random. Rose jumped into the drivers’ side and looked at him impatiently. He gawked at her through the window.

“What’s going on?”

“Later. C’mon.”

Her hands were white around the steering wheel, and he stared at them, feeling dread settle in his gut. The engine started up with a groan and he quickly ran around and jumped into the passenger side.

Before he could even reach for his seatbelt, the car lurched into action, and his head slapped into the headrest.

“Sorry,” Rose mumbled, her eyes not moving from the road as the speed only went up. He nodded frantically, quickly securing himself and then gripping tightly at the edges of the chair.

“Where are we going?” He asked, voice unnaturally high. For a moment, he thought he saw her mouth curve upwards, but within a second it was back to the same flat mask.

“Where do you think?” She scoffed. “Where else? Bad Wolf Bay.”

Their journey to Norway passed in heavy silences that were only occasionally broken by questions that Rose only ignored. He fiddled relentlessly with the cuffs of his shirt and tried to calm his stupid single heart, that pounded and screamed in his ears.

This, more than anything else, was what he hated about this world – he was never in control here, never understood what he should be doing, or what he should say. He never used to care about that stuff before. His life had always been spontaneous, he had prided himself on it in some sick, sad way, but all he could long for now was a sliver of certainty.

Was this how she would finally dump him? On the very beach they were headed towards, she had kissed him, and at the time it had felt like a hello. It seemed now it had been more of a goodbye. He had always known Rose, could always reliably understand what was going through her head at any given point. The woman he had been left with seemed like someone else entirely. A stranger, with the face of the woman he loved the most.

His whole species had died – all his family, all his friends. But this loneliness was far more insidious and hung heavily in the space between his bones.

“We’re here,” Rose said, and he startled. She jumped out of her seat and walked round to his door, flinging it open. He watched her eyes staring carefully at the space between his eyebrows. “Come on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“What, you think I’m going to drown you?”

“Well, I do now.”

She sighed. "I’m not. I promise you’re going to want to see this.”

He gazed at her, trying to understand what was behind the tense line of her mouth and her unwavering stare. Nothing revealed itself.

Unclipping his belt, he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. Rose reached out, grabbed his hand, and pulled him towards the beach.

It was hushed, only the angry crash of the waves breaking the idyllic landscape. His eyes flickered towards where it happened – where the TARDIS had landed and stranded him in this world of mystifying social cues and angry faces.

Her hand was clasped around his own tightly, as though trying to stop him from running away, but that was the last thing on his mind. It had been so long since he had held her hand. It was as comforting as it was devastating.

“Before the stars started going out,” Rose whispered, her soft voice carrying through the wind. “I was working on a way to get back.”

“The dimension canon.”

“Yeah, but other things too. We dumped them all when the canon started working.”

Her face was sad, wistful even and he squeezed her hand tightly. She startled, looking up at him, and he was alarmed by the wetness of her eyes.

“And?”

“And I’ve been working on one of them. Since…since we came back.”

His heart had literally leapt into the back of his throat. It was the only plausible explanation for the lack of air, for the way his whole body was screaming at him to go, to get out now. He hung his head and kicked at the sand.

“This is where the walls are weakest. We made a sort of, um, portal. You can just step through, see.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. With a tap of a key, a bright swirl opened around them, wind whipping around it angrily. He stepped back and pulled her with him.

“It’s not possible.”

“Same phone you gave me. Energy source from the original universe. Battery never runs out, so—”

“—so it has the power to send you back.” He finished darkly. She shook her head.

“No. Enough power to send you back.”

He thrust away from her hand and stared at her. She had tears running down her cheeks, and her eyes were wide and sad.

“No.”

“You’re not happy here.” She whispered, pulling on her earring.

“Neither are you.”

“No.” She agreed with a half-hearted chuckle.

“Rose,” he said desperately, clutching at her hands again, pressing his body as closely to hers as he could. “Rose, no. Please. I’m still the Doctor. I swear—the exact same man. I want to be here with you.”

Her hand came up and rested lightly on his cheek. He leaned into it, kissing her palm, greedily clutching at this small token of affection.

“I know,” she whispered. “Exact same man.”

“Yes! I’m him; I am exactly him—”

“The same man who left me on this beach.”

The wind from the portal settled. The sea calmed. Silence reigned.

“I stayed with you.”

“But left, as well.”

He was still clutching at her. His hands snaked around the back of her neck, pulling her forehead to his. Rose’s eyes were tightly shut. His were wide and searching.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered to her, and she only squeezed her eyes tighter, mascara leaking from her eyelashes.

“You left me, again. You didn’t even say goodbye. Why do you never say goodbye?”

“Rose—”

“I did everything I could do get back to you. Everything. Terrible things. But—” She opened her eyes and stared at him with open devastation. “You didn’t want me.”

“Of course, I did, I do.” he whispered. She ignored him.

“You just—left you here. To deal with me. To stop me trying to come back again, or whatever.” She cleared her throat and stepped out of his embrace and rubbed angrily at her eyes. “But it’s okay. I’ll stay here. I want you to be happy.”

“Rose, please.” He begged, voice breaking. He tried to grab her hand again, but she was stepping away from his embrace, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I want to be with you. I told you, didn’t I?”

“You said you could spend your life with me.”

“Yes—yes—please. I want that. I swear I want that. He had to go; you know he had to. But I,” his face broke into a tiny, happy smile. “I got to stay.”

She stepped forwards cautiously, her hands shaking. He stayed as still as he could, resisting the urge to pull her tightly into his arms.

“You were dumped here too. You didn’t get a choice, either.” She whispered. He smiled and gently took her hand.

“I didn’t need a choice. My answer will always be you.”

She flung herself into his arms, and he clung to her desperately, nuzzling his face into her hair. Her hands were everywhere – along his back, down his arms, his neck. They clutched at his jaw and he pulled back, just a little, so he could take her in properly. There was still pain splashed across her face, but a cautious hope lit up her eyes.

“I love you.” He whispered. “Please let me.”

“Okay.” She whispered back.

She untangled herself from his embrace, and pulled out her phone, closing the portal as quickly as she’d opened it.

He offered out his hand, and she took it, a smile playing across her face.

“Together?”

“Together.” She nodded.

He pulled her away from the beach, feeling, for the first time in months, that they might just be okay.

[raffinit]

Sylvaina concept: Jaina flaunting her magical prowess (in battle, in court, in defense of her kingdom/wife, dealer’s choice here) and Sylvanas being awestruck/overwhelmed by it

this got way out of hand but i have ZERO regrets

can Jaina actually do what she does?? who knows??? i say she can because this is an au where jaina can do whatever she likes

------

She understood, even in some peripheral way, the power the Lord Admiral wielded. 

Not merely for the titles Proudmoore held, but Sylvanas could remember hearing tell of the last living heir of Kul Tiras even in the early days of Jaina's time in Dalaran.

Long before she had ever crossed paths with Jaina Proudmoore as Banshee Queen — as Warchief —she'd known of Jaina's reputation.

Powerful. Wilful. As impressive as she was terrifying.

Age and experience had done precious little to temper the burning flame of righteousness and ambition in Jaina. She'd simply learned how to channel it.

The thought seemed to unsettle the Alliance more than her vibrant temper.

The last thing Sylvanas would think to call Proudmoore was ‘unassuming’. No one could look at Jaina and forget the hidden wealth of power she wielded. Perhaps it was easier for humans, who lacked dearly in the way they perceived the world, but they as elves were both blessed and cursed with the ability to be keenly attuned to the otherworldly pull of the arcane.

It certainly explained some part of Tyrande and Vereesa's fascination with Jaina.

She had seen Jaina on the battlefield countless times. Knew the arcane signature unique to only her wife when the earth came to life with the scent of scorched ozone and sea breeze.

Whether they had been on opposite ends of the chessboard or pressed back-to-back against a swarm of enemies, it was undeniable — the way Jaina rocked the earth they stood on. The powers of a banshee were certainly vast and terrifying, but Jaina held the forces of nature in the palm of her hand with the strength to either cradle a fragile life or crush it entirely.

It fascinated Sylvanas to observe Jaina. No doubt, the fascination was reciprocated; for such an avid mind, there was no pretending that the functions of an Undead creature as powerful and unpredictable as a banshee didn't drive Jaina to the point of madness for her need to understand everything.

That was one other thing. Jaina had the curiosity to kill a cat ten times over. It was almost child-like; the way her head would tilt this way and that, her bright eyes wide and intent on whatever it was that drew her attention. She watched, then understood, then applied.

Sylvanas remembered the day Jaina joined her and the Dark Rangers for a bout around the training yard. Remembered the keen, almost feline way Jaina’s eyes trailed after them around the yard. Remembered the way those bright blue eyes glittered with curiosity when she allowed some of her own prowess to come to light.

“Your powers,” Jaina said that night, as they were bedding down. “That thing that you do — when you siphon life force. What do you do, exactly?”

Sylvanas eyed her for a moment, then shrugged. “Kill them, obviously.”

“Well — yes, but do you take their soul? Their essence?”

“I drain them of everything. The very breath in their lungs. The light in their eyes.”

“It fuels you?”

“In some way. Though like living creatures, I do need to watch what I ‘eat’.”

“How so?”

Sylvanas shrugged again. “It feeds my body, but what I feed it can be more of a detriment than a benefit. Beings touched by arcane are ideal. Corrupted ones…” She tilted her head vaguely.

Jaina hummed thoughtfully. “It’s not something all Undead can do, is it? It’s something only banshees can control.”

“Others have variants of it. Necromancers. Priests. They all channel a bastardisation of fel magic in some way. Though none are as…” She waved a hand. “Dramatic, I suppose.”

Jaina’s mouth curved with amusement, but there was certainly something darker in her eyes that prickled at the base of Sylvanas’ spine.

“Surely you mages have something of the sort in your arsenal of magic.”

“Perhaps,” Jaina replied, far too flippant as she turned over onto her side. “Goodnight.”

Sylvanas knew the calculating little gleam in those eyes. There were no further questions in the days after, but she began to notice the slightest change in Jaina’s scent. Soft at first; faint. Something earthy and bittersweet like the scent of wood rot blooming from beneath the mulch of a damp forest floor.

It wasn’t an unpleasant scent, but it was no less unsettling.

The last thing she expected Jaina to smell like was an Undead.

It was there a moment, then gone the next. At times, she caught Jaina’s eye and saw something almost knowing and coy there. Tempted as she was to press; to pry about such secrecy, being knee-deep in a war against the Old Gods left precious little time for idle conversation.

They were in the heart of the battlefield when it came to light again. Back-to-back, as they often found themselves in recent times, facing off waves of corruption that came in all shapes and sizes.

The Light gave them a wide enough berth to manoeuvre, but the swarms seemed endless. Sylvanas’ power stores drained and restored in turns with such speed it made her almost dizzy with it. It was insidious; she was taking in too much fel, too much Twilight.

She gathered the darkness around her and Wailed once more — pulling in the gathering crowd of corrupted soldiers around them and draining all she could.

Then she staggered, Deathwhisper gripped tight in hand as she bent to a knee.

Jaina’s hand settled on her shoulder, fingers sliding between the straps of her pauldron. “Sylvanas.”

She batted the hand away and rose to her feet with some effort. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine!” Jaina snapped. “You take any more of them inside you and the Old Gods will stick in that thick skull of yours.”

“Did you have a better idea?” she shot back.

Jaina’s hand shot out and fisted tightly to the front of her breastplate. Her eyes widened as she was yanked forward in a rush and a pair of lips crushed against hers.

It felt, rather frighteningly, as if Jaina was draining the very life force from her.

She knew the sensation as well as she knew her own skin; knew this brimming power of death magic. There was no one else who could wield it as she could, and yet —

And yet.

She wrenched herself away, claws sinking deep into the meat of Jaina’s arms —

Then gasped.

Black and purple veins crawled across Jaina’s skin and up into her face. It ate away into the vibrant blue of her eyes until they glittered like an obsidian sky. Her alabaster hair came apart from its thick braid, unfurling around Jaina’s head like a living creature.

Then she grinned.

Her voice carried the same eerie echo of a banshee.

“Together,” she said, and Sylvanas’ ears flicked at the reverberating trill of it. “One last Wail.”

Sylvanas licked her lips and tasted sea breeze. It was a blank of memory after that — she couldn’t remember much outside of taking Jaina’s back once more. Of opening her mouth and Wailing. Of hearing the resonating echo of it in Jaina’s voice; amplified and augmented. Of watching their enemies crumple into a pile at their feet, left as nothing more than smouldering husks.

When it died away, Sylvanas found herself swaying in place. Jaina leaning at her back.

It had been a lifetime since she felt the exhaustion of war.

Jaina’s hand clasped sluggishly to her neck, cold and clammy. She could barely comprehend the mumbled, slurring command. “Catch me.”

Sylvanas turned in time for Jaina to collapse into her arms, bloodless and trembling. The blackness had faded away, the obsidian sky had given way to blue once more. She gathered the mage close and told herself that the tremble in her voice and arms were nothing more than exhaustion. 

Quietly, and with no small amount of awe, she said, “That was...incredible. I’ve never felt —”

“So powerful?” Jaina finished, smiling wanly. “Neither have I.”

“What did you do?” Sylvanas demanded, sweeping Jaina into a bridal carry and marching back through the ranks. They were out in the open still; even with a pile of bodies at their feet. They were sitting ducks. “You look close to death.”

Jaina gave her a wry smile. “Magic trick. I learned how to do what you do.”

Sylvanas stared at her. “I thought fel magic was forbidden to you.”

“Not fel magic,” Jaina replied. “Death magic. Necromantic power.” Her head lolled as they moved, resting wearily against Sylvanas’ chest. “I might vomit on you. Fair warning.”

“Why would you subject yourself to such a thing? Curiosity kills, if you didn’t realise.”

Jaina huffed and found enough strength to lift her head and glare at Sylvanas. “When you’re married to a martyr with a penchant for running headfirst into battle, the end tends to justify the means.”

The absurdity of it made Sylvanas bark out a laugh. “You expect me to believe that you did this for me?”

“Yes,” Jaina said simply. “You’re my wife. For better or worse. Now please hurry up and get me to a bucket because I really do need to vomit.”

“Remarkable,” Sylvanas murmured, shaking her head, despite the smile that was slowly beginning to spread across her face. “Ridiculous. You’re lucky I like you.”

“Aw. I’d kiss you again but I don’t want to risk throwing up in your mouth.”

“Kisses can come later. For now, let’s just make sure you haven’t permanently damaged yourself.”

[thosewickedlovelies]

we could be Dreamers - Prologue

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Summary: How this world came to be

Word count: 1,671

A/N: Hiii friends 🤗 soo there’s not really a lot of plot or Marcus Moreno :( here, but consider this a prologue/worldbuilding for a Marcus Moreno x reader fic I may eventually write lol. I’m really interested in how this universe got from The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl to We Can Be Heroes, because like. Sharkboy and Lavagirl were literally just some kid’s imaginary friends that somehow magically became real, so what does that mean for the other Heroics? Where did they come from?? So I kinda wanted to write something that would make you Think :) and explore the ramifications of such a transformed universe.

Consider my previous Marcus Moreno fic a prelude to this prologue 💗

--

It was a little unnerving sometimes, being in a room with so much power. No matter that this particular training arena at Heroics Headquarters was at least the size of an American football field- when all of the Heroics are gathered in the same confined space, focused on a single purpose, you can feel it. Like their power prances tauntingly in the corner of your eye, slipping away when you try to look directly at it. Like it winds through the air, worming its way into your veins, so your very blood breathes at you to run, run, run.

Not all of the individual Heroics gave off such uncanny vibes; some were simply ordinary people with extraordinary abilities. Techo-No, for instance, and his gift for creating fantastical gadgets. The implications of his works relevant to the world at large could be worrying, but he had limits. He was just a man. Determined, and creative (even more so with his son throwing ideas at him), but ultimately human.

Not like those with powers who’d been Dreamed.

Take Sharkboy. The temper for which he’d been infamous in his youth had cooled, but when he snapped, he did so literally- blade-sharp teeth an audible clash when he bared them in a ringing snarl. Any water in the room would roil and froth- but the most hair-raising sight was his eyes, tinged with the unreadable, abyssal blackness of his namesake. Focused with a predator’s calculation on the object of his fury. (It made you think that, ironically, his temper had cooled too much- concentrated into something as icy and merciless as the depths of the sea. Just as well his wife was a lava goddess).

It was well-documented that Sharkboy could influence his oceanic kin, seeing as he was half-shark himself. Some marine biologists postulated- in low voices- that fluctuation in his emotions could unknowingly influence shark activity no matter how far from the sea he was. But nobody at Heroics Headquarters had ever dared suggest attempting a study.

That you knew of, anyway. You wouldn’t be surprised if there was a classified government branch somewhere which dealt solely with more insidious studies of the Heroics. Their weaknesses. Ways to defeat them.

Just in case.

Sharkboy and his emotions had stabilized as his Dreamer matured, but not all Dreamers were so invested in the well-being of their creations, or of the world they inhabited and could inadvertently affect. It was suspected that not all Dreamers knew that they had Dreamed at all, that they unintentionally brought Dreams into being far from where they were located and simply never became aware. This resulted in some Dreamed individuals being...unstable. Incomplete, really. Brought forth from a child’s mind, a young person who didn’t yet fully grasp the complexities of existing in this world, or indeed, the intricacies of what made one human at all.

Dreamers were children, more often than not. Their imaginative abilities generally far outstripped those of adults, worn down as they were with the grind of building a real life. The younger the person, the more time and creativity they maintained. The fewer methods they possessed to process their struggles which were grounded in reality, and not their imaginations.

--

Despite the years that have passed, nobody quite knows what happened to lead up to the Incident. How a single young boy had imagined so powerfully that it had warped reality; how his imaginings had given him the ability to design the universe at will.

The Daydreamer.

Max, as he later insisted on being called. An almost disturbingly innocuous name for a boy who had changed the world. Who had all but envisioned himself into having terrific powers- and enabled others to do the same.

In the years following the Incident, Sharkboy and Lavagirl continued to visit him in secret (Later, scientists realized that this why they recorded occasional, inexplicable disturbances in seismic and marine activity). But it wasn’t long before a larger threat to the entire Earth appeared- and so did they. To defend the place which they declared to be their new home. Though they had been willed into existence to protect Planet Drool, as Max determined to relinquish his daydreaming abilities and by extension, his dreamworld, so did the planet and its life diminish. Their presence there was no longer required, they’d explained. But earth could still benefit from their protection- especially after the reality of the threat came to light.

Someone else had Dreamed.

It wasn’t clear who, or how, or what their intentions had been. But once it had been said, everyone was forced to acknowledge the truth of it- or at least, admit that there was no other explanation. The villain’s origins were not terrestrial in any previously established sense.

Anyone who had ever met a child could have a predicted it. Too many young people ended up feeling outcast, overlooked, by both their peers and adults in their lives. It should have been obvious from the way they whispered his name. Not Max- a moniker far too average and relatable- but what they reverently regarded as his true title. The Daydreamer. A near-holy figure who had changed the game for youths everywhere. Now they had a way to combat those who plagued them. A way to create or become the superheroes who previously only existed in comic books and TV shows.

Or some did, anyway. Individuals with the strength of will and heart to Dream weren’t rare, but they weren’t quite common, either.

The only truly neutral positive of the Dreamer evolution was that governments everywhere suddenly accepted the need for increased mental health resources. Designed to increase healthy socialization for all ages and give young people ways to process and communicate their emotional needs, such programs were approved seemingly overnight in schools from elementary to university aged. “Small town life” flourished, and many city quarters and apartment buildings took to implementing “community builders” or, less charmingly, “social facilitators”- positions designed to create cohesive areas of living and minimize the kind of isolation and negative feelings that could leave someone to Dream of improving their life.

--

Nowadays, not all super-powered individuals were Dreamed. The second generation of Heroics was a testament to that. As if the universe itself had reckoned with the self-inception of the Dreamers, and seen fit to provide reality-warping countermeasures of its own.

Less than a year after the Incident, babies with...unique qualities began to be born. Few and far between, it seemed at first. Whispered reports swept from far corners of the globe, a phone tree branching from frantic parents to anyone who could provide even the slightest bit of reassurance. It seemed like doctors everywhere were swapping glances, no one willing to admit what was happening- until a second Villain appeared.

Every incident report said the same thing: a baby started crying, and then the hostages were saved by a power outage. A wash of sparks that darkened half the city.

Webbed with red lightning.

You sneak a look at the fully grown Heroic now, the long braids of her ponytail slipping over the shoulder of her characteristic red training outfit. Red Lightning Fury flexes her fingers as she listens to the head trainer explain today’s exercise- the usual sort of ‘heroes versus villains’ battles, with you and your fellow specialists assisting as villains- but judging by the lack of the smell of ozone, she isn’t yet using her powers. Blinding Fast, on the other hand, appears to fritz in place every few seconds, and you guess he’s running invisible laps to pass the time. It’s hard to tell if that’s what’s causing Lavagirl’s hair to tendril like neon pink smoke even though she’s standing still; usually the hypnotic heat shimmer of her lava flow causes the effect naturally.

You stretch in place while team arrangements are announced. As the majority of the Heroics filter into the stands to wait for their match, the buzzing, writhing presence of their power fades, and you can breathe more easily.

A figure flickers into being beside you, and you jump. “Jeez, Visi! How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Having anticipated your reaction from the countless previous times she’s snuck up on you anyway, Invisigirl laughs. “You think you’d be used to it by now.” Your closest Heroic friend grins at you, all pearly teeth against smooth brown skin.

And she’s right, which is why you were so disgruntled. Having been caught unawares too many times by the invisible hero’s silent movements, you had once asked her to give you lessons. Her instruction had improved your own stealth immensely, and now that you knew what kind of signs to listen for, her attempts at startling you didn’t work nearly as often as they had. But- “It’s hard to focus on anything with all of your powers clogging up the air,” you grumble. The birthed heroes understood what you meant- they felt it too, the nagging hiss of something other in the Dreamed heroes’ energy.

Across the arena, it looks like Miracle Guy and Marcus Moreno are waiting to be your opponents. Interesting. Miracle Guy, with his Dreamed up Superman-like abilities, was the only one who had a way of seeing Invisigirl. What it was precisely, you couldn’t recall. You make a mental note to ask Visi later.

Marcus, however, telekinesis aside, is clearly meant to be the counter to your strengths. The two men are discussing intently, but as if feeling your assessing stare, Marcus glances over. He lifts his eyebrows at you in playful challenge, a hint of a smile quirking his shapely lips before he’s pursing them at his duel-mate again.

Suppressing the pleased flutter down your spine, you turn your attention to the task ahead as Invisigirl dips her head toward you. Planning something clever, you realize, intrigued by the glint in her eye. “Let’s talk strategy.”

When the starting bell rings, your partner vanishes, and your smile curves as sharp and gleaming as the blade in your hand.

[fatefulfaerie]

Guilt

Fic-art trade with @rebuildingkonohaonceagain !! You sent two pictures so here is 2,000 words. I hope you like it!

Trigger Warning: mention of death

The whirring of guardians always made Zelda feel at ease, the way their inner-workings clicked, the way their mechanisms whistled. It was something Zelda felt she understood, and something that gave her great hope in their prospects of victory.

Her pride in the prowess of ancient Sheikah technology could be seen in the way she looked at them now, smiling at their apparent perfection. 

The blush on her cheeks, however, came from the knowledge of who was standing behind her, pensive in his duty and yet ever-vigilant of danger. He saw no danger in these skulltula-like machines, and thus allowed Zelda to run excitedly to peer at them with no word of caution passing his lips. Zelda loved looking down from the bridge of her study and seeing the Sheikah’s progress with the Guardians. Although she often felt Hyrule doomed with her sealing power still locked deep inside her, her hope returned when she saw the Guardians or the Divine Beasts.

“Amazing,” she remarked. “We’re at a point now where we can actually control them.”

Zelda turned around to face Link with a smile.

“At this rate, we’ll be well-positioned to defend ourselves, should Calamity Ganon return.”

Link’s expression moved slightly out of its neutrality, betraying Zelda’s expectations of her knight, and yet she welcomed the tease of emotion with open ears.

“Are you sure about that?” Link asked.

Zelda felt something grip her heart, like the cold hand of an Icy Moblin.

“Of…of course I’m sure,” Zelda said. “What…”

“I mean who are you kidding?” Link asked rhetorically, with an edge to his voice Zelda had never heard before. “We all know we’re missing a pretty big piece of the puzzle. Everything else is in line except you. Do you not care about the kingdom?”

Zelda’s eyes stung with betrayal and the cold hand seem to pull her heart down, farther and farther into unknown caverns below the castle.

“Of course I care, Link, what…” Zelda said trying to find her breath. She backed away in fear, her hand meeting the cement ridges of the bridge. “What has gotten into you?”

“I’ve trained all my life,” Link continued, his brow furrowing in his rising anger, “tired myself to constantly better for Hyrule to what? Serve a Princess who sees the Calamity as a joke? Who frolics around and pretends to pray to goddess statues? It’s time to wake up, Your Highness. Own up to your failures and we might even get out of this alive.”

“Link, I…” Zelda said, shaking her head. “You know better than anyone how hard I…”

The ground suddenly shook violently beneath them, Zelda looking down with wide, green eyes to see the bridge under her feet crack.

“Come on,” she heard Link say as he grabbed her hand and started to run towards the innards of the castle, towards perhaps more stable ground.

Yet the floor buckled beneath him at his next step, Link slipping off the bridge, hanging by the hand that connected him to Zelda’s.

They both looked down to what Link was hanging over and Zelda didn’t quite understand what she saw.

It was a large hole, with Calamity Ganon swirling in his own malice like a fish in a small pond of blood.

Link looked back at Zelda, whose gaze was panicked as she started to lose her grip on Link’s hand. She gritted her teeth trying to get a better hold, but it was no use.

Link’s gaze, in contrast, was rather settled for someone whose life was in danger, as if he weren’t surprised in the slightest.

“This is your fault,” he said before Zelda accidentally lost her grip.

“No!” Zelda exclaimed, reaching down with tears in her eyes as Link fell, lost to the darkness of the calamity.

Zelda stood up quickly onto what remained of the bridge, Calamity Ganon’s burning yellow eyes and pig-like snout rising to face her, it’s wispy red and black emanations trailing behind him.

Zelda, with panting, heavy breaths and cheeks endlessly replenished with her tears, held out her hand palm-first towards Calamity Ganon, wishing with all her might that luck would grant her the sealing power she sought, if not the endless years of prayers to cold and unyielding goddess statues.

Yet no power came, even on repeat attempts extending her arm.

Calamity Ganon gave a growling chuckle, smiling insidiously at such a failure.

“Finally,” he said in his groveling voice before surging forward with an open mouth. Zelda crouched in defense, her last resort before darkness succumbed her as well.

She didn’t know where she was falling from or to, nor how long she had been falling or long she had until she met the ground. She had no idea how she was changed from her royal blue dress to her white prayer dress, or what to do about it as the wind whipped through her long, blonde hair, almost tugging at it.

She felt almost dead, like she could fall, float, drift, drop for a hundred years until time became eternity.

She felt herself torn apart, like the Ritos, who pluck the feathers off their deceased before offering the body to the goddess Hylia.

She felt herself chocking on rocks and dirt, like the Gorons, who bury their deceased in the rich grounds of Death Mountain.

She felt herself rocked by unforgiving waves, like the Zora, who dispatch their deceased on a small boat lined with violets.

She felt herself dissipate, like the Gerudo, who burn their deceased to ashes and make them one with the sands.

“Zelda,” She heard a voice echo, surprised she could hear it, surprised someone could still know her, remember her.

“Zelda!” She heard again, louder.

“Zelda!!”

Zelda jolted awake to Link shaking her, Zelda grasping her hands on his arms as she gasped for air.

Her green eyes were absolutely panicked, looking everywhere but at Link, her head twitching like a shaking leaf.

“Zelda,” Link insisted. “Zelda, look at me!”

Link placed his warm hands on either of her cheeks, suddenly aligning her gaze with his with a soft gasp. Her shaky breathing calmed as her eyes filled with recognition, as her ears heard the cracking of a nearby campfire, as her skin felt a blanket fall from her shoulder to her lap.

As soon as Zelda distinguished the line between nightmare and reality, she hurriedly embraced Link, diving her head into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay,” Link said, clutching the back of her head, her blonde hair entangled in his calloused and yet gentle fingers. “You’re okay.”

He held her and he rocked her as she cried into his tunic, whispering over and over into her ear soothing words that assured her safety, and his safety, and their safety, and their victory, their final long-awaited victory after a hundred years of insurmountable loss.

Link ended up leaning against a nearby tree as he held her in his arms, neither caring at all that their proximity would once, a long time ago, have been scandalous. Their titles were something they were glad to throw away.

Zelda drew circles on Link’s chest as he stared at the campfire, his head leaning on hers.

“Was it like your nightmare last night?” He finally asked, after probably hours of Zelda being awake. Zelda had observed that Link was good at knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.

Zelda nodded against his shoulder, her green eyes sad and frankly haunted, despondent as she lamented her nightmare.

“How do you feel now?” Link asked, looking down at her with a soft, blue gaze.

“Better,” Zelda answered quietly, as if she could barely manage to find her voice. “Safer.”

Link kissed the top of her head before leaning his own head on it again.

“Good,” he said.

A distant cicada started to chirp, Zelda immediately sitting up, ears penned and alerted.

“It’s okay,” Link said as he softly rubbed her arm with the backs of his fingers. “It’s just a bug.”

Zelda’s shoulder deflated from their tense state as she took a calm exhale. She nodded and yet didn’t return back into Link’s hold.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she said.

Link’s gaze moved downward.

“I suspected you might say that,” Link said. “The good thing is that Dorephan doesn’t know we’re coming, and neither does Sidon, turning back is an option. We can always visit Zora’s Domain later.”

The fire crackled as Zelda considered Link’s words, and yet her mind veered off in another direction.

“Do you feel as I do?” Zelda said, turning her head to her shoulder. “This…guilt?”

Link nodded, sitting up.

“I do,” Link responded. “But then I remember what we were able to do because we survived.” 

Zelda turned around to face Link, who was distracted by her beauty in the light of the fire until he saw in deep pain in her green eyes.

“Do you ever think I should have died instead of them?” Zelda asked. “Do you think it’s what I deserve? For failing them?”

“No,” Link said with sunken blue eyes and a shaking head. “No. Zelda, we all did the best we could. You know better than anyone how hard it was to unlock your sealing power. Everything was in place. We just ran out of time.”

“So…” Zelda started. “You don’t…blame me?”

“Of course not,” Link answered. “Why would I blame you?”

Zelda lowered her gaze.

“I’ve ran through it all a hundred different ways in my head, over a hundred years and, the loss is always my fault. A hundred different ways it could have gone, a hundred things I could have done different and…it’s always me.”

Zelda looked up at Link, who was shaking his head. He even graced a small smile.

“See, that’s where you are wrong.”

“Am I?”

Link chuckled, bowing his head before he raised it again.

“Who possessed the Guardians?” Link asked. “Was it you?”

“No,” Zelda said matter-of-factly. “That was Calamity Ganon.”

“And the Divine Beasts? Who possessed those?”

“Calamity Ganon,” Zelda answered, not sure what the trick was, what sort of test this was.

“Who came completely unannounced from beneath the castle and started attacking Hyrule by summoning all sorts of monsters?”

“Calamity Ganon,” Zelda answered again. “Link, what are you even getting at? Of course he--”

“Oh,” Zelda, realizing what Link was doing.

“Who saved my life by awakening her sealing power?”

Zelda sighed.

“Me.”

“And who, may I ask kept Calamity Ganon trapped inside the castle for hundreds of years, thus allowing Hyrule to flourish and grow because they were protected.”

Zelda was starting to blush.

“Me, again.” She said.

“And who finally sealed him away once and for all, bringing Hyrule to peace?”

Zelda rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Me.”

“Nope,” Link said jokingly.  “That was all me.”

Zelda scoffed and hit him playfully, them both giggling and laughing.

“All right, I get your point,” she said with a smile. “How do you always know what to say?

Link shrugged.

“Maybe it’s part of being the chosen hero,” Link said, Zelda glaring at him in disbelief with a tipped head. “Hey, you never know.”

Zelda laughed and her heart felt full as she looked into Link’s eyes, that were just as joyful and warm as hers.

They both smiled at the unspoken invitation between them before mutually leaning into each other, meeting their lips in an indulgent kiss that expressed their love.

Link cupped Zelda’s cheeks as they rescinded with a smile borne straight from pure happiness, admiring her for a lingering second before he spoke.

“It’s your choice,” Link said. “Whether we continue our journey to Zora’s Domain. It doesn’t make you weak to wait until you are ready.”

“I know,” Zelda replied, placing her hand where Link’s was on his cheek. “But I’ll have to face Mipha’s father and brother eventually. I would have trepidations no matter what…I think I just need to work through this.”

“Then I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

[satendou]

⟼  make a trade

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢  pairing: bokuto kotaro/reader/tendo satori

⇢ au: college!au, poly!au

⇢ summary: tendou is doing his best to give you and bokuto some alone time, but at every turn his plan backfires. dates go awry and he winds up interrupting you more than ever. after another failed date, a twist of luck gives you the solution to his problem.

⇥  masterlist

⇥  requests are open! | rules

⇢  warnings: two different established relationships, polyamory, mild angst, fingering, double penetration, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

⇢  word count: 7.1k

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢  a/n: i know i know, they’re a weird pairing. tell me they don’t give off similar vibes tho. as usual, thank you to the woml @keijiskitten​ for not only editing this but for hardcore hyping me in her comments. ilysm.

The rain beat a rhythmic tattoo on the top of Tendo’s umbrella as he wandered home, matching his mood and the rapid pace of his heart. Water splashed up with every step, spraying his shoes and the cuffs of his jeans and he wondered idly if they would dry before classes tomorrow. Thunder echoed in the distance, but his pace remained the same.

Lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, he paid little attention to where he was going, choosing to stare at his feet as he wondered, not for the first time, why he wasn’t good enough.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out despite the danger of the rain. The racing of his thoughts quieted down when he saw your smiling face, relief washing through him at the distraction as he hit talk.

You were quiet for a moment, waiting for him to make or break the start of the conversation and, when he said nothing, you sighed. “Hurry home, okay? I have ice cream and Insidious ready to play. I don’t want you getting electrocuted.”

On the other end of the line, you could hear the steady patter of rain and a plethora of unspoken words and feelings. Normally that would have made him laugh.

You hated this, the aftereffects of a failed date or relationship. It took all the life out of your bright and bubbly Tendo, the effect of years of built up insecurities and walls. He was open and sweet as could be to the people he let in, but that trust was fragile.

“Alright.”

That one word spoke volumes about how he was feeling. Whether he was stood up or there was just no interest on their part, it didn’t matter. But he wasn’t crying, which meant that at least it wasn’t another joke date. You had nearly burned down the dorms over that one and after a frantic night of comforting Tendo after you found him, you had gathered up your friends and made a show out of supporting him. It had taken him weeks to recover from that and a lot of nights were spent in your arms, clingy and needy and making sure you were there. 

Even if he didn’t tell you as much, you knew that’s what he was doing. That one stupid little prank had sent him back into his own personal hell, one it had taken you months to work him out of in the first place. Trust from him was hard to come by, but he was loyal to a fault once you had it.

“Baby, you know I love you, right?” you asked, and he almost missed it over the rain. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring down at his dirty sneakers as a flash of doubt struck through him. His heart clenched in his chest, the pain almost unbearable as he realized what he was doing to himself.

Suddenly, he just wanted to be home, where you would kiss and hug his insecurities away, proving your words were true and you weren’t just saying them.

“I’ll be home in a few,” he said and hung up. It would have startled you if you weren’t used to it. He tended to act before he thought, and once he set a course it was like it took over. Knowing a few literally meant a few, you returned to the living room, where your own guest lay sprawled across the couch still.

You could see the white frosted tips over the back of the couch, hear his quiet laughter at whatever was playing on the TV, head propped up in his hand. When you sat down in front of him, leaning against his stomach and sighing, he muted it.

“Ah, do you want me to leave? I guess it didn’t go so well,” Bokuto said, wrapping one arm around your waist. He wasn’t usually so perceptive, but it was such a specific sound that he just knew what it meant.

It was an impromptu date for the two of you, what with Tendo having one of his own. You had called him up an hour before and asked what he was doing and whether he wanted to hang out for a while, but with Tendo on his way home… Not that he minded you and Bokuto being together, and they got along great, which was a relief for you. There was a running joke in your group of friends about how one of the world’s seven great mysteries was how the hell you managed to curb the two of them at the same time.

The answer was there was no curbing it, you just watched them burn bright. Pretty sight, usually. The chaotic energy they channeled was amazing, so long as it wasn’t directed at you. Which meant not letting them get bored, which meant you were constantly on the go. Not that that was a bad thing, it was just a lot.

“It didn’t, but it’s storming and your dorm is all the way on the other side of campus,” you answered, running your fingers through his hair. A quick shower after he came in had rid him of the gel he had put in earlier that day-- dummy hadn’t brought an umbrella and the bottom opened just before he reached your apartment. You opened the door to find him absolutely soaked and laughing his fool head off while you ushered him in.

He sat on the couch while you towel dried his hair, leaving it artfully messy and fluffy and god was he ever gorgeous. You had just started making out, one of his hands on your ass and the other sliding up your shirt, when you got a text from Ushiwaka.

‘Tendo texted me. You need to call him.’

“Oh hell,” you groaned, threading your fingers through your hair. That could only mean one thing and sure enough, he was on his way home.

Bokuto hummed, catching your hand and kissing your palm and inner wrist. “If you’re sure it’ll be okay. I know how he gets and I don’t wanna intrude.”

Truth be told, he very much did want to intrude. You and Tendo together was something he had dreamed of more than once, though you both seemed oblivious. Which was absolutely ridiculous given he wasn’t known for his subtlety. And Tendo was supposed to be known for being good at guessing shit. Clearly that only applied to volleyball because he was missing Bokuto’s clear cues.

“Yeah, it’s too late now anyway,” you said as the lock turned with a dull click and Tendo stepped in. He looked unsurprised to see Bokuto there-- if anything he looked a little guilty. The front of his jeans was splattered with mud and there were flecks of water on his waterproof windbreaker. His breath was coming out in pants, indicating he had been running, and he collapsed onto the couch at Bokuto’s feet after dumping his jacket on the back of the loveseat.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. “You ready for some ice cream and horror?”

Flashing Bokuto a grateful look, you scooted down until you were seated practically on top of Tendo. The couch shifted as Bokuto stood, wandering into the kitchen and rifling loudly through drawers and cabinets. You wanted to say it was for show, to let you know he was giving you space, but really it was just how he naturally was.

Boy didn’t know how to do anything quietly.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked, carding your fingers through his hair. The humidity had dampened the gel, his spiky locks falling down onto his forehead. They came away slightly sticky, but you did it again anyway.

Tendo stared at his knees, heaving a sigh. “She took one look at me and made an excuse to leave. Something about how she remembered her mom needed her help with something. Real original, right?”

Poor Tendo. It was a recurring theme throughout his childhood and highschool life. In elementary school, they had called him a monster. In highschool it settled down, but those who hadn’t been able to get past his appearance to see the bright soul underneath still spread rumors, calling him creepy and a freak, a thug and a delinquent. It had eased up once he made his friends on the volleyball team-- no one had wanted to get on Ushiwaka’s bad side.

Volleyball had given him a measure of self-confidence that he had never had, but that was as far as it went. Anyone outside of his circle of friends was met with suspicion, even if he didn’t show it. He was good at putting on a show for strangers, but anyone who knew him knew the difference. You hadn’t managed to get him to agree to a date for almost a year after meeting him, working your ass off to prove to him you wanted it.

It was Ushiwaka who kept you going, promising you that Tendo liked you just as much but he was afraid. “Just give him time, and don’t give up on him. He needs this, _____.”

So, shortly after a year had passed, he finally let you into his good graces and it was like your life had exploded into color. There was never a dull moment with Tendo before, but after he agreed to a date it was like the faucet had gotten stuck on and there was nothing anyone could do to turn it off.

Everything Tendo did was done with some measure of erratic carelessness, right down to getting dressed in the morning. Dragging you along to games and on dates without asking was something you had grown used to. Seeing everything the way he did came later, when you reached the point in your relationship where your thoughts synced up and you knew what the other was thinking without even having to think.

It didn’t matter that it had been years since you first got together, you still received texts throughout the day that held no coherent meaning, but you understood nonetheless to mean I love you. Whether it was a phrase in the book he was reading for lit class or the way the sun reflected off the screen of his phone, if he was reminded of you you were sure to find out.

You still woke up in his arms every morning, long legs tangled with yours, drool at the corner of his mouth as he snored softly into your ear. It made no difference if you had gone to bed angry with one another, you always woke up surrounded by warmth and strong arms.

So why were you the only one who could see that?

“I’m sorry, baby. She clearly doesn’t know a good thing when she sees one, if she did that,” you said, a familiar phrase versed a hundred different ways every time he came home after a failed date. 

Being completely honest, you had no idea why Tendo continued to agree to them. You admired him for persevering and not giving up, but his determination to try was somehow disheartening. Not that you were afraid he was trying to replace you, god knew that was the last thing on his mind, but you didn’t understand what he was aiming for. Even when you asked, he’d just shrug.

“Just playin’ the field, princess. No real reason.”

That obviously just wasn’t true, because otherwise he wouldn’t be so torn up over others’ judgments and assumptions.

His head fell to your shoulder, arms winding around your waist, releasing a long sigh into your neck. “Yeah, I know.”

It really didn’t sound like he knew, and he really didn’t feel like he knew either. The only thing he was sure of was you, the only constant good thing in his life. Besides Ushiwaka and volleyball and apparently Bokuto, but those just weren't the same.

The couch shifted beside you once again and you lost your balance. Only Bokuto’s hand at your back kept you upright, and you paused to readjust. Tendo followed suit, moving around you like a jellyfish until you were settled into Bokuto’s side, his head resting on your lap as you continued to stroke his hair.

The opening scene to The Hills Have Eyes played on the TV, the tub of ice cream Bokuto had spent 15 minutes getting out of the freezer thawing on the table beside three spoons.

“Everybody ready for some scares?” Bokuto asked, slinging his arm around your shoulders. This was new territory for him. While the three of you would sometimes spend time together studying or hanging out with friends, a whole date night was something that had never come up. Especially not after a backfired date. Usually if that happened Bokuto would book it at your request, leaving you to clean up the pieces of your partner.

Tendo hummed, his sleepy eyes half-closed, long fingers intertwined with yours on your thigh, almost touching Bokuto’s. You pressed play on the movie and silence lapsed as the opening credits played, Bokuto opening the tub of ice cream and digging out a spoonful. He offered it to you, and you giggled around the mouthful, way too big for you. Tendo looked up and smiled a little in response to the sound and sat up, receiving a spoonful in his face as well. 

Taking it like a champ, he swallowed it before saying, ���I’ll be right back. Gonna go change.”

The light in the bedroom flicked on and you paused the movie while Bokuto took a bite, tempted to get up and follow after him. But he was lightning quick and settled back down beside you before you could make a decision, pressing play once again.

Bokuto slid his arm from around your shoulders when Tendo pulled you in close, nuzzling his nose into your hair. The rain still thundered outside, indicating a long and miserable walk home if he wanted to leave. Which, being honest, he didn’t. He liked being with you and Tendo and, though he couldn’t tell for sure, thought Tendo liked having him around too. At least, he assumed that because he assumed everyone liked having him around. 

Can’t be wrong if he isn’t aware of it, right?

It more than surprised him-- even though he was casually watching from the corner of his eyes-- when you leaned back into his side, Tendo’s elbows digging into his ribs from the combined weight of both of you. Tendo’s face was still hidden in your neck, and he didn’t shy away from the contact, while your head tilted at a very awkward angle to meet his eye, giving him a sly smirk.

Maybe Bokuto wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was being. 

Which was absolutely true, it had just taken you awhile to figure out if Tendo would be okay with it. Also, if asked, you would swear it was Tendo who had pushed you into him, and he wouldn’t deny it either.

Tendo wasn’t unaware of Bokuto at all. The former ace of Fukurodani-- and current ace of his college team-- was hard to miss. Frosted spiky tips, sharp yellow eyes that appeared scary until he opened his mouth and said something utterly stupid, an easygoing personality and muscles for days were all things Tendo could appreciate. That he made you happy was just a really, really amazing bonus and was one of the reasons he liked Bokuto in the first place.

The other reason being, of course, that he didn’t treat Tendo like an outsider when they first met. Nothing about his strange appearance or name had troubled him and, if anything, seemed to draw Bokuto to him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why at first, but he liked Bokuto right from the start. It was a lot like how he had latched onto Ushiwaka when they first met and assumed it was just his open acceptance of him.

You later pointed out that it was because the two of them were too similar. “Two chaotic entities occupying the same space. Thank god you get along or you’d destroy the world,” you had said when he brought it up to you. That had made him laugh hard enough to cry, but it also seemed to fit the way the others viewed them when they got together.

“Oh god everyone run, they’re together again.”

“Someone call _____ or they’re gonna burn the mall down.”

Etc., etc., he couldn’t remember what else they’d said. Not that it mattered, because when he was with the both of you he felt right.

And when you had started dating Bokuto, he hadn’t been bothered because it still felt right. Until he realized that the two of you would probably want some alone time and he found himself with a lot of free time-- and doubts. Unable to process those doubts-- his mind was always too muddled and on the go to really nail down a problem-- he settled on finding his own second partner, hoping that doing so would calm his erratic thoughts.

And that obviously did not work because every time he tried to go out, he would end up interrupting your date with Bokuto. Even though you said it was fine and never seemed angry, it seemed like his attempts to give you a little bit of range were backfiring, and every time he wondered if this was going to be the night that you let him have it.

“What, ‘Tori?” you asked, breaking your eye contact with Bokuto to look down at the red head in your arms. You could hear him muttering something that sounded vaguely like an apology, but it was muffled by the sound of the TV and his face hidden in your neck. 

Bokuto looked curious when you looked back up at him, brows quirked in confusion and a question in your eyes. You looked adorable, and he snickered into his hand. He could never take anything too seriously, after all and, even though you looked concerned it was outweighed by the cuteness factor.

“I--” Tendo started, drawing both of your attention. He pulled back, kneeling up between your legs and scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry, you know. For always interrupting your dates. I’ve been trying to give you some space but it just seems like it happens more when I do. It really isn’t intentional.”

The childlike fear as he looked anywhere but at the two of you would have been amusing if he didn’t sound so nervous. Instead it just broke your heart that he thought he had to remove himself to make you happy. Of course, that was typical of Tendo. If you weren’t getting it from him, he thought it meant you didn’t need him around.

You really should’ve noticed sooner. Tendo had never dated around before you started seeing Bokuto. It was so obvious to you now, after it had already been explained to you, and you cursed yourself.

Before you could say anything, Bokuto’s laughter broke the silence and two sets of eyes whipped around to him. His hand covered his eyes as his shoulders shook, the sound somehow both light and condescending and you weren’t sure what it meant.

When he finally looked back up, he was staring directly at Tendo.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be so observant you sure are oblivious sometimes. We never said we didn’t want you around. You just went off and assumed that was the case. Did you consider we might want you here?” he asked, resting his cheek on his curled fist, vivid yellow eyes locked on vermillion.

Tendou sank down a little, hands resting on your knees, but he couldn’t look away from Bokuto. “I don’t know. I guess I never really did.”

Bokuto finally broke eye contact just to roll them, a single, fluid motion that you couldn’t hope to do in a million years. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be so good at reading people, you really are oblivious.”

“You said that already. You’ve been hanging out with Kuroo too much. Do you even know what oblivious means?” Tendo asked, his voice lighter than it had been all night. It suddenly felt like his dark world had exploded with light and color, returning to him his happiness.

“No, but did I use it right?” Bokuto asked, leaning forward and it was like a switch flipped and all three of you were laughing, pure and unadulterated, until tears streamed down your cheeks and you had to stop for fear that you’d die because you couldn’t breathe.

You had ended up with your head in Bokuto’s lap as you wiped your tears away, Tendo having fallen down to lay his on your stomach while he took in wheezy breaths. Bokuto was the last to stop laughing, his arm tossed over his eyes while he gasped for air.

Carding your fingers through Tendo’s soft locks, you asked, “So does this mean you’ll stop going out with all these people that don’t know what they’ve got, Sato? I can’t stand seeing you hurting because of them. And all because you think you need to give me space. As if you’ve given me an ounce since we started dating.”

Tendou laughed lightly again, his eyes closing as he traced patterns into the skin of your stomach, exposed where your shirt had ridden up while you were rolling around.

I love you.

Mine.

My sunshine.

Those were just a few of the things he thought of you on a daily basis, the most prevalent in his mind when your face flashed in his mind-- which was a very frequent occurrence, if he was being honest. If Tendo didn’t think about you at least once every ten minutes, he considered his day wasted. Which doubled if he added Bokuto into the mix, and he did. Often.

You giggled, wiggling a little as it tickled, but he didn’t stop. In fact, he started to actually tickle you, pinning your hips down so you couldn’t get away.

Two more hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them away from where you were tugging at Tendo’s hair and smacking his arms and back, trying to get him to stop, and you wailed in despair. “This isn’t fair. Stop, stop please, I’m gonna--”

God if that begging didn’t sound awfully familiar. You sounded just like you did when he didn’t stop fucking you after you’d came.

Oops.

Tendo was the first to notice, his hand grazing over the hard tent in Bokuto’s shorts, and he stopped short to stare first at it then up at him. You didn’t notice that the tickling had stopped for a moment, stomach still tensed and ready for it to continue. When you finally opened your eyes, you found the two of them locked in a steady gaze and were confused by the sudden intensity.

“Can you blame me? Did you hear the sounds she was makin’? I mean, that was hot as fuck,” Bokuto said with a shrug and your cheeks flushed hot as you realized what he meant.

“Well it wasn’t my fault,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. You weren’t really upset and they both knew it, now grinning at each other. It wasn’t exactly what either of them thought would happen tonight but were either of them going to complain?

The hands that wrapped around your upper arms and tugged you up said no, and so did the hands that skimmed up your sides tickling as they pushed your shirt up. And what were you going to say, trapped between two of the most gorgeous men you could imagine? It was a literal dream come true-- you had dreamt about it on more than one occasion and woken up in a heated sweat. 

Tendo liked those nights, even if he didn’t know the reason behind it.

Lifting your arms above your head, you let Bokuto pull your shirt off over your head, leaving your breasts to Tendo’s heated lips wrapping around your nipple. A familiar hand cupped your other breast, pinching and rolling that nipple between rough and calloused fingers and you craned your neck back.

Bokuto instantly knew what you wanted, his lips colliding with yours and swallowing the little gasps that had been leaving your lips. He didn’t know what kind of lover Tendo was, but you had certainly never complained about him, and wondered how their styles would mix. 

Fingers wrapped around his, pulling his hand from your breast and he snatched it away, using it to cup your chin instead. The hand that had been on your hip, holding you steady, replaced the breast Tendou had just abandoned, occupying the wet, sensitive bud with his fingers. Your back was arched away from his chest, moaning into his mouth as he tasted you.

Tendou had engulfed your other nipple in his mouth, sucking and rolling it between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue as he rubbed your pussy outside the fabric of your shorts.

“No panties, huh, princess?” he asked, hot breath ghosting over your wet nipple and making you shiver. The shorts hid none of the wetness you were leaking, the smooth fabric feeling rough against your clit and you trembled as Bokuto’s breath hit your ear.

“Were you plannin’ to have your way with me tonight, kitten? Thought I’d fuck this pretty pussy before Satori came home?” he whispered, nipping the shell sharply while he pinched your nipple. 

You jerked in his hold when Tendo kissed the soft flesh of your inner thighs, not even realizing he’d gotten down there until you felt his teeth. He nuzzled the area now sporting a red mark, taking in the smell of your coconut body wash, hands sliding up over your hips and hooking in the waistband of your shorts. When they were off, he gave you just one long, slow lick up your slick folds before he pulled back.

“Get on your knees, princess,” he commanded as he shed his own shirt, lanky torso flexing and stretching as he pulled it over his head. While you followed his order, he and Bokuto undressed, shedding clothes and dropping them right next to the couch.

You inhaled sharply through your nose when Bokuto settled back down behind you, the hard length of his cock poking between your legs, grazing your wet outer lips. His hands roamed over your torso, taking a handful of your tits and squeezing your hips until Tendo settled in front of you, and for the first time they paused, looking at each other over your shoulder.

Bokuto reacted first, beckoning to Tendo with his finger, who leaned closer to your shoulder. You automatically shifted out of the way, hands coming to rest on his arm and chest to balance yourself.

The first kiss was hesitant and soft, testing the water to see if it was what they wanted. It was, Tendo’s chapped lips parting to glide across Bokuto’s soft ones-- the result of religious use of chapstick. He responded instantly, tongue poking out to meet Tendo’s and you could feel the reaction in the way they squeezed you tighter, until one of Tendo’s hands left, carding his fingers through Bokuto’s limp grey locks.

The taste of ice cream lingered on their tongues when they pulled apart, pupils blown wide with a newfound lust for each other, wide eyes locked. Definitely new territory, as Tendo had never managed to snag a date with another man before.

Not that he had tried particularly hard-- he just didn’t try to date anyone, until you.

And now here he was, making out with Bokuto of all people. Wild.

Bokuto was the first to turn his attention back to you, distracted by the way your hips moved, gliding your slick folds along his cock. He sighed into your neck, kissing and licking the juncture of your shoulder as he began to rock his to meet yours, applying more pressure to your clit.

Your little hitched gasps and pants were music to their ears, Bokuto whispering against your skin, “You’re so wet for us, kitten. Did that turn you on? You’re dripping all over my cock.”

“How do we want her?” Tendo asked, sliding his cock in beside Bokuto’s, and you shivered as they talked about what they wanted to do to you.

“I don’t know about you, but I wanna take this pretty ass. How does that sound, beautiful?” he asked low into your ear. His tongue flicked out, tracing the shell of your ear and sparks flew down your spine.

Tendo smirked when your lips parted, looking up at him with wide eyes. Leaning over you, he grazed his lips over yours, laughing in his throat at the way you followed after him, seeking more. “You gotta tell him what you want, princess. Is that okay with you?”

You nodded, a low whine leaving your lips. “Yes, Ko, please that sounds so good.”

The slow movements over your slit stopped, the heat of his cock receding to be replaced with long, lithe fingers, and you instantly recognized them as Tendo’s. “And how does it sound if I fuck this pretty pussy, princess? You want both of us inside you at once?”

Once again you nodded, fingers tightening and nails digging into Tendo’s upper arm as his fingers probed inside of you, stretching your walls around two at once. You were already so wet you didn’t even flinch, moaning his name as Bokuto’s warmth disappeared from your back.

Heavy footsteps receded, barely noticed in your pleasured state, but Tendo watched over your shoulder as he stomped, proudly naked, down the hall into the bedroom. There was some rustling, like he was rifling through something, before he appeared again, bottle in hand.

Tendo knew it was there, but wasn’t something he’d bought nor used very often. But when he found it one day and asked, he’d hardened instantly when you told him Bokuto was more of an ass man than a pussy man. The filthy way you said that had led to several rounds in bed, during which he found out just why Bokuto liked it so much.

The snap of the plastic cap fell on deaf ears as Tendo continued to plunge his fingers into your tight heat, thumb circling over your clit with every thrust. You were practically dripping down his wrist and he knew when Bokuto had started by the way you clenched down on his fingers, a surprised gasp leaving your lips.

Behind you, Bokuto pressed his slicked up finger to your tight entrance, circling and massaging until you were wet enough to slide into. You squeezed down around him, a small, needy whine filling his ears while you fell forward into Tendou’s chest. Your fingernails bit into his skin, leaving angry crescent marks and you tried to focus on the feel of three fingers pumping in and out of you, gathering up your slick wetness and stretching you open. 

A second finger pressed into your ass, scissoring just enough to feel mindblowing, while a third slid into your pussy and just thinking about how many fingers were fucking you was enough to send thrills of pleasure to your toes.

“God, princess, you look so beautiful,” Tendo whispered, his eyes narrowed as he watched your lips part and your skin turn pink. Each moan made his cock throb, dripping precum and aching to be inside you, but he would wait until Bokuto was ready. All he could think about was the whines and moans you would give them as they both filled you up at the same time, fluttering around them with no way to escape. Not that you would try-- you were practically begging them already, your pretty lips open and shiny as you licked them.

He leaned over to kiss you, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth and nipping, eliciting another moan from you.

Or maybe it was Bokuto that did that, a third slicked up finger probing into you, intensifying the stretch as he opened your ass up to be able to take his cock. He knew exactly how much you needed, how much you could take, and he couldn’t wait until you were ready to swallow him up. He could feel Tendo’s fingers bumping against his as they thrust inside of you in tandem, the sounds of your slick pussy and ass making his mouth water.

The pads of Tendo’s fingers were rough, brushing against the soft spot inside of you in time with your clit and you could steadily feel your orgasm closing in, moaning into his mouth as your nails dug into his shoulder. It was one thing to cum around a toy while Bokuto fucked your ass-- it was quite another to cum around his fingers while Tendou fingered your cunt and you tricked yourself into your orgasm with the thought, crying and whining against his lips while your thighs trembled with the urge to snap closed. Your hips rocked, unable to escape their assault, Bokuto spreading his fingers more before easing them out of you.

They were replaced with the head of his dripping cock, throbbing with need and more than ready to feel you wrapped around him.

Tendo followed suit, lining himself up with your dripping hole, dragging his tip up and down your sensitive slit and feeling you quiver. He smirked down at you, vermillion eyes half lidded in amused pleasure, and took in your blissed out, blank expression.

The snap of the lube bottle caught his attention again, followed by the sounds of Bokuto fucking his own hand, lubing his cock up.  He wiped his fingers off on his shirt, mindless of the fact that he’d need to wear it later.

While you waited, Tendo decided to make use of your mouth. Sliding the fingers still covered in your essence between your parted lips, he commanded, “Suck.”

Your plump lips immediately wrapped around them, tongue laving and teeth grazing the pad, staring up at him with the widest, most innocent expression you could manage. He could see right through it.

“You ready, kitten? I can’t wait anymore. Need to feel you,” Bokuto said, a low groan riding in his throat as he nudged his tip into you, just waiting for you to give the okay, and Tendo slid his fingers from between your lips.

“Ko, fuck yes. Give me your cock,” you moaned, reaching back to tangle your fingers in his hair. 

His lips parted against your shoulder, a shaky breath of air puffing over your skin as he followed your command. You trembled and moaned in his hold as he slid into you, his cock stretching you further still even after all the prepping he did with his fingers. Your ass offered little resistance, giving into his throbbing cock and you whined, toes curling in pleasure until he was seated deep inside you.

Tendou gave you one warning nudge before he pushed inside your slick cunt, splitting your pussy open with a wet noise and a groan, your walls fluttering uselessly around him. Your eyes rolled back, thoughts nonexistent beyond Ohfuckohfuckohfuck, until his hips met yours and stilled.d

Both men’s breathing was erratic, fingers white knuckled on your hips and sides, squeezing tight enough that they were going to leave marks come the morning, not that any of you cared. All you could focus on was the incredibly full feeling, their cocks twitching every time you fluttered around them.

Bokuto released another stuttery moan, the first to thrust slowly in and out of you, testing to make sure you could take it. When all you did was moan, tugging his hair and arching your back into Tendo, he cursed, rough hands sliding up over your ribs and cupping your tits. Your hips stuttered when he pinched your nipples, keening in the back of your throat. “What a slut, taking us so easily like this. How do we feel, kitten? You’re so tight, squeezing around me. Gonna cum in this pretty ass tonight.”

You couldn’t think of a coherent response, whimpering out only a raspy, “So good, so big, feels so good, Ko.”

Tendo tentatively rolled his hips as well, watching your eyes flutter and roll, lips parting as you cried out, both of them stuffing themselves inside you at the same time. The only thing you could do was hold on, your head tilted back on Bokuto’s shoulder as they picked up their erratic pace, not setting a solid one and you couldn’t figure out if they were doing it on purpose or not, but it was working. Sometimes they were both buried deep inside of you, sometimes they synced up so that only one of them was in you at a time, but they kept a tight hold on your tits and hips, keeping you from taking control.

The sloppy sounds of their thrusts into your wet holes overshadowed the movie still playing in the background, only getting louder the faster they pounded into you. Tendo bucked up, grinding deep into you, the coarse curls at the base of his shaft tickling your clit while the head of his cock kissed your cervix, and a sharp jolt of pleasure careened through you.

Both reacted, hard cocks jerking inside of you, and Tendo repeated the motion on the next thrust and you called his name like a plea, nails dragging down the back of his neck. A string of babbles left your lips, their names mixed with cries for more, harder, deeper. They gave you as much as they could, cocks slamming in and out of you as fast as their muscles would allow, the wet slap of their hips against yours a constant sound on top of the ones leaving your lips.

Abandoning your breast, one of Bokuto’s hands slid down, grazing Tendo’s flexing abs to cup your clit, rubbing rough circles around it and you flinched, the already intense pleasure overwhelming.

You came around them with no other warning than a sharp cry, surprising them and they hilted inside you at the same time, turning your cry into a scream, back taut and eyes clenched tightly closed. White flooded your brain, vaguely aware of the hearted moans in your ears as they came, warmth filling you, and their stiff cocks throbbing inside of you.

For a moment afterwards, none of you moved, too focused on the rapid pace of your heart and your erratic breathing. Sweat covered your skin, covering the lovebites and scratch marks you had each left behind on each other. Bokuto’s face was hidden in your shoulder, his chest heaving against your back with uneven breaths, and Tendou’s forehead rested on yours, eyes closed as he too fought to regain his breath.

Bokuto was the first to speak, a broken and huffy, “Wow*.”

You laughed, lacing your fingers between his and squeezing. “Wow is not enough to describe that. You need to expand your vocabulary.”

Tendo huffed at your antics, his sweet breath fanning across your face as he said, “That was absolutely min dblowing. Exquisite. Fantastic. Do any of those work?”

“Much better,” you answered, and almost fell back as Bokuto stood up off the couch. Your legs were too wobbly to hold yourself up properly, and his hand on your back guided you to sit down. You could feel the mess seeping from between your legs and cringed at the idea of getting it all over the couch. Looking up to Bokuto, you said, “I need to go to the bathroom and clean up. Um, help?”

With a laugh, he pulled you up by the hand and lifted you into his arms, carrying you down the hall to the bathroom. You could hear Tendo cackling from the couch at your annoyed whining, smacking Bokuto’s hard muscles. Not that you were really upset, it was just embarrassing that your legs literally refused to work.

After a session in which you got a bit dirtier before you got clean, you were bundled up on the couch again, splayed out over Bokuto’s broad chest while Tendo was squeezed in behind you. His arm was draped over your side, idly tracing patterns into Bokuto’s skin-- as he had neglected to put on a shirt-- his head resting on his shoulder.

You had foregone the previous movie and moved onto The Grudge, the melted ice cream thrown back into the freezer in hopes of salvaging it. Tendo was gonna be pissed if it wasn’t. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, half-listening to Bokuto and Tendo’s quiet conversation over your head.

“So, we were gonna go to Tokyo for break. Kuroo and Kenma are going for a gaming convention and invited us along. Akaashi is going too. I know you said you didn’t want to come, but maybe that’s changed?” Bokuto asked, his fingers petting over your wet hair. In the glare from the TV, he could see the insecurity return to Tendo’s eyes, though he tried not to show it. 

“Are you sure? I wasn’t gonna go because I was trying to give the two of you--”

The steady rhythm over your hair stopped and your eyes fluttered open for a moment, locking onto the TV. The Grudge was in the corner, staring down at the old woman, making that awful noise, and you shut them again, trying to block out the sound with your partners’ voices.

Bokuto had covered Tendo’s mouth with his hand, cutting him short before he could finish saying “space.”

“It’s the three of us now, if you want it to be. And yes, we want you to go. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. You need to stop being so hard on yourself, Sa-toh-ri,” he said, repeating the name the way Tendou had so many times on the court.

He hadn’t realized Bokuto was listening to him that closely and flushed with warmth. 

“Alright, sure. It sounds like fun. Do you know what they’re doing?”

The sounds of the TV and their voices faded, a smile adorning your face as you fell asleep to the knowledge that Tendo had finally realized he was good enough, if only for the right people. It was all you had wanted for him, and if Bokuto was the one to help him figure that out, it was all the better.

⇥  masterlist 

⇥ taglist: @lyovochkaa​ @kunimwuah​

[dastardlydandelion]

medium luci

ao3 link

content warnings: homophobia, comphet, child abuse, abusive relationships

It’s rare that Susan and Neil have the same weekday off. Neil typically works five days a week and she three or four, depending who’s on staff, being that she’s only part-time. But he’d had a dentist appointment midmorning so he’d taken today off and decided to make his hours up by volunteering for a double next week.

Susan doesn’t typically care to spend any extra time alone with her husband. They have so little to talk about these days, now that he doesn’t try to butter her up or feed her honey sweet lies as much as he used to. Now that Neil doesn’t care to talk much at all unless ranting or complaining about the various things he doesn’t like, his son’s style of dress, women who sit with their legs open, cab drivers who don’t speak English. Susan doesn’t even remember the last time Neil had to take a cab but he has strong opinions on them nonetheless, and the list goes on and on.

He thankfully hasn’t done much of that today, however. He’d parked himself in front of the television after coming home from his appointment and simply nodded when Susan announced she was going out to garden. She only comes inside when she hears the phone ring and by the time she’s walking up the back steps, Neil’s already answered it.

She watches his expression change as he converses with whomever’s on the other end, nervousness fluttering in her chest as his eyes widen, then harden.

“I’ll be right there,” Neil concludes as he hangs up, turning those hard eyes onto Susan. “That was the school.”

“Oh dear…what’s Billy done this time?”

“Not Billy.” Neil shakes his head and Susan’s heart drops with the realization her husband isn’t just irritated but seething, knuckles blanched as his hands ball into tight fists. “Maxine. Did you know the Sinclairs have a girl around her age?”

“N-No, I didn’t. I’m not very familiar with them, Neil.” Susan never had much luck getting close to anyone anymore, not in the least because of Neil himself.

“Apparently Maxine is,” he declares icily. “A teacher caught her and the Sinclair girl fornicating under the bleachers.”

Susan’s heart turns to stone and sinks into her stomach.

No.

Please, no.

Neil has very strong opinions about sexuality in general and homosexual conduct in particular, and Susan can practically feel the outrage radiating from him. It crackles in the air like the promise of a lightning storm. Neil’s fists are still clenched and his posture goes taut like it always does before he explodes.

“W-Well,” Susan begins, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

She hates herself for what she is going to say. She says it anyway.

“Well, you know where she learned that kind of b-behavior from, don’t you?”

Because if Neil is going to explode, Susan can’t stop him. But she hopes she can at least encourage the worst of it away from Max. She watches Neil’s eyes flicker and knows they’re both remembering the day they came home early from the short vacation they’d taken for their fifth anniversary, a girl and a boy sneaking out of Billy’s bedroom window, neither particularly clothed. She watches the angry bulge of the vein pulsing in his neck and knows they’re both thinking of that short young fellow with the skateboard who worked at the used car lot during the day and spent his time with Billy during the night.

“Yes, I know exactly where she learned it from. I’m picking both of them up and we’re all going to have a family discussion.”

“I should come with you.”

“No.” Neil holds up his hand. “Stay here, Susan. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Neil has gun powder in his gaze and she dares not argue. She lowers her head and steps aside when he walks past to fetch the truck keys from the hook. He stomps down the steps and slams the backdoor shut behind him.

Susan watches through the window as he gets into the truck and pulls out of the driveway, feeling dreadfully ill. She doesn’t mean what she’d said, of course. There are a number of behaviors that Max has picked up from Billy, but that isn’t one of them. If anyone is to blame, Susan supposes it’s herself for passing it along intrinsically.

She has her own secret desires locked away within the chambers of her heart. Desire she dares not confront for her own sanity, for her own safety. She’s never acted on her wants, always chose to play private games of hide and seek with them in her head instead, those insidiously innocent wishes of hers. Never spoken aloud let alone pursued those urges that flush hot beneath her skin when she finds her eyes drawn to other women’s lips, hips, breasts.  

Susan gave it to Max and unlike her, Max is brash and bold and brave. God save her, Max does what she wants to do and doesn’t care what other people think. Susan would admire her for it if it didn’t scare her to death.

Because Neil does care what other people think. He cares very much. And Susan’s seen him annoyed with Max in the past. She’s seen him frustrated with Max, displeased, exasperated. But never has she seen the silent stirring of a reign of rage to come where Max is concerned, never has she known that particular look in Neil’s eye to be directed Max’s way. She can only hope—

Oh, it’s such a despicable thing to hope for. Susan has poison in her soul, she swears she must. But Billy isn’t remotely hers and Max very much is.

* * * 

Susan doesn’t know if it was actually her remark that spurred Neil to turn the blame on Billy or if this was the conclusion he would’ve come to anyway. Neil often blames Max’s mishaps and mischiefs on Billy. Billy being the older sibling meant to lead by example. Billy being the older brother, meant to keep his younger sister out of trouble to begin with.

Her remark or Neil’s default thought process, in any case, it’s Billy he’s glaring at in the living room. Angrily dictates that Billy take off his shirt, belt in hand. Susan grabs a very pale Max’s shoulders and begins to usher her down the hall.

“Where are you taking Maxine?”

Susan freezes, mouth going dry.

Neil’s looking their way now, brow arched, stern and skeptical.

“I-I—“

“She isn’t going to learn if she doesn’t watch, Susan,” he declares with no room for argument. “Bring her back.”

Susan swallows, hands tightening on Max’s shoulders. Something dies inside her when she turns her daughter around. She buries it silently as she’s buried so many other pieces before and avoids Max’s eyes boring into her as she marches her back to the living room. Neil motions for them to sit on the couch, sunlight glinting off the metal buckle. Billy doesn’t bother to disguise his disdain, glaring murder, nostrils flaring like an ornery bovine. Susan suspects he’ll pay for this too.

“Your behavior today was beyond inappropriate, Maxine,” Neil tells her coldly. “Unnatural, disgusting, absolutely unacceptable.”

Max squirms next to Susan, hands tucking under her thighs. She is stone faced but this close, Susan can feel her shaking.

“Now, I know it’s not all your fault. Big Brother here’s taught you—“

“I didn’t teach her shit!” Billy cuts him off, sharp and acidic. “I told her to steer clear from Sinclair, this isn’t on me!”

Neil punches his son in the stomach with all the affect of swatting a fly, once, twice. Susan flinches. Billy’s gasping, breath knocked out of him. He staggers and Neil viciously shoves him to the floor.

“She saw you with that faggot’s tongue down your throat, don’t think I don’t know! I know you, I know the kind of shit you think you can get away with behind my back!” Neil roars like thunder. “Well, now it’s my turn to teach her a thing or two! Pay attention, Maxine!”

Max stiffens beside her. She opens her mouth to protest and Susan grabs her arm, sinking her nails in. Startled, Max's eyes dart to her. Susan gives a tiny shake of the head, urging her not to speak. Max bends her elbow like a chicken wing and jerks her arm out of Susan’s grasp. Ire flares in her gaze but she holds her tongue. She does not challenge Neil as he begins beating Billy with the belt.

Susan can’t watch. She lowers her eyes to the floor. She can see the movement in the shadows, Neil’s rapid whipping of the improvised weapon and Billy’s form jolting with the blows. Susan shuts her eyes to the shadows but she can still hear it, thick, hard leather striking bare flesh.

“Don’t turn away, Maxine,” Neil barks at some point between the sounds of violence.

Billy doesn’t cry out. Eventually it’s over. Susan raises her head and cannot bear more than a glance at her stepson braced on his hands and knee. The belt now rests at Neil’s side and still, her stomach is churning.

“If there is ever a repeat of the conduct you displayed today, there will be consequences. Is that understood, Maxine?”

Max looks to Susan. Her eyes are wavering. Then they glean whatever it is they were searching for from Susan’s and harden.

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Yes, what?”

Max clears her throat.

“Yes, sir,” she corrects, louder and clearer.

“Both of you to your rooms,” he commands. “I want both of you to reflect on your actions until it’s time for dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy answers this time, climbing to his feet in the corner of Susan’s eye. She remains on the couch as her daughter rises and plods down the hall, cheeks as red as the cherry atop a sundae. Flushed as red as the welts on Billy’s back that have Susan’s stomach in ropes even though she only spares a brief glance.

Neil sets the belt aside and plops down in his armchair. “Can you get me a beer, Susan?”

She nods and rises, quietly fetching one. Pops the tab and then passes it to him before she excuses herself. In times like this, Susan wants to leave more than anything. She wants to grab Max and take her far, far away. But she can’t imagine they would get anywhere, truly.

Neil controls the finances. Susan makes less money than he does and every cent she does earn inevitably winds up under Neil’s attentive purview. In a distant, ostensible kind of way Susan understands there are shelters for women in her situation. Shelters out there, somewhere…aren’t there? For her situation?

Neil hasn’t actually put his hands on her. Not yet. Not like what he just did to Billy. Hasn’t actually done so to Max, although the threat of that unfolded in the living room in a way that could not be more crystal clear. The threat alone feels like a fist to Susan, invisible fist clenched tight around her insides and squeezing so hard she's nauseous.  

Is the threat enough? Would Susan and Max be accepted on the basis of threats alone?

Provided she could ever find such a place to begin with. Susan doesn’t have the faintest clue of where to look for what feels more like a nebulous fantasy of a sanctuary than a tangible reality. A shimmering oasis in the desert. Even if she were to locate such a place, what if it were at full capacity?

What if she and Max got turned away?

That would mean choosing between being homeless or going back to Neil. Going back to Neil after a failed escape would certainly mean him making good on all those threats of his, the ones verbal and non. The examples explicit in his words and implicit in his actions. Above all, any failed escape would certainly ensure there would be no second escape.

Susan isn’t going anywhere. And neither is Max. The very notion is abstract and distorted, floating just out of reach in a gaussian blur of a wish. Their home isn’t a good home. But it is the home they have and so, Susan will simply have to do her best to make sure Max never does anything like this again. That Max never does anything to get Neil’s attention like that, nothing to stoke the coals always smoldering in his choleric soul. That as painful as it's sure to be, Max learns to keep certain parts of herself under lock and key.

When dinner is in the oven and Neil is engrossed in his program, Susan slips off to Max’s bedroom. She knocks quietly and lets herself in. Her throat knots up at the tear tracks on her daughter’s cheeks, far more gutting than the way she bristles as Susan steps closer, the sheer hurt in her eyes.

“What do you want?”

The same things as you, Susan thinks irresistibly. And I’d go after them too, if I didn’t know better.

“I’m sorry, Max.”

Max huffs and turns away. “Whatever.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not. You’re just like Neil, you think I’m disgusting,” Max spits, hiking her legs up on the bed and hugging her knees to her chest. “You think Billy’s disgusting too, you couldn’t even look at him.”

“No, I don’t…oh, Max.” Susan swallows and lowers herself to a sit beside her on the bed, gently placing a hand on her knee. She swallows her heartbreak when Max’s eyes flash as though the touch scalds her. “Neil and I disagree about many things. This is one of them.”

“Then why didn’t you say that?” The blaze in Max’s eyes dies down, voice softening to cinders. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Oh, he’s so much bigger than me, Max.” Susan sags with familiar defeat. “And I— I don’t think it’s wrong, you and this girl.”

“Lucy.”

“I’m sure Lucy is lovely,” leaves Susan’s lips, this fragile whisper she dares not tempt fate to speak above. “I could never think that you’re disgusting. But I’m just me, Max, and Neil is bigger, and the world…the world too, is so much bigger than I am. You can’t— never, ever in public.”

Max’s eyes widen. Susan shifts on the bed and moves her hands, finds both of Max’s and squeezes tight.

“You cannot be open with feelings like that. You can’t take girls to your school dances, you can’t kiss them where other people could see.”

Max lets out an angry growl even as her eyes well up.

“It’s not fair!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“I know.” She knows, oh, she knows, she’s never not choking on it.

Max chews her lip, scarlet and fuming. Susan halfway expects her daughter to headbutt her or holler right in her ear until she deafens. But after a moment it’s almost as if Max can decode all the things she cannot say because her hands twist under Susan’s and intertwine their fingers.

[quagmiremarch]

The Lies We Tell to Find Our Truth 3/3

{This is SO late, but, well, life happens.} They planned the wedding for the spring, a glorious union between Duke Victor Nikiforov and Miss Mari Katsuki. Society felt it all a great scandal, such a high-born and eligible bachelor tied to a basic commoner. They’d have been far more scandalized had they known the whole truth of the matter.

It happened as such. Victor asked Mari how she felt about marriage, but his gaze lingered long on the lovely man that had taken his heart so swift and surely. “Gossip has run rather rampant about you since your encounter with the older Lord Bin. Insidious the whispers that will swirl about. It is said you are most vehement in your denial to ever take a husband. Some say it is because you perhaps already have a lover?”

The fierce scowl Miss Katsuki directed at Victor most certainly would have spooked lesser, or perhaps just wiser, men to apologies or at the least a modicum of self-preservation cloaked in silence. Victor never laid claim to wisdom, and he felt far too much at stake to surrender the field. So, he offered a slight smile and a tiny shrug as he continued, “It seems to me were that the case, that perhaps a wedding might lay to rest the talk. Certainly, I imagine it would cease need for you to attend balls or other such events.” He paused and sent a most salacious wink at Yuuri. “Or for your lovely brother to do so on your behalf, though it society’s loss should you take that option. He does look most beautiful on a gown.”

Yuuri sank, a most delightful candied apple red, into the cushions of the couch, seeming to wither and shrivel like paper too close to flame under the unimpressed eyes of his sister. Her expression remained angry only a scant moment before falling into resigned acceptance. “Of course you did,” she muttered, as if completing some conversation already begun even as no words were exchanged on the matter.

“I,” Yuuri sighed, “it seemed the best course of action at the time.”

Mari reached over and patted his hand with her own sigh. “Perhaps it was as I truly did not consider the implications of refusing that invitation. But, either way, here we are now.” She turned her attention to Victor. “And, I assume, as a concession for this marriage you wish, you will refrain from mentioning my brother’s attendance in my place? That is the offer you have come with?”

Victor gasped. “What? No. No!” He stood, propelled by his shock at her accusation before catching his breath and regaining his seat. “Of course, I will not speak of Yuuri’s actions, but I did not come here to blackmail you, Miss Katsuki. I simply thought we might find a way to be of use to one another. You see, I find that I am...uninterested in the charms of those women—of any woman, if I am most honest—that seek my hand. So, originally, as the rumors implied a similar disinclination for men on your part, I had hoped we would be able to come to accords.” He pauses and glances at Yuuri still hiding behind his hands on the couch. “Though, that was before I fully understood the situation.”

Mari blinked once, and then again, the gesture slow and almost languid. “I’m not ill disposed to men in general. I am simply rather entangled with a specific man who is unavailable for marriage.”

“Oh.” Victor considered. “Is he likely to become less indisposed in the future?”

“No.” Mari pulled Yuuri out of his slouch. “And you should stop cowering, brother dear. I have no desire to steal away the gentleman that caught your interest so intently.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide and shocked, a small whine coming from this throat as he ducked his head down. “I...I… Victor leaned over and gently took Yuuri’s hand. “I do hope she speaks of me, for I found myself rather besotted with the charming company I found myself in at the ball.”

“You...do?” Yuuri peaked up through lashes so long and lovely they took Victor’s breath away.

“I do.” He smiled as the words echoed in his mind, bringing him back to mind of the conversation, “which is why I think it would be a wonderful idea for your sister to become my bride.”

“What?” Both of the Katsuki siblings spoke in unison, Mari loud and gruff, Yuuri soft and confused.

“Yes,” Victor sat back, one fingertip tapping against his lower lip. “A shame though, that we were so enamored of one another as to rush into things without fully understanding our incompatibility in the end, not to mention her being barren. Such a short honeymoon period before she decided to take residence in my summer home to be closer to her family while I chose to stay at my main estate. A scandal, surely.”

Victor chuckled as the two others stared at him, a slow, sly grin taking over Mari’s face while Yuuri simply looked stunned.

“And my being barren,” Mari drawled the last word with a most unladylike snort of laughter, “is especially unfortunate given our common background, and that so little was gained in this union. How fortunate that we could at least offer my brother’s services as an attendant and household manager to offer some semblance of recompense for your losses.”

“Yes, most fortunate, especially as I will need send for my nephew, as he will inherit given my lack of heirs. He will need a tutor, and I am given to understand Mr. Katsuki has something of a reputation as a teacher.”

Mari laughed. “You certainly seem to have done your research into our family.” She took Yuuri’s hand and turned his head to look at him. “Do you want this, Yuuri? Do you want him? This agreement serves me well, but if it is not a thing that suits--” “Yes!” The words came out too loud and more than a tad breathless. “Please, yes.” Victor beamed, gaze resplendent and eyes bright as they lingered on every line of Yuuri’s flushed and smiling face. Mari watched them for a long moment before she stood, wiping her hands on the apron she wore. “Well, I suppose then we should go tell our parents there is to be a wedding.” She winked at the pair so caught up in each other neither even bothered to respond. “I will leave you two here to...work out what details matter between you.”

As soon as she left and turned from view of the sitting room, Victor pulled Yuuri into his arms. He never intended to let him go again.

[milktaru]

MAFIA AU! - Jaehyuk

Treasure’s Jaehyuk - “They don’t need to know” + “Why can’t I get you out of my head?” + “Do you want that?”

🖋 requested by @no1nas

Theme: mafia au!, it’s angsty but not super heart breaking, honestly i got carried away it’s kind of long (ooops)

Warnings: mentions of blood, weapons, violence, wall pining (but not smutty enough to be considered smut lol)

a/n: yes, it is a treasure mafia au. i saw the opportunity and I took it. sorry not sorry 

Fear is an insidious feeling. It starts nearly imperceptible; as it didn’t even exist. Then, it suddenly thrives until it feels tangible and maddening.  

The metallic pistol you are carrying on your left hand resonates with your fear. It is bitter, cold, and burning. If you try hard enough, you can taste the metal and despair on your tongue.

The dreadful feeling creeps on your fingertips, like a delicate but cunning touch. It crawls up your arms, spreading through your neck, your collarbones, finally arriving in your heart. It rushes into your atrium, diving deep in your soul as the last blow.

As you get closer to your target, the beautiful young man tied to the old wooden chair in your basement, the fear and you become one. The man squirms and tries to cry for help, but you are apathetic.

The fear is the predator, and you are his prey.  

Growing up as part of the reckless mafia, you always knew your destiny was arranged marriage.

There were a ton of families for your father to choose from. You could get settled with the son of the Kanemoto family, who had just assumed the head of the mafia after his father's passing.  Or, it could be with the son of the So family; although your father always referred to him as the “too shy and scared boy”. Even worse, your father might prefer the son of the Takata family. You hated this option because their son was too loud and boisterous for your liking.  

Well, if the decision were up to you, you would definitely prefer the Yoon family.

Your parents were friendly with the Yoon family, and you had spent your childhood playing tag and hide and seek with the only two sons of the Yoon mafia: Jaehyuk and his older brother.

You appreciated both of the Yoon’s prodigies. They were pleasant, sympathetic, and treated you with much respect. It is true; however, that you were closer to Jaehyuk; in age and in personality. Jaehyuk’s older brother was equally nice, but he was three years older than you and a little bit more reserved and nonchalant.

The contrast between the two brothers got even more discernible in your teenage years. You and Jaehyuk loved to talk about your dreams: traveling the world, stargazing at the highest peak of Earth (so you could touch the stars!), and rescuing abandoned cats. Jaehyuk’s older brother, on the other hand, was too busy with the role of Mafia’s successor and had no desire to daydream.

Metaphorically, his older brother was a fighter, whereas you and Jaehyuk were more of the lovers type.

On your 17th birthday, you realized that maybe Jaehyuk was more than just a childhood friend. He could also be your real lover.

The sound of loud voices competing for dominance, glass and bottles clinking, and nicotine smell was making you dizzy. After one night of standing still on your high heels and serving as the mafia new toy, you earned to take off your tight and impractical dress and take a nap till the end of the week.  

“She’ll grow up to be a fine woman.” You heard one of the capos of the Grazzi family saying.

“And a great wife too,” his henchmen said while opening one more bottle of alcohol.

Oh, god. It was disgusting. You wanted to roll your eyes at those types of comments. Heck, you wanted to scream and cry and even throw some punches. However, you knew better than to make a scene. The last thing you wanted was to piss off your vicious father.

Glancing sideways to your mother, absorbed in a deep conversation with another lady, you were ready to apologize and go back to your room. You stopped mid-action when you heard Jaehyuk calling you from the back of the ballroom.  His silhouette barely showing, covered by the deep shadows that the blue lightening in the room provided.

You sneaked towards him, hoping no one would notice your escapade from the humiliating social gathering.

“You’re beautiful tonight" -  he greeted you, taking your right hand and caressing it slowly with his thumb - “ you always are.”

You answered him with a faint smile. You wish you could say more, but the birthday party made you exhausted.

As if he read your mind, Jaehyuk made you an offer, “Would this dazzling lady do me the honor of getting the hell out of this place?”

You chuckled, nodding while looking around you. Happily, no one appeared to be paying attention to your little agreement. You let Jaehyuk guide you towards the empty and dark gardens outside the ballroom.

As you got there, you both got lost in comfortable silence, gazing at the night sky and enjoying each other’s company. Jaehyuk’s smooth skin glowed with the moonlight. Although he was a member of the mafia, to you he would always be your enchanted prince, ready to rescue you.

Bravely, Jaehyuk broke the quietness by holding your face between his hands.

“I’ve been thinking about our childhood these days, all the things we’ve done together, and how much we've grown up “- he stammered, searching your eyes for some form of reassurance - “To be honest, I've been thinking a lot about you these days.”

He swallowed hard, letting his stare run from your eyes to your plump lips, “Why can’t I get you out of my head?”

At his confession, your heart beat harder inside your ribcage as it desired to slip out and run away. At that moment, you understood that if you could not achieve freedom in your life, at least you would allow your heart to be free.

And you knew what your heart craved: the handsome, young, and brave man in front of you, still waiting for an answer. So, you came closer to him and lightly tiptoed, reaching for his lips. 

On your 17th birthday, Jaehyuk gifted you your first kiss.

After that day, all of your other firsts would be with him too. And, just like he had experienced, you would never be able to get the thought of him out of your head.

When you completed twenty springs, your father announced it was time for you to get married. According to him, there was no sense in wasting money with a daughter if she was going to stay at home and be as useless as rotting fruit.  

Leaving your home was not your worst nightmare. When you were with your family, this was exactly how you felt: like rancid, decaying fruit. Not much could be worse than having to put up with your authoritative and sexist father every day.  

As you got closer to your secretive fiancé's home, you started to squirm nervously in your car seat. However, all the nervousness left your body when you finally arrived. You knew the facade of the house; you recognized  the gardens on the front because you spent your childhood playing there.

It was the Yoon mansion.

Yes, it was a logical and somewhat predictable choice: your families were already close, and your marriage with Jaehyuk would strengthen the bond. 

You entered the huge house peacefully. It seemed like a dream to be able to marry the man you loved.

Each stride you took towards the dining room felt like a step closer to freedom. You elegantly took your seat at the dining table, observing Mrs. Yoon’s immaculate porcelain plates and intricate table cloth.

When your eyes finally found Jaehyuk, his face was not that of a man about to marry his beloved.  His eyes were wide, his skin pale as he had just taken a fright. His whole body expression screamed despair.

You tried to understand what was going on. Why was Jaehyuk not happy? Did he not love you?

Jaehyuk was fidgety, his body faintly curved towards the exit. He wouldn’t stop peering at you, almost as he wished to send you a message.

 Mr. Yoon cut your line of thought, standing up proudly and lifting his cup filled with the most expensive drink of his collection, “I would like to propose a toast to our crucial alliance with the YLN family.”

You felt your father lifting his cup from your left side, beaming with equal pride.

Mr. Yoon continued his toast with a loud, commanding voice, “And, of course, let us toast to Y/N’s marriage with our oldest son.”

You once read in a book that there are moments in life in which time stops. But you had never experienced it.

That's it, until that announcement.

You lifted your cup robotically, and equally as roboticaly you got through the rest of the meal. You never once took your focus out of your plate because if you did and met Jaehyuk’s stare, you knew you would break.

Run.

Run.

Run.

You complied with the only command in your head. After taking a bathroom break before dessert, running was what you did. It seemed there was nothing else to be done other than succumb to your most primal wishes. 

Your legs hurt, your breathing was shallow, and you had no idea on what floor or corridor of the enormous Yoon mansion you were. You just knew you felt the need to run as your life depended on it. 

Not even a meal had passed after you lost Jaehyuk and your chance to be happy, but your heart already felt ripped into shreds.

Too stuck in your deranged mind, you failed to notice someone grabbing your arm and pulling you into a small room. Your captor’s hand was cold, and you tried your best no to scream and let your father discover you were not in the bathroom as you promised. 

At the same time, it was agonizing and soothing to recognize that the cold hand holding your arm belonged to Jaehyuk. Looking at your prince, you felt the strong urge to cry. 

How could life be so unfair and cruel? How could it torture your soul so mindlessly? Maybe the universe was laughing at you both. Maybe, it was the star’s plan all this time - gifting you with consuming love, letting it bloom inside your hearts, and then plucking it as if it was weed in a farm field. 

“Baby, ” Jaehyuk gasped in between passionate and messy kisses he placed on your lips. “it’s okay. We won’t let them separate us.”

He’s too desperate to care about your surroundings. You trip on the carpet, hitting your back with a loud thud on the cold wall. Jaehyuk pins you to the wall, not wanting to separate your bodies. 

“They don’t need to know,” he murmurs.  

Like every terrible plan ever made, at that moment that idea seemed great.

It took two short months for Jaehyuk’s older brother to discover that the glances shared between you and his brother weren’t only out of cordiality. 

He was mad, of course. But, not hurt. 

Honestly, he couldn’t care less about you. He didn’t mind if you did not like him. Also, he didn’t mind that you refused to sleep with him on your honeymoon on the Yoon’s family country house. He could search for sexual pleasure in other places. Anyways, you weren’t even his type.

However, what made his blood boil was the fact that his younger brother had the petulance of stealing something from him. That was unforgivable.

Ever since childhood, he was meant to be the best, the successor of the family. He should have the best toys, the best devices, the best clothes, education, and grades. He was to be on top, and his younger brother (that fool!) could content himself with the second place. 

In his family, there would be no sharing. Never.

Little did Jaehyuk’s older brother knew, he committed his worst mistake when he decided to knock on your and Jaehyuk’s hideaway door. Holding pictures of your most intimate moments in his dirty and jealous hands, demanding you to stop your affair at that moment. Or else, he would tell the whole Family about your filthy secret.  

It is true, supposedly you and Jaehyuk were not the type to clash or engage in conflict. You were not fighters but lovers. 

Lovers - in all the meanings of the world. 

And love is a dangerous creature because when cornered and nudged, it feels threatened. Threatened love transforms itself in raw panic. And this panic, so ready to fight for its survival, converts into fear. 

And fear does not forgive.

“Do you want that?”

Jaehyuk reaches toward you with his left hand, touching your index finger, already settled in the trigger. His other hand holds his brother's head roughly. Jaehyuk wants to end this fast since he cannot take his brother squirming and struggling against the chains holding him in the chair anymore.

Although he would have pulled the trigger the moment you both carried his brother to the country’s house basement, he did not want you to regret a decision that could stain you forever.

He was patient, for you, and only you.

“Once you pull it, there is no turning back.” He analyzes your glossy, terrified eyes. “After this, we will probably have to run away.”

You are scared, yes. And you are also shaking, yes. But you couldn’t care less about the consequences of your actions anymore. You just want to be free and live the rest of your life with the man you truly love.

You can feel the heat of Jaehyuk’s hand creeping on your fingertips, like a delicate but cunning touch. It crawls up your arms, spreading through your neck, your collarbones, finally arriving in your heart. It rushes into your atrium, diving deep in your soul as the last blow.

Yes, you are love itself. And you are the fear.

Together, you and Jaehyuk pull the trigger. The bullet draws one straight and fixed-line, ripping through the man's glabella.

You do not need to look twice – he is dead and the chair holds now a souless body.

There is blood splattered everywhere – in the basement's ground, in your clothes, in Jaehyuk’s hands.

It is going to stain, but you do not give a fuck. The fighter is dead.

And the lovers are finally free.

[mythicamagic]

Yo! If you're still doing the sesskag kiss prompts, can I ask for 17 or 23? Thanks! 😊

17: a kiss on the underside of the jaw.

----

He was a fool.

Sesshoumaru readily admitted this to himself at the cost of his pride. He truly was a fool.

Insidiously, the miko had wormed her way into every orifice of his mind despite every line of steel defence. There was no place where he was safe from her now.

Therefore, when she was away from him for a week- a cold, quiet week at that- but then proceeded to extend her absence longer, Sesshoumaru found himself stoically grim-faced and silent. Troublesome thoughts niggled consistently, worsening the longer her return delayed. But he was not sulking. Absolutely not. Nor brooding.

"Mi lord! Gah! I have found you at last!"

Well if she thought he was going to travel all the way to her, Kagome had another thing coming. He was not her faithful lapdog.

"Lord Sesshooooumaruuu?"

Yes, he was going to wait right there, sitting at the base of a tree. And he'd stew. Unless of course this mildly irritating green blob kept annoyingly darting up and down in front of his relaxed vision. Sesshoumaru lunged for it.

"Ach! Amn… Goof mornith' milord!" Jakem choked.

Sesshoumaru blinked and released him. "So it was you. Why have you come, Jaken?"

"There was no pressing matter exactly, sire. It's just that your mother...well she made some very rude remarks at your expense. I thought I should come here and get the story from you concerning why you haven't been at the Western Stronghold too much lately. Then I can set her straight!"

Golden eyes narrowed. "You presume to interrogate me?"

"NEVER MI LORD!"

"Inside voices, Jaken," he muttered flatly.

"Oh, forgive me," the kappa bowed. "Naturally you don't have to explain yourself, but what should I tell her in your absence?"

Sesshoumaru trailed his attention back to the cave he was sitting not too far away from. He refused to sit within it and pine. He'd been rather busy patrolling all week. He couldn't help it if his feet led him back to their spot at the end of the day, resulting in a haphazard attempt at watching over his territory.

"Tell her that what she suspects about my involvement with the woman is true," Sesshoumaru said calmly. Jaken started choking without any help from him now. "However, none may speak ill of the miko. That includes Mother."

"S-sire… I didn't want to believe it from the gossiping kappa demons, but did you really…"

Golden eyes slid shut.

"R-right, I'll keep my mouth shut. Well then, I shall relay your message at once!"

Watching him faithfully waddle away, something compelled Sesshoumaru to speak up. "Jaken."

"Yes sir?" he stopped.

"... This current arrangement will likely not last much longer," he uttered softly. "You may relay that too."

Jaken's cheeks glowed as he seemed pleased- so Sesshoumaru pelted him with a rock.

How irritating that the concept should bother him. However, he had the sinking feeling that Kagome would outgrow the need for him soon. Directing ageless attention to high branches where sunlight filtered through, Sesshoumaru took in a long breath. Sharp claws twitched.

He wondered what he'd do when she inevitably called for their little arrangement to end. Would he accept it with grace and dignity? Or would he lapse into old habits and become something jealous, dark and obsessive? Would he covet her- steal the miko away for himself despite her protests?

She likely thought that little encounter in the carriage had been a passing fancy on his end. Better she think that- than know he'd been watching her for some time. Sesshoumaru couldn't say when it had started- he'd merely been taking more notice of her.

And then he'd been trapped within Kagome's barrier.

It had happened about a month after her return to the past. Sesshoumaru had been minding his own business, walking through the forest with the intent to visit Rin, when he'd sensed a barrier be erected. It spread over a large distance in a dome shape, glowing bright pink.

Sesshoumaru had reached out to touch it- only to hiss and feel his own power stir, recognising how it potentially matched his own in strength. Then he'd heard a shout, and noticed the miko.

Kagome was fighting- alone no less. She launched arrows into lunging youkai and raced through the trees, not even noticing him. Something had piqued his interest, and he'd observed her the remainder of the fight as a hoard of demons kept coming.

When it was down to the last two oni demons- Kagome, bloodied and panting- had snapped and ordered them to 'wise up!' and 'get with the program!' He wasn't sure they really understood. However, she gestured around her to the carnage, telling them to back down unless they wanted to end up like their brethren.

And, miraculously- it had worked. They shifted and lowered their weapons, before reluctantly turning around and leaving. Kagome smiled and chose that moment to drop the barrier. It was then that Inuyasha's distant shouts could be heard.

Sesshoumaru's eyes had remained wide. Because he noticed- he noticed the split second of something unnamed on Kagome's face after hearing his half brothers swift arrival.

"I know you were just tryin' to protect the villagers but your damn barrier kept me from coming in, idiot! Look at you, you're a mess! You coulda died!"

"Oops," Kagome had giggled, waving it off.

She'd done it on purpose.

The miko had recklessly and selfishly created the dome with the express purpose of keeping everyone out. She had desired to kill the attacking demons on her own, without aid or interference.

And she'd taken charge so fast of two beings who were easily twice her size and potentially deadly in a fight.

Sesshoumaru's eyes had darkened and plumed red. Instincts clamoured in a rare moment of intrigue and desire. Fuck's sake, she was so fucking gorgeous.

Pale lips twitched and curved up at the sides. Yes, he truly was a fool for involving himself with her. But she'd been exquisite and wonderful in his hands, perfect in her capacity for cruel teasing and soft glides of her fingers. Kagome could also engage his mind and wits, challenging him and inviting the Daiyoukai to play and have fun with her. How silly. How...refreshing she'd been.

Were they all like that? Humans? He'd never made love to a mortal before- and wagered he never would again.

Hearing a foot drag over the earth, Sesshoumaru stiffened against the bark of the tree. Standing, he inhaled a lungful of her fragrance, before sliding his hungry gaze to hers.

Kagome looked changed after two weeks.

She wore what he understood to be 'red skinny jeans' along with a white shirt tucked in- giving her an appearance reminiscent of a priestess and yet not. A small sword had been tied to her hip, and a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder. Her hair had been partially tied back in a half ponytail.

Sesshoumaru slid his gaze down to the sword, recognising Totosai's work. The miko approached him radiating confidence, and he walked with slower steps.

Ah, it had happened sooner than expected. A shrivelling, sinking sensation shamefully welled up inside his chest. Instincts resisted the thought, chanting; 'mine, mine, mine!'

But the truth of it was there in her kind, guarded eyes. When they stopped before one another, she reached up on tiptoe and brushed an achingly gentle caress of lips against the underside of his jaw in a youkai expression he'd taught her- Sesshoumaru bit the inside of his cheek.

What are you apologising for?

His claws automatically slid around her wrist, expression flickering.

Kagome gave a wan smile. "...We need to talk."

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXVI

Cordelia stood beside the window in the old study with James on her left. The warmth from the fire did nothing to ease the chill that had settled in her bones after returning from Cecily and Gabriel’s house without Lucie. It’d been three hours since their return. Who knew how long that meant Lucie had been enduring whatever misery she’d been dragged into. Her stomach clenched and she grimaced as if in pain at the thought of her dear friend, alone in that horrid place. 

James, upon hearing her or sensing her distress, took her hand his, entwining his fingers with hers so their palms pressed together. His hands were warm against her cold skin and she let herself lean against his shoulder. The contact helped to relieve some the anxiety enough for her to listen to conversation around her.

Will leaned over the table with both hands firmly planted on the wood. A look of destructive rage and distress ebbed his features into someone Cordelia hardly recognized. He hadn’t been himself since word arrived to them of Lucie’s capturing. 

Tessa sat on the sofa, her hands clutching each other in her lap as if she were praying. She hadn’t spoken much since the news. Her features didn’t twist in fear or anger or sadness. She looked like one of the pale shells Cordelia had found on the beach once. A fragile, beautiful thing with the sound of the ocean raging inside of it. 

Magnus stood at the table beside Will. They both studied the ring that James, Cordelia, Alastair and Thomas retrieved from Tatiana’s cold finger, now sitting on the handkerchief Cordelia used to pry it off. Grace had quickly explained the significance of it once again to the adults before going after her brother who was being seen by Brother Zachariah in an adjoining room despite his pleas to help find Lucie. Jesse was his name. His affection for Lucie seemed to run far deeper than that of a friendship. Cordelia could see it in his beautiful, sea colored eyes, the concern for her friend. Not just concern, the desperation. A painful, consuming thing desperation can be and it was swallowing the young Blackthorn boy whole. Between Brother Zachariah, Grace, and Will, they managed to convince him to go and be treated to be sure that his resurrection brought back the Jesse Blackthorn of old and not a new weapon being used by Belial for whatever his plans might be. 

“I still don’t understand why one of us can’t just put it on and summon the bastard,” said Will, his dark hair spotted with strands of gray fell in his face uncharacteristically. “If he wanted someone, why not come for one of us? Why my Lucie?”

Cordelia watched Tessa shudder and close her eyes at his words. She understood now what plagued Mrs. Herondale. It was not sadness, anger, or fear— perhaps a mixture of all of those things, but more importantly, there was guilt. 

“We have no idea the power this rings manifests,” said Magnus, curiously. “All we know is that Tatiana might have used it to contact Belial or he might have used it to contact her. If one of us were to put it on, we’d have no idea how to make it work.”

“So what should we do with it then?” Will demanded.

“I’m thinking,” said Magnus.

“Think faster,” said Will. “My daughter is trapped only the angel knows where with a prince of hell who plans to use her as a conduit of some sort. We don’t have time to sit and stare at it as if it’s going to rise and tell us what to do.”

“I understand your paternal concerns and while I sympathize, do not think for one moment if you continue to raise your voice at me in that condescending way I won’t turn you into a silent wall ornament until I figure out the best plan,” said Magnus without taking his eyes off of the ring. 

Will moved back a step, voluntarily or not, Cordelia wasn’t sure. He had the good sense to bite back whatever was prepared to come out of his mouth next, but by the straining muscles in his jaw, it took a lot of effort. 

James���s hand tightened around Cordelia’s. As much as she was drawing strength from him, it appeared he was drawing strength from her as well. She offered what she could and still felt as if it weren’t enough. 

“There is something,” said Magnus quietly. “A spell. If there is anything tethered to this ring, it will reveal it.”

“Then why haven’t—“ Will took a deep breath through his nose and started again. “All right, is there a reason why you’re hesitant to do this spell?”

“Yes,” said Magnus and undid the buttons around his wrists so he could move his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. “It’s a revealing spell. It requires a lot of energy, energy that will leave me vulnerable and weak, but it will give us the information we seek.”

“Is it dangerous?” asked Tessa, the first words she’d muttered in over an hour.

“Only for me,” said Magnus, with so much kindness in his voice that tears sprung to Cordelia’s eyes. 

“Magnus,” Tessa breathed.

“When your first child was born I thought you two idiots for bringing a helpless, vulnerable little creature into a terribly unfortunate world such as ours,” start Magnus as he stretched his fingers. “But the little bugger made the two of you so happy that it all seemed worth it. It made all the bad seem a little bit better. I didn’t possibly think you’d need anymore. Then the second one came along and your happiness tripled. I asked you once, why risk it? When you could lose everything so easily, why risk it? Do you remember what you said to me?”

Tears brimmed in Will’s eyes as he looked at Magnus. “Because a moment of that kind of pure happiness is worth a lifetime of sadness. That if I were to lose everything, if all I had left was the one memory of holding my child for the first time, I’ll have been grateful.” And to Tessa he said, “I am so grateful.”

Magnus nodded. “On each of their birth nights I made a silent promise to do whatever I could to protect and watch over them and do whatever I could to help in their times of trouble. I secretly prayed they’d have a lot more sense than their parents but it appears the apple does not fall far as the saying goes.”

James grimaced. “Just keeping life interesting.”

Magnus shook his head. “For this to work, I need absolute silence.”

“Would you like us to leave?” asked Cordelia.

“No,” said Magnus. “Just stay quiet. 

He placed both hands inches above the ring and closed his eyes. At first nothing happened except Cordelia could feel the hair on her arms and neck rise to attention. She looked down at her arms at the tiny bumps that rose along her skin and noticed that James’s was doing the same. The air filled with an electricity like a brewing storm as blue sparks started to dance from Magnus’s fingertips. 

The ring on the table began to rattle with enough force that the table shook beneath it. Soon Cordelia could feel the ground tremble beneath her feet. 

“Reveal yourself,” whispered Magnus. “Who do you belong to?”

A picture fell from the wall inches behind Tessa, if it were not for Will’s quick movement, the thick frame would have landed on her head. He held her against him and settle back in the far side of the room where nothing could fall on them. 

James, in a similar fashion, wrapped his arms over Cordelia’s head and his own. With limited visibility over his shoulder, Cordelia watched as the ring exploded with light, highlighting Magnus’s face with it’s blinding radiance. 

“What is it you want?” said a voice from the ring that Cordelia felt she faintly recognized.

“Your help,” said Magnus, eyes still closed. “We need your help, Tatiana.”

“Tatiana,” said Will before Tessa hushed him.

“And why should I help you, downworlder?” 

“Because we’re going to destroy the demon that murdered you,” said Magnus. “The one who took you away from your family. You can help us, if you can provide us with the information that we need.”

The ring went silent for a moment. Still rattling and glowing as the only sign that Tatiana was still there. The whole room seemed to hold their breath as they waited for a reply.

“What information do you need? 

“Did you communicate with Belial through this ring?”

“No,” said Tatiana. “This ring belonged in my family for generations. It is nothing more than heirloom.”

James cursed into Cordelia’s ear.

“Is there anyway for us to communicate with Belial?”

“Only if he wants you to,” said Tatiana.

Magnus’s breathing hitched as his teeth grit together. “Is there anything you can tell us to help us fight against Belial?”

“Does he already have the child?”

“Yes,” grunted Magnus.

“Then you are already doomed.”

“No,” said Magnus. “There must be something we can do. Anything you can tell us.”

“Arriving up here, manifesting himself the way he did, exerted an extreme amount of his power, he’s likely recharging in the Shadowrealm now. As with all great evils, Belial was spawned from one of the seven heads of the great dragon Tathamet. He lorded over the Realm of Lies in Hell, and was mentored by Mephisto, and like his mentor, he is always in the shadows.

“A long time ago, the Lesser evils came to be discontent with the Prime Evils’ focus on humanity after the events of the Sin War, furious that the Great Conflict had been apparently abandoned. In the midst of this period, Belial and Azmodan saw a chance to overthrow the Prime Evils and take control of Hell for themselves. Belial manipulated Azmodan into making war against the Prime Evils. The two evils made a pact with their brethren, assuring them that humanity would not stand in their way in the course of the Great Conflict. Ruling over hell itself wasn’t enough for Belial, soon after he vested his time and efforts into Garreth Rau. An orphan with a spark of nephalem legacy in his blood, Rau was twisted by the Lord of Lies, becoming a powerful dark mage in servitude to Hell. Rue’s personality and memories were over written with the persona of the Dark One, an insidious and jealous mage. Belial planned to use Rau and his followers to build an army on Sanctuary, and after conquering the mortal realm, use it to launch an invasion against Heaven itself.

“Belial’s plan was foiled by Cain and his allies. Despite possessing overwhelming power, The Dark One succumbed to Cain’s resourcefulness. The persona of the original Garreth Rau briefly resurfaced and drove himself to suicide. It appears Belial is trying to enact his plan once again.”

“How do we stop him?”

“You can’t,” said Tatiana. “The only way to stop him was to keep him from possessing the child. Now that he has what he wants the only one who can stop him is the child.” 

Tessa sobbed into Will’s chest and James’s arms wrapped tighter around Cordelia. She had little means of consoling him as she felt as if she were shattering herself. 

Lucie, she wanted to scream. Her name is Lucie! Not the child! 

“I wish you luck,” whispered the ring. “If I may ask for one small favor for my knowledge?”

Magnus’s hands shook as he held onto his power. “What is it?”

“Please, please give this ring to my daughter,” said Tatiana. “I would like to be with her in the only way that I can.”

“I’ll see that it’s done,” grimaced Magnus.

And just as the door to the library burst open, Magnus released his grip on the ring and collapsed backwards into the awaiting arms of Matthew who has just come through the door with Christopher on his heels. Through a curtain of blond curls, he looked around the somber room and said, “What’d I miss?”

(A/N: Thanks for waiting for this one guys. The story of Belial is not my own. It was pulled from a source and I kind of elaborated on it a bit. hope you guys enjoyed this and I’ll see you again on Friday!)