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wizzycore · 5 months ago

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ok. this is my OFFICIAL wallaru copepost. i am a hater and this is going to be me hating specifically on the storyline of wallaru. if u dont liek that dont read XDXDXD -- MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD (also, this is a long as fuck post. so im putting it under a read below

Anyway .

ok so. my biggest gripe with this world is that plain and simple it just disappointed me. here are a good couple of reasons why:

1) events that didn't make sense... or perhaps absence of

ok, i'm starting out relatively weak in my reasoning and going toward stronger rationale as we go along. bear with me here. one of the most irksome things i found was events that didn't make sense, or the failure to create events that would follow up with previously established stakes.

let's recall where we're at by the end of novus:

dasein has forsaken everything, having seen the settlers on novus as the broad strokes of the entire universe - no more everything for him. meanwhile, the novus governors have sworn vengeance upon yourself as well as dasein.

(cont below)

but throughout wallaru we get very little peeps of either problem-- dasein is off fighting his own battles stuck in sap in the dreaming, and sure, the governors send some like... spiders.... to fight you, but it's never a substantial threat -- and they never really continue to escalate.... they just fade into the background until directly the end. (hell, dasein fades out too as the kroaker becomes a bigger threat.)

it feels like what should be our biggest priority going into wallaru is the continuation of the novus plot - be it through dasein or through the governors. but we're left basically floundering on that point until the Very Last Area(s) -- when there was plenty of space throughout the world to weave in information about what's going on there. they TRIED to weave in dasein information - but ultimately were so cryptic with it that it had no payoff and indicated basically nothing to us.

1.5) massive pov problems

I realized this is a continuation of my last point - so I'm putting it as a .5. When I say pov problems, I more mean "subject of focus" - wallaru had a bit many subjects of focus this time around for my taste, and certainly didn't pay appropriate attention to any of them.

dasein (existential struggle), the governors (colonial/power struggle), the 3(or 4) main wallaru groups (townies,drovers,kids,+dingos), sandiago(?), & the old one (past colonial/power struggle), joan&cane, judge veg, freddie kroaker, sybil, on and on and on.

you get my point, right? way too many hands in the same few bowls - all competing for attention, screen-time, characterization, and importance.

usually i've seen the golden rule for good characterization in wiz worlds as using characters at gateways. let's take novus for example.

copyqat/fuzhi - established as a strong character in her own right, (though is also a continuing character), who provides a gateway into catmandu npcs. you are compelled to learn more about catmandu through her (&later moo bu) strong foundations of interest - she becomes a companion, along with moo bu.

moo bu - also established as a strong character provides a gateway into the stone of heaven & the first leg villain, tung-ak. you want to learn more about the villain because he is the key to moo bu's character arc closure - not necessarily even because he's excessively interesting in his own right.

and tung ak passes the torch to dasein-as-novus! who becomes the grounding gateway for much of the rest of the world. it is compelling to investigate novus because he is it - and it is him - and he is such a strong (and priorly fantastically established) companion and plot device that he makes even the least tolerable of jokes semi-tolerable. and there are a lot of stakes to ending his suffering / opening his psyche back up to continue to talk to him. the moments with dasein in the gallery were a perfect example of weaving a fragmented dasein CORRECTLY into a world.

briefly we have that lil nonbinary dog person to carry us through the dog area even! & entwine them into dasein-as-novus motivation interests!

novus had a GREAT flow of attention and supplied a lot of motivation for a player to continue (thru emotional attachments to npcs and dasein) as well as a very sensical reason perhaps a wizard oc might continue as well.

wallaru however, much like karamelle, failed to supply a consistently meaningful companion baton toss while also introducing way too many one off characters w/o a meaningful connection to main npcs or companions .... leading to a very convoluted and confusing plot experience.

our primary&first companion, sandiago, theoretically has the motivating factor of a mystery - who is he, why is he /was he in wallaru, etc..... but because his involvement with the old one is introduced too late in the world, there's no clear connection to existing themes within his character - and therefore, very little drive to learn his mystery in comparison to other characters. he acts as an opinion device and a concealer of information, which is merely frustrating when he isn't a well established companion.

then: for a little while it's that acting gator guy? who is funny i guess, but not a grounding or continual companion - he's a one-off joke character we drag about for a while.

same with all the judges - they're mostly samey people.

essentially for the bulk of the middle of wallaru's plot, we're stuck playing sidekick to various wallaru npcs we don't already know in order to be immersed in their world (a very tourist-y perspective even once the overt tourism wears off).....wasting time that could be spent learning about sandiago (or god forbid, dasein&the governors.)

the intermittent time spent with dasein in the dreaming is great, don't get me wrong, the irks-as-emotions is a great explanation device and actually led to some of the least annoying exposition in the world -- but he's not much of a companion this world.... because other than "vaguely stuck in the dreaming" - we don't know where he is, how to get him, or WHAT HE'S GOING THROUGH. HOW HE CHANGES FROM THE END OF NOVUS TO WHEN WE MEET HIM FORMALLY AT THE END OF WALLARU IS ENTIRELY UNCLEAR (because it's told largely from sybil's perspective, who is just as cryptic as sandiago if not worse).

i consider joan locke & judge veg some of the stronger companions of the world, w/ judge veg having GREAT prior establishment and characterization and joan locke being a decent theme character. but they can't save what's already a train wreck - judge veg can only weakly 'introduce' freddie kroaker - mostly because we already know full well who he is.

what we needed from this world was the same tight plot we recieved from lemuria&novus - characters who scaffold the world and themes, rather than flounder and drown within them.

and we also needed tighter focus in general - to the same themes novus&lemuria were about (power, colonialism, *old one manipulation*, etc) and to a few concrete, reliable and lovable companions/minor antagonists. (if it were me, i'd go santiago -> judge veg/morb -> any novus character with dasein information weaved more strongly throughout... and leave sybil&the old one to fill out between santiago, dasein&morb. but alas).

2) events that didn't provide any meaningful payoff or further the story in any way

here's a running list:

-dasein's suffering in the dreaming (we don't see an arc from him, just senseless suffering & constant prodding from sybil to produce a realization we don't see)

-the huntsmen spiders (empty threat / annoyance, no real information about novus gleaned and especially not about the governors plan for novus)

-the entire fake walkabout tourist area (enforces the surface themes of wallarus tourist problem, but could've been resolved a little faster and gotten more done in the meantime)

-honestly? most of anything the furryosa crowd was involved in. maybe i'm just a dedicated hater but i feel like their agitation could be completely removed from the plot and it wouldn't have affected much, especially if the dingo family took the stage as the main third force as oppressed colonizer ?

-sadly some of the old one historical information. it felt... too spotty, inconsistent, or too late delivery of information to matter. which sucks and is the exact same way i felt abt karamelle's t.o.o information

3) MASSIVE amounts of exposition in inappropriate places

all dasein sequences pretty much struggled with massive exposition problems. exposition is great in wiz, it can feel earned, but because most of the world was spent in ignorance and suspense (so to speak), the massive worddump about the dreaming and dream water and the reverie and the dreamer and dasein..... feel unearned and almost annoying.... and that's coming from somebody who eats up lore with a spoon.

sandiago also did a fuck ton of it - which is fine, that's what he does, but he did it in big short bursts rather than slowly throughout. which did suck.

constant constant constant exposition about wallaru's political landscape and an npc's place in it. really really obnoxious after a certain point especially when the writers overtly showed pro-tourist/settler bias while arguing an ambiguously pro-indigenous point.

a resolution that didn't feel earned

see above: im still absolutely stunned.... the exposition and then a sudden truce..... felt so weird.

4) story felt secondary to gameplay/visuals (which is fine, BUT...)

but in an arc like arc 4, where story&visuals feed into each other very well, and where visuals were at times sacrificed (at least in effort put in - work smarter not harder) in order to serve story development -- seeing the opposite in wallaru was unnerving. it was gorgeous, yes. absolutely. i was fascinated by the architecture, the landscapes, the character models, the lighting&colors, the spells. it was all fantastic. but it felt like a distraction from a confusing plot... or rather an excuse for a confusing plot. not to mention, wallaru itself seemed a subject of focus (see above bulletpoint) throughout, but not in a thematically interesting way - wallaru is inert, subject to the whims of magic and politics, all while sitting very pretty and consumable for the viewer... and it is a non-diegetic as well as diegetic consumption. it's a rather odd turn from novus, in which we are carefully informed that the world matters too, yknow. (even if it isnt directly sentient.) in novus, when we stare at beautiful architecture, it was beautiful and served a very good thematic or characterizing purpose -- in wallaru, it seemed more an exercise of pushing the boundaries of scenic and character art. (which - again - is fine. i like it. but with a weak plot it just makes me sad.) -- not to mention, story seemed molded around cool battles and cutscenes rather than the other way around at certain times, especially toward the end battles. the only time this really felt excusable to me was during the lead-up quest to malus, mostly because there was a self-awareness involved that i did respect a bit.

very annoying characters, too many throwaways

furryosa, freddy kroaker, many random judges my beloathed. 0 meaningful characterization despite taking up so much goddamn screentime. fuck off forever

5) long running puns and jokes that sucked

again, furryosa&freddy kroaker - the nightmare on elm street joke was fun until it got dragged through the entire plot and also got misused to be pretend creepy. that's not what these damn jokes should do. same with mad max - it ACTIVELY inhibited furryosa's character from going anywhere to be a mad max archetype.

straight up continual racism toward indigenous ppl (in australia and elsewhere?). (known going in - somehow worse than imagined.)

i could make an entire whole post about this. the terms dreaming and walkabout being thrown around either as wizard101 lore terms (sitting on the same infamous shelf as 'cabal' i reckon, for being both technically important but very embarrassing and racist) or as a basically meaningless word for 'journey' dressed up to sound more """drover-y""".

the feeling that this story got drafted much like a spell circle that you run out of space for at the end.

all the exposition, realization, and heavy hitters got saved for the end, and happened so fast my head spun. they were all regarded with the same importance when some really did not have the same importance. (joan locke's reproduction of harmful power structures was not nearly as important as why the old one was even mentioned in relation to wallaru in the first place.....)

TLDR: come on, man. novus had some big shoes to fill, but wallaru was an offbrand novus shoved through the lens of curious tourists just begging for some 'nuance' . could've used a couple more cuts, tighten-ups, killing of darlings, ceasing of jokes, etc.

but malus was cool as fuck and well executed, and so i guess the team put their whole pussy into that and said oh well, theres a hot prime minister in wallaru and also dasein is there.

#wizard101 #w101 #arc 4 spoilers #wallaru spoilers #wallaru #i liked a lot about wallaru too!!!!but omggggggggg i got irritated so many times like this was karamelle 2 and for no reason

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satelliteinasupernova · 29 days ago

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Lavellan revist: Haven Edition

Since finishing Dragon Age: Veilguard, I've started up a new playthrough of Inquisition as an excuse to revisit my Lavellan Inquisitor. I'm not changing much from my original playthrough from 10 years ago, but I think it's fun to consider how my playstyle and the writing of the game informs her as a character.

First, her backstory: Lavellan is a rogue and skilled with a bow and arrow. Among her clan she was kind of known as a problem child, and even though she is well into adulthood that reputation has stuck. In truth, she is very observant and intuitive about the emotions of others, it's just that sometimes her curiosity gets her in trouble (so maybe she's a little too inclined toward breaking and entering).

Lavellan has been helping with trading among her clan and outsiders for years, so she is relatively comfortable in spaces away from her clan (for the most part). Her new position in the Inquisition means that her opinion caries a lot more weight than it did with her clan elders, and she's decided to embrace it and make an impact where she can.

She thinks the whole Herald of Andraste thing is ridiculous, but she recognizes it's political power and is willing to make use of the impact it has.

Her favorite thing about travelling with the Inquisition is 1: learning songs she hasn't heard before, and 2: exploring ancient ruins. (If things had gone different for her, she absolutely would have been a Veil Jumper.)

What she things about her companions and advisors:

Cassandra: She's a bit surprised by how much she has come to like her, though Cassandra's growing belief that Lavellan actually is the Herald of Andraste is a bit concerning. Lavellan actively ignores the disapproving frown Cassandra gives her whenever she expresses her opinion that mages should live freely.

Leliana: Unnerving, but her ability to speak to the point is actually a bit comforting.

Cullen: Honestly she kind of forgets about him outside of council meetings. Thinks of him as "the templar guy."

Josephine: So sweet. Josephine's insistence in addressing how Lavellan is treated among the Inquisition is unique among Lavellan's companions/advisors. It does sometimes mean Lavellan gets pulled into difficult conversations that she would rather avoid, but ultimately she trusts Josephine more than most.

Varric: It's good to have someone around who knows how to lighten tense situations. She is a bit worried about what kind of tales will come out of all of this and how she'll end up being presented.

Solas: He's different from anyone she's met before. She gets the sense that sometimes he says radical opinions just to see how she'll react, and she refuses to rise to the bait. (It helps that she was never much of a traditionalist anyway, and she is genuinely very curious about ancient elves.) She really enjoys having his attention, but hasn't started interrogating this impulse yet.

Vivienne: Devastatingly attractive. Lavellan often finds herself nodding along as Vivienne talks, but the minute she steps away from the conversation and thinks back on it, she left thinking "that was all bullshit..?"

Sera: Sera often acts in a way that Lavellan's clan thinks she acts. Because of that Lavellan gives her a lot of grace, but she doubts they will ever really be buddies.

Iron Bull: Lavellan thinks that he and Solas are the two people among her companions with the most sense. She's happy to have him around.

Blackwall: She was genuinely excited at the prospect of meeting a Grey Warden, but it turned out to be a bit of a let down. She hasn't really gotten past that yet.

Dorian: Has only met him briefly. She thinks that maybe she should dislike him, but finds him oddly compelling.

Cole: They have yet to meet.

....

So far I'm having a lot of fun with this revisit. I'll see about making another post when I am mid-game!

#dragon age inquisition #lavellan revisit #solavellan #dragon age #my art

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dreamingofthewild · 1 month ago

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I didn't want to add to the Veilguard criticism, but I have to say something because people are misunderstanding what we mean when they say you can't play a mean character.

In other words, a Veilguard review from a new player. Minor spoilers below.

Note: These are just my opinions. I believe in criticising things you enjoy. If you don't like critical posts, then please do not read further. Also, this post isn't negative, just critical.

I encourage people to play the game if they want to and read a wide variety of reviews.

Of course, Rook has to be a hero, but heroic characters come in many forms. And the game shoe horns us into a very narrow view of what being a hero means.

You can't play Rook as an anti-hero or a jerkass with a heart of gold. The game wants us to roleplay Rook as a Captain America esque hero type. There is nothing wrong with that, I love playing goody two shoes, but that is not the only way to be a hero.

Heroes also look like Deadpool, Wolverine, Han Solo, Geralt of Rivia, and so on. You can't be cynical or ruthless in the game. Despite the fact that the backgrounds put Rook as a daring character who is willing to break the rules. That sounded very, renegade anti-hero in my mind.

These characters are compelling because they blur the lines between right and wrong, often taking unconventional paths to achieve their goals.

Like I said, the game really wants is to think of good and evil as two very distinct things. Other people have definitely put this better than I ever could, but the lines between the two are often blurred. Also, the idea of what is evil and what is good varies from person to person and through different cultures.

It also suggests that evil people can't be redeemed. That there is something fundamentally wrong with people who do "bad" things.

Nuanced heroic characters are those who possess complex personalities, realistic flaws, and face moral dilemmas that challenge their values.

These characters are compelling because they are not purely good or evil; they make difficult choices, face personal demons, and evolve over time, reflecting the complexity of real human experiences.

As far as I can tell so far, Rook is not faced with many earth-shattering moral quandries. Although, there should be. Especially if you're playing as an Elf. The game so far hasn't made me think in the way DAI did or the way other games have.

The way that the Companions acted felt a bit disconnected to me. They had issues, but we didn't get to delve into them. I don't feel like we could challenge them or allow them to grow.

I am getting way off track here. But I like the characters. I do. And if this had been a movie or a game directed at a younger audience, I would have no issues. But it's not.

And if I am honest I think that the message that we all put our differences aside to defeat something that is threatening to destroy the world is a stronger message than "we all need to get along".

Learning about the moral grey areas, about what drives people to do bad things, is important in recognising how to stop it. Because most of the time, true evil is not obvious. It's wrapped up in false promises.

And if we spend time trying to deal with our own personal issues and working on getting along before destroying a big threat, then we might just find that the threat gets to us first.

I know anti-heros, redemption arcs, and flawed characters are not everyone's cup of tea. It's nice to live in a world where the lines between good and evil are so easily defined.

It would have been amazing if the game could've covered these topics and had us explore this in depth. I would feel more engaged with the storyline and the characters.

Anyway, I have gone massively off track. Basically, there is more than one way to be a hero, and when people say that they don't mean they want to be a villain, They want complexity.

I am generally enjoying the game. There are good things about it, and it's a win for diversity. I actually don't mind the animation. There are many things positive about Veilguard, and I don't have any comments about the lore as a fairly new player.

It's just that the game lacks the depth and naunce that would make it a 5/5 for me. It's there, but it's shallow.

Where are the characters who believe the world should end? Where are the characters who blindly follow their doctrines? Where is the quest where Rook thinks they are doing a good thing, which ends up having negative consequences?

This wasn't supposed to be a full, in-depth review of the game or critique on the writing. There are many places where the writing is good. And I think that some people are being a bit overboard with their criticism. But it could have been better. We shouldn't shy away from heavy topics, and media/ art is a great way to discuss and critique real world things. I get that some people want pure escapism, which is fine. But that is not what Dragon Age was sold to me as.

If the writing is good you can explore such things in a sensitive way.

I am going to continue to play the game because I am enjoying it. But we should expect better.

#datv spoilers #veilguard critical #constructive criticism #good vs evil #what does it mean to be a hero?#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age critical

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everydayfrimmel · 4 months ago

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August 19, 2024

"Fleeting" 500 words, role swap AU

Himmel's never met a human as apathetic as this one.

Whether they'd like to or not, whether they ever actively consider it or not, most of them know how short their lives are. They fall into despair over wasted time or do as they please because it'll all be over soon anyways. It takes a certain vigor to compress the emotions and experiences of centuries into a single one, and perhaps less of it to despair over the death of time they have to do it in, but still, emotional energy. So it's not common, Himmel has learned, to meet a human who cares as little about the passing of time as most elves he knows.

This tiny mage might as well never have learned that her life will be over in a few short decades.

She crams her head with knowledge, sure, but nothing else seems to get into it. She travels with companions, but her approach to doing so could hardly be classified as cherishing the time they have. And when Himmel looks at her, he sees a challenge.

His life will span millennia if he's lucky, but the part of it that contains a beautiful little mage with nothing but spells in her head will be ruthlessly brief.

She does not comprehend this.

He will comprehend it for her.

"Live a little," he always tells her, playing it off with levity, as he drags her along for another diversion, or, "life's too short," words that would strike him as far too cruel for an ordinary human, but she has to wake up and get it - that this life of hers won't last, that he would hate to see her while it away and end up with nothing to show for it. There's a reason most of her kind are so full of energy and direction. It only seems right to help her see that the same sense of urgency which compels everyone else should be hers, too.

"I'm tired," comes her usual excuse.

Himmel has lived dozens of her lifetimes now. He's helped generation upon generation of her people in their everyday tasks, made a name for himself that's passed down in families for years to come, adventured with more parties than he can keep count of and loved and lost each and every one - and yet he's never met somebody so seemingly determined to walk aimlessly until she reaches the end of her life and then collapse unceremoniously into a heap at the finish line.

"Isn't it fun, though?" he always asks her. "Wouldn't you like a little variety?"

"No," comes her inevitable answer. "I want to sleep."

Frieren is not the first human Himmel has thought he loved. No, far from that. But she is probably the first who made him feel such frenetic urgency to make her see what a thousand years have taught him in only ten.

But he knows how this goes. Two blinks of his eyes and she'll be a memory.

#dailyfrimmel #frieren/himmel #frieren: beyond journey's end #frimmel #sousou no frieren #canon divergence #au: role swap

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oathbreakerapologist · 4 months ago

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Man, Orin and Ghost are… codependent at best (and I love it. I love their fucked up relationship.) BUT! Because the theme of Baldur’s Gate is “escaping shitty situations and being better people (hopefully),” can you elaborate on what Ghost’s life would be like after defeating the elder brain if he rejected Bhaal/didn’t remember Orin? What if he was romanced? Iirc he romances Astarion “canonically” but I wanna know more!!! Tell us about your fucked up not-a-drow lad!!

First off, I just wanna say that I'm so honored by y'all's enthusiasm to learn about my fucked up not-a-drow lad (LOVE that description of him, by the way, excellent phrase). I never really expected others to be particularly interested in him, so it's so exciting for me that other people want to hear about him!! Thanks to all of you who've sent me asks lately and over the past several months. This has been a ton of fun!

So, because I apparently like to make my characters suffer, one of my canon modifications for Ghost's narrative is that I don't think that rejecting Bhaal fully frees him of the urge to kill. I believe that, as a quasi-divine being handmade of/from/by Bhaal, there is no version of him that is not drawn to murder. Rejecting Bhaal removes his aspiration to be the last person alive, alone on a hill of corpses, but it doesn't take away the lust for violence or the bare-bones ethical programming that makes him fundamentally indifferent to others' life and death.

His "best case scenario", then, is that he ends up still deeply messed up, violent, and sadistic, but not exactly ambitious about it. He kills because he likes to, not to rid the world of life; nevertheless, it would be very, very difficult for him to avoid killing, because he has no real reason to avoid it. He's generally unswayed by moral concerns, but he can be moved to action by sufficient alternative rewards (more on his hedonistic motivations here). One of those rewards is social approval from the very small circle of people he likes to be around.

With a companion he enjoys (you're right that Astarion is his canon romantic partner in my Ghost BG3 playthrough, but this is somewhat arbitrary—if Ghost were a companion, this could be Tav), Ghost can find it in himself to be "well-behaved." To him, this means doing the things that seem to generate positive reactions from the other person: things that earn the other's trust, that make the other open up to him, or that motivate the other to be physically or emotionally intimate with him. He wants closeness with people he likes; therefore, he can be motivated to act in a way that promotes that closeness.

A sufficiently motivated individual (Astarion, I think, would do this well, but again, this could be Tav) can pick up on this and use it to their advantage. Of course, Ghost is perfectly happy to be a living weapon in the hands of one of his friends if doing so would please them, but if one were to take care to "reward" Ghost for avoiding violence and to withdraw whenever Ghost seeks out opportunities to commit acts of violence, one could effectively compel Ghost to kill significantly less than he would on his own.

Ghost would struggle to live a life anywhere near normal, but once he's fully devoted to his lover(s), he would follow them to the ends of the earth. The adventuring lifestyle suits him well, so if he were romanced, his preferred post-game path would almost certainly be to wander the Sword Coast with Tav, getting into as much trouble as Tav would allow along the way. He might be convinced to tag along with a non-romanced Tav with plans to keep moving if his approval was sufficiently high at the end of the game. Those are probably pretty close to best-case scenarios for him—left to his own devices, he'd once again have little reason to avoid killing, and he'd revert to being a menace to society rather quickly.

At the end of the day, he craves pleasure and excitement above all. He's not at all picky about where he ends up, as long as there's enough for him to kill along the way—if people are off limits, he can be compelled to settle for monsters, and he's always wanted to kill a god or two. When the immediate danger of the tadpole is removed, he lacks a clear direction of his own. But he's deeply loyal, so wherever his closest companion would go, he'd follow.

#bg3 #durge ghost #durge ghost lore #ask #the dark urge

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ofwrxth · 2 months ago

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ELLIOT ANDERSON is a SECURITY TEAM MEMBER and 34 years old. Originally from ATLANTA, GEORGIA, they have been with the circus for 3 years. They look like GARRETT HEDLUND and possess the ability of REGENERATION AND HEALING. They are known to be KIND, INTELLIGENT, and PENSIVE, but can also be ANXIOUS, REACTIVE, and SARCASTIC.

CHARACTER THEMES: depression, self-loathing, anxiety, anguish, regret, self-worth, hope, loyalty

SUMMARY OF ABILITY: He has the unconscious ability to rapidly heal from any injury he sustains. He still feels the pain of said injury but it enables him to regenerate damaged or destroyed tissue with far greater efficiency than an ordinary human. He can also help heal others with injuries by touch but in doing so he absorbs echoes of their pain.

BIO

Elliot was born in Atlanta, Georgia, with his two older brothers and many younger siblings. Life wasn’t easy in the Anderson household, especially with their father and mother.

He trailed after Hunter and Ryan like a shadow, learning how to be street smart along with their other siblings.

His abilities developed when he was fourteen and Bobby glassed him for talking back. Elliot felt glass shattering against his skull, blood running down the side of his face as he fell to the ground. The siblings who were home ran to help him, wiping clean the blood before realizing his skin had begun to stitch itself up.

The second part of his ability developed a few weeks later when Bobby ended up ragging on one of his other siblings (open), and broke a bone. Elliot didn’t know why but he felt compelled to put his hands on the broken bone, grimacing all the while. When he removed his hands, the bone was healed and he felt an ache – an echo of the pain his sibling had felt that faded after a while.

Over the years, he would use his abilities to help his siblings if they ever got in a rough spot, and it helped himself. Especially with the sarcastic mouth he had on him – getting into fights wasn’t uncommon. And even if sometimes they didn’t want him to use his ability on them, he would help his siblings out too. Echoes of their pain was better than them having to walk around with an injury.

He’s close to his family in many different ways/with different dynamics. So when five years ago some of his younger siblings went to the circus and never came home, he, Hunter and Ryan began to look for them.

While looking for them, they were attacked by Pursuers who’d caught their trail and Elliot was captured for what would be the two worst years of his life. They were keen to learn more about those with abilities – keen to understand how each one worked. How to replicate them. They wanted to see the extent of Elliot’s regeneration. How fast he could heal and from what. Would he pass out if they cut him open? If they cracked open his ribs and poked around inside? Could he heal around a knife? What sort of bullets took longer to heal from than others? And on it went. Because we’re going full emo in this mfer, he thought of his siblings. But he gave up hope of getting out after the first year. Of them finding him. And by the second year, Elliot wanted to die. But they never figured it out. (obvi he’s gotta be decapitated LOL) Pain was his constant companion.

But his brothers did come for him. Hunter and Ryan finally found and rescued him. And with the three of them together, they continued their search for the circus and stumbled up in it by chance, reunited with their family three years ago.

While it’s clear that Elliot’s changed in many ways, and he’s developed some coping habits (he can’t block windows, doesn’t like locking doors of rooms he’s gotta be in (trailer or train), has to pace before he can fall asleep, + more to come), he’s still the Elliot his siblings remember in other ways. He still can be found with his nose in a book, or a sarcastic comment ready to go. He’s still kind and quick to react. His anxiety is obvi worse and there are still some panic attacks but his family tends to close rank quickly if he’s with them and while not all are good at handling him when he has them (Hunter lol), he knows they won’t ever leave him on his own.

The Circus may not be home per se, but his family is.

#elliot.#elliot anderson intro.#tnc intro.

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bellabooisnotagoodusername · 10 months ago

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Ranking the Baldur's Gate 3 Companions on how well I think they can beat box:

Karlach. No question.

Laezel. I know for a fact the githyanki beat box in their war songs. The gith language already prepares the palate for good beatboxing sounds.

Halsin. He can mimic some animal chittering in ways I think would make compelling percussion, and he is in tune with nature enough to have good rhythm. Natural baritone gives him more range than others.

Jaheira -- same reasons as Halsin and like this bitch can probably throat sing or something too, but she prefers to sit and listen so Halsin gets more practice around the fire.

Minthara. You know those beat boxers that can do those guttural, lowkey scary notes? That's Minthara. She can only do evil dubstep, and is not useful in an a cappella group. When they give her a pause in the music to go off, its amazing.

Shadowheart. She has never tried it but Karlach is teaching her and she is getting better.

Wyll. He HAS tried, and its not good. He does not have rhythm. He is, however, very dedicated, which is why he's ranked solidly mid tier.

Gale can't do it convincingly but he likes to hype up Wyll when he's rapping around the campfire and everyone is drunk. "My name's the Blade and I am here to say/ I like hunting monsters in a MAjor way."

Minsc. He slobbers when he tries. He mostly claps along.

Astarion. I think vampire teeth would make it very hard. Also he would be too embarrassed. I think this guy hates learning new skills because you have to be bad at them at first, and that's unacceptable.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #beatbox

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regarding-stories · 2 years ago

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Why I loved "Dark" and never got into "1899"

There once was a great, mysterious show that hit all the right buttons. From the draw of its setting, the chosen time periods it was set in, its characters and the people depicting them on screen, the way it told its story, it was compelling and I could never could get enough.

This is, of course, Dark. And after only a few episodes of 1899, damn, even after the first episode, I knew it wouldn't be that show. Of course you can't just repeat a past success. You have to make new things, but the things I mentioned above - they're independent of a particular story.

And 1899 botched most of it.

Only so much you can take

There's only so much you can take in one go. Be it violence, drama, or mystery. Dark respected that. When Dark was violent, it was disturbingly, shockingly violent, showing us the deep, dark dimension of violence. Violence was an extension of its core theme: human obsession. Violence wasn't cheap, it came at great mental cost to the people on screen and to the viewer, it came at an apex of an emotional buildup boiling over, it was motivated, it was inescapable, and you could feel that something went click and it erupted. It was painful to watch. You actually didn't want it to happen. It never left you cold. And as such, it was sparse. It stood out.

(No real spoilers for Dark, don't worry.)

The same for mystery. Dark starts as a drama of people, as a story of their suffering, their obsession with each other, but also it roots itself in the mundane. You get to know the characters first. Like a disaster movie it takes its time to first make us care, aided by its excellent, deep casting. You understood very well, at the beginning, how most characters related to each other. Or maybe you thought you did. As the show unfolded you eventually learned several times that your understanding was wrong, supplanted by another, also incomplete view. By the end of the series, I was tracking along on the excellent companion website what the relationships between characters were. It was an intellectual challenge and intriguing.

The same goes for the setting. This show made an excellent depiction of Germany as its setting without ever looking cheap or too mundane, but also never fake. The show is set in multiple time periods and makes it work, but the lure of the initial shots is strong already, the first episode is basically in the now, in the Black Forest, and every shot sells the setting. As a German, I felt at home, but I also felt like it was a home ready to be supplanted by an otherworld, the mystery to come. For Dark being set in Germany was neither just a gimmick nor a mindless choice ("had to set it somewhere"), it brought all the character of that choice, all the flavors. By the end of Dark, could you have imagined it to be set anywhere else?

Same for its chosen time periods. When Dark did mystery in the 1980s, it plays on the themes of the 1980s and West Germany, this odd, incomplete country in a time period full of fear, Cold War, nuclear scare. If American shows depict the 1980s you always feel like in a Steven Spielberg bubblegum childhood (looking at you, Stranger Things). The American 1980s are immature to their core, even when set in the adult world. Look at all the cocaine-crazed psychos and stock brokers. The American depiction of the 1980s is often infantilized. In comparison, the 1980s in Germany had a whiff of the provincial - and you can tell from the old cars, the attitudes, the phones, how people thought about metal music, careers, anything! But the themes of the time are played on, themes people would remember that lived or grew up in the time. The fear of nuclear war and nuclear contamination (Chernobyl happened 1986). Dark replays the fears of the first Ozone Hole to the knowledgeable but in service of its own story, never mentioning what it was referencing. Dark hits the themes of that time exactly, and deepens the provincialism even better in the 1950s. It narrows the outlooks of its characters as it goes further back in time, making our present time and the future seem like evolutions of the imaginable. And yet all in the service of its other theme - the inescapable, the compulsions that bind us, but also the ultimate inescability of the true reason behind why things always act out the same. The brilliant reason that pays it all off.

But here's the thing - when Dark displays violence, sex, emotion, death, or mystery, it displays them all in manageable chunks. It lets them color the mood, lets them lurk in the background, give everything a certain ambiance. But it never overdoes it. It manages to have a narrator who both calms and also mystifies you, luring you in with the familiar feel of old audio plays and a strong voice, guiding you, but you can't trust it.

I really won't spoil Dark for you because it's one of the best shows ever made. Every season I hoped the show would get the chance to run to finish, and when it actually did, it did so to perfection. It didn't do a Lost or Twin Peaks on us - it didn't leave us hanging, it didn't go for a half-baked resolution just because it didn't have an endgame. In fact, the endgame of Dark is brilliant, consistent with the themes of the show, surprising, sad, beautiful, satisfying, but also a goodbye that can't be called a happy end. At that point, you're satisfied with a resolution. The characters on the screen want an end. You want it. But you're not tired of it, you need that resolution. And you get it. The ending leaves us with a sense that both the show and the ending are perfect and it was all coming to this. It was what was needed. Can an ending ever be stronger than that?

And now do that all wrong

1899 manages to botch all of this in episode 1 and never recover. I stopped in the middle of the episode and picked up again later. I restarted the show two times at least just to make it to the end of episode 3. It really dropped the ball on almost everything, trying too hard on all fronts, accomplishing very little.

Take the setting. It all happens on a ship in the late fin de siècle, a time period known for its own fears about the end of century, gripped by similar apprehensions like when we approached the year 2000. We're on a big steam ship, similar to the Titanic. And already this choice makes it unappealing. Almost all of 1899 plays out without natural light, and it's a visual drag. At no point do you feel comforted by its lighting choices, its gaslight makes me feel constrained, boxed in, claustrophobic.

Look at the characters on screen. None of them ever looks like they are having fun. Most of them are introduced as couples with at least one asshole in them. Or as a lone wolf. They're brought together like the unconnected particles they are. A sea journey at that time meant no entertainment but each other, a book, the onboard entertainments - for weeks. So for the luxury class passengers this meant you socialized to have fun. Watch an adaptation of Agatha Christie's "Death on the Nile" or "Murder on the Orient Express" and you get a sense of many people relating to other people (often unsuccessfully, but the try). All the characters in 1899 seem like particles without connection, even after weeks on the sea. They don't know anyone else, they share no stories, and they alienate even the people they know. Who are we to like here? The Chinese ladies pretending to be Japanese? They always argue. The Belgian couple? He's an utter prick. The redhead lady who's supposed to be the protagonist? The gay "couple?" One of them is a complete narcissist and horndog. The strong point of Dark was the web of connections in space and time that a small town generates. All of 1899's characters are unconnected in a way that might work if this was soon turning into an action slash-fest that forces them into relations with each other, but as you keep watching them, you only get ever more tired.

This is of course also rooted in the horrible dialogue. First of all, to reinforce the theme of isolation, practically everyone speaks a different language. Be it the Polish guy shoveling coal into the furnace, the African stowaway, the Belgian couple, the Spanish couple, the Danish second class immigrants, the German captain, the English protagonist, the Chinese pretending to be Japanese... It's hard to get any satisfying dialogue out of this setup. And it doesn't make sense! If a ship set out in a German port at that time, a good deal of its passengers are bound to be German. But instead we get this reference to the Tower of Babel. So, a lot of the dialogue is either establishing a base for communication, or trying to communicate in spite of not sharing a language, and most of the time it doesn't work. And that isn't the worst of it. When people can actually talk to each other, like the German captain and the English loner woman who is almost a doctor, they constantly ask each other questions and never give answers. Who talks like that? It's incredibly frustrating, meant to harbor a sense of mystery, I guess, but also very, very tiresome.

Once you have met all of them, they have barely done anything but argue. There's nobody among them who enjoys anything. If they have sex, they're all obsession without even any joy left. Thrills to paper over emptiness. We even have a couple on their honeymoon but they hate each other. Relatable?? And if they dislike each other, they have good reason to. But speaking about relatable... notice how I don't use names? Because I don't remember any. None of the characters stand out as a person, is addressed by others by their name even that often, nor do you usually speak the language they talk to each other in. So you switch from English to German (if you speak it) to any other language and back.

Lack of light. Unhappiness. A feeling of an oppressive misery, social isolation. Feel like watching?

But wait, it gets worse

Then comes the mystery, and it hits you over the head. This shipping line lost the sister ship months ago. People keep getting mysterious letters inviting them to come. (But nobody ever talks about them. Duh.) Everybody has a horrible backstory and it starts to manifest around them. Pyramids. Scarabs. Mystery hatches and switches.

Err - say what? Yes, you read right. Soon after they find their lost mystery ship - which they are told not to approach - they board it and find the passengers missing - save one child - and then there's a mysterious stranger on board - which nobody notices they've never seen aboard before even after weeks on the ship - who stays in an unused cabin - which the people from neighboring cabins don't notice after weeks of being there - and suddenly we get people showing each other a small pyramid and something something with the mysterious stranger and scarab beetles coming out of his coat sleeve.

Yes, it's very mysterious. It's on the nose mysterious. It's as mysterious as a third rate cult inventing its own mysteries after the cult leader read a book about Egypt once. But that's not the main problem. Atlantis. Bermuda Triangle. Whatever.

The show piles unanswered questions both in dialogue and in what happens on screen. People do mysterious things. Nothing is explained or ties together. The ship is revealed to have mystery rooms (but they make no sense), switches and switchboxes hidden in hidden compartments. People know about them for unknown reasons, like the first mate - but the captain doesn't. So the first mate is obviously a conspirator of sorts. The shipping line knows things it won't reveal and sends telegrams to prevent people from doing what they will obviously do anyway. There are mystery communications coming out of a telegraph ticker in coded symbol language.

All of this by end of episode 3, 150 minutes into the show. Season 1 (which is to be the only season as it didn't get renewed) is 8 episodes long. The show doesn't give you anything, really, in this time. No answers, nothing to satisfy. No joy. For 150 minutes. I hope nobody is mystified why it didn't get renewed.

I mean, come on. It botches the setting. It has mostly unappealing characters. The two main protagonists are okay, I was overjoyed about the casting choice of the captain. But they are then engaged in obscure dialogue and depressing flashbacks. Nobody has anything going for them. The male protagonist is even an alcoholic. The problem is that we are as alienated from these people as they are from themselves by the time they start to connect. And only in few cases even that is pleasant.

Dark was the small town, its connections, but also the secrets, the private spaces, the mystery behind the curtains, the compulsions, the thrills, what you believe in to be right, the struggle, and it was all convincing, compelling, and even parts that initially seemed unconvincing later on came into their own right and explained in their own way.

1899 is alienation that goes on and on. Why should I care what happens to these people? Yes, the protagonist lady has modern morals. She ignores class barriers and tries to do the right thing. The captain also doesn't care if you are a Polish coal shoveler (who is the only charming, nice character) or a black stowaway, as long as you are willing and capable. It's an interesting trait, but way too convenient for the story, and how did he come into a position of authority over hundreds of people to begin with, an authority over life and death, ultimately? How does anything make sense?

The most annoying parts are those where 1899 quotes (or seems to quote) Dark. The obvious one are the credits (which worked for Dark but not so much for 1899) and the song at the end of each episode. The selection of songs is on the nose ("White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane - very surreal, 5 out of 5) and at odds with a 19th century show. And the first death is of course a child. But whereas the missing and dead children of Dark lead into the dark heart of the mystery (and are disturbing), this child is, well, dead, and that's bad because she's a child and a girl, alright? Given how little screen time any of the cast gets, we saw her a few times and maybe she was more relatable than others, but you can't call her a fleshed out character. Hell, if it had been done right and for mere mystery, she didn't have to be! But nothing works.

Ein Ende mit Schrecken...

Maybe I'll pick it up again. But 1899 is mostly one thing. Frustration. I just looked up an article why it wasn't renewed. And it spoiled a bit about how things evolve. They don't. And some outright stupid revelations. Yeah, okay, not going back.

Here's the thing. The people that wrote, casted, and directed Dark obviously knew what they were doing. And somehow the people that made 1899 didn't. But will they learn from it?

I noticed that in this day and age creators in the movie industry do not exactly seem to be encouraged to learn from their mistakes. Rings of Power season 1 sucked and was hated by lots of fans? We double down on it because we only consider the feedback from the critics (which is largely bought these days, one feels). The Last Jedi was an atrocious movie? (I watched it on a flight and thought every five minutes "This cannot get worse or more stupid." - and it did.) No, we make an even worse movie! To show you! We tell you it's good!

While it's hard to say what is true of these particular creators or studio execs as a group and unfair to generalize, I get this hunch that nobody goes in and does an honest review of what went wrong and learns from it. Because millions ride on success or failure and egos are on display. I've already resigned myself to the fact that it is by now the fate of almost every franchise to be ruined by incompetent writers and hack directors, maybe things just need to end and the prevalent sequelitis needs to be cured.

But I would hope that whoever made 1899 learns the right lessons from their failure and creates another work as tight and original as Dark in the future. I don't need another Dark, but I would welcome another story of its caliber.

In case of 1899 however an old German adage holds true: Besser ein Ende mit Schrecken als Schrecken ohne Ende. Better a terrible/terrifying ending than terror without end. 1899 dragged on without redeeming itself. It deserved the axe it got. Let's hope the team gets a chance at doing better.

#1899 #mystery #symbolism #dark #cancellation

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sxs-kav · 2 years ago

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In defense of Hophie, and how I would improve it

First of all, spoilers ahead, obviously. Secondly, this is a pro-Hophie post. Not to try and convince anyone to change their minds, but because while I love them together, I also recognize that they're relationship buildup was a disaster. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have worked at all with some tweaking. Also I just have a lot of thoughts about this series right now so I need to let them out or they'll just keep rattling around in my brain. Sorry this is like another dissertation.

I'll be honest: I may be totally biased towards Hort because I am a sucker for unrequitted love stories. Take my favorite example, Seiya/Usagi. I couldn't help comparing a lot of Hophie's interactions and story beats to them (though I think Seiya/Usagi is a stronger ship). I know a lot of people will say Hort is creepy, and yeah, I remember moments where I was like, okay calm your hormones dude. But just because he was open about his feelings I don't think he was pushy. I see people saying he pushed himself on Sophie, but I didn't see that. He was just there, trying to prove himself over and over, being supportive, protective, and even accepting that things weren't going to happen between them. It's why he was able to try dating Nicola. But just because you try to move on or accept someone's rejection doesn't mean you stop caring. I do wish he was a stronger character on his own. He has potential (I feel like I say that a lot about these books). He can be clever, he’s strong (maybe a bit OP), savage and yet kind-hearted. I would have liked to see him warm up to Tedros more, become unlikely bros. They almost did at the end of the last book. Also would have liked to see more of his motives beyond protecting Sophie, since he already reached his goal of burying his father. Maybe he learns to like teaching history more than he thought or finds some other thing he enjoys while they’re out questing.

Sophie on the other hand...I wish I'd seen more development of her feelings. Not so much in the first trilogy; I think the way it was open-ended with her being single and happy was nice, it left us to our imaginations. But if the end game was Hophie from the start of Camelot Years, then it needed to be better. There were so many missed opportunities to show her growing close to him, seeing him in a different light, questioning her feelings. They happened sparsely, and almost like an afterthought, until the last third of the last book where suddenly she was in love. And as a person who is perfectly comfortable being single, I don't think it ruins her character growth to be in a relationship. But rather than wanting it because she's lonely and misses Agatha, I wish it was because she just happened to fall in love along the way. In fact, that would have been even more compelling: being so happy alone that she wonders if she wants to be in a relationship at all, but unable to help falling for Hort, and realizing it doesn't mean she has to stop being independent and comfortable with herself.

What drives me nuts too is the Handbook. I really enjoyed it as a companion piece for expanding the world and letting us be inside the characters’ heads without narration. But it also heavily implied that there was already something developing between Hophie before the Camelot trilogy (especially the last bit about Sophie whispering something in Hort’s ear). So why did it seem like they were no closer to getting together by the time Camelot started?

I also have to point out Nicola. I hope I don't get hate for this, but she was kind of pointless, and a Mary Sue. She comes in like a self-insert character who read the first trilogy and wants to self-ship with Hort. She's got too much special knowledge that gets them out of trouble when no one else can. She's smarter than a lot of the other first years and there's not a good explanation why she was in Evil and switched to Good. The Storian picked her to go with them, but there was no resolution for why she was so important to be mentioned by name when no one really knew her beforehand. Then suddenly she became a background character because Soman was focused in on Hophie. Not to mention how quickly she went from being infatuated with Hort to being annoyed every time he spoke. Their breakup was so forced, and it only made it clear that Nicola was introduced mostly to create a love triangle, but it wasn't even utilized well to advance Hophie's relationship. It all goes back to Soman's writing in general, which I went on about at length in a different post, so check that out if you want.

For now, may I present to you how I would have written Hophie's love story:

Starting in book 4, since Sophie and Hort have been working closely for the last 6 months, they have gotten to be very close friends. Eating together, doing lesson plans together, etc., and yes, Sophie still has him do things for her because that’s just how she is, but he doesn’t mind because that’s how he is. Sophie hasn't felt this comfortable around another person since Agatha, that she can just be herself and not worry about judgement. Obviously she can tell Hort's feelings haven't changed a bit, and they do have some flirty moments, but she's so at peace with herself in her independence, she doesn't want to disturb that balance and possibly become the old Sophie who felt like all she wanted in life was a boyfriend. So she skirts around any advances or moments where they're on the brink of something, doing her best not to hurt Hort's feelings even more.

In comes Nicola. Things generally play out the same in the books, with Hort feeling like Sophie will just never feel the same, that maybe she only sees him as a friend now that they've gotten to know each other so intimately. So he gives Nicola a chance, and Sophie is jealous. More so than the hinted jealousy we got in the books that lasted like five minutes. This girl just came along and snatched up her bestie (not that she’s replacing Agatha, but how can she not consider Hort a best friend in this scenario?) and she does not want to go through that again. But she's also annoyed with herself for being jealous because she chose this life of being single and she likes it. She's not unhappy, she's not lost and lonely anymore. She shouldn't care that someone else is dating Hort because she already chose not to. She has no claim to him, and he looks happy. So she doesn’t try to break them up (after the first few days) but she keeps her distance.

As for Rhian, Sophie has her doubts still about dating, but now she's wondering if she hasn’t changed as much as she thought. Clearly she still wants love in some capacity if she can get so jealous, and since she missed her chance with Hort she doesn't want to lose another. She also uses Rhian a bit to get back at Hort even though he didn't really do anything wrong (but it's Sophie, she needs to let her anger out somehow). But even as Rhian dotes on her and acts like the prince she'd always dreamed of, she's still not entirely satisfied. She's still jealous. She realizes that it's not that she just wants any old boyfriend so she won’t miss out on love. She only wants Hort, and now it's too late. She plans to dump Rhian but he holds her hostage before she has a chance.

Meanwhile, Nicola is getting to know the real Hort, rather than the storybook one, and she's starting to wonder if maybe she was more attracted to the idea of him than the actual person. There would be a moment when he would do something that she was either disgusted by or showed a side of him she didn't know was there and didn't like. Maybe something Never-ish that bothered her more than she'd thought it would. She starts to rethink her feelings, while also seeing more and more that Hort is not over Sophie.

Hort is basically the same as the books with his protectiveness, but since it would be established that he and Sophie are even closer friends, he would try to talk to her like normal and she would be very distant. He's confused and hurt, but he keeps trying until Rhian comes along. When Sophie rubs him in Hort’s face, he gets angry and puts all his attention on Nicola, rubbing it back in her face, creating a vicious cycle. But Nicola’s fantasy of him is already breaking. I think they would break up sooner in this version of the story, since it’s not really necessary for them still to be together after they are captured by Rhian.

Sophie and Hort’s anger at each other is put aside after Rhian pulls the sword. There would still be the scene where she chooses to take him from the dungeon, and the rescue gone wrong. This whole section of book 5, from Hort trying to kill Rhian through the stymph rescue is one of my favorite parts because you really felt the chemistry between Sophie and Hort, how easy it was for them to plot together without even speaking. I think it would be even more heartbreaking when he leaves without her, because they almost made it out together, but now they’re separated again without having had a chance to apologize to each other, not knowing if they’ll ever see each other again.

The first thing they do when they’re reunited in Gnomeland is apologize, and though it’s a little awkward at first, now that Nicola dumped Hort, they fall right back to where they were before. From here, I think the story would progress pretty similarly to how it does in the books, with the some minor changes. Obviously Sophie and Agatha’s conversation on the camel would be different, with Sophie confessing to her about her feelings and the fact that she held back because she didn’t want to lose her independence. Agatha would urge her to act on her feelings using herself as an example. She still did what she wanted, even when Tedros wanted her to act like a regular princess, and she’s sure Hort would never hold her back from being her own person and doing what made her happy. That’s when Sophie decides that she’s going to make her move the next chance she gets.

The scene in the Mirage would be a little different too. Rather than accidentally insulting Hort, their conversation would just be interrupted by the arrival of the army. And they’d still be interrupted in the Celestium. The scene where Hort ‘dies’ would also be pretty much the same, but I think it would hit harder after all this build up. And their reunion scene would be even more satisfying, but I’d have Sophie run at him and kiss him before they say anything. He would be shocked, but he wouldn’t dare to let her go. They’d both be all teary-eyed as Hort explained how he lived and that the wolf was gone, and she might not like him anymore. She would definitely confess that she’d been in love with him for a while, not for the wolf but for the man. That she wanted to tell him in Shazabah, and how sorry she was for being too stubborn to let herself be happy, independent and in love. He would agree that she was stubborn, but also say he loved her for it.

And that, my friends, is how Hophie should have been written. If it was, I think a lot more people would appreciate it, and I would like it even more than I do. I see so much potential for what could have been, and again I’m left frustrated by how it was actually done. But at least I can finally say one of my ships is actually canon, problematic as it is.

#sge #school for good and evil #hophie #sophie #hort #spoilers #sge spoilers

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animatorweirdo · 2 years ago

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The hawk’s fading song

(This idea has been spending time in the drafts, so it’s time I grab it from the darkness and bring it to the light. This is a chapter for a new series, which will not be continued til I finish my current one, so enjoy,)

(This is from Maedhros’s view, so you don’t get confused)

Pilot chapter

Warnings; Growing friendship, treachery, war, mentions of death, angst and after thoughts.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When he first laid his eyes upon you, you somehow felt different from your house and the Easterling kin. You belonged to the house of Ulfang. However, unlike your father and brothers, who had nothing but pride and arrogance. You were quiet and more refined. You didn’t speak unless spoken to, and your family didn’t include you much as they swore loyalty to his house.

Maedhros first thought you were shy since you were the youngest of the family, but that thought soon vanished when he saw you walk around Himring with glee and curiosity to see everything his people had to offer.

You looked carefree and cheerful, like a child discovering the world. It was a surprise to him because you looked happier going on your own than staying with your kindred. His thoughts about your kin disappeared as he couldn't help but observe you more.

It felt refreshing because, in his mind, you were a pure soul, and watching you interact with his people made him long for the peace and unity his people once had with the world, long before Morgoth and the crimes his family committed for the sake of the oath.

Watching you grew his curiosity, so Maedhros decided that he wanted to try speaking with you. It had barely anything to do with his alliance with your people. Your cheerful and free nature was somewhat compelling, pulling him to you. He watched from the side as you climbed the stairs to his walls and whistled to summon a hawk. He was surprised, and his curiosity grew only higher.

Maedhros knew your people used trained hawks to deliver letters and help scout the lands, but watching you pet the bird with a smile was enough to make him approach you.

You were surprised to see him but remained respectful and bowed your head toward him. You almost turned back into your quiet self like in the court, so Maedhros managed to ease up the air, and the conversations flowed like a calm river.

He learned a lot about you and your kin, and it felt refreshing to talk about something than politics or his brother’s shenanigans. You even allowed him to pet your feathery companion, who happily accepted the gentle head pats.

You claimed to be an oddball of the family. You have little interest in politics, so you remain quiet but enjoy going to see new things and people. Your father has expectations for you, but you rebel a little, learning the way of the sword and riding around upon a horse. You just want to see the world around you more than many other women and maidens who prefer to stay home and do embroidery and house chores.

Maedhros enjoyed your little statements because you reminded him of his half-cousin, Aredhel. You two would most likely get along. Even though; you would most likely end up traumatized since everyone from his family tree tends to be wild and rough. You might be too innocent and soft to handle any of that.

He started seeing you around. You two were busy with your people and duties, but he took the chance whenever you got some privacy and an opportunity for a chat. It was nothing personal like some would have imagined, seeing him talk to an edain in private.

You two exchanged stories, and he had a chance to learn a lot about humans, and the difference between the culture between them and his kin was kind of shocking. He never understood one of his cousins, Finrod’s, fascination with humans before, but now he knew, thanks to you.

Maedhros enjoyed talking with you, and it was a pity he couldn't chat more with you when your people settled down someplace far away from Himring, so he took his chances to talk with you whenever your family visited for a political meeting.

You often exchange well wishes, but sometimes you share family drama that happens once in a while. Maedhros sometimes share the family drama of his own and teach you a thing or two about the Eldar and speaks about Valinor and its wonders.

You always had that look of wonder whenever he spoke about his former home. He kind of grew to adore it because it reminded him there were still good things in this dark world filled with darkness and wars.

However, things soon started to go wrong.

He should have noticed the signs early. That there was something wrong with your people, that they were hiding something.

One day, during one of your meetings when you two stop to talk about things. Maedhros was telling about the valars and Morgoth. You asked what the black foe was like out of curiosity, but when he described the dark valar to you. You froze.

You didn’t say anything and seemed to be in deep thought, but then he noticed how your hands began shaking. He got concerned, so he tried to ask if you were feeling unwell. You claimed to be fine, but you began acting strange, making his concerns worse, especially when you seemed to be avoiding the truth.

He couldn't inquire more about your strange behavior after you left and suddenly stopped visiting. He heard nothing about you for months. It made him concerned because it seemed you had simply vanished from the face of the earth. After some time, though. He concluded you were busy with your life and tried to move on with life.

He should have taken that as a warning sign.

Weeks before the plan to finally assault the iron fortress with the union, he received strange letters. No one managed to figure out who sent them, and they were strangely crypted, like the mysterious sender didn’t want anyone else to read them.

Maedhros did not understand them at first but slowly picked up the pieces and put together what the mysterious sender wanted him to know. They told him of plans and described a dark man with promises of wealth and lands.

The letters were confusing, but he became suspicious because the letters described people of the eastern lands ready to fight for the dark and oppress the light. It heavily describes the Easterlings and that they might be in league with Morgoth.

He was concerned. However, his brothers didn’t catch on to the message and told him to brush them off because they had the forces to overthrow Morgoth, and the plan had already set its course. They couldn't back down now. They also thought the letters might be coming from a pretender and a spy.

Maedhros shouldn't have ignored the letters as they proved to be warnings.

Right after, everything started to look up for them on the battlefield. The Easterlings turned their backs on them and started killing his people. Maedhros was aware it might happen, yet he ignored the warnings and couldn't do anything to stop the tide of the battle.

He and his brothers managed to slay Ulfang and his traitorous sons, but it was already too late, and they couldn't do anything but retreat.

Hundreds dead, lands lost, and worst of all, Fingon had been killed. They couldn't retrieve much from his mangled body except the bloodied blue cloak.

They had suffered a loss worse than in the battle of the sudden flames.

Maedhros was careless. Too desperate to overthrow Morgoth and finally take back the silmarils from the iron crown.

He and his kin suffered a bitter defeat, and no doubt the black enemy laughed at their misfortune. Easterlings were out of control and taking everything they wanted from the innocent people, and there was nothing he could do except purge them from his lands.

Maedhros went through all the letters, and just as he thought. The hints and signs were all there, and yet, in his incompetence, he did not heed them. And it cost the lives of those who fought for him and the life of his dearest friend. He had failed.

One question remained, what happened to you?

He couldn't honestly care, but he also couldn't help but wonder what became of you. Your reaction to Morgoth was the first sign, then you just vanished. You were not there to fight by your family’s side, so your fate remained unknown.

Did you side with your family on the betrayal? Did you become the leader of your people after your father and brothers died? What were you currently thinking? Did you regret any of it?

Maedhros tried to stop thinking and feeling hurt over the betrayal. He hated the feeling because it made him think about all those times sneaking away to talk and spend time away from the politics and the drama of families with you. Did any of it matter to you, or was it just another farce to gain his trust?

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore. The damage has already been done, and you were just another human from a group of traitors.

#maedhros x reader #maedhros #silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #silm fic #middle earth x reader #easterling reader #maedhros x human reader #human reader #The battle of the unnumbered tears #tolkien #noldor #silmarillion fanfiction #The hawk's fading song #series

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

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nateezfics · 4 years ago

Text

I’ve been watching the anime Vampire Knight again and my mind is going insane. Like...I am absolutely crazy for spending so much time on this. Below the cut is me brainstorming and running away with an idea.

Imagine going to a private university where the student body is split in two parts. The day class and the night class. These two classes never cross as it is forbidden. The day class knows nothing more than that there is a night class, but the rest is a mystery. Not a single student of the light has seen a night time student. The daytime students do not know the the school’s dark secret. They do not know that the night class is full of vampires, vampires who wish to turn away from their evil natures. Though they are learning to keep their inner monsters at bay, they are still a potential danger to the day students, hence the separation.

You are the president of the women’s dormitories, and also part of the night watch. One night, after reprimanding two wandering students and sending them back to their dorm, you are confronted by two dashingly beautiful men. They wear uniforms with the school’s emblem, but you’ve never seen them before. It dawns on you that these must be students from the enigmatic night class. Their otherworldly beauty, their sharp fangs, their glowing eyes....everything about them seems...inhuman. Before you can blink, they close in on you, and then everything turns black.

When you awake, you realize much to your horror and confusion that you are not in your dorm. You’re in an unknown place. Soon you’re surrounded by a group of men, all who share the quality of dazzling beauty. As they gaze upon you with illuminated eyes, you realize that the night class is more than a class of students...it is a coven of vampires. You wonder what in the world you’ve been dragged into.

The Night Class

Hongjoong; Night class student president; president of the men’s dormitory (night class); level A/pure blood vampire

Hongjoong was the first student in Cross Academy’s night class

Befriended the Headmaster many years ago and the two shared a common interest: to see humans and vampires living harmoniously

Hongjoong originally fed on humans, but after meeting the Headmaster, decided to change his ways and fight against his own nature

Hongjoong helped give way to Headmaster’s dream of using Cross Academy as a way for vampires to better themselves

Hongjoong is several centuries old

He is a pure blood within level A, the top tier of the vampire class system, making him one of the most powerful and feared vampires around

The Kim family is one of the few remaining pure blood families

Saved the reader many years ago when she was only a small child from being killed by a vampire

Cared for her through the night and brought her to the Headmaster’s doorstep

Hongjoong follows the university’s strict rule of keeping himself and the night class hidden, despite wanting to check up on the reader who does not remember him

He is a kind vampire, but has a stained past which he tries to overcome

Is respected amongst both the school’s night class students and the vampire realm

Though he does get flack from the Vampire Council for trying to resist his vampire nature and being so friendly with humans

Seonghwa; Night class student secretary; right hand to the night class president; level A/pure blood vampire

Seonghwa is an old friend to Hongjoong, the two of them knowing each other for centuries

He is older than Hongjoong

Did not agree with Hongjoong’s theology at first, but eventually decided to join him at the academy

Seonghwa often acts as Hongjoong’s voice of reason, mostly because he helps keep the rest of the night class in check

If Hongjoong is away, Seonghwa acts as temporary president

Is a bit less ruthless than Hongjoong in terms of discipline, and he often gets called the “mother of the night class” due to his nurturing nature

He is a pure blooded vampire from the Park family, another powerful vampire line

He is not too fond of humans per se, but tries to follow along with Hongjoong, and tries to understand that their lives are precious

Him and Hongjoong both rely the least on blood pills (pills that act as a placebo to quench a vampire’s desire for actual blood from humans) due to having been in the academy the longest

Yunho; Day watcher/enforcer for the night class; hunter; level B/aristocratic vampire

Unlike the former two vampires, Yunho is not a pure blood

Meaning somewhere in his ancestry there are humans who’d been turned

Comes from a wealthy family, earning him the status of level B vampire

Has always been kind to humans somewhat, never preying on the innocent but instead preying on the evil, wrong doing humans like criminals

Befriends the Headmaster and joins the academy by his request

It doesn’t take long for Yunho to fall in line with the hope of one day living along side humans

Yunho watches over the night class section of campus and its dorms during the day to make sure no day students wander too close.

Carries out punishments to night class students at Hongjoong’s judgement

Often aids the Vampire Council in hunting and eliminating rogue level D vampires

Will also follow Hongjoong along side his missions to recruit more vampires into the academy

Is slowly trying to become less reliant on blood pills

Yeosang; Night class’ top student; scholar; level B/aristocratic vampire

Yeosang was recruited by Hongjoong to join, but at first was unwilling to join

He only decided to go to Cross Academy because of his ages old friend, Wooyoung

He’s an extremely picky eater

Always preyed on humans with a certain blood type and humans that came from high society families

After coming to the academy, Yeosang struggled with denying his bloodlust

His dislike for the blood pills didn’t help

Learned to keep it under control when he decided to just hunt for animals around the university’s campus

Is indifferent about wanting to be harmonious with humans

Despite this, he is the top student of the night class, having shown the most growth and progress

He’s a man of knowledge, loves to spend time in the library

He’s very sharp tongued, and often makes condescending quips about the other night class vampires, especially San

Does not use blood pills, rather he just feeds straight from animals

San; Night class transporter/gatekeeper; level C/common vampire

He’s in charge of leading the night class from their dorms to the main building

He makes sure all the day students are out of the building and classrooms

Usually has to wait for an all clear from the Headmaster

San was the first commoner, level C vampire to enroll at Cross Academy

Commoner vampires are normal, every day people, usually they are the vampires that walk amongst humans the most

San is incredibly powerful for a level C, and this is why Hongjoong recruited him

Isn’t quite sure how he feels about denying his vampire nature, but his respect for Hongjoong and his close lineage to humans compels him to try

Wooyoung is his companion, whether romantically or platonically is something the night class is always trying to find out

The two are inseparable

San came before Wooyoung, and when the latter first started at the academy, the two vampires quickly bonded over both being level C’s

San requires many blood pills a day

Being a level C means there is a lot of humanity in his lineage which also makes him most likely to go berserk and turn into a level D vampire, a mindless feral being

Mingi; Night class bookkeeper; scribe; level A/pure blood vampire

Mingi is somewhat of a right hand to the right hand

He often aids Seonghwa in managing the more tedious side parts of the night class, like paperwork

Mingi keeps record of all complaints, new students, dorm inspections, punishments, and schedules for each day

He also tends to the library as well as the music/recreation hall

Yunho is responsible for his presence at the academy

Mingi quickly earns respect from Hongjoong, and becomes Hongjoong’s left hand man with Seonghwa as his right

Mingi is tender hearted, and always struggled with his vampire nature

Feeding on humans was something he never enjoyed, a strange trait for a being with not a single ounce of humanity in his bloodline

Mingi often acts the source of cheer amongst the night class

He likes to compose, and sometimes he will play for the other vampires to allow everyone to unwind

The Song family was always close with the Jeong family, and because of this Yunho and Mingi have known each for a very long time

Does not rely on blood pills all that much, but takes them as soon as he feels any amount thirst for blood because he does not like the feeling of bloodlust and the way it reminds him of how evil his kind is

Wooyoung; Class socialite; level C/common vampire

Wooyoung is a common vampire like San, but this does not keep him from befriending vampires of all classes

He is very extroverted, and Hongjoong believes his love for socializing will one day help bring humans and vampires together

Wooyoung has no official role within the night class, but helps where he can

He maintains an upbeat atmosphere within the class along with Mingi

He often gets on the other vampires’ nerves, especially Seonghwa

He loves to cause mischief and naturally Seonghwa is the victim more often than not

Yeosang is a common target as well, but he remains aloof to his friend’s shenanigans

Wooyoung learned very quickly on to never pull anything on Hongjoong, he was scolded by the elder vampire so bad that he refused to leave his dorm room for a week

He’s always with San, and secretly loves it when Yeosang makes jests about them being a “couple”

Wooyoung often attempts to sneak around the day class dorms, just to take a peek, but Jongho always catches him

He takes blood pills regularly

Jongho; Day watcher/enforcer for the night class; hunter; level B/aristocratic vampire

Jongho has a reputation amongst the vampire realm of being a champion hunter

His strength knows very few rivals despite him being a fairly young vampire

Was commissioned by the Council centuries ago to be a hunter

Jongho mainly hunts level D vampires now, especially after enrolling at the university

But he used to hunt vampire hunters - humans who specialize in eliminating vampires of all levels

Jongho’s strength is normally enough of a deterrent to keep night class students from pulling anything stupid

Though Wooyoung often pushes his luck

With Yunho, the night class section of the campus is secure

Isn’t exactly onboard with Hongjoong and Headmaster’s ideals

He sees humans as lesser than

But Hongjoong is working with him, and slowly Jongho is beginning to reform

He may be the youngest, but everyone (even Hongjoong) is somewhat intimidated by him

The Day Class

Reader; Night watcher/enforcer for the day class; president of the women’s dormitory; human

When you were young, you were out with your family one evening

You were attacked by a strange man

He killed your parents right before your eyes

Before he could harm you, someone rescued you

Your savior had the same glowing eyes as the man who killed your parents, but for some reason, you trusted him

He was so kind to you, and even brought you to someone who could take care of you

You don’t remember him in the years to come, save for his glowing eyes

But as the years pass, you dream of his eyes, wondering if you’ll ever find him one day

The academy’s Headmaster raises you as his own, and naturally when it came time for you to attend university, you chose to attend Cross Academy

You take your role as dorm president seriously

And you never miss a shift as night watcher

With all your responsibilities, you don’t have much free time

But late at night while you rest, you ponder about the night class

Your father never tells you anything when you ask

Something tells you there’s more to it all, more to the story

Fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately, you find out the mystery soon enough

#ateez headcanons #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez vampire au #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #yeosang smut #san smut #mingi smut #wooyoung smut #jongho smut

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