#even though it would have destroyed her not to be

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 3

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

The library was supposed to be a safe space. The priestesses were supposed to be sheltered there.

A place far away from the terrors of the world. A place where they could study and learn far from the grasp of those who would harm them.

But clearly today that peace had been destroyed, Rhys reflected weakly. 

Merrill was dead. 

Neither Cassian or Rhys had let Gwyn see the…carnage of that, Nesta and Emerie bracketing her away from…her fellow priestesses’ corpse…and Irena…

Rhys had to keep repeating the words to himself, over and over again. Like a litany, a prayer, desperately trying to make them stick. 

Irena was alive. Irena would be fine.

 She would be alright, even though she looked so, so pale, deathly pale in Azriel's arms.

Irena.

Irena, who Azriel had saved around two centuries ago…

Not from the horrors of the war but from her husband.

The daughter of a merchant, married off young, to one of the richest men in the midlands…she had been raised to run an estate…had excelled at it in fact. And her husband had excelled in killing young girls.

The things he had put her through... The things he had done... 

Azriel, who had found her and brought her to Velaris had been shocked that she'd stayed in one piece to be honest. Rhys had been shocked too.

And once she had been in the library…she had excelled once more.

Rhys had gotten long used to see her handwriting, not long suffering Clotho’s, fill out the sheets with expenditures and acquisitions.

She had cut the fat, made sure that the House of Wind was self sufficient, thanks to research requests being able to be submitted, thanks to patents and the gardens…

Irena had been a godssend. Literally. 

Rhys wasn't quite sure how they had survived before her.

But the last fucking thing he had expected was that…her and Azriel were…mates.

Rhysand had not seen that coming in a million years

But there was no question about it.

If Irena's thoughts, an utter mess of shock and pain and grief and agony...with the only thing that ran through it the whole time was her thread to Azriel wouldn't have been a dead giveaway...then it would have been Azriel's behaviour.

Azriel who had gone on his knees next to the priestess, his hands slick with her blood and had simply clung to her. He had begged her, his voice broken.

Rhys would never forget the sound of his brother's voice, the pure desperation bleeding from every single letter. Please. We haven't had enough time. I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight. Don't you dare. Open your eyes. Look at me, love. You can't go. Fight.

That look on Azriel's face as he had held her close, refusing to let go as he tried to will her back from death's clutches. The words he had kept murmuring like a prayer. A desperate mantra to the Mother, the Cauldron, anyone who would listen.

Azriel was never the most expressive of them. He rarely even showed a flicker of emotion for most things. To see him lose so much control, to beg. To see tears in his eyes. None of them had ever seen him like that before, had ever even considered the possibility of him acting like that.

He was always composed. Always calm, collected, in control. To see him on his knees next to Irena, begging her not to leave as he pressed kisses to her forehead and kept telling her to stay with him…

For a moment, it had felt like he had forgotten the others even existed. That nothing had mattered except her pulse, the slight rise and fall of her chest. The only thing that had mattered to him in that moment was that she was still with him, still alive.

She was important to him. There was no question about it. 

Sometime during the last few years, that Priestess had become the Shadowsinger’s whole focus. 

Sometime in the past, Irena had become Azriel's whole world.

And Rhys hadn't known. Had known nothing about this.

He could feel the guilt clawing up inside him. 

Rhys had had no fucking clue this was happening, right underneath his nose. 

That he had never noticed that Azriel's eyes lingered on Irena…had never noticed that Azriel sought her company…hadn’t known that Azriel had spent time with her… 

Rhys hadn't known. Hadn't...hadn't even thought about it.

Azriel had pulled back from them after that catastrophic solstice and Rhys had let him. Had thought that Azriel needed to lick his wounds...that maybe then he would see it Rhysand's way...but none of this happened.

Azriel had kept his anger tightly leashed, even though Rhys had gotten a taste of it every time he badgered him. But Azriel hadn’t exploded. 

Instead, he had been vicious in throwing Rhysan’ own words back into his face. 

There didn’t pass one day where Rhys didn’t regret that one sentence, because Azriel was clearly… furious about it. 

Azriel had grown distant...cold...unfeeling. And Rhys had badgered him and got on his nerves and figured that if Azriel would just get it out of his system… but he didn't. Didn't get angry. Didn't fight. Didn't scream...Rhys would have preferred it if he did.

What wouldn't he give to have that old Azriel back, the one who actually got mad? Who didn't just accept everything with a nod and a word of acknowledgment. Who talked to Rhysand, who told him when he'd done something wrong. Who fought with him if he went too far, who made his opinion known. Who told him to his face when he was being an arrogant prick, who didn't just accept his commands with a quiet nod.

But now it made sense. Azriel hadn't fucking cared what Rhys did, what any of the did, because his priorities had been rearranged completely. As long as he could get home to his priestess...he hadn't cared.

He did all the missions Rhys had for him and then went home to the House of Wind and found one quiet corner or another to romance his mate, out of the view from everybody else. 

And that was the worst part. That Rhys had been such a prick to Azriel, so wrapped up in his own worries, his own fears, that he hadn't even noticed that something had shifted so fundamentally in his brother. Had pushed him so far away.

Rhys had thought that they were simply…in a rought spot. That in a few years, Azriel would be over Elain and it would be done. But now Rhys realised that…that it wasn’t about Elain. Not really.  

Rhys had never realized how deep this was, how close to the breaking point he'd taken his brother.

Deep enough that the fact that Azriel had found his mate...that was something that Azriel didn't share with any of them. Something that happy... Azriel had just kept silent.

Azriel hadn’t trusted them with the most treasured and precious thing in his life. 

And that hurt. Hurt more than he could put into words. 

That Azriel had found the one person who he was destined for, the only one who was perfect for him in the entire world. The one person who would love and cherish him, who would complete him, who would accept him as he was, who would understand him...and he hadn't told Rhys. Hadn't told any of them.

Azriel hadn't told anyone that he had found his mate. 

Had kept that to himself for who knew how long. Just how long had it been? When had he figured out they were mated? 

“Bring her to her room,” Madja said at the moment. And Rhys watched as seemingly some colour went back into Irena's cheeks, her eyes closed, her breathing still laboured…her mind filled with Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. and Safe, Safe, Safe. 

“My room,” Azriel corrected, his voice fierce. The mating instincts must have gone completely haywire at that very moment, not soothed at all, even when he had pressed a kiss against her forehead moments before.

.“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply, staring at Azriel, then at still, quiet Irena. She seemed to be utterly shell-shocked, not that Rhys could fault her. 

"Gwyn," Rhys said carefully. It was best if none of them...interfered right now. This was between Azriel and his mate.

"Az, how long have the two of you..." Cassian asked, clearly having come to the same conclusion, but Rhys interrupted him. *Leave him be,* he warned their brother.

*Leave him be?! I had no idea that he and Irena are...whatever the fuck they are!*

“Two years. She’s my mate,” Azriel answered, not even looking at any of them, completely concentrated on said mate. 

"Mate," Irena agreed weakly. "Mine."

"Yours," Azriel agreed, his voice hoarse, as he picked her up carefully like his mate was made out of spun glass. "Let's tuck you into bed, Love," he told her softly. 

And off his spymaster went carrying the priestess that was his mate.

Rhys could just stare after them. 

"Did you know?" Cassian demanded sharply.

"I had absolutely no fucking clue," Rhys admitted weakly.

He felt the guilt swirling inside him, deep and bitter and vicious. He should have known. He should have realized and supported Azriel.

But it had been Rhys who had pushed him so far away that he hadn't told him. That he didn't even think that he could tell Rhys that he had found his mate.

And it hurt. Gods, it hurt. To know that Azriel had kept something that he should have been so happy about to himself just so he wouldn't have to deal with Rhys's bullshit.

Cassian started barking orders...About a stretcher and about Merrill's body...It would be taken away and prepared for the last rites. 

It wasn't often that one of the priestesses died. It wasn't...They were safe here. They were supposed to be safe here...but whatever happened in this room…

“What even happened?” Rhys asked, as he turned around to surview the carnage. 

It was bad. Really bad. 

“Irena went to talk to Merill, because Merrill got…angry with one of the newer acolytes…” Gwyn said, her voice shaky. “Merrill was in a bad mood because Irena forbid her newest research project.”

Her newest research project? It was well known that Merrill was brilliant. So for Irena to…

"Why did she forbid it?" Rhys asked curiously.

"It involved some form of spell crafting. Irena wanted Merrill to have supervision from a spellcrafter, because it was a language that none of us actually understood and we didn’t eve know about what kind of spell it was…Merill didn't think that was needed," Gwyn said weakly, wiping away tears. "And now look where that got us. God, how could Merrill be this stupid?"

"It wasn't stupidity, it was probably arrogance," Cassian said with a sigh. "It's dumb luck that only...that only Irena got hurt.

Rhys couldn't but agree with Cassian's assessment. It was a miracle that Irena was alive. That she'd survived when Merrill’s body was…near unrecognisable….clearly it had been closer to whatever had blown up in their faces

Merrill had probably thought she knew what she was doing, but she didn't have the skill or training to work on advanced spell work. I

rena wasn’t the type of person who would deny research on a whim either. If she believed that Merrill needed supervision then Merrill had needed supervision.

Irena was clever. And cautious. 

Azriel's mate was a damn good judge of character after all.

Gods, Azriel's mate. What a thought…

The spymaster and the priestess. Rhys’ near silent brother and…and gentle, caring Irena, the beating heart of the library. 

Rhys would need to wrap his mind around that in private. 

“I’ll seal…this room,” Rhys said quietly. So nobody could enter. And then he would probably turn Amren loose in it, to turn around every fucking stone, so that they figured out what that spell had been that had reacted like it. The last thing they needed was for the spell to have any sort of consequences that involved Irena. 

"Clotho," he greeted the priestess as she arrived, inclining his head. 

What happened? she demanded, holding out her usual piece of paper. 

Rhys felt his stomach churn at that question.  

How the hell were they supposed to tell Clotho that not only one of the priestesses had tragically died…but one of the others was currently holed up in an Illyrian warrior's room, recovering from injuries that should have killed her, and that said Illyrian warrior was said priestess's mate, so was probably not going to leave her alone anytime soon?

And that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the absolute clusterfuck this whole situation was. There was nothing to do except to simply tell Clotho the truth and hope that she didn't have a breakdown.

"There was an...accident. Merrill is dead," he told her bluntly.

For a moment Clotho was just frozen in place. But he could tell that his words had hit her hard. That she was shocked, horrified, stunned beyond belief. HOW?!

And Rhys took a deep breath, trying to find a way to explain what had happened. 

To explain how one of her charges had been killed in a room where she was supposed to be safe…How her own experimentation, her own research had killed her…

And how no one had even noticed that a priestess had been mated. 

No...how the shadowsinger had mated to a Priestess and hadn't even thought to tell them because Rhys had acted like such as bastard to his brotherthat Azriel had actually thought it preferable to keep his mating bond a secret.

"Merill didn't listen when Irena turned down her research proposal," Gwyn said suddenly with a shaky voice. "Irena went to talk to her this afternoon, because Merill made Meera cry...It looks like the spell that she was taking apart went...haywire. Merill was killed in the backlash...Irena was hurt.”

Rhys just nodded. It was a reasonable explanation, even if it didn't cover everything that had gone on. At this point in time, he was almost more concerned about Clotho than anything else. The poor female looked ready to collapse.

I told Merill to keep away from that spellbook. We still don’t know what it even contained, Clotho agreed, even her handwriting looking shaky. 

He could tell that she was in shock and grief. Could imagine how she must be feeling. Clotho protected the Priestesses with all she had. They were her flock. To lose one of her charges...There was no way that Clotho would not blame herself.

She was going to blame herself for something that wasn't her fault at all. And the thought made Rhys feel sick to his stomach.

Clotho had enough weight on her shoulders already, the last thing she needed was guilt over something that was not even her fault.

IRENA?! Clotho demanded sharply.

"Alive, if just barely," Rhys informed her, trying to push down his own guilt at the thought. "Madja is with her."

In the dormitory?

"No, in Azriel's room," Cassian said bluntly. "Apparently they have been mates for... two years.”

Clotho's head snapped around, facing Cassian, her eyes wide. 

Nobody had seen that coming, not even one of Irena’s closest friends. 

It seemed like both of them had kept it quiet. Azriel must have so badly wanted to protect his mate from…from him, that…

The thought made Rhys feel sick. Azriel would rather keep his mate a secret than reveal to Rhys that he had found her. 

Than tell him that he had found his perfect match, that there was a female in this world that loved him above all others, who understood him, who supported him.

And it was all Rhys' own fault. 

He didn't have any other thought. There was no other explanation. If a friend didn't trust him enough to confide in him that he had found his mate, it was because he had done something wrong. So wrong that Azriel hadn't felt like he could tell him.

She wanted to be with him? Clotho demanded.

"From the look of it, she was barely conscious, but still claimed him as hers. And Azriel certainly seemed to think that she would want to be with him," Rhys told Clotho. 

And why wouldn't she? He was her mate. Her mate. 

"He won't do anything to her," Cassian said fiercely. "She's his mate."

Rhys agreed with that. Of all the males in existence, Azriel was by far the least likely to do anything that Irena would not like. Hell, he wouldn't do anything that might make her even feel mildly uncomfortable. And if she told him to back off, he would give her as much space as she needed.

"Mor, whatever Clotho needs," he told his cousin, who had brought Madja there, who just inclined her head, seemingly shaken. "I'll seal of this room...we'll need to...figure out what to do with it," he said softly. "Clotho, whatever form of memorial you would like to hold...take all the time you need and then let me know."

Clotho looked at him sharply before nodding weakly. She probably wouldn't need his help when it came to something like this. She knew how to handle something like this. How to give her fallen a last farewell.

"I want to check on Irena," Gwyn said, her hands shaking as she crossed her arms.

Rhys nodded. That was fair. Of course Gwyn wanted to check on her friend. And at this point all anyone could really do was wait anyway. "Let me seal the room and then we can go," he said softly. "But I need to warn you, Azriel will be...overprotective," he told her. "Chances are, he won't let you get close to her at all."

"I don't have any doubt about that," Gwyn said dryly. "But she's my friend. I should at least be allowed to check on her."

***

He cleaned the blood of her skin...The shadows procured one of Irena's nightgowns. She didn't protest when he held her up and Madja pulled the soiled, ruined dress from her body...didn't even flinch away from his touch on her naked skin.

They had never gone further than some heated...kisses...further than his hands slipping under her nightgown and pressing against her soft skin. He had never wanted to push. Azriel had been willing to give her all the time in the world. 

It had taken months until she had been ready for a hug…longer for a kiss. And he had waited. Gladly. He had gladly waited, because it was worth the wait. She was worth the wait. 

Her marriage wasn't something that she was just going to get over, and Azriel was never ever going to push her for more than she willingly offered him. 

He had never wanted to undress her under these circumstances. So he closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss to her head, not looking at all. 

Irena didn't make a sound, didn't even really respond...just stared into the distance. He wasn't even sure she really noticed what was happening to her. Wasn't sure she even noticed Madja cleaning the wounds…cleaning thin, silver lines, scars of her past, mostly hidden by her clothing, but still visible. 

This was also when they saw the rest of the wounds...and the fact that her bad leg was broken.

Madja bandaged it carefully, stuffing pillows underneath it to keep it elevated, wrapped the rest of her bruises and scrapes with a tincture.

Still, once she was clean, no more debris in her hair, her skin as clean as he could get it...and the new nightgown was fitted over her skin, he tugged her underneath the thick goose feather stuffed duvet and then the furs.

There was no resistance on Irena’s part. She just let him do as he pleased, let herself be maneuvered and tucked in with the patience of a parent settling a little girl into bed. She didn't say anything. Didn't protest at all, even when he curled his own large body around her smaller frame, even when his wings came around her, shielding her from the outside world.

But she didn't move to snuggle up to him either. Didn't reach for him, didn't try to press her body into his. Just...allowed him to pull her close and hold her as tightly as he wanted. Her body was limp and unmoving, the only emotion on her face a sort of...emptiness. A blank expression that...it was terrifying.

He wrapped his arms around her with a sigh, running a gentle hand through her hair with a sigh. He knew that she was in shock. That she had just survived something terrible, something traumatic. So it wasn't surprising that she wasn't really responsive at the moment, that her skin felt like ice to him and that she was shaking slightly, trembling…

But the instinct to comfort her, to protect her from everything that might hurt her was roaring in his chest. He couldn't pull away from her, even though he knew he should. Even though he knew he should just be thankful that he had her, that she was here, in his hands, breathing.

She felt so thin in his hands. So fragile. Like she might break if he didn't hold her close. And that feeling, the knowledge of how vulnerable his mate was, it was almost too much for him to bear.

“I have pain potions and a sleeping draught,” Madja said quietly.

Azriel felt his jaw clench at the mention of a sleeping draught. He wanted Irena to rest, needed her to sleep away some of the horrors, but there was also some instinct in him that revolted at the idea of making her vulnerable like that. That revolted at the thought of knocking his mate out when she couldn't protect herself.

“Is that alright, love?” He asked her softly.

She didn't answer. Didn't even stir. The only sign that she had heard his question at all was the way her fingers clenched more tightly in his shirt. The only outward sign that she even understood that he was there at all. That she could even hear him. "Love?" He asked again, his voice a gentle murmur. "Do you want the sleeping draught, love?"

“Sleep?” She repeated weakly. 

“Sleep.” He promised her.

She simply opened her mouth in response, letting him pour it down her throat and swallowed.

He ran gentle fingers through her hair as the potion began to take effect. As her eyelids drooped and her limbs went loose and he could almost watch the tension leaving her body. He couldn't help but press a soft, tender kiss to the crown of her head.

Azriel couldn't put into words how good it felt to have her in his arms like this. To have her safe and protected and healing.

Madja left with the promise to be back soon…and as soon as she left there was a knock at the door. He didn’t want to deal with his brothers. 

*We could bar the door, master,* the shadows offered.

Azriel considered that for a long moment. It was tempting. Really, really tempting to just let the shadows seal the door and tell everyone to fuck off. That they could deal with the rest of the world later and he could just focus on Irena for now.

He knew that he couldn't though. Knew that he couldn't keep the world away from Irena. For all that he would like to protect her from all the harm in this world and lock her away into the safety of his arms, he knew that he couldn't do that. And that Rhys would throw a fit if he didn't let them in immediately.

He sighed softly, his arms tightening around his mate. He didn't want to deal with his brothers right now. Didn't want to deal with Rhys lecturing him about his decisions. Didn't want the pity and understanding in Cassian's eyes, his careful kindness. He didn't want to have to hold up the strong facade when his brother pushed and pushed and pushed.

“Come in,” he said flatly.

Azriel sighed softly as the door was opened and his brothers entered, both looking at him with concern. There was something else in Rhys' eyes, something that he wasn't sure how to name. The High Lord had an indecipherable look on his face as he moved to come stand next to the bed.

But it was Gwyn that shouldered both Rhys and Cassian out of the way, that immediately went to Irena’s bedside.

“She’s asleep,” he warned her softly. “Madja gave her a sleeping draught.”

The Valkyrie moved in silence, but Azriel could tell that she desperately wanted to reach out and touch her friend. Could tell that there was some instinct in her to touch Irena, to comfort her, that she was fighting against. He almost felt bad for her, knowing how hard it must have been to hold back that urge to offer comfort, knowing how desperately she had to want to soothe her friend's pain.

He knew that the two of them were close. That Irena was well liked by practically every priestess…That Roslin was her very best friend, but that she also got along with seemingly everybody else, including Gwyn. 

 And he wanted to let her get close to his mate. He really did. But the need to keep his mate safe was too strong. Was something that he couldn't fight against. So he just pulled Irena more firmly into his chest.

His only saving grace was that Gwyn seemed to understand. Didn't even try to argue with him or demand to get close to his mate. She just stayed at a respectable distance and didn't protest when he pulled Irena closer to his chest.

He could tell that she recognized his possessive nature for what it was. Just a desperate instinct to hold and protect his mate from further harm. And she didn't argue with him. 

“You are the one who gets her the tea and the cookies, aren’t you?” She asked him suddenly. “I was wondering where she got them from. They were always good but the tea has definitely gotten better the last two years.” 

*See, Master?!* the shadows cooed, seemingly heaving and then coming to blanket Irena in their very presence too. *We are getting her the best tea!*

They seemed very pleased with themselves. 

Azriel knew that when he wasn’t in Velaris, some of the shadows even kept Irena company through the night, cuddling themselves beneath her blankets with her. He also knew that Irena loved it.

Knew better than anyone even his shadows that those moments of comfort, those little gestures, mattered more to his mate than any large gifts ever could. Irena had never cared about large gestures, about pricy gifts, didn’t care about gifts or public displays of  affection. 

But those little things…she loved those little things. Loved her shadows coming to spend time with her…loved it when he gave her a back rub to ease the pain in her back, or when the shadows brought her the tea that she liked or her favourite cookies.

And Azriel…he loved giving her that.  He was happy to provide each and every one of them. He would do anything for her at this point. Would bring her anything that she asked for with enthusiasm. Because he loved it when her face lit up or when she smiled when he brought her something she didn't expect to get. That was something that he would never get tired of.

Azriel would never get tired of watching her face light up with happiness at the smallest of gifts that he gave her. Would never tire of feeling those little gestures bring her even a small moment of happiness. It brought him somuch joy to see her delighted by something so small. Made something inside of him fill with warmth.

“I’ll let her sleep,” Gwyn said softly. “Tell her when she’s awake that she owes us all the gossip. None of us had a clue that the two of you were seeing each other.”

Azriel inclined his head in response, a soft grin pulling at his lips despite everything. "I'll be sure to tell her." Not that he thought that there was anything to gossip about.

Gwyn left with another smile. Which left him with his brothers. 

“Az.” Cassian said with a weary sigh. ”What the fuck.”

Azriel frowned sharply, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he looked at his brother. His arms tightened around Irena unconsciously, the protective instinct coming into play.

He knew Cassian, knew all too well that his brother liked to be a pain in his ass, liked to push him further than he wanted to be pushed. "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, Cassian," he warned his brother in a low growl. "Say whatever it is that you feel the need to say, and then get out."

He knew that he probably looked completely insane. Knew that he looked like a madman clutching onto Irena with an iron grip and growling at anyone who dared get too close. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the instincts that seemed to be pulling at every muscle in his body, couldn't stop the tension that was coiling tight as a spring.

“How long has… this been going on?“ Rhys asked delicately. 

“Two years at next Starfall,“ Azriel answered flatly.

Cassian whistled softly at that. "Two years?!" He asked incredulously. "And you didn't think to tell us?"

Azriel's jaw clenched automatically at the words. 

He had thought to tell them. Numerous times. 

He had just never wanted to. 

First he had wanted to let things settle and solidify before announcing it to his family and letting them come swarming in to analyse their relationship…Later…later he just hadn’t wanted to. 

They were completely happy when nobody knew. Why change it? 

Azriel knew that he probably should have anticipated this reaction. Probably should have expected his brothers to be confused and annoyed, probably should have anticipated them wanting to know more. But he just hadn't wanted to deal with the questions and inquiries and curiosity and judgement. 

So he had kept his relationship with Irena a secret.

“It was none of your business,” he said simply.

Cassian stared at him, dark eyes pained.  “We are your brothers,” he said quietly.  

“Quite frankly, I just didn’t want to deal with whatever opinion you cook up about us,” Azriel said flatly.  His brothers were way too nosy and curious for their own good. Always had been. “We are happy. I didn’t want you to ruin that.”

They would have never respected his privacy or any boundary he had tried to set up. 

He knew that Cassianwas probably annoyed that he hadn’t told him about his relationship with Irena. Knew that he was probably feeling left out and...excluded. That he was hurt that Azriel had kept this from him. But he just couldn’t find it within himself to feel any sympathy at the moment. Not when his patience was already wearing thin. Not when he could still feel the fear of almost losing Irena thrumming under his skin.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Couldn’t handle whatever pity or lecturing his brother would give him. Just wanted to hold his mate and try to keep the fear of losing her at bay.

That fear was already too much, already consuming him and threatening to swallow him whole. The only thing that kept him sane, the only thing that kept him from falling apart was the knowledge that his mate, his Irena, was safe in his arms. And he needed to focus on that if he wanted to keep it together.

“Azriel.” Rhys’ choice was choked.

Azriel stiffened at the sound, his attention flicking to his brother automatically. There was something in Rhys’ voice, some emotion in his eyes that Azriel couldn’t quite discern right now.

He had heard his brother choked or emotional or desperate before, but this was something else. This was emotion in his brother that he had never seen before: raw, unfiltered, and painful.

The tone of Rhys’ voice, the almost anguished look in his eyes had Azriel holding his breath for a moment. Had his heartbeat picking up speed as he waited for his brother to speak.

The tension was heavy and thick as he waited, his muscles coiled tight as he waited for Rhys to speak. His whole body tense like a tightly wound spring.

“I am sorry,” Rhys whispered quietly.

Azriel stiffened slightly at that, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. His muscles were still tense, still ready for a fight, but the raw apology in Rhys' words, the emotion in his voice...it surprised him.

It was unexpected. He had expected the anger and the hurt and the bitterness, not the raw emotion in his brother’s voice. Not the apology.

He almost couldn’t believe his ears, almost wanted to ask his brother to repeat himself. But he just stayed quiet instead, just tensed and listened and waited for his brother to continue speaking.

He couldn't even blink as he waited, as he hung on every slight movement or small change in expression on his brothers face. The tension was so thick, so heavy he could almost taste it. But he still didn't move an inch. Just waited, every muscle still as a statue as he watched his brother with an almost desperate intensity.

“I am sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t want to hurt you,” Rhys said quietly. “I…we would have been happy for you,” Rhys promised him fiercely. 

Azriel felt his throat go dry at the words. The apology, the admission of his brother's intent to protect him, it was so unexpected that he almost couldn’t comprehend it. He felt some of the tension drain from his body, some of the tightness in his muscles loosening slightly.

Azriel's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he almost couldn't hear anything else over the sound. The raw emotion in his brother's voice, the sincerity in those simple words...it was overwhelming.

“You were hurt,” Rhys said softly. “I understand. But you could have come to us any time over the last two years and told us and we would have been a happy for you,” he promised him fiercely.

"Would you have really?" Azriel asked softly. "Would you really have been happy for us and not made a problem out of nothing?"

He wanted to believe his brother, truly he did. But there was still a small part of him, the small part that had been hurt and mistreated and rejected so many times before, that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The part of him that was looking for a catch, looking for the sign that this was just another manipulation.

He didn't want to feel this way, didn't want to look for the betrayal and rejection that had been written into his very soul. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the small part of him that was constantly looking for the next blow, bracing for rejection and hurt.

“We would have,” Cassian said fiercely. “You found your mate, Az.”

Azriel nodded slowly.

“How did you even hide it?” Cassian demanded, crossing his arms.

“I do know how to use a sound shield,” Azriel gave back flatly. 

Cassian let out a low chuckle at that, shaking his head as he grinned. "Well, you've always been more adept at keeping secrets than I am," he teased, a sly grin pulling at his lips. “ Since when do you sleep surrounded by furs by the way?” Cassian muttered.

“Irena gets cold,” he said simply.

“Wait, she spend the nights here with you?” Cassian suddenly realised.

"None of your business," Azriel replied flatly, not even trying to hide his annoyance with the nosy question. "Just focus on keeping your own mate happy, brother."

“How do you even sneak her up here?!”

"None of your business," Azriel repeated flatly. "My relationship with my mate is my own business, not yours."

He knew that he was being stubborn, that he was probably being unreasonable right now. But he couldn't help it. His emotions were too raw, too overwhelming for him to handle the intrusion into his personal life. He just wanted to focus on Irena and making sure she was okay, not on his brother's questions and prodding into the details of his relationship.

It was none of their business how he and Irena spent their time together, how they snuck around the house without being caught. That was something private, something sacred between them. And he wasn't going to share it with anyone, not even his own brothers.

He just wanted to protect that intimacy between him and his mate, wanted to keep it safely guarded from prying eyes that might not understand. He knew that his brothers cared about him, but he also knew that they could be too nosy for their own good sometimes. 

“…is she aware what these furs mean?” Cassian asked him pointedly. 

Was she aware that Azriel was laying claim to her with every single one of those furs that he hunted for her? Aware that he was following Illyrian tradition, regardless of how much…of how fucked up it was in many senses? 

“Yes,” he said simply. Kinda. A little bit. 

"So it's...serious?" Cassian asked him.

"She's my mate," he snapped back.

Cassian held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, a sheepish expression on his face.

Azriel let out a low groan, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just…leave it alone," he said tiredly. "Please. I'm not in the mood for any more questions right now."

He just wanted to be alone with Irena, wanted to hold her close and let the warmth of her body soothe his frayed nerves. He didn't want to deal with his brothers and their incessant questioning. Didn't want to talk about his relationship with Irena or how serious it was. He just wanted to be with her and that was it.

. His emotions were just too raw, too close to the surface for him to hold back. He just wanted a moment of peace, of quiet, with his mate.

He just wanted to hold her close and breathe in the scent of her skin, wanted to feel her warmth against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. He just wanted to know that she was safe, that she was still here with him. Was that really too much to ask?

He let out a long breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. He didn't want to be angry, didn't want to be frustrated. But he couldn't help it, couldn't help the surge of protective instincts that came over him every time he thought about how close he had come to losing his mate.

"If you need anything, let us know," Rhys said quietly.

Azriel stiffened at the words, his hands curling into fists at his sides automatically. He knew that Rhys was only trying to be supportive, that he was only trying to offer his help. But Azriel didn't want that. Didn't want his brother's help or sympathy. He just wanted to be left alone with his mate.

He wanted to protect her himself, to take care of her and keep her safe without his brothers' interference. He knew that Rhys only meant well, but that knowledge did nothing to calm his instincts. All he could think about was how close he had come to losing his mate, how close he had come to never seeing her again. And the thought terrified him.

It made his heart clench and his gut twist in fear and pain, his hands clenching tight as he struggled to keep his emotions under control. He didn't want to be vulnerable, didn't want to let his brothers see how much this had affected him. But he knew that it was pointless to try and hide it, that his brothers could probably see the rawness of his emotions written all over his face.

Azriel didn't try to argue with his brother, didn't try to explain himself. He just nodded.

[louve-garoue]

Ok sorry everyone I was gonna put this in the tags but then tumblr then went end erased half of it, which I had to rewrite so now you get it to have here :D ! Here we go :DD !

You ! You get it !

Twilight Princess has such an interesting story around Power. You seek it out with the Fused Shadow despite seeing exactly what harm and unwanted changes it could cause. whetever it be to those fighting against it or to those that dares touch it (hi there Fyrus and Wolf Link). And to make it even clearer Lanaryu give you a very graphic yet metaphorical warning to be careful with it.

And yet you don't hesitate to seek it. Even though it the same kind of power that attacked your home. You see how powerful it is and fighting fire with fire is the only plan you have. You see how dangerous it can be for both the wielder and the people around them and yet it's your only option. The Light World was so clearly beaten what else is there but seeking Shadows or admitting defeat.

And you refuse to admit defeat. And once you get to the second part of the game to find the Mirror Shards, you're confronted to those thoughts all over again. You have to go find the Master Sword. You have to go seek power yet again.

But it’s the power of Light this time. The same power that nearly killed Midna a few days ago. But still you go for it, and you get the Curse Out. And then instead of destroying you decide to keep and use it for yourself. Because it was powerful and you got it with you now so why would you throw it away. And just like that you are reclaiming what was used to hurt you. You reclaim the curse but you also reclaim your wolf form and Midna now no longer have to be a shadow in the Light Realm. You saw that Power was dangerous but you refuse let your fear of it control you (or to fear it at all), refuse to let it stop you from using something that will help you saves those you love. And on the way of doing just that you discover the beauty of what your people would simply dismiss as harmful and evil.

But still Power is dangerous, even if it’s not Evil and nothing teach you that better that Matornia (Yeta in English) and Blizzarnia, the first boss you have to fight to get the Mirror Shards. Now the Twilight Mirror is meant to be a get. It’s not a weapon, it’s not meant to harm and it’s certainly not evil, but it is powerful. And Power corrupts, change people. And so in the hand of people who don’t know of their power they became dangerous. It makes Matornia ills, attracted monsters and yet Matornia herself is fond of it and is reluctant to give it away, up until Power overtake her. Still even if dangerous, it’s not evil. The Twilight Mirror just need extra care and caution when handling them. And now finding them is not just about you getting power, it’s also about stopping people who don’t know to be careful from getting hurt, from getting changed or corrupted. You have been warned, the rest of the world have not. And you and Midna know what you are doing, know how to make sure the Mirror won’t bring harm to anyone else. The Mirror isn’t evil, it’s just been Misplaced, just like the Twilight Realm has been in the first half of the game.

And when it’s finally time for you two to unleash the power you earned throughout your journey to defeat Xanto (Zant), Midna is horrified by how much she had, how easy it was to kill. Perhaps it’s why she never let power overtake her. Power by itself is neutral, not evil nor good, like you said it’s just a tool. A tool that can show all it’s possibilities used by capable hands.

Anyway all that to say that 1. This comic is awesome and 2. This may feel like it comes from nowhere, but this blog is a “Tp Link (or Midna) got the Triforce of Power after defeating Ganondorf” Supremacy household. First because he deserve it and also it’s literally how it works ! You defeat the dude with a piece of the Triforce and you get to take it for yourself ! Come on I don’t make the rules ! Join me !

Anyway thank you for coming to my long-ass rant and fuck you tumblr.

power

[ambrosia-vinca]

Trying to put my thoughts in as uncontroversial a way as I possibly can (this is fandom so hopeless endeavor probably). I love Neve. I think she and Lucanis are cute and I like their banter, especially because we learn more about the both of them during their conversation (a bit about their childhoods for instance). No, I don't think “Lucanis loves Neve more” or “Lucanis loves Rook more” are justified takes.

But. Regarding Rook x Lucanis vs Neve x Lucanis. I think the thing that bothers me is that Lucanis feels like a completely different character with a different character arc depending on who he's in a relationship with, with no justification as to why that is.

In his romance arc with Rook, there's a big gap in the middle where he runs away because his own fears and trauma get too much, and he only comes around after Rook has literally been inside his head to break through his mental locks. They don't engage romantically at all otherwise after their almost kiss.

In his romance arc with Neve, he's receptive to her flirting always, and they have little dates and candlelit dinners. He doesn't seem to have a big mental block or to run away from her, he's mostly just being fumbling/shy and awkward. And it's never really justified or said why there's such a difference? Both couples end up being treated as a long-term serious thing. In a unhardened path, it can be argued that since Rook as a friend unlocks his mental prison, it enables him to go after Neve. But in a hardened path? He can't romance Rook because of his resentment/lack of trust, which is entirely justified for the kind of character he is, but does someone help him through his mental prison then? Does Neve go there at some point and help him out? I don't think it's ever mentioned (but maybe I missed things so entirely open to be corrected if I'm wrong. The mental prison thing seemed such a big/central thing for his character arc in this game so...)

Possibly a hot take but I think the comparison between relationships would have felt less jarring to me if there had been hints about Lucanis having the same character arc with Neve (running away, then coming back around after he starts getting his shit together). His romance arc with Neve feels like what Lucanis probably would have acted like before the Ossuary, cute and awkward without the mental prison/trauma thing that blocks him in a Rook romance, even though he's in the same situation, or even possibly worse if Treviso gets destroyed and blighted. I think it would have helped (for me anyway) if on top of the little scenes you get where he's cutely trying to woo Neve by making her coffee and dessert, you got another scene where he's having a bad time thinking he can't risk a relationship (since Rook is the therapist friend by default).

Then again, maybe I missed things? Idk if I've seen all the LucanisxNeve content the game has.

[sleepystargaze]

On Caitlyn's 180: An Essay

This is all spoiler below. But I NEED to talk about it.

What if this is the exact moment Caitlyn puts everything together, including Vi being one of the children who burglarized Jayce's penthouse.

Hear me out.

So, Caitlyn asks Vi what she's doing there, and Vi says, "Trying to save my dad." She has this little "AHA!" moment.

(go look at the last panel of this gif set rn for more context)

That woman just had an epiphany. Furthermore, the way the music swells at this exact moment just feels like it's clueing in on more than meets the eyes.

She clearly realizes, at minimum, that her and Vi are here for the same thing: Warwick. And then doesn't even really question it. This got me to thinking, "but how she do that though?"

Well, she has all the information she needs to put it together, this is just the first time she's had a reason to pull that SPECIFIC information together.

Let's start with the fact that Caitlyn loves a mystery, and the rise of shimmer is a part of her favorite mystery.

Literally, in her giant bedroom, the only part of it that looks lived in is the big map at the foot of her bed. The show doesn't indicate when exactly this obsession started for Caitlyn, but it makes it clear that it's been on her mind for a very long time. Jayce called it "the great conspiracy," so she definitely talked about it a lot. And Jayce's flippant attitude tells us she's definitely been thinking about it since she was a teenager.

Educated guess, I believe this started with Sheriff Grayson's murder. (a) It would be unsurprising Caitlyn felt a great need to bring justice to the person that murdered someone she cared for. (b) It was a murder that would ultimately become a cold case. (c) Silco being the main conspirator to her murder, the trail would lead her to a larger conspiracy.

And from this scene above, we know that Vi is impressed with what Caitlyn was able to gather without ever going to the Undercity. Which means, we know her board was really close to the truth. Afterall, it did lead her to Vi, who single-handedly led her to the answers she sought.

So, why the hell does this matter in regards to Vi being involved in the burglary?

Caitlyn knows that Grayson's main priority at the time of her death was finding the culprits of the explosion.

Caitlyn's parents clearly involve her in the conversations revolving around the explosion at the penthouse. I don't feel it's a stretch to assume she also knew that the council were putting pressure on Grayson to solve the case.

The explosion of the warehouse happened on the same night as Grayson's murder. While I don't think Caitlyn had a way to really connect the 2 explosions except that they happen within days of each other, I doubt Caitlyn forgets this fact even if she does not connect them initially. 

Now you may being wondering why the heck that matters. What does the warehouse have anything to do with it?

Caitlyn was in the ruins of the destroyed warehouse at the end of season 1.

In which she heard this conversation.

Thing is, she was going through an extremely traumatic experience at the time... Then her mom was killed... So I doubt she realized it was the same place nor had the mental capabilities of processing the information. And by the time she did have the capacity to really consider it, she likely had no reason to...at least yet.

Regardless, she's here for this conversation. She now at least knows Vander's name and that he was important to them and that Silco murdered him here.

So, she has her connection here. If she realizes this was the location of the second explosion, she now knows that Grayson and Vander were murdered on the same night. And if she connects it to the penthouse explosion, Grayson's investigation and main focus at the time, she also knows that...

4 children were fleeing the scene.

Seems like everyone knew this within the hour after the explosion. Word spread so fast, Vander knew before the kids even got home. Caitlyn undoubtedly knows about the kids. She just doesn't know who they are, but she has seen them.

Caitlyn has an eye for detail and a mind for investigation. I doubt she lets much fall between the cracks. They didn't leave Ekko's home until it was dark. She had plenty of time to look at this mural, at the 4 children including Vi. Then at the tea party when Jinx starts talking to her hallucinations, she's pointed to...

Again, traumatic experience. Probably not thinking about it that hard, but she did see the puppets. Again, no reason to connect those things yet. But she does now have the context to connect that these 2 other children are important to Vi and Jinx and that they were important enough to be brought to the "tea party."

And because of the mural, she knows that these were real people and that they died.

FURTHERMORE, they undoubtedly know who Vander was by the reputation he left behind.

When that one guy getting tortured gave up Vander's statue as the meeting location, Ambessa's second-hand man, who is not from Zaun OR Piltover, knew exactly where that was. There's no way Caitlyn doesn't also know about the statue. Besides that, she also saw him in the mural. If she's seen this statue, she knows it's the same man.

Caitlyn would now know that Vander is important to the whole undercity. "Well respected."

Lastly, Singed told Ambessa about the man behind the monster.

This one is a bit of a stretch, but think about it. Ambessa has no reason to withhold the information Singed gave her. Here it is below if you want a reminder:

"He isn't a monster. He was once a man. Well respected, at that. Victim of great tragedy. He had a furocious will to live. An incredible tolerance for pain. With him, I was able to make strides impossible with any other specimen. But the mind... the mind I could not recover. The man forever lost in the bowels of the beast, compelled only by the scent of blood. Or so I thought. It now seems I had yet to uncover the right catalyst."

Singed is awfully forthcoming with information once he realizes he doesn't have to hide it from Ambessa. And when Caitlyn walks in on them in Singe's lab, Ambessa makes no effort to hide her current involvement with Singed. AND even if Ambessa realizes Singed is talking about Vander, I highly doubt Ambessa has the information necessary to realize she's literally delivering Caitlyn to a connection to not only Vi, but Jinx.

Caitlyn, however, does have all the information. If Ambessa or Singed told Caitlyn the same info or even more, Caitlyn could likely start making some assumptions on who the man behind the beast is.

She just didn't have a catalyst to put everything together... Again, yet.

And while we're on the topic of this scene...

We learn Caitlyn abhors a gap in information.

Caitlyn talks about the mystery of shimmer, "This led to one other missing puzzle piece whose absence has always gnawed at my mind."

She wants all the details even if it does not add much to the full picture.

She already knows Silco and the chembarons are responsible for the manufacturing and distribution of shimmer. Learning who made it only tells her who made it. It doesn't solve anything or change what she would have to do to stop the spread of shimmer. But she wants to know. She HAS to know.

She wants all the dots to connect and is not satisfied until they do.

So, when Vi says, "Trying to save... my dad."

What if this one sentence was all Caitlyn needs to connect everything she didn't understand before. I mean, how else do you explain that little "aha" head move she does.

There is no way she did not take a greater interested in how the heck Vi was involved to begin with and especially as a child.

Her main focus has been on Jinx: finding her and bringing her to justice. She's been distracted.

What if this is the catalyst, the first time she has a reason to connect all those dots to make what Vi said make sense. And suddenly it all does.

Honestly, it would explain why Caitlyn jumped ship so easily.

In conclusion.

Caitlyn has all the information she needs to connect the dots.

She has the motivations to continue seeking those answers.

She just didn't have the mental opportunity to really consider it... until she did.

Anyway... Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Maybe one "Cupcake" is just not enough to convince me she'd immediately plan a mutiny, but maybe she is that simple! (She's definitely not. *coughs*)

But you know what, even if she didn't glean that Warwick is actually Vander and Vander is Vi's dad in that moment, she definitely knows after this...

So, anyway, I think she definitely knows or is at minimum primed to have the realization. Guess we'll see.

[saintsenara]

thank you very much for this, anon!

the diadem is probably the most interesting horcrux narratively, because it's the only one which doesn't connect to the narrative arc of one of the series' main characters, which is also why it's the only one which is destroyed indirectly - as collateral to goyle burning down the room of requirement, which means there's fiendfyre present for it to be yeeted into - rather than by somebody directly.

as i've said above, the the trio each destroys a horcrux which they have a particular narrative connection to. the same is true of the other three horcruxes which are actively destroyed.

the ring

dumbledore - whose narrative role is to teach harry about understanding what is true [which is what the series thinks the power of love is - love is the universe's one great truth] - destroys the ring, which serves, across all of its canon appearances, as a metaphor for the corrosive power of wishful thinking, seeing what you want to see, and refusing to accept the truth.

in the tale of three brothers, the resurrection stone drives the second brother - who has refused to accept the truth that his lover's death is permanent and she won't come back - mad with grief, causing him to take his own life. marvolo clings on to his ring as a symbol of the gaunts' former grandeur and influence, using it to claim that bob ogden should regard him as his superior, even though he's a violent, squalid man living in a rotting shack. dumbledore puts on the ring in a desperate attempt to apologise to his sister, convincing himself that - unlike the second brother - he'll meet the real ariana, that his desire to use a hallow in this case isn't connected to his and grindelwald's earlier obsession with them, and that voldemort won't have left anything nasty on the ring which might kill him.

harry - who internalises the lesson that "it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live", who is remarkably free of the shackles of his past, who doesn't tend to get bound up in trying to reclaim things which are lost - drops the stone in the forest, causing it to be lost forever.

the ring-horcrux's creation is also connected to this corrosive wishful thinking. voldemort clearly travels to little hangleton expecting to find his maternal line living in ancient luxury - harry hones in right away on the fact that he looks "disappointed" to find morfin living in filth. voldemort also undoubtedly believes - since his view, expressed in his first meeting with dumbledore, is that a parent who doesn't matter would be dead - that his irrelevant muggle father isn't alive, and he's not pleased to hear morfin reveal otherwise.

[since - of course - this hammers home that his dad abandoned his mother, never wanted him, and never tried to find him.]

he's also not pleased to hear morfin say that he looks near-identical to tom riddle sr. - which is another way that the books, which tend to have all members of pureblood nuclear family units look alike [hence why narcissa malfoy is blond while her sisters aren't - it's to emphasise her connection to lucius and draco], show voldemort's inescapable connection to the muggle world.

and so he wipes out his paternal line, sheds any connection with or affection for his identity as "tom riddle", and vanishes behind the mask of "lord voldemort" who is free from such messy human experiences as "wanting to be loved by your father".

but the entire arc of the series is about how he can't outrun his humanity, his heritage, or his former identity. just as dumbledore can't outrun his past mistakes, he can only seek to be forgiven for them. in destroying the ring-horcrux - and then passing the resurrection stone over to harry - dumbledore is doing what voldemort never does, and recognising that the things he did in the past were wrong and he's sorry for them, but that they nonetheless shaped who he was and he should acknowledge them, instead of trying to suppress them.

the snake

neville destroys nagini, who demonstrates voldemort's descent from slytherin [since the locket, as noted above, is primarily about his grief over his mother - and his immediate heritage - rather than his distant ancestry].

nagini is made a horcrux after the adult voldemort - in a frightening, inhuman form - returns to his father's house, with his relationship to it completely recontextualised. any grief, humiliation, or anger he felt towards tom riddle sr. when the ring was created is now completely irrelevant to him - the riddle line has been eradicated, the riddle house is rotting from the ground up, frank bryce's loyalty to the riddles means nothing to him. voldemort takes over it by force - he's not the son and heir coming to meet his father, he's a superhuman stranger, who has no emotional connection to the riddle family whatsoever.

[this is why he's happy to use his father's bones in his resurrection ritual - he no longer thinks of them as related by anything other than a technicality, his dad's grave is nothing to him except a tool.]

nagini is destroyed - just after voldemort has announced that the house system will be disbanded and all students forced to be in slytherin - by neville pulling the sword of gryffindor from the sorting hat. this proves him to be - along with harry - the series' "true gryffindor", which transforms him from someone who spends the earlier books as comic relief [awkward and a bit cowardly, unlike the trio; a character the child-reader is supposed to see themselves as braver, smarter, and cooler than] into a chivalric figure, who encapsulates all the virtues [courage, loyalty, steadfastness, faith, defence of the lowly, purity of heart, and so on] which the doylist text values above all others.

and which it exclusively associates with gryffindor and gryffindors, [hence dumbledore claiming that snape demonstrating courage is evidence "we sort too soon", rather than assuming that sytherins could be courageous as well...] - in destroying nagini, neville destroys voldemort's belief [which the doylist text regards as empirically wrong] that slytherin is the superior house.

the boy

voldemort himself destroys harry, thus allowing the prophecy - and, especially, its line that "the dark lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the dark lord knows not" - to be fulfilled, via his failure to acknowledge and respect the power of love [which saves harry from death but condemns him to it], the thing he has spent his entire life committing evil in an attempt to outrun.

the diadem

the diadem, in contrast, is associated by the text with independence and solitude.

[hence why it's the only horcrux which dumbledore doesn't identify.]

voldemort learns of its existence by getting close enough to helena ravenclaw to manipulate her - which is presented in canon as no mean feat, since she keeps apart from all the other ghosts, is clearly disinclined to chat to students, and isn't particularly visible within hogwarts as a social structure.

he then travels to retrieve it alone - and he does this after he's also separated himself off from society by leaving his job, fleeing the country, and [presumably] abandoning his social circle - and we know nothing from canon about what he does during the ten years he spends away from britain.

we don't know when he finds the diadem or who was killed to create it [as with the locket, jkr has said that he used a random murder - that of a family of albanian peasants - to make it, which again contradicts dumbledore's statement that he tends to use murders which are significant to him].

voldemort brings the diadem to hogwarts on the night of his job interview, when he definitively rejects any alternative path [and, in canon's eyes, rejects any chance of doing "good", since he rejects dumbledore's way] and strikes out alone as the singular embodiment of evil. his separation from group society is heavily emphasised throughout this scene - dumbledore calls him a liar for claiming the death eaters are his friends ["i was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants"], his appearance is starting to become inhuman ["he was no longer handsome tom riddle"], and he no longer wishes to be known as tom riddle [and, as i've said before, we do need to recognise that what dumbledore does is deadnaming... especially given who jkr is...].

and he hides it in the room of requirement, which is similarly a place of separation and solitude - it's where things which aren't wanted or needed are hidden away - and which he believes [nonsensically] he is the only person to have discovered.

[although it is worth saying that dumbledore doesn't know the room exists - voldemort's belief that he alone knows about it is basically canon, pretty clumsily, drawing this distinction between someone who's part of society and someone who's separate from it: the castle's headmaster, who is integral to its functioning as a social system, doesn't know something which the self-made outcast does.]

and on the basis of this, i suppose we could say that the diadem is the least social horcrux - the version of voldemort least interested in exploiting the human desire for socialisation, the object which would be the least successful at manipulating somebody who comes into contact with it. which would even make it possible to say that the diadem is the least dangerous horcrux, on account of lacking that desire to take advantage of people.

we could also say that the diadem is the horcrux voldemort thinks of as least important to him - he lacks any personal connection to it, chooses it as an object primarily for completionist reasons, checks on it last when he works out that harry is destroying his hoard, and doesn't hide it somewhere of any real significance to him.

[because - yes - he hides it at hogwarts, his beloved castle, but if he'd wanted to create somewhere elaborate and special to hide it, as he does with his mother's locket, i can see no reason why he wouldn't have put it in the chamber of secrets.]

but i think we can say something much more interesting about it...

that it doesn't represent freely-chosen independence, separation, and solitude. it represents unwilling isolation.

after all, the initial presentation of helena ravenclaw's separation from the rest of the castle as being because she's a bit up herself is revealed to be wrong. she refuses to answer questions about the diadem because she's ashamed of stealing it. she doesn't like socialising with the castle's other ghosts because the man who murdered her is one of them.

and she also says that her separation from society in life wasn't a deliberate choice. she is forced into hiding because the baron is hunting her down. when she attempts to refuse him - to make a free choice either to be alone or to form other relationships in which he doesn't feature - he kills her. while the mechanics of where ghosts spawn isn't entirely clear - my assumption is that she ends up back at hogwarts because she has so much unfinished business with her mam - her death also separates her, against her will, from something which is precious to her: the diadem.

while i don't think we need to throw the baby out with the bathwater - i never think, for example, that the teenage voldemort was bullied by his fellow slytherins - we also know that he stood out from the crowd the second he arrived at hogwarts, for both positive [his looks, his talent] and negative [his secondhand possessions] reasons. the text is explicit that he never had any relationships with his cohort which were equal, and while it presents this as a deliberate choice on voldemort's part, since he understood himself as superior to everyone else - dumbledore's description of him as a "gang leader", or harry's observation that he "was by no means the eldest of the group of boys [at the slug club], but they all seemed to look to him as their leader" - we don't have to take this as fact.

indeed, despite dumbledore's insistence that voldemort has never wanted a friend, he does seem - throughout canon - to be someone who's quite lonely, and who would value a relationship which provided him with some sort of peer experience. it is entirely plausible, then, to imagine that he manages to worm his way into helena ravenclaw's confidences because they have a shared experience of being separated - against their will - from something they desire.

similarly, while we know nothing of voldemort's first time in albania, we know something significant about the second one - that he thinks about it as a miserable period of isolation, spent hiding from social connection ["i dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for i knew that the aurors were still abroad and searching for me"] which took place very much against his will, after his death eaters abandoned him:

"I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist... I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited... Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body... but I waited in vain..."

and - therefore - perhaps his first stay in albania was somewhere "other humans were plentiful". perhaps he had connections there which he valued, but which aren't important to the narrative of the doylist text and therefore aren't mentioned.

after he turns the diadem into a horcrux, voldemort then brings it "home" - he reunites it with hogwarts. i don't think for a second that he did this for helena ravenclaw, but i do think he did it because he would understand the founders' relics as being pair-bonded to the castle [with himself, or possibly the basilisk, standing in for the locket as slytherin's relic]. in bringing it to his job interview - which, i think it's worth emphasising, he really does seem to think is genuine [however ridiculous that is] - he's involving it in his long-awaited homecoming.

the fact that he places it in the room of requirement lends credence to this. after all, the diadem-horcrux is almost always mentioned - in both half-blood prince and deathly hallows - alongside something else: the broken vanishing cabinet.

and what is the entire point of the vanishing cabinet in the latter books of the series?

to be reunited with its pair.

and so the diadem should have a mirror-character, like all the rest of the horcruxes.

and this mirror-character should be someone whose separation from the narrative arc of the horcruxes' destruction initially appears to their choice, but is then revealed to be something imposed upon them against their will.

someone who's lonely; who is - perhaps - popular but doesn't seem to have any actual close friends.

someone who has spent years wanting to be perceived as an equal by a specific person - and who longed for that person to recognise that they'd changed from the person they were as a child.

someone who was excited to go to hogwarts, only to discover that they stood out from their peers because of their secondhand possessions.

someone who had a formative relationship which was entirely transactional - even if they were the person being manipulated, while the pre-teen voldemort's experience is as the person doing the manipulating.

someone who, like helena ravenclaw, attempted to flee the person hunting them down - and nearly died as a result.

someone who panics at the thought of being separated from a precious object.

someone whom the text understands as part of a pair, but who is still kept at arm's length by their other half for the vast majority of the series.

someone who bravely accepts the ending of a relationship, even though they're not given a choice in the matter, so that the more important narrative of the horcrux hunt can begin.

someone who's not only excluded from the horcrux hunt [and, indeed, isn't told anything about the horcruxes full-stop], but is excluded from the fighting when the battle of hogwarts begins [the only main character this happens to].

someone who is excluded from the fighting by being told to stay - on their own - in the room of requirement.

someone who - therefore - is kept so separate from the narrative of voldemort's destruction that they don't even get a chance to destroy their horcrux-mirror.

that is to say...

ginny.

One thing I find really compelling about ronmort is that the horcrux which targets ron is the one most "maternal"-- tom's mother's locket, which you so cleverly pointed out was also the one which he erected a complicated defense for in a place that was meaningful to his childhood. Everything the locket says to Ron just feels so charged? Wym you've seen his heart and it's yours? Wym you've seen his dreams and his desires? The fact that Ron can hear the locket's heartbeat before anyone else... I don't know how to explain it except that the locket's antagonism of Ron feels almost intimate in a way. The shenanigans would be sexy. Not least because Ron can apparently do a passing imitation of parseltongue (hot).

that each of the trio destroys the horcrux which most connects to something fundamental about themselves is a detail which obsesses me.

the diary

harry - an orphan, desperate to meet someone else who can understand the strangeness and isolation of his experience; searching for the truth about himself, and what in his life is inherited, but unable to ever fully uncover it - destroys the diary, not only the sole horcrux which is an explicit link to lord voldemort's upbringing as an orphan in the muggle world, but also a metaphor for the state of orphanhood itself.

the diary is a quasi-palimpsest - an object which has to be written in; an object in which a layer of text is written and then overwritten by another; an object in which these layers of text can be stripped back until only the original layer remains only with extraordinary difficulty - just like the orphan's search for meaning, trying to decipher the layers of themselves which were inherited from their parents, but only ever being able to see these partially, with the text missing or corrupted.

voldemort's creation of the diary-horcrux is explicitly connected in canon to him coming to learn who about himself, his parents, and his heritage - and, connected to this, to him refusing to sit with the grief of orphanhood, refusing to understand his parents as whole, complex people, and refusing to embrace his "real" identity [which, as the text understands it, is that of a half-blood named tom marvolo riddle] by creating a fake one [that of lord voldemort].

harry destroys it after rejecting voldemort's self-constructed view of his own exceptionality - "the greatest wizard in the world is albus dumbledore" - his refusal to acknowledge the complexities of lineage and orphanhood, and his refusal to embrace his muggle heritage - "my mother died to save me. my common, muggleborn mother". he does this using a tool directly connected to voldemort's rejection of all but his slytherin heritage - the basilisk's fang - in a location similarly connected to voldemort's rejection of his muggle blood - the chamber of secrets.

the cup

hermione - an outsider, whose place in the wizarding world is unstable - destroys the cup, one of the horcruxes to which voldemort has the least personal connection, but which he selected to hide his soul because of its historical significance, anchoring him to a millennium of wizarding history and culture he was otherwise brought up disconnected from.

voldemort's creation of the cup-horcrux comes at the end of a period of his life in which he is disadvantaged in wizarding society purely on the basis of his name and background. he rejects the ministry jobs which would have made him dependent for the rest of his life on slughorn's patronage - and, therefore, pressured him to do what slughorn wanted - and ends up, as he himself puts it, as "a poor shop assistant". hepzibah smith is a pureblood, who is also descended from one of hogwarts' founders - yet she doesn't make use of this superiority ["all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess too... i just keep it nice and safe in here..."], and she doesn't realise [and he can't prove to her and hope to keep his job] that voldemort is someone she should think of as her equal [or even superior]. she - as harry observes - essentially treats voldemort as doll she can play with, posing him with her treasures and pretending his glacial politeness is really repressed affection, she speaks to him like he's an idiot, and she evidently considers him to be her social inferior.

hermione destroys the cup after seven books in which the discrimination she faces on account of being muggleborn are explicit. obviously, she's the victim of violent bigotry - she's petrified, she's called a mudblood, she's the only one of the trio who also has to worry about the muggleborn registration commission - but she's also the victim of seemingly benign, genial bigotry too - the muggle world is treated as a quaint side-show, even by characters like the weasleys; she's praised for her intelligence by slughorn, but this intelligence is still considered in some way unusual for someone with muggle heritage. she gets spoken to by many wizards in ways which aren't far removed from the way hepzibah speaks to voldemort.

as a result, she - like voldemort - spends a lot of time trying to acquire enough knowledge of the wizarding world that she appears to be native to it [this is why she's so obsessed with hogwarts: a history]. but - unlike voldemort - she then embraces her heritage and refuses to hide it - "mudblood and proud of it!".

and - shortly after this - she destroys the cup, in a place - the chamber - and using a tool - the basilisk's fang - which are both directly connected to the bigotry she experienced, since they're part of slytherin's belief that people like her should be driven out of hogwarts and out of the magical world more broadly, and therefore send a big "fuck you" to voldemort's blood-supremacy.

the locket

and ron... whose greatest desire is to be recognised for his individual achievements, who has a complex and uneasy relationship with his place in his family [simultaneously longing to be something other than "one of the weasleys" and fiercely loyal to his parents and siblings], who is the only pureblood of the trio, whose childhood we hear the most about in canon, and whose childhood appears to have been happy...

destroys the locket, which is voldemort's only link to his mother, and the only horcrux for which he constructs an elaborate defence in a place meaningful to him from childhood.

we don't actually know who voldemort kills to create the locket-horcrux [jkr has said in interviews that it was a muggle tramp, although this contradicts dumbledore's statement in half-blood prince that voldemort created his horcruxes from murders which were significant to him], which is a neat metaphor for how little he knows about merope - since he doesn't know morfin's name, for example, we can assume he doesn't know hers; everything he ever tells harry about her is something he's invented [especially his belief that his parents' marriage was consensual, and that tom riddle sr. abandoned her because she was a witch].

the horcrux attempts to torture ron with his insecurities about being a mammy's boy who's always been afraid that he's a bit of a flop at the task - especially when compared to siblings like ginny, bill, and percy. and ron is so susceptible to it because voldemort is also an inherent mammy's boy [ronmort nation, rise up] who never got a chance to have a mam, and who responded to the grief this caused him by suppressing it, pretending it never existed, and convincing himself that the only viable thing to be is unique.

ron destroys it after he returns to the trio - having attempted to strike out on his own [the thing he's wanted since philosopher's stone, when he sees himself standing alone in the mirror of erised] - and accepts his place as part of a group. he does so using the sword of gryffindor, which again represents him embracing not being exceptional - his entire family have been in gryffindor, something he's shown to feel simultaneously proud of and uneasy with right from his first appearance.

[kaoskuantico]

I hate Act III, sorry. All the second season was too rushed and some characters that didn't deserve a happy ending got it, and those who have been suffering got the worst ending.

Acts I and II were good, but III is the worst.

In case someone hasn't seen Act III yet, ARCANE ACT III SPOILERS

No one cares but here's a list of the things I hated:

Too rushed, I think we needed another season BEFORE this one

WTF Caitvi sex scene IN JINX'S CELL, RIGHT AFTER SHE LEFT. That's so disrespectful and stupid, Vi wasn't in the right state of mind, as much as I love Caitvi, putting that scene there was a mistake

I'm sorry but I also hate Timebomb (I'm a Lightcannon shipper, which is funny because Lux doesn't even show up in Arcane, but one can dream though fanarts)

Jinx surrendering (why we didn't even get a flashback scene?) and being imprisoned like a dog. Yet the enforcers were never punished

Vi not listening to Jinx telling her MULTIPLE TIMES to get out of there, and because of her, Jinx sacrifices herself (yes, I know she's most likely alive. But that brings my next point:)

Jinx not getting a happy ending at all. She lost everyone, right when she was about to get rehabilitated, Isha dies right in front of her. And we didn't get any Sevika dialogue with her, not even trying to save Jinx (Sevika surely didn't know, but at least a scene where she looks for Isha and Jinx???)

The final scene where Vi is only seen with Caitlyn. Yes, I knew they'd end up together and they deserve it, but what about everything that happened? Losing all her family? Learning to fight just to lose everything and everyone? Ekko not talking to Vi at all after the war? Vi not mourning Jinx?

Why make Jayce and Mel be together if they were going to forget about it and act like it didn't happen? (I prefer Jayvik, but that's another story)

Jinx saving Caitlyn, but apparently that didn't matter at all. Jinx killed her mother, yes. But enforcers killed countless of people, including Jinx and Vi's parents. Even if Jinx surrendered, why put her in that isolated jail? That was Caitlyn's grief acting

Honestly I don't know why Isha had to sacrifice herself, I feel it was too unnecessary, just to traumatize Jinx even more and kill Warwick again.

I wanted to see more of Vi, of her life in prison and before their parents died (besides Vander's memories). But they put too much focus on Caitlyn and the Caitvi. As if Vi's entire character is being Cait's girlfriend

Caitlyn (and every enforcer) didn't get punish at all for their crimes. Caitlyn became a dictator because Jinx killed her mother, but countless of children saw their own parents be murdered in front of them, and now they're the bad guys for attacking back? Mind you, at least Jinx aimed her weapon to the Council, the people who oppressed them. But Piltover kills civilians like nothing, putting CHILDREN in jail. At the end, they end up like the good guys, giving Zaun a seat in the Council. When they should have fought for it, making Piltover pay for everything they've done. Which brings my next two points:

Zaun is never set free, it's still part of Piltover

Following the previous point: Caitlyn becomes a dictator, Viktor a cult god who almost destroys the world. But Jinx is so unredeemable???

Vi accepting Cait immediately, as if act I didn't happen. I understand they wanted to make Caitvi canon, but it was too rushed.

The 'good timeline' being like that because Vi died???? WTF the enforcers wanted a name, ANYONE to put the blame on, so the Council could 'make an example'. And now suddenly everything is okay? The abuse from Piltover is gone? But even if that were true, it's sad it would take Vi's death so peace could exist

Cait put Jinx, a traumatized, suicidal and schizophrenic girl in an ISOLATED CELL.

In a more relaxed note, I hate the design of Powder in the other timeline. I have to admit I absolutely love Jinx's design, with her bang and long braids but damn I expected a Powder with a single braid and a better sense of fashion xd

I understand Ambessa was behind everything, she was using Caitlyn recent grief to manipulate her. But she never apologized, her actions can't be erased, she said it herself.

Jinx giving 'her blessing' to Vi to be with Cait. Jinx has been feeling replaced by Cait since season 1 and right when we thought they could resolve this (before Act III), they do this. If anything, they confirm Cait replaced Jinx and that Jinx had every reason to feel like that

Jinx sacrificing herself (yeah, we know she isn't truly dead, but I'm talking about the symbolism) WASN'T REDEMPTION. IT WAS SUICIDE, A TRAGEDY. Just a few hours ago Jinx tried to kill herself six times, she just saw an opportunity to do it again and not making Vi fight for her, because Jinx feels she doesn't deserve Vi. It wasn't heroic, it was a suicide

Singed getting his happy ending. HIM, OF ALL PEOPLE. He created the Shimmer, made it a drug and created addicts in Zaun just so he could keep experimenting. Dude, I get it, you want your daughter back, but at that point you should've just accepted she's gone. Vander is gone, Vi and Ekko are left alone (which brings my next point), Jinx killed herself, Jayce spent days, weeks or months alone in an apocalyptic world, Zaun is still under Piltover's power...And HE gets his happy ending? No consequences? No punishment for experimenting on dead bodies/potentially having killed them, for being in Ambessa's side????

Following point 7, why Vi is only seen with Cait at the end? Ekko is truly alone now, and Vi only has the enforcer who betrayed her and never apologized for her actions with her and Zaun. I get it, they wanted to please Caitvi's shippers, but shipping is not the only thing here (which why I hated Timebomb in the alternate timeline)

I'll probably keep updating the list for a few days.

[missingpolinseason]

Despite the claims that there's no deleted Polin scenes in season 3, What a Barb! Podcast just found some more scenes that didn't make the final cut.

The first one I want to talk about is Colin's dream. Aparently, in the original script, Dream!Colin wants to continue 'the lessons' and says he "still has so much to teach her", to wich Dream!Pen replys "teach me". The insert ends with Colin saying: "Don't worry, it's only us. It was always us". Now, how on earth did they though that it was okay to delete a scene in wich Colin admits to himself it was always them?

That scene being deleted makes me wonder how was the original Willow Tree scene - as that scene is about ending the lessons, and we know it was a reshot because of the wig. Was it a scene to mirror the dream sequence? Because the dream reveals he wanted to continue their lessons and "teach" and "experience so many things with her" but he "gives up" because he thinks she doesn't want it. Like, it would make so much sense with his insecurity to destroy the friendiship. Omg. Not to mention it embodies one of my favorite things about the book wich is Colin being in love with Pen even before realising it.

Then we have the second scene, wich is actually a line cut out of their first kiss. In this version, Colin claims that (the kiss) would ruin her, but she says she's 'already ruined'. And as much as I have no complain about their first kiss - it is my absolute favorite scene -, in this moment Penelope thinks she has nothing else to loose. That she will never married and will spend all her life trapped in her mother's house. That's wath brings her to ask for the only thing she ever wanted: a kiss from Colin. She's a romantic after all. But Colin doesn't see her as a 'ruinned woman' and he doesn't want to cross the line even though no one would known.

In fact, in the book, her kiss request is kind off prompted by Colin saying that "Suppose I told everyone that I have seduced you. You would be ruined forever. It wouldn't matter that we had never even kiss. That, my dear Penelope, is the power of the word". And that quote/line of thinking matches so well the persona who sees Whistledown as an enemy that the show build for Colin...

Last, but not least, a scene in episode 7. The night before their marriage. A prostitute aproches Colin but he declines her services. This not only shows the truth that he'd never cheat on Pen but also that he knows they will be well and leave happily ever after.

They chosen to cute this scenes. Rumour is they chosen to pick a version of the modiste scene in wich Colin sends Pen home alone in the middle of the night when there's alleged a version of this scene when he goes home with her - not to mention the scene of them in bed talking about Colin's write. How many more Polin scenes we may have lost?

*The deleted scenes/scripts were courtesy of the Writers Guild Foundation Shavelson-Webb Library (accordinding to What a Barb! posdcast).

** First scene is loosely quoted as I saw the information in portuguese and translated back to english.

*** The original screenshots of the scenes + insta posts belong to the What a Barb! podcast Creators. I included the images along with the source.

[platinumink]

Who the hell was in charge of casting the actors for HTTYD (live action version)?

sooo... i've finally seen the cast forbthe live action version of httyd... and I am not impressed. (Keep in mind this is my personal opinon. Also, I apologize for the bad quality of those photos, someone sent them to me and I was too lazy to find themnin a better quality online)

Let's start with the man, the myth, the legend, Hiccup himself. In one word: no. They cast for a post puberty!Hiccup to portray 15 year old Hiccup. Just no.

They officially destroyed one of the greatest characters in advance. Someone please tell me how they look even relotely similar. The hair color is the worst part.

Yeah okay, I actually like this casting. : )

I'd rather say no. But then I saw the ears and leaned towards yes. Then the hair color changed my mind again.

Anyone who has seen Deadpool 2 will agree with me that a-splash-of-diabetes Firefist is actually a good casting here. I can totally see him doing an amazing job. : ) But please someone give him a wig.

In one word: wtf happened here?!??!?! Did they just roll up to a random gas station and abducted a guy?

I would like to say a thousand mean and hurtful things. Let's just say these things: The hair color and I don't know how they did it but how they managed to cast an obese actor for the scrawniest character is beyond me. : /

After The Acolyte, I definitely disliked the actor but I will 100% give him a clean slate because they finally managed to cast someone who looked remotely similar to the character thwy were going to portray.

What the hell... This character had all but 3 lines in the movie ("What are you doing out here, get back inside", "To the ships" and "Everyone is so relieved") and they felt the need to cast someone for her. I am begging you all, don't even give her a costume. Just give her the hat. It'd gonna be great comedic relief. xD

To finish this off: I really hope this movie doesn't flop, though I have no confidence in it. Not a single live action movie was ever good in the history of live action versions. I grew up with the books/movies. They were perfection. To the producers: please don't destroy a perfectly good franchise in a hope for abgood money grab...

[theoddest1]

Okay so, ima type in what I typed to my friend here.

"Yeah Ima be so dead ass. ||Mel and Ekko carried the final for me, ESPECIALLY Ekko."

Yeah, they should have just kept [Viktor] being Ryze. That made more sense to me than whatever this is. And I am all for mlm rep, but yeah, this felt WAY too, Jayvikky. I liked it better that they were brothers to parallel Vander and Silco, who also found each other and became bros, but it seemed like they went with how popular JayVik was and stuck with it. And Jayce being strung with Viktor for wherever they went felt...kinda nonsensical. I'd rather that Viktor was thwarted and too far gone to then just suddenly have a change of heart and go with Jayce. I imagined that he would have a contingency where he, incase his body was destroyed, would then later rise again to try and enact "Glorious Evolution". It would go well with the themes of his beliefs anyway because every time he dies, he comes back stronger in a new body. I feel like that would better set the ongoing conflict and fit well with the game and why he looks the way he does currently.

I also don't like how quick he and Mel's reunion was considering how much he favored her along with his odd and sudden dislike for her decisions-- Seriously, where did that even come from!?"

[Thought it over further. Him calling her out on her actions isn't the issue. It's the timing and how this transpires that confuses me. He just came from a post-apocalyptic world where Mel, Viktor, and everything else came to mind. The lack of time for them to truly talk made the scene felt out of nowhere and not at all fleshed out. He goes on to place part of the blame on her when literally it wasn't. She DID manipulate but only politically. Everything else was on he and Viktor. Then, when he DOES confront Viktor, the vibes are different. Viktor hurt and caused a chain of events that led to several lives being taken to ensure survival and his "Glorious Evolution", why is this essentially overlooked? Maybe when I review this again, it will make more sense, but as of now, the way Jayce treats both Mel and Viktor is VERY questionable.]

"I would have been pretty happy if He at least gave her a hug, a kiss, something to make their relationship seem consistent with what we were shown. I know that he's been gone for a while and a lot more cold, but this was a very odd direction to go with. I am super happy about Cait and Mel fighting side by side and that Mel may be the main character for a new Noxus related show! [Which I knew they'd set up!] but this series, after seeing it in its entirety, DID suffer too much from the pacing issues. I assumed at the First Act that it was quick paced to go with how they've all been shifted into places they didn't see coming, but the pacing issues continued to bring down the quality. 3 seasons would have made way more sense and would go well with the 3 ACT formula they had used. I hope they learn from this and refrain from making similar mistakes.

[I responded to my friend who posted these images above] I knew they'd make a callback to this line eventually, and I am genuinely surprised people are not catching this obvious set up to Jinx living. Also, I am betting that Heimer did "die" but only that alternate version of himself. [Though obviously I could be wrong, though a life of various lifetimes where he helps each version of the main cast sounds very Heimerdinger of him, especially since he didn't wanna leave.]

The biggest letdown for me has to be Jayce and Viktor's story. It just...doesn't make sense with what we have been shown. Also, if Viktor KNOWS bad shit would happen when bringing Hextech to life and all, why TF would he give it to Jayce then???? Or if he STILL wanted magic to be tampered with shy doesn't he comvince himself in a way HE KNOWS would prevent what happens next, surely NOT EVERY timeline has it where you continue on the path of destruction! You see what I mean!?!? Leave the time crap to Ekko, man. This new inclusion makes no sense! And he does this in VARIOUS timeliness for some reason. Man, I wish it was just a random ass mage or Ryze, this added stuff kinda kills the finale for me🫠

I feel that making Viktor time travel ruins a huge aspect of the story, ngl, especially when Jayce argues that people can "craft their own path." The story also shouldn't have ended with what I could only assume both of them "dying" or traversing time instead. Also, the way Sky was treated and essentially replaced with Jayce feels....very very weeeeird."

[I believe that the ending just didn't land that well. I feel, now thinking over every character, Ekko, Mel, and Jinx carried this season HEAVY. These 3 were the most interesting parts of the season, honorable mention being Singed cause he be doing what he MUST. Also, what was the point of introducing Loris if all he was gonna end up being was a random guy who reminded Vi of Vander? I guess nothing is wrong with this, but when you're already stringing for time, these inclusions make no sense... I liked him, though, RIP Loris🤧. Oh, and Caut barely facing consequences is KINDA CRAZY but it goes with the themes of forgiveness/ acceptance. The Cycle would never end, after all, but yeah Vi and Cait made up WAY too fast and just shows that this needed another season. Let me know your thoughts!]

[koji-haru]

I'll be with you

[For @inubaki! Happy birthday!! I hope your day was amazing! ❤️]

This fucking sucks. Adam groaned loudly as he slumped in his seat, face looking tiredly up at the red ceiling. Red. Before he didn’t care much for the colour, but now, with red painted everywhere he went as if he wore red tinted sunglasses all the time, he had come to hate the colour with a passion. Charlie went around the group, letting them choose which journal they wanted. The princess had talked everyone’s ear off with her lengthy speech about gratitude and taking things for granted, except Vaggie because of course she always supported any of Charlie’s exercises no matter good or bad of an idea it was. 

Unfortunately for Adam, he was the second last person in the group circle, with Alastor just after him. When Charlie finally got to him, he only had two options: one had ‘Live. Love. Laugh’ written on it in cursive with rainbows in the background, and the other was a plain beige journal with ‘My Life’ written on it. Adam quickly chose the beige journal, better the boring one instead of sparkly rainbows. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Alastor’s smile twitch a little when Charlie handed him the remaining journal. 

“Oh, thank you dear,” Alastor said as he slipped the journal into the shadows, most likely never to be seen again. 

“No problem at all!,” Charlie beamed.

Honestly, Adam wasn't sure how she managed to stay so bright and cheerful in such a miserable shithole of a place that was Hell, but props to her, he supposed, but that didn’t mean he was going down the same delusion. Adam looked down at the journal in his hand. Three things he was grateful for everyday, huh? 

It has been almost two months since Adam died in the failed Extermination, revived as a sinner, and was now a resident at the very same hotel he tried to destroy trying to redeem himself back to Heaven. Well, ‘trying’ would be an exaggeration, more like forced to stay at the Hotel by Sera and Lucifer. Sera just wanted him back as an angel in Heaven to stop the others from wondering where the first man disappeared to; really, she just wanted to keep the ‘mess’ he made under the rug. And Lucifer, well, he just wanted to keep his precious princess happy. If Adam could be redeemed back to Heaven, then maybe Charlie could even get Heaven’s support for her hotel since Sir Pentious’ redemption apparently only made them decide to at least leave the hotel and its residents alone. No news about the possibility of future exterminations yet though. 

In reality, Adam wasn’t even sure if he wanted to get redeemed. Don’t get him wrong, he hated being in Hell, the place was absolutely vile and disgusting in ways he never thought was even possible. But he was kind of glad to have some of the weight be lifted off his shoulders. He would have preferred to have all of the weight be lifted off him when he thought he finally, truly died at the battlefield, but it seemed that God had other plans for him. He already lived long lives in both Earth and Heaven, as a human and as an angel, but now he also had to live a life in Hell as a sinner. It was wearing him out. He just wanted to be relieved of any duties; he just wanted to finally be done with everything. Being in Hell, he was constantly reminded of his failure in the garden of Eden, how he also bit the apple despite knowing he shouldn’t just so he could selfishly remain with Eve. Sinners themselves were proof of the filth he knowingly allowed into the world, and as much as he hated killing his own descendants, the Exterminations were truly the only way he could clean up his mess. Or at least that was what he believed; when news of Sir Pentious being redeemed reached the hotel, Adam thought he was going to die a third time. This entire time he spilled the blood of his children, thinking that that was the only way for him to make up for his mistakes as well as, in a twisted way, saving them from an eternal life in Hell, it was all for naught. Redemption was possible. Some of those souls didn’t need to be erased…

Adam flipped the journal open. He had so many regrets in his eternally long life that all good things seem to simply fade into the background. Well, almost all the good things. He still wasn’t sure how it came to be, but somehow, he managed to earn Michael’s love that even led to a promise of eternal devotion. Yes, the archangel Michael, Lucifer’s very own brother. It was certainly an odd twist of fate, but his union with the archangel was something Adam would never ever regret no matter how many lives he would end up living. Michael was the only reason Adam was even sort of trying this redemption thing, otherwise he would simply tell Sera to fuck off and leave him to suffer in Hell. Despite the strong urge of giving up, Adam wanted to at least see Michael one more time. He knew he didn’t deserve it, especially with their stark differences in, well, everything important, but he couldn’t help it. He was just a human needing to be with the love of his life.

Yeah, he was grateful for Michael’s love even though he didn’t deserve it. He could write that in the journal. He would write that everyday.

Just as the group was about to get up from their seats and off to whatever they wanted to do for the day, a loud and purposeful knock on the hotel door sounded throughout the lobby. Charlie perked up from where she stood, somehow managing to look even happier as she excitedly made her way to the door. Everyone was currently present at the lobby for her activity, even her father, that knock could only mean one thing…

Charlie pulled the door open, beaming brightly as she greeted her new guest, “Welcome to the Happy Ho..tel…” 

The words quickly died in her throat as her jaw simply dropped at the sight before her. What was such a being doing in Hell, especially at her hotel?! In front of Charlie was the most divine angel she had ever seen, with such celestial presence exuding off of him as if the very Heavens had gone down to visit Hell.

The angel gave Charlie a small smile as he stepped closer towards the now open door. “Hello young lady, sorry but I’m looking for Adam, the first man. I heard he was staying here?”

“Oh, uh, y-yes,” stammered Charlie, still stunned at the presence before her, as she took a step to the side, letting the angel into the hotel. “Just this way.”

“Thank you,” the angel thanked with a quick nod of his head before entering the hotel with quick, determined strides. He stopped by the lobby, looking around briefly until his eyes landed on a group of people gathered in a circle, and then zoning in on a specific sinner, looking different and yet all too familiar. The large black horns, blackened gold wings, floppy brown ears, and the long fluffy brown tail, swinging back and forth in impatience, did nothing to obscure the fact who the supposed sinner was. 

Before Lucifer could even react to the sudden guest’s presence, the angel already made his way towards the group, angelic presence heavy and almost burning, stopping just beside Adam and looking extremely displeased.

“Adam.” 

“Wuh?” Adam turned and swore he nearly died a third time as shock ran through his heart at the sight of the person in front of him. There, he sat dumbly on the carpeted floor, looking up at the new guest, both happy and confused. “Michael? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” Michael stood over Adam, arms crossed and a rare scowl painted over his normally gentle face. “I didn’t think your annual ‘day trip’ with your exorcists included you dying, becoming a sinner, and staying in a redemptive hotel for almost two months.”

“Um…,” was all that Adam could say, still completely baffled at his husband’s presence here. At the hotel. In Hell. How did he find out in the first place anyway? Adam could do nothing but look down, unable to meet Michael’s eyes anymore as guilt resurfaced only to drag him back down. He had already accepted it long ago that the archangel was too good for him, but now, after having everything vile and revolting about him exposed, he felt he didn’t even deserve to be in his presence. 

“...I’m sorry…,” he said, quiet and apologetic, his torn heart visible for Michael to see.

“Aaawkward!!,” yelled Angel out from across them, followed by a pained yelp and a hiss when Vaggie smacked the back of his head to quickly shut him up. 

Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air settle in his lungs for a moment before releasing them back out. A much softer look replaced his stern gaze once he opened his eyes again as he leaned down and offered a hand to Adam. “We’ll get through this, okay? Together this time.”

His angel really did come for him. Starting from the garden, throughout his hardships on Earth, his afterlife in Heaven, and even when he had fallen to Hell, Michael remained Adam’s guardian angel, steadfast in his devotion and, for some reason Adam couldn’t fathom, desired to forever remain by his side. It was a bit much really, for someone like him, especially now that he was nothing but a lowly sinner. So instead, Adam kept his eyes glued to the red carpet he was sat on, opting to pick himself up instead as he always had and always should. Just as he was about to push himself off the floor, Michael crouched down instead, going down to his level, and cupped his face with the softest hand Adam had ever felt. Michael’s blue eyes looked straight into him, not piercing but gently knocking, asking with all the tenderness of the world. 

“Come on, let’s get you back up, okay?”

Adam felt his heart creak at those words, and yet he couldn’t help the relief that washed over him as a small smile crept on his lips. It seemed that his angel was adamant about staying by his side; Michael was just weird like that, he supposed, to be so attached to him. In the end, Adam ended up timidly accepting the hand offered to him, whether he deserved it or not. 

“Um, sooo…,” Lucifer coughed into his fist, looking awkwardly around the lobby. “...long time no see, huh? Michael…”

“Wait,” Charlie cut in as she finally stepped into the lobby after letting the scene earlier pass by first. “Michael, as in THE archangel Michael? Angel of justice and warrior of God Michael?”

Now that he was a bit calmer, Michael finally let the awkward and strange situation he forced himself into fully sink in. And, oh, how out of place was he. “That’s me,” he replied. 

“Ooh, a bigshot from Heaven. I wonder how big you really are~” Angel pondered aloud for everyone to hear, earning him another smack to the head from Vaggie. “Ow! I was just asking!”

“Or, I don’t know, he could just be my brother?” Lucifer rolled his eyes. 

The sparkle in Charlie’s eyes brightened up even more, rivalling even that of Heaven’s image in the sky. “Oh my gosh!!,” she squealed as she bounced on her heels. “I can’t believe this! Uhh, oh gosh we were not prepared for your visit, uhm.” 

Within a span of a few seconds Charlie went from eagerly shaking Michael’s hand to fussing and worrying about the state of the hotel.

“The hotel’s fine my dear. Spotless even!” Alastor said, the smile on his face as wide as ever, though the look in his eyes told otherwise. The presence of another angelic being from Heaven was certainly unwelcome to him. That, and he wasn’t going to accept any critiques on the hotel he had worked so hard to upkeep, especially not from some spoilt angel! “There’s no need to worry so much.”

For once Lucifer found himself agreeing with Alastor, even nodding slightly along with him. 

“I think so too, duckling,” tried to tell her, trying to ease her unnecessary worries away. Really, what was the fuss? Just because his brother was here. “Besides,” he turned his attention back to Michael, his gaze a little more serious. “He’s an unannounced guest.”

“Oh, I’m planning to stay in Hell, at the hotel, if you would have me,” Michael announced to a shocked still crowd. Even Adam, who was standing by his side, had his mouth agape, eyes wide in shock and face pale at what Michael had just casually revealed. 

“WHAT?!,” exclaimed everyone in the room except for Michael, who easily stood there so sure of his decision. 

“I wish to have Adam back in Heaven, and so I’m staying to ensure that,” he explained, turning his gaze back to Adam, a small smile on his face, though Adam could immediately tell that even though there was still love in it, the tenderness plastered on that smile hid a blazing holy flame. “We’ll have to carefully plan your progress, right Adam?,” he asked, smile brightening up even more, Adam could almost feel the blaze from where he stood. 

“R-right…,” Adam reluctantly agreed, afraid of the talk they would definitely be having later. Michael hadn’t been mad at him for years; the archangel held a lot of restraint when it came to most things, and it often took a lot for him to even become irritated. But for him to be upset and mad? That was when Adam knew he truly fucked up. Michael was going to untangle him, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever be ready for that; more than a millennia’s worth of tangled fibres of his being was not going to be easy to unravel and sort out, nor would the effort be worth it, if he had a choice in the matter. 

“You can’t just–,” Lucifer tried to interject but was soon cut off by Charlie’s excited squeal.

“Of course you can stay!”

“Charlie, sweetie–”

“Then you have my thanks,” Michael said with a small bow. “I’ll make sure to put in a good word about your hotel to Heaven.”

“Wait–”

Charlie gasped, exhilaration flowing in her veins. Support from someone like Michael might just be what she needed for her hotel to be taken more seriously by Heaven. Just the thought of her hotel being official in Heaven’s eyes and her dream finally becoming true sent an electric joy through every fibre of her being, leaking out into the world outside her in the form of bright happy sparkles. 

“That would mean so much to me..!,” she sniffled, tears now pricking her eyes like  sparkling jewels from sheer joy.

And just like that, it was decided that Michael could stay at the Hazbin Hotel.

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Six)

Summary: She had tried so hard all her life to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, in hopes that maybe someday, someone would love her. But that day had never come, and now it never would. Because who could ever love a dirty, broken thing like her? She had never been a person, only a piece of art—beautiful and silent, to be enjoyed and admired, but easily replaced. She had been traded from her father’s private collection to her husband’s, and he had knocked her off the gallery wall, had smashed her frame and ripped apart her canvas, destroying her value and leaving her with no sense of self. Who was she, if not the pretty, proper little thing the men in her life could show off and gain approval for? Who was she? Word Count: 3942 Warnings: still no smut (but Ghost has explicit thoughts), non graphic mentions of past abuse Notes: This chapter is pretty fluffy/funny actually! It's one of my favorites that I've written. Triple asterisk (***) denotes a POV change as usual, dash asterisk dash (-*-) is a time skip but not a POV change AO3, Masterlist

There was no food in the cabinets of the house, nor of the next five—though there were several other infected that Ghost had to kill. But in the seventh, they got lucky.

Lelia practically cried when they opened the pantry in the basement to find a shelf fit to bursting with canned veg and soup. She opened a can right then and there and devoured it like he had the buck, desperation in every swallow. He’d tried to stop her, to get her to slow down, but she wouldn’t listen, dancing out of reach every time he tried to clumsily take her spoils from her. Of course, she had thrown it all back up not two minutes later.

Ghost awkwardly held her hair back as she heaved, careful not to touch any other part of her, no matter how badly he wanted to rub her back soothingly.

When his dove finally stopped retching, she straightened up with a groan that sounded like one of his, her small hands clutching her belly. He reluctantly let go of her hair—or tried to. His stiff fingers got stuck in a tangle, and when he began to move his hand away, it pulled on it, startling a yelp from Lelia. He let out a panicked, apologetic gurgle, and tried again to free his fingers—only to pull her hair once more. This time, she whimpered, and for one delusional second, he thought it sounded like one of pleasure.

“Simon,” Lelia gasped, hands reaching up to grasp his own. He jumped at the sudden warmth, fingers twitching, wanting to curl around hers and soak up their heat. “You’re going to pull my hair out if you're not careful. Just— just let me do it.”

Ghost obeyed, going still as he simply savored the feeling of her skin against his. She carefully collected each strand of hair from between his fingers, sometimes grasping the cold, stiff digits and guiding them out of the bigger tangles. It took several minutes, and those minutes were the very best of his undead life.

He couldn't help but hold onto her hands for a few seconds even after she was done. She looked over her shoulder at him with a raised brow, thankfully amused and understanding rather than disgusted. She was so kind. She was far too kind.

“Did they lock up again?” She asked him. He groaned out a no but it sounded like nothing and so she took it as a yes, just like he knew she would. She gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his hands lightly and—oh. He— he felt that.

He stared at her in awe as she twisted awkwardly around, her hands still in his. He knew he was being selfish, stealing her body heat when she needed it more, forcing her to touch him… but he could feel it. Not the softness of her hands, but the warmth and the pressure when she tightened her grip. Unbidden, he thought of another part of her that could give him the same sensations…

Ghost quickly let go, feeling guilty and terribly ashamed with himself. He kept having these dirty thoughts about her, and that would have been bad enough back when he was alive, an old man creeping on an innocent young thing like her. But now? When he was dead and decaying? It was foul. He was foul.

“Better?” His dove asked, oblivious to the disgusting images of her in his mind, of her beneath him, on top of him, on her knees, bent over a table—

He turned around with a noncommittal grunt, putting his back to her. He grabbed the rucksack they’d found in house number four, and began swiping the cans of food off the shelf into it. Several missed and fell to the floor, but he ignored them, not wanting to risk catching sight of Lelia if he went chasing after them.

Of course, it couldn't be that easy.

“You’re making a mess,” she scolded lightly, with no real heat behind it. He wished there was. He deserved her censure. “Let me do that. I’m not feeling nauseous anymore. Though if we stay in here much longer that might change.”

It did smell quite bad, the dust and mildew overpowered by her puddle of sick. But as always, Lelia’s sweet scent was the most prominent to him, delicious and tempting. The vile part of his infected brain that he couldn’t seem to shut up wondered if eating her out would be enough to satisfy his hunger for her.

He ignored just how enticing the idea was.

Ghost was silent as Lelia took over packing up the cans, hanging back, but he did take the rucksack from her once she’d zipped it up. She gave him a surprised but grateful look, eyes wide and a little smile on her face. He wanted to kiss her. But his fucking lips had rotted off, because he was a walking gods-be-damned corpse.

He was all out of sorts just from her holding her hand, like he was a virgin touching a tit for the first time. If his blood was still pumping, his dick would be hard as steel in his trousers. It was pathetic. And if his little dove knew, she’d run screaming for the hills.

For once, he was glad he couldn’t talk. It made it that much harder for her to tell that something was wrong.

***

Lelia walked next to her zombie as they searched the rest of the house for warm, sturdy clothes that fit her—a surprisingly difficult task—sneaking worried glances at him every few minutes. Something had upset him, but she wasn't sure what. Was he still embarrassed about the drool incident? He’d seemed to put it behind him, after they’d left that first house. She wished he could talk so she could just ask him…

They didn’t find satisfactory clothes in the next few houses. Simon had vetoed the pretty dress she'd wanted to bring with them—”I’ll only wear it inside, Simon, I promise! Just look how beautiful it is!”—pointing at the full rucksack to show they had no space for it. Lelia had eventually given in and put the dress back with a sad sigh, and they'd continued their search.

The sun was setting by the time they found something Simon didn’t growl disapprovingly at, but at least he no longer seemed so bothered, anymore.

The clothes—and the room they’d found them in—looked like it had belonged to a young teenage girl going through a very intense emo phase. Her jeans were skinny enough that they didn’t immediately fall off Lelia’s hips, and her shirts were incredibly tacky, full of what Lelia assumed to be band logos. She wrinkled her nose when Simon shoved one with overlong sleeves and thumb holes at her, aghast.

“You want me to wear this?” She asked, disbelieving. “It has thumb holes, Simon! Thumb holes!”

Simon’s face almost always looked blank, but right now, she had the distinct impression it was because he was trying not to laugh at her. She huffed, but didn’t protest any further. She did complain, though.

“A fashion travesty,” she mumbled under her breath, not caring if Simon heard her. It was strange. She usually didn't complain—complaining always made things worse, in her experience—but she felt safe with him. It made no sense—he was a zombie, and he'd admitted to wanting to eat her earlier that same day—and yet it was true. Simon, her undead companion, made her feel safer than anyone else in her life ever had. “I understand that it's the apocalypse, and options are limited, but thumb holes…”

When she returned from the toilet after changing into her new clothes, Simon held out a black leather jacket with studs on the shoulders to her. She physically recoiled. And to think, she thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“Absolutely not,” she said instantly. He shook the jacket in her direction, and she crossed her arms stubbornly, turning up her nose at it. “I said no, Simon! That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Simon rolled his cloudy eyes, and then gestured at his face and grunted disbelievingly. She didn’t understand what he was saying at first, and she looked at him in consternated confusion, before it dawned on her.

“That jacket is far uglier than you,” she replied honestly. Though Simon couldn’t be described as handsome, she’d grown used to his visage in the last few days. Ironically, seeing his sunken, colorless face, with its permanently bared teeth, broken jaw, and milky, white eyes brought her comfort, now, since she knew it meant that she was safe. That she wasn’t alone.

A face that was now looking at her with a distinct air of skepticism, despite its lack of expression. She could just tell—she was getting better at reading into the slight narrowing or widening of his eyes, his body language, and each noise he did or didn’t make. It was still impossible for him to communicate more complex ideas to her, but she usually understood his reactions to her own words.

“I’m being serious!” She replied to his pointed silence. “Leather jackets are vulgar. I would never be caught dead in one.”

Simon growled, stepping closer and shaking the jacket at her more aggressively. She made no move to reach for it, arms stubbornly crossed over her chest. Her zombie growled again, louder this time, closing the distance between them and draping the jacket over her shoulders. She let out a noise of protest, but one quelling look from Simon had her shutting up. He was very close, close enough that she could smell the ever present scent of rot and death that clung to him. It was worse now than it had been after he'd first cleaned himself back at the cabin—likely because of whatever animal he'd eaten earlier—but not nearly as bad as it was when they'd met. Besides, she had started to get used to it. It wasn’t pleasant, but it no longer made her nearly gag every time she caught a whiff of him.

Undistracted by his scent, all she could think about was his proximity. She’d known he was tall, but he’d never been so close to her that she had to crane her neck to look up at him, even when their hands had been locked together back in the basement.

Inexplicably, she found herself blushing. Though his hands had been cold and rough, and he’d not actually been holding them of his own free will, they had cradled hers so gently, fitting perfectly around her own. It had felt nice, and she wanted to hold them again. She was just so starved for gentle touch. She had been her whole life, with parents who didn't love her and a husband that found joy in her suffering.

And how ironic was that? That a zombie was the first person in months—years, had it not been for the occasional shoulder squeezes from her governess Ulyana when Lelia did particularly well at something—to touch her with no intent to hurt her?

Spurred on by the memory, she uncrossed her arms and slid them into the sleeves of the ugly jacket, looking up at Simon hopefully for his approval. Another thing she had been denied constantly, growing up. She had never been good enough for her parents, no matter how well she did in school or how perfectly she behaved. She had tried so hard all her life to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, in hopes that maybe someday, someone would love her. But that day had never come, and now it never would. Because who could ever love a dirty, broken thing like her? She had never been a person, only a piece of art—beautiful and silent, to be enjoyed and admired, but easily replaced. She had been traded from her father’s private collection to her husband’s, and he had knocked her off the gallery wall, had smashed her frame and ripped apart her canvas, destroying her value and leaving her with no sense of self. Who was she, if not the pretty, proper little thing the men in her life could show off and gain approval for? Who was she?

She didn’t know.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever known.

Suddenly, she felt cold fingers brush against her cheek, and she was pulled out of her spiraling thoughts. Simon was looking down at her with what she could swear was concern, and he groaned softly, head tilted to the side in question. It was then that she felt the wetness on her face. She was crying, and she hadn’t even realized. And now Simon was gently wiping away her tears.

Her eyes grew hot and she could feel a sob building in her throat. She resisted the urge to lean into his kind touch, sniffling as she reached up to scrub at her face harshly.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed. Simon tugged lightly at her jacket, like he was trying to carefully pull it off, clearly assuming that was what had made her so upset. She let out a wet laugh, though there was very little humor in it, and shook her head, gently pushing his hand away. She hoped he didn’t notice how she let her fingers linger against his for a few seconds longer than necessary. “It’s not the jacket. I just—I was thinking about something sad, is all. I’m sorry I worried you.”

***

Ghost felt like an arsehole.

The second his dove had looked up at him with those big brown doe eyes of her all shiny and wet, his undead heart broke. He’d never meant to make her cry—he just wanted her to be safe and warm, and the jacket he’d found would help do just that. The tough leather would protect her from glancing bites, as well as conserve her body heat. He hadn’t expected her to put up such a vehement protest at the thought of wearing it, though he supposed he should have. She was clearly used to the finer things in life, and her style was quite feminine. He remembered the look she’d had on her face as he’d presented her with the hiking boots he’d found back at the cabin, and she’d had to leave her dainty ballet flats behind. She’d seemed sad, then, but also relieved—though he figured that had more to do with the painful looking blisters on her feet than approval of his fashion sense.

Nonetheless, he hadn’t been about to give into her—admittedly adorable—pouting. He’d draped the jacket over her shoulders, and had been trying to figure out how he could get her arms into it without crossing any lines when she’d shrugged it on herself. For a second, he thought she’d come to her senses—and then he’d seen the tears.

Instinct—human, this time—had kicked in at that moment, and he’d reached up to tenderly wipe them away. The distant look in her eyes had disappeared, and it almost seemed like she’d leaned towards his touch before she’d pulled away, but Ghost knew he had to have imagined that part.

He let out noise between a groan and a gurgle at her apology, waving a hand dismissively as he tried to communicate that she had nothing to be sorry about. He was the one who should be apologizing—he’d clearly touched some sort of nerve, to remind her of something that made her cry. He only wished that he knew what it was. He only wished that he could ask.

They didn’t spend much longer at that house, using the last dredges of daylight to search the one next door. And it was a good thing they did, because they found a half empty water cooler in what appeared to be a home gym. Lelia, who hadn’t had anything to drink since they’d run out of boiled stream water, was overjoyed. Though thankfully, she did listen to him this time when he warned her to take it slow.

Ghost handed over a can of veg, then rolled up one of the yoga mats on the and shoved it into the backpack. If Lelia had to sleep on the ground again, which he knew she would, the mat would make it a little less uncomfortable… or so he hoped.

When his dove finished eating and had drunk her fill, she reached over and tugged the zip he was having so much trouble with closed. He grunted, half annoyed, half grateful, and she patted his hand soothingly. It made him jolt, that shock of heat, and as always, he struggled not to grab ahold and pull her as close as physically possible. She seemed far touchier today than usual—though that wasn’t saying much, as she had only ever briefly brushed her fingers against his hands before when removing his wet gloves—and he wondered if it had to do with him running out on her earlier to hunt. Like she was trying to show him that she did want him around, that she was glad he’d come back.

Or maybe she was just in a good mood now that they’d found food and water.

Yeah, that seemed far more likely.

“Do you think they’ve got toothpaste here? I’m sure my breath smells something awful.”

Ghost jerked his shoulders up in a shrug, but when she moved to stand, he did too. He straightened from his crouch with a creak and a pop, muscles locked from rigor mortis protesting the movement.

He followed Lelia into the toilet, her hulking, undead shadow, and his eyes crinkled a bit in a smile as she crowed happily over finding a mostly empty tube of toothpaste. She put some on her finger and began to brush her teeth with it, wisely forgoing the dirt covered toothbrush next to the rusting tap. When she was done, she turned to him, reapplying the minty smelling paste to her finger and holding it up to his mouth.

“Your turn,” she said, but lightning quick, he grabbed her hand, stopping her. She jumped, but didn’t pull away, just looked at him with those big brown doe eyes of hers. He grunted, shaking his head as he gently pushed her hand away from his face. He could feel drool collecting in the corner of his mouth again. He was floored by just how much she trusted him. He knew she had very little survival instincts, but even she had to know better than to go sticking her fingers in a zombie’s mouth. And yet, she’d been about to do just that. And he had no idea if he’d be able to stop himself from trying to bite down the second he tasted her hot, sweet flesh on his tongue.

He clumsily grabbed the dirty toothbrush—he was already dead, what were the germs going to do? Kill him?—wiped it off on his tactical vest, and then handed it to her with a pointed grunt.

“You want me to brush your teeth with this?” His dove asked, cute little nose wrinkled up in disgust. He would have nodded, but he could still feel the drool on his chin, and the last thing he wanted was a repeat of earlier. So he just continued to stare at her until she gave in with a sigh. “Fine, then. But sit down. You’re too tall.”

You're just short, he thought but couldn’t say. Instead he let out a grumbly huff of laughter, and then sat down on the closed toilet seat. She stepped closer so she was right in front of him, and his gaze was perfectly level with her small, perky breasts. The shirt he’d found for her clung to her tightly, accentuating the slight curves of her chest and waist. She was far too skinny, ribs showing through the fabric, but she was still beautiful.

He started to drool again.

She wiped it away on her sleeve, mumbling about thumb holes apparently being good for something, and then gently—more gently than he ever remembered being touched in his undead life or the bits of his actual life before that—cradled his broken jaw in one of her small hands. He blinked up at her slowly—not out of an actual need, but out of shock—and let out a strangled groan. She paused, looking at him in concern.

“Did I hurt you?” she said, wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it still caused you pain…”

She moved to let go of him, and he lightly grasped her hand again, bringing it back to his jaw. In truth, he could barely feel it. Just a scant pressure and her addictive heat. But it was the fact that she was willingly touching such a destroyed part of him, and so tenderly, that undid him. She was… ethereal. Everything that he had ever been denied—softness and warmth and light and kindness. He didn't remember very much of his old life, but he knew enough that he had never experienced something like this—like her—before. Her existence was proof of heaven. He just didn’t understand what an angel like her was doing down on earth. Especially after it had turned into Hell.

And he certainly didn't understand why such a pure being would deign to touch a wretched monster like him.

He should have moved her hand away, should have stopped tainting her with his undead skin. But he was selfish, and so he just shook his head, tilting it back a little to look up at her.

His dove smiled at him, caressing his broken jaw sweetly for a second. His eyes went half lidded in pleasure, watching her as she carefully brushed his teeth.

“Your breath smells even worse than mine,” Lelia said with a little giggle, even as she grimaced in disgust. Somehow, she made the expression seem adorable, and her pure laughter took the sting from her words. She was teasing him, like she would a friend. The thought made his eyes crinkle slightly in a smile. She was being playful, and it looked good on her. Everything looked good on her, but happiness most of all.

His dove took her time cleaning his teeth, growing quiet as she focused. He could feel bits of flesh and fur unsticking from between his blackened gums, and he knew it must have disgusted her from the little wrinkle of her nose, but she didn't complain. She just let him spit into the sink before applying more toothpaste and continuing her task.

“There we are,” she said nearly fifteen minutes after she’d started, finally removing the brush from his mouth for good and letting go of his face. He mourned her touch, but her bright eyes made it a tad easier to bear. “Minty fresh.”

Ghost groaned quietly in thanks, and she wiped her hands off on a towel—he’d drooled quite a bit during the cleaning process, but she hadn’t even flinched—before yawning. He stood up, gently nudging her towards the door with his elbow.

“Yes yes, it’s bedtime, I know,” she said playfully, nudging him back. She looked excited. “There's a king mattress in the master bedroom—it will almost feel like home.”

Ghost huffed a laugh as he walked her down the hall. He took up his post outside the door, and her hand brushed against his as she slipped past him and into the room.

“Goodnight, Simon,” she said quietly, giving him a sweet smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, she was gone, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.

And once again, he was alone.

[dumpster-fire-sapphic-failgirl]

Spoilers for act 3 of season 2 of arcane:

The ending, the weird question, and the detective of it all:

Okay, so, Jinx is alive. She hopped skipped and jumped away from the explosion and got on that airship. Because she realized that Vi was very bad at letting go of things, and that Vi will always sacrifice herself trying to save the people she loved

Caitlyn also knows all of these things. She knows how quick Jinx can move. She would know if there was a body or not (my money is on not). She checks the blueprints. She probably does a whole ass sherlock holmes mind palace breakdown of the tunnel and the explosion.

then she hears Vi. And she smiles. And goes to her. And asks “Are you still in this fight, Violet?”

The war with Ambessa / Noxus is over. The war with the machines is over. Piltover / Zaun have reached some kind of accord, with Sevika getting a place on the council. So what fight is left?

The fight to stay alive.

She’s asking if Vi still has the will to live.

And Vi, always the scrapper, even though she’s been hurt and lost so much, does. She’s around for the long haul. Ready to rebuild. Mourning, yeah, but knows she will eventually move on.

So Cait keeps her mouth shut.

Because she knew that if Vi thought there was a chance of Jinx being alive, it would consume Vi. There would be nothing but the search for her sister. And if Cait had been wrong it would have destroyed Vi.

If that’s what it took to keep Vi going, she would have told her.

But Vi didn’t need that. So Cait sits with it, knowing full well the gift Jinx gave them. A new life. A fresh start. The fight continues. But not the cycle

[malichev]

I just watched the series finale and…

SPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILER

I don't know how to explain it, it was poetic, but at the same time not very satisfying. It's a shame there isn't another season, I personally would have liked the war to have lasted a little longer so that the characters' relationships could have been better developed. One example: Jinx and Ekko. I would have liked to see how he managed to get her out of that depression and react, even though she continued to destroy, but I wasn't expecting a miracle, just some character development. I also wanted more explanations about magic, to see what else it could do, I confess that I wanted to see Viktor being evil for longer. We can say that Jayce literally won the battle with the power of friendship, he said a few nice words and Viktor automatically saw the light. It's a very common plot nowadays, isn't it? Considering the lore between Jayce and Viktor in the game, it would be cool if Jayce's words made Viktor retreat, cancel the attack and run away for a while. I would like him to face dilemmas in his new reality, while creating his plans for evolution, perhaps reconnecting with his humanity, or even losing it altogether. But it would be more development. So, yes, I expected more from the Machine Lord's plot. The only thing I liked was the idea that he and Jayce would meet in every universe, even if that doesn't mean they are friends in all of them.

I think the first season spoiled me. I was expecting an ending that was poetic, yes, but more gray. This one was full of rushed redemption arcs and drama/deaths of characters with potential.

And lastly, we didn't get more information about Dr. Reveck's daughter. I would have liked a little backstory on her, her view of her father's actions, etc.

But apart from this criticism, Arcane is a very good series, again, if there had been another season that was only focused on this war, giving time to develop some plot holes, it would have been perfect.

Art 10/10

History 9/10

Soundtrack 10/10

[catras-breakup-song]

how do you feel about the whole "you always wanted more" line that got cut? at first i was wondering why they did that because adora didn't want more until it made me think "huh, what if prime was just running on catra's memories and didn't actually know adora?" but i'm curious as to what you think

OH MY GOD I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED THIS. i am such a sucker for the cut STC script. back in late 2020 & early 2021 i had a twitter layout based on “that little spot on the roof that only they knew about” because S3 is my favorite:

even better, i have another old twitter fancam saved from around that time too that used that screenshot of the script in the beginning. it was by the username yoosene but is now long gone, so i reuploaded it to imgur here (the hands part, i’m going insane…)!

anyway, as for interpretations, it was absolutely to manipulate & guilt-trip adora. i recently saw someone say (i don’t remember where though, sorry) that he was torturing both of them by setting up that nasty fight against both of their wills and had planned to kill catra all along — despite saying he wouldn’t right after she rescued glimmer and was imprisoned for it, in my opinion there was an unspoken “yet” even though he did technically say that word but you know what i mean; “you will be of use to me, and then everyone from your blighted planet, including yourself, will be destroyed.”

that’s the thing about what the show was trying to convey through her stay on prime’s ship via glimmer’s desperate pleas, isn’t it? her illusion of power was only ever temporary. once she no longer had anything of value to serve, what would she be worth? how could she have genuinely believed that he wanted to save her, of all living beings, from the curse of humanity & will of consciousness? what makes one individual different to an omnipotent god compared to countless others across the universe throughout space and time? i truly believe that he was subtly mocking her when he talked of her being “exalted, raised up above the other wretched creatures of [her] home world.”

i was actually trying to find another five by five takes quote about this, because mentioning them is always an obligation for me, but surprisingly i didn't really find anything about how catra had worked her way up to prime's recognized single subordinate (only that moment of reflection afterward, which is just this entire short video), and was under the false impression with a cocky & confident attitude that her position meant something for her safety & survival; i'm mostly referring to this moment:

the horde's the horde...even in space. as long as i'm of value to horde prime, i've got a place in this world. i can work my way up here, just like i did before.

actually y’know what… i’m going to tag @horde-princess because this is starting to dive into religious meta which is like… her whole gimmick thingy. we would be blessed (pun intended) to see your take on this writing that never made it to the show, if you haven’t given it already!

now this is veering too far off from the original point after getting sidetracked. the tone of those quotes in the alternate script is (fake) pity, and horde prime was entertained by the struggles of mere mortals. to make adora a failure of what she represented would surely force her to give up she-ra to him, because what would even be the point anymore of living up to expectations if she couldn’t save catra first & foremost (that’s something that she struggled with since initially leaving the horde over three years ago due to how catra made her feel about supposedly breaking their childhood promise… but it’s a story for another post)?

i don’t doubt that your thought process is at least partially right too though, anon. prime didn’t read adora’s mind thoroughly at any point, so it’s entirely possible that he just read off catra’s intense feelings of abandonment & betrayal. that being said, if he really did see all as he claimed, maybe he was able to recreate an objectively accurate collection of events and knows what really happened and what the intentions behind certain actions were. i also wonder if catra secretly knew deep down that adora’s defection wasn’t directly about her but just couldn’t admit it until she had time to deeply reflect on it during “corridors.”

i’ll leave this messy, unorganized post with an amazingly relevant gif set made by an editor whose work on here i really enjoy:

as i said a long time ago, you just had to be there on november 19th 2020 when that excerpt was released because the hype was crazy!

[durgetavoc]

Durgetash facts (pre-tadpole)

-Their relationship was a slowburn chaotic mess, especially since Durge acted cold and distant at the beginning.

-For the anniversary of their partnership, Gortash gave Durge a ring adorned with a verdelite, claiming it would grant power and was meant to honor their alliance. However, it also carried the symbolism of a "promise." It took Durge several months to respond to the gesture, eventually gifting him a ring set with a ruby.

-"It's THE Dark Urge, not Dark Urge."

-Durge loves gnolls. Gortash? Not so much—and he doesn’t hesitate to make that known.

-In fact, it was Durge who came up with the idea to train worgs alongside Gortash, later gifting them to him so they could serve as "guard dogs" for Flymm Cargo.

-Their first real kiss happened at Moonrise Towers, when they finally acted on their feelings—just before Orin betrayed Durge, leading to her amnesia.

-Durge often visits him after midnight through the window to avoid disturbing his Banite rituals.

-“Watch out, you’re messing up the floor.”

-In some way, Gortash represents a symbol of “freedom” for Durge.

-Gortash prepared a room in his old house just for her, in case she ever wanted to retreat to a more comfortable place. It’s probably where most of her belongings are, unlike the temple.

-Threatening as a form of flirting? +100 approval.

-The trip to Mephistar was a very significant (and unsettling) emotional moment for Durge—not to mention the brief visit to the House of Hope.

-Gortash crafted Stillmaker for her so she’d have a dagger to match his crossbow.

-He taught her how to play the piano. Sometimes, they play together on the same piano, with Durge deliberately hitting wrong notes just to mess with him.

-Sometimes, they just like to try to poison each other—for fun. Well, mostly Durge, since Gortash quickly realized she’s immune.

-Incidentally, she’s partly to blame for him losing a good number of his henchmen. While he finds it amusing, he occasionally scolds her, explaining how hard it is to find competent people under his rule. If she destroys everything, it’s a problem…

-Durge HATES high-society gatherings among the Patriars but follows Gortash anyway, even though improvising as a noble isn’t her strong suit.

-Gortash keeps a journal where he’s drawn sketches of Dark Urge —including notes about her scales and the vibes—for a project that will never be completed, as she disappeared. He wanted to create an outfit for her.

-Despite her darker nature, Durge occasionally has moments of pure tenderness… times when she feels like an ordinary young woman. These are moments she cherishes deeply and wishes could last longer.

[merv606]

Any thoughts on Terry being truly scared that he could have lost Daniel (supposing that Daniel was stabbed instead) and he goes to the hospital while Daniel recovers. Danny is surprised at how…soft and gentle Terry is with him, treating him like glass, and realizes that Terry was terrified of losing him.

I’ll try to answer this without having the fill by @thereminwriting influence me too much but I am going to take the idea of Terry being the one who saved him because it adds another layer of 🌶️ to the whole fucked up situation. There may be some overlap with Mercy but, with Silverusso there always is, as the themes with them are always the same.

Link below for her take - a suggestion to read it as it’s brilliant! It will live rent free.

What this ask inspired, while I feel hits some points made in the ask it may ultimately fail to hit the mark for exactly what you were looking for.

“You think you’d be grateful, is all,” Terry says, picking at some imaginary lint on the bed, which is not there. They both know that. The place is pristine, more high end hotel than hospital. The thread count on the bedsheets has to be higher than what he has at home, and he is an admitted snob when it comes to his night time comforts.

“Gratitude?” Daniel says slowly, like he’s both processing what Terry said and also surprised he’d even say it.

If it wasn’t for the dull ache in his side, the way he can feel the stitches and staples pull when he moves he’d do something stupid. As it were though.

“Gratitude, gratitude,” his voice rising, and then suddenly Daniel just deflates, that little bit of anger burning through the little energy he has built up.

That scared Terry more than anything. His boy’s fire was always so bright, so warm to bask in, so strong and big, despite the small frame it lived inside. That was why it came out so often, too big for it’s confines, never truly able to be contained at all times.

A fire that drew Terry to it like a moth to a flame, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it’s seductive allure. Helpless in the knowledge that like the moth stunned and destroyed by the light it sought, he too would die by it’s heat.

He could’ve think of a better way to go though.

Softly, “it’s just another cage, Terry.”

“Never pegged you as the religious type,” Terry says after a few long moments.

He’s not, not really. He goes through the rituals of it - mass on Christmas Eve - stopping only when his kids got older and Amanda admitted she was only going for him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know why he did, except that he did when he was a kid.

Daniel looks at the keychain’s pendant in his hand, the keychain having been ripped off and stretched to pick the lock of the cage, and he hadn’t even realized, at the time when he bought it what it was, he had simply handed the kid over some money.

He only kept it because he considered it a lucky charm of sorts considering, what it saved him from - that belief was cemented by the fact it was in the pockets of the leggings he wore under his GI when this happened.

A coincidence, he’s sure, but still, he thinks he needs all the help he can get. He’s probably in the most danger right now, after all.

It had been placed on the bedside table, and it was one of the first things he saw when he woke, and when he groggily reached for it, Terry had stilled him, telling him not to move, placing it the palm of his hand.

Here now, he turns it over in his hand.

Even you can’t save me now, Daniel thinks.

Sitting in a hospital paid for by Terry - his life forfeit it wasn’t for Terry.

His life forfeit all the same.

All the same.

More like delayed, all things considered.

Because now he owes Terry.

He owes Terry a debt he cannot possibly repay.

He wonders how Terry will try to collect; what he stands to gain.

“I must say, I was surprised to learn of your skills.”

“I’m from jersey,” Daniel answers absently. “Of course I know how to pick locks.”

Terry chuckles but then the doctor comes in and like always, Daniel is not made privy to the decisions. Everything in Terry’s hands which, as much as he hates that, they have proved to be quite capable.

He’s alive because of them.

——————————

When a few weeks have passed, he finally gathers the courage to watch the video, and for the first time he sees Terry, how he was saved, how calm Terry was, how efficient, how …. Not what Daniel expected.

He doesn’t know what to feel, not only about watching himself get hurt but about Terry. The feed had cut rather quickly all the same. He doesn’t know why, but he hits replay.

Terry comes in, and freezes, grabbing the tablet from Daniel, shattering it against the wall. A nurse rushes in, and Terry barks something to her as he strides out, and after she cleans the mess, she injects something into his IV bag. He doesn’t bother asking, they never tell him.

Terry finally reappears as the drugs settle through him. Daniel can feel them as they move through his blood, dulling everything further, the pain never truly gone, leaving behind heavy limbs and bad coordination, but a sense of peace even as he feels the bed dip and Terry’s side press flush to his. Daniel goes slack against the older man, his weight fully pressed against him until Terry is the very thing holding him up.

Terry puts Daniel’s hand in his, the only apology he’ll get for the outburst, the thumb rubbing the skin.

“My team will have it removed,” Terry explains, like they do anytime a new one pops up, and although Terry knows he can’t get rid of it entirely, it helps. Having something he can control.

Daniel, after all, makes him feel so out of control.

Daniel, after all, had never made him feel so scared.

All the blood that was already arising the Matt by the time Terry got to him, and it had only taken moments.

The knife - Kreese’s knife - embedded deep - and the white of Daniel’s skin as more blood appeared, watching life drain out of him right before his eyes.

Something that only hit Terry after. Terry only allowing it to hit him after, needing to, in that moment, focus on saving Daniel.

Not willing to accept anything else.

You can lose something you never really had.

But Daniel will be now. Something he has. Finally. And Terry will be damned if he’ll lose it.

———————————

“I can’t believe you put me in a dog cage,” Daniel grumbles as he eats his steak and buttered lobster.

Well he can, but a part of him can’t - won’t - examine it too closely. The same coping mechanism he’s been using when it comes to Terry for thirty years now. It mostly proves successful,

“Danny,” he starts.

“Thought that would, what? Make me submit? Like before.”

A deep sigh, and really Terry has no right sound that put upon.

He wasn’t the one locked in a dog cage.

“Of course you would see it like that.” Both exasperated yet fond.

“How should I see it?!”

At first you would think humiliation, and Terry’s attempt to install fear in Daniel - the same fear Terry felt but, that wasn’t it - not at all.

Nothing could be further for the truth.

It was protection.

Cages keep things in, but they also keep them out.

They keep things safe.

They keep them from leaving.

He actually hadn’t wanted Daniel to wake up until reaching the desired destination.

“I fear cages,” Terry starts but stops, not sure what to say, off kilter in a way only Daniel manages to do to him.

“Why do you fear cages?”

The story pours out, and Daniel sits, stunned.

He had no idea. At all.

Terry’s loyalty to Kreese makes so much sense now. As does their falling out. Which has hardened into hate since the accident.

Part of Terry blames Kreese.

It was his knife after all.

“He always tries to destroy the good things in my life.”

It not only makes sense but Daniel realizes, with a clarity he wouldn’t before, as he too carries that same burden now. Carries the same mixed feelings about being indebted to someone you do not wish to be indebted to.

An understanding, a part of him connected to Terry.

A part of himself that will never belong to him again.

———————————-

He protested in the beginning, Terry helping him change, but now he doesn’t; there would be no point.

He winces, the scar twisting, so new it’s still more deep purple, the skin too tight from where he was sewed and stitched back together.

Terry frowns, his hand touching it, and Daniel flinches; he can’t help it. Even he doesn’t even like touching it himself

It feels wrong - foreign. It feels like a change he didn’t want but will have no choice but to accept.

Isn’t that Terry whoever he comes into Daniel’s life.

It feels like the situation he finds himself in.

It looks ugly, even if he knows in time it will fade to pink and then further still until it’s faded to the point that it nearly matches his skin

He knows he should be grateful to be alive, to be here, even if here is with Terry.

He knows all of this but still, he will carry a piece of this always.

He carrie enough of Terry around with him - he has for thirty years.

The older man’s fingers are so damm gentle as they trace the new skin forming, solidifying into something permanent.

Everything about Terry has been so damm gentle.

All his touches, all the looks directed at Daniel, even when Terry thinks Daniel isn’t paying attention.

Terry helps him into his shirt.

————————————-

“Why?” Daniel asks when he finally gathers the courage. The thing that took him the longest to do.

“I wasn’t about to let you die, Daniel,” Terry nearly scoffs. “I’m not that much of ….”

“I know,” Daniel interrupts.

And he does. Truly. Terry is a Bond villain, and like all Bond villains, he lives to monologue and come up with elaborate plots, plots he knows, deep down, won’t work.

Just like they know Bond will walk away each time, that they want him to, so does Terry.

Because If you really want someone gone, it’s not hard. Simple is best.

If you truly want to win, that is.

But the winning isn’t the point. The end isn’t the point, because it’s not even a journey.

It’s a game, and it’s the fun in playing the game.

But when you take out the opponent, and you win the game, oh how you stop having fun.

Because the opponent was what you actually wanted all along, this game, was the only way to get that.

Something almost ruined this ages old ritual, something the villain hadn’t planned himself, hadn’t even accounted for.

“Why all this?” Daniel gestures around. It certainly is above and beyond. Putting aside the part Daniel can never hope to possibly repay, can’t even begin to, the money alone Terry has spent is astronomical, and shows no signs of stopping. The money Terry has assured Daniel he does not want, nor does he seem to even care about.

They stare at each other.

“I think you know,” is all Terry says, and it’s not cryptic, not at all.

Because Daniel thinks he does too.

Daniel thinks, he always did.

—————-

The plastic surgeon is flown in.

Daniel is fine with the scar.

It’s Terry that hates it.

It reminds him of too much.

The overwhelming fear in the days after, the unbridled anger at it even happening. Something Terry has been felt before.

How he had failed.

How he had almost lost something, that while never was his, was something he had never wanted more.

How he would have lost everything all the same, had Daniel not pulled through.

No.

No part of his boy is to be reminded of this.

No part of him will be marked by any man but Terry.

If his body is to change now, to open and accept anything inside, to be split open, to bleed, it will be by Terry’s doing.

And it will be by pleasure and not pain.

——————————————

The night he wakes to Terry sitting in the side of the hospital bed, everything dark expect for the light of the moon filtering in through the near floor to ceiling windows, is the night he really sees.

The older man’s back is to him, and although everything is silent, eerily so, he can tell Terry is crying.

Daniel sits up, hand holding onto his side, where he thinks it will always twinge slightly, although it’s more a habit now than a need, and the fact that Terry doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t hone in on the fact he’s awake and moving adds to the wrongness of this whole thing.

He gently and slowly lays a hand on the older man’s shoulder, not wanting to spoke him, he’s clearly out of it, and in an even softer tone, the ones he’d use on his kids when they were younger and upset, he asked, “Terry?”

Daniel expects the older man to get up, leave, but instead a large hand comes up and covers him.

They say nothing, but then Terry’s hand squeezes his, and in a broken voice finally speaks.

“I could have lost you.”

Terry made a mistake.

A mistake he can’t fix. - not now. Because he’s in too deep, because he loves Daniel.

And this, this was never the plan, all those years ago. To fall for the boy …. to fall again for the man the boy became.

Because when you love something, you now have something that can destroy you.

Destroy you without even meaning too.

Daniel would have destroyed him, without even trying.

Destroyed Terry in away that he would not have been able to rebuild himself from.

Even a phoenix eventually loses its will to rise again.

A world with Daniel is not one Terry wishes to be in. He tried, for thirty years, and it was no life at all. It certainly wasn’t living.

He got it back though, that feeling of being alive, but oh, what he traded for it. Because now he has this fear, heavy on his chest.

This fear of losing something you cannot replace.

When he looks down, sometimes he can still see the blood on his hands.

“You didn’t though.”

Daniel kneels, his chest to Terry’s back, his head on his shoulder, thin arms wrapped around the older man.

“You saved me.”

He had.

Terry had battled death with his bare hands for Daniel and won. But one day, one day …..

“We saved each other,” is all Terry says, focusing on that to stave off the panic.

“Let’s focus on that,” Daniel says, nuzzling his cheek into his shoulder. Terry can feel the warmth of his breaths gaunt his neck.

Plastered against his back, Daniel moves with Terry almost, to the feel the rise and fall of Terry’s breathing. Terry can feel the beat of Daniel’s heart, they’re pressed so tight.

Concentrating on that. On the moment. On what he can control in the here and now.

The dread subsides, for now, even if Terry knows it has simply retreated.

The moonlight shines down on them, this moment in time, and they stay like that until the sun chases it away, illuminating the sins instead.

———————-

“Oh god,” a breathy little moan, as Terry’s cock slides home, opening Daniel to him.

Four fingers, four of Terry’s thick fingers, and his mouth, had put the time in to get Daniel here like this, body open enough to accept the older man inside him; to accept his love.

Like a virgin on a mound, about to be offered up as sacrifice, this is how he will repay Terry.

Daniel arches up, legs squeezing tighter to the older man’s sides as his eyes squeeze shut, blunt fingernails drawing down a broad pale back.

They’ll both bleed for this tonight.

They’ll always bleed for each other.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Terry groans, and Daniel kisses him, only because he can’t handle much more.

He can’t handle Terry here inside him like this - how good it feels - how right it feels - and hear the raw truth in Terry’s voice.

He can’t.

His body is already the temple Terry is about to worship at - to ruin and rebuild - his body the vessel for this offering of his.

He knows his heart and soul will follow suit. If he was being honest with himself, something he seldom is, they already have.

The older man will accept nothing else. Daniel finds he wants nothing else.

Hands roaming, touching warm sweat slick skin, sharing the air moving between them.

The older man so damn gentle as he keeps sliding in.

Daniel finding within himself, to somehow open more and more, until Terry’s cock is all the way in, both men joined as one.

Terry carving a spot for himself that only he will be able to fill.

Hips snapping in, the wet noises of their coupling, the pin pricks of pleasure when the older man’s cock brushes his prostate, the sharp grin, like a shark sensing blood in the water as Terry concentrates on hitting that spot.

Hands pins above his head, Daniel opening his eyes at the older man’s command, Terry staring down.

“I love you. So much, Danny. So damm much,” he groans, rocking in, burying his face into the smaller man’s neck.

The slapping noise of skin on skin as he’s taken, as Terry chases his release, both of their releases, in each other.

Hands grab slim hips, feeling the bone under his palm, fingers digging in, greedy and covetous, but Daniel can feel the love even if he can also feel the bruises it is leaving.

Love with teeth, it suits them.

Always did.

And a love that leaves marks from those teeth, stained red with blood.

A love that is visible - a mixture of pleasure and pain, sometimes in equal measure.

That is them.

“Oh,” he sobs out as he comes in the space between them, not even a hand on his cock needed.

The clenching of his body, already a tight and perfect fit around Terry’s cock, is the older man’s undoing, and his hand grasps the smaller man’s side, covering the now barely visible scar, as empties himself inside the smaller body.

Daniel’s legs fall off his sides, splayed open obscenely as Terry fills and fills and fills him. He moans softly at the sensation of Terry’s come inside him, which doesn’t seem to be stopping, the warming blooming through him as his hips keep gently fucking in, making sure it’s as deep as it can go, making sure Daniel is even more full than he thought possible.

Finally finished, Terry collapses on top of Daniel, careful as he does though. He’s always careful with his boy, even if sometimes it’s his own personal brand of it.

He doesn’t bother to pull out, loathe to leave Daniel’s body until he absolutely has to, even if he is eager to see the mess he’s left his boy in.

There is always later for that.

They have that luxury of later now.

Who would have thought that here, of all places, a second, third, and fourth chance.

Terry’s lost count.

As many as they need to get it right.

Terry will see to that.