#he also stretches the truth on those battles too.

[sleepynegress]

Can you explain more what you mean about Ridley Scott having old man gaze? I'm really curious lol

Back in the day... Ridley's day too, -Most mainstream big movies had that dynamic. Some leading white guy who was older than his love interest. This was that white male director's gaze. So it was standard. We didn't see it as fanfiction back then... But once it clicks into place.... The guy was a good 10 - 20 years older than his female love interest. Ridley Scott is 86 years old. 86. He is still directing the same kinds of movies with the same gaze as he did in the 80's. It's not about historical accuracy. It's about defending that gaze and that "tradition".

It's in the same realm of debate as "when will real cinema come back", a subject that is always brought up by or centered around old white male auteurs.

They act like it's about being tired of one subject dominating genre (IP and especially comic book films) but really, it's more about the increased inclusion, in both the players and the gaze steering the proceedings and audiences enjoying it. So, when Ridley is cussing about his disregard of accuracy, he's really being defensive of his gaze being so much less taken at face value, without basic interrogatives about it, these days. He's an old man yelling at a cloud. And having what used to be baseline normalcy in American film; instead inspiring knowing chuckles and eye-rolls, because of course, you cast the boring old standard of a too-old J. Phoenix and too-young V. Kirby, even when the reality (Jo was actually six years older than Napoleon) would have made that dynamic in your movie much more interesting... But upholding old cliches as "real cinema' regardless of the actual quality/watchability of the film matters more to him.

[simplygojo]

A Path I Can't Follow

Author's Note: SO I was already writing this one shot when I got this awesome request from an anon, so I merged it into this. My Star Wars fans will be so happy with this one LOLL, well actually not happy bc its mega angst (iykyk). JUSTICE FOR ANAKIN AND SUGURU!!!

I recommend listening to your favourite sad playlist while reading, makes the experience 1111000% better.

Pairing: Suguru Geto x f!reader

Also, I have a giveaway event going on rn, if you'd like to enter to win an Amazon gift card then check it out here.

Request linked here

Warnings: violence, grief, loss, death. (yeah, I said mega angst...)

Tags: @simplyyyuji; If you'd like to be added to my taglist pls comment/dm me!

It had been almost a month since Suguru Geto abandoned the Jujutsu world, leaving behind a trail of devastation that none of you could have anticipated. 

The day Gojo gave you the news…your world fractured in ways you couldn’t comprehend.

When Satoru found you in the training hall, his usually carefree expression was replaced with something grim, something haunted. 

The lighthearted banter you’d come to expect from him was absent, replaced by a heavy silence that stretched between you like a void. 

You had known something was wrong before he even said it, but nothing could have prepared you for the words that followed.

Suguru had cursed an entire village—men, women, children—and even worse, his own parents were among them.

Your mind couldn’t grasp it at first. 

The Suguru you knew, the one who held you close on quiet nights, who used to laugh softly at your terrible jokes and talk about a future that didn’t involve exorcisms or endless battles, was suddenly unrecognizable. 

How could he have done something so monstrous?

You remembered staring blankly at Gojo, your body numb, the room spinning as he continued speaking, his voice distant as you felt something hot stream down your cheeks. 

You had been dating Suguru for three years—three years of knowing every side of him…or so you thought. 

But this? 

This was something you could never have imagined.

The ache in your chest was unbearable, it felt as if someone had hollowed you out from the inside. You shook your head violently “No…no…”

You couldn’t produce an image of the man you loved according to the monster Gojo had described. 

The same man who used to trace circles on your back as you fell asleep, whispering that everything would be okay, had now left a village in ruins, and your mind couldn’t process it.

Gojo’s voice had softened when he saw the look on your face, but the pity in his eyes only made it worse, and you fell to the ground in a broken mess. 

"I’m sorry," he’d said, and though you knew he meant it, those words felt hollow, as you knew he had lost someone important too in all of this.

You barely remembered what happened after that. 

The days blurred together in a haze of disbelief and grief. You stayed in your room, replaying every conversation, every mission, searching for the moment when it all went wrong. 

How had you missed this? 

How could Suguru have changed so completely without you realizing it?

The weight of his absence crushed you. 

The empty spaces he left behind—the way your bed felt too big without him in it, the quiet moments in the common room that you used to fill with laughter—were suffocating. 

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape the truth: Suguru Geto, the man you loved, had become someone you didn’t recognize. 

And you didn’t what from him, no goodbye, no I’m sorry—nothing from the man you loved.

You had been avoiding your phone, pushing the thoughts of Suguru away because they hurt too much to hold onto. 

The soft knock at your bedroom door made your heart jump, only for it to fall when you realized it wasn’t him—It was never him.

But when you opened the door to see a letter laid on the ground—folded, worn edges, and unmistakably his handwriting—your world spun for a moment. 

He had sent it. After everything, after weeks of silence, Suguru sent you a note.

Your fingers trembled as you opened it, heart racing, unsure whether you should laugh or cry at the mere fact that he reached out.

"Meet me."

And, God help you, you went.

—

The air was thick, and the sky was dark when you arrived at the temple. 

It clung to your skin, heavy with unspoken words, with things left unsaid between the two of you. 

Your feet felt like they were sinking into the earth as you climbed the steps, each one pulling you deeper into a place you weren’t sure you could return from.

And there he was.

Suguru stood by the edge of the open hall, staring out into the night, his back turned to you as the wind stirred his long hair. He didn’t move as you approached, didn’t say anything, even though you knew he had to have sensed your presence. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, willing your voice to come out steady. "Suguru."

It barely came out as a whisper, but it was enough. His shoulders stiffened, the only sign that he had heard you. 

You waited for him to turn, for him to say something—anything—that would make sense of the last few weeks. But he didn’t move.

The silence pressed down on you, suffocating.

“Why did you do all this?” You finally asked, your voice cracking under the weight of the question that had haunted you every day since he disappeared.

Suguru exhaled slowly, a sound that was more sigh than breath. "I had to." He said before finally turning around to face you. 

That was all he offered. 

No apology, no explanation, just that hollow statement, like it was meant to answer everything.

You could see his features soften as your eyes locked. 

He had almost forgotten how beautiful you were, how your features calmed him and brought him warmth—a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You shook your head, trying to hold yourself together as you spoke softly. 

“You didn’t have to. You didn’t have to curse an entire village to death. You didn’t even tell me—” Your voice cracked as you felt the pain of his absence catching up to you. “You left me. You left all of us.”

Finally, he began slowly walking towards where you stood in the doorway. His eyes met yours, and the sight of him, standing there so composed, so distant, shattered something inside you.

"I couldn’t stay," he said, his voice steady in a way that made your chest ache. "This world… it’s broken. Staying wouldn’t change that."

You took a step toward him, desperation clawing at you. "We could’ve fixed it together. You didn’t even try to talk to Satoru or me. You didn’t have to leave."

He shook his head, his eyes hard, resolute. 

"You shouldn’t bother yourself with Satoru…” He paused, “I’m building something new. Something better. I can’t fix this world from the inside. I can’t pretend anymore." He took a few more steps, closing the distance between you with agonizing slowness, each step erasing the space but widening the gap between who he had been and who he had become.

You felt the urge rise, the instinct to reach out, to touch him like you used to, like it would somehow bring him back to you. 

But your hands stayed frozen at your sides, weighed down by the fear—no, the fact that your beautiful boy was already too far gone.

Your heart dropped. 

The person standing in front of you wasn’t the Suguru you had known, the one who held you close after every mission, the one who whispered your name like it was a prayer. This man was a stranger, distant and cold.

“And what about us?” Your voice cracked again, tears burning behind your eyes as you fought to keep them at bay. “What about everything we had, Suguru?”

His jaw clenched. For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes, something soft and familiar. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same, chilling determination. 

"I can’t go back." His voice was quiet but firm as his thumb ran over your sift skin, reminding you of the happiness you once had with this man.

Unbeknownst to you, tears began to slip down your cheeks, hot and unchecked. You leaned into his touch, your voice trembling with emotion. 

“What you are doing…I-It’s insane. You, me, the others—we were building something.”

He shook his head, his expression hardening as his gaze turned distant again but still locked onto your crying eyes, his hand moving down to rest on the side of your neck, his touch was cold on your warm skin. 

“No, y/n. We weren’t building anything. I was just wasting my time.”

You flinched as if he had struck you, the weight of his words slamming into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. 

“Wasting time?” 

You staggered back, away from his grasp, shaking your head, hands gripping your arms as though trying to hold yourself together. 

“This isn’t you, Suguru. You’re not this... this person. You’re not—not a monster…” Your voice faltered, a sob finally breaking free from your quivering lips as you looked away from his once-kind eyes. 

“Come home to me, baby. Please.”

You hated how desperate you sounded, how your heart felt like it was shattering in your chest as you stood there, pleading with the only person you had ever truly loved.

“I can’t,” he said softly, and that softness hurt worse than anything else. His eyes met yours, and you saw it—the finality in them. 

“I’m building something new. A world where the weak don’t suffer. A world that’s right.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and bitter, but you couldn’t stop them. “We could do that together! We could—”

“No, y/n!” His voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and cold as ice. 

He had never yelled at you, never raised his voice like this, and the sound of it sent a fresh wave of pain and fear crashing over you. 

“We can’t.”

You flinched at his harshness, your breath hitching as his words sank in. He looked away, jaw clenched tight, as if the mere sight of your tears was too much for him. 

"I’m doing this for us," he continued, his voice lower but no less resolute. "For everyone.”

"Suguru…you’re breaking my heart, you’re going down a path I can’t follow” The words slipped out, quiet but forceful. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him, the man you always thought you couldn’t live without.

He shook his head softly, slowly approaching you as you moved away from him. “Y/n…everything I’ve done, has been necessary…"

“Necessary?” You spat, your voice trembling as your grief twisted into rage, angry tears streaming down your face. “You think abandoning me—abandoning everything we have worked for—is necessary?”

He shook his head, taking small steps towards you slowly closing the space between you once more. 

“You don’t understand,” he murmured. “I’m not abandoning you. I’m—”

“Then what is this?!” You interrupted, your voice breaking as the pain inside you twisted into something desperate, broken. 

“What do you call this if not abandonment?!” You screamed, your tear-filled eyes locking with his, and you knew he could see the pain in your soul, the pain he caused you.

Suguru’s eyes flashed, a familiar glint passing through them, and for the first time since you arrived, you saw something close to regret in his gaze. He looked at you in a way you never thought you’d get to see again—with love.

Before you could even react, his lips were on yours, urgent and full of emotion. 

The kiss hit you like a truck, your breath stolen from your lungs as his hand moved to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair as he desperately pulled you closer.

The shock of it left you frozen for a heartbeat, but then your body responded on its own, your hands reaching up to cup his face. 

Your fingers brushed against the familiar curve of his jaw, the rough stubble beneath your touch grounding you in a moment that felt both surreal and inevitable. 

The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was raw, a mixture of desperation and longing, as if he were trying to pour every unsaid word, every unresolved feeling, into the press of his lips.

Suguru kissed you like it was the only thing that mattered in the world, as if he could somehow erase the pain that he saw reflected in your tears with this one act. 

His lips were soft, but his grip on you was firm, holding you as if he couldn’t bear to let go. 

And for a moment, you let yourself fall into it—into him. You let the world fall away, let the ache in your chest dissolve into the warmth of his touch.

Your hands trembled slightly as they moved from his jaw to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, refusing to let him slip away again. 

His kiss deepened, and you felt the weight of all the emotions he wasn’t saying—the regret, the sorrow, the love that still lingered between you, even in the midst of everything.

But as your lips moved with his, the reality of what was happening began to creep back in. 

This kiss wasn’t a promise—it was a goodbye, a last grasp at something that had already been broken beyond repair. 

You could feel it in the way his body pressed against yours, in the way his breath hitched slightly as he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath.

His hand lingered on the back of your head, but there was a distance in his touch, a hesitation that hadn't been there before. 

When you opened your eyes and looked into his, you saw the tears welling up, threatening to spill from the depths of his deep purple gaze.

“Suguru…” Your voice was soft as you spoke, 

“I love you, I have, continue to, and will forever love you.” 

You watched his eyes search yours, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air as a single tear slipped down his cheek, his lips quivered slightly, and you felt your heart shatter within your chest. 

Instinctively, you raised your thumb to wipe it away, your gentle touch resting on his skin as your hands cradled his face. The warmth of his skin under your fingertips contrasted sharply with the hot tears streaming down your own face, the ache in your chest growing as you held onto each other tightly. 

His fingers traced small, soothing patterns on your cheek, evoking the memories of laughter and love you once shared, of moments that felt invincible and eternal.

“Please, baby, come h—” you began, desperation threading through your voice, the plea heavy on your lips. But before you could finish, he cut you off with another kiss—this one frantic and urgent, a collision of emotions. 

Your lips moved together, moisture mixing due to you both crying, it was as if he were trying to convey everything he couldn't articulate, the weight of his sorrow and regret pouring into the embrace. 

His hands became tangled in your hair again as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with familiarity.

He kissed you with a fervour that spoke of longing, a need to bridge the gap that had formed between you. 

This kiss was deeper and more intense, echoing the confessions left unspoken, the promises he had broken. 

In that moment, you both surrendered to the flood of feelings that surged between you, clinging to each other as if the world around you had ceased to exist.

He pulled away gently, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Please, Suguru,” you said through your tears, your voice raw. “I love you. I love you so much.”

For a long, agonizing moment, he didn’t say anything. 

He just looked at you, as if memorizing the way you looked right then—broken, crying, desperate. 

“Love won’t save you, y/n, only power can do that.” He said, straightening his spine and letting his hands fall to his sides. 

“But at what cost? You are a good person, probably the best I’ve ever met. Don’t do this!” You cried, watching his eyes darken with something you weren't familiar with. 

“You don’t understand, y/n, I am bringing about the world of the sorcerers! Those monkeys needed to be taken out in order for us to survive.” He tried explaining, and you felt your heart practically tearing apart.

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing…Satoru was right…You’ve changed.” You said, taking a few steps backward to create some space between you. You noticed his eyebrows crinkle at the sound of your words.

“I don’t want to hear any more about Satoru!” He shouted, growing visibly angry as he continued, “He thinks he can take anything he wants, don’t you let him take you from me too!” 

You let out a defeated sigh, but the hot stream of tears didn’t stop flowing. “I don't know you anymore Suguru…”

“Because of Satoru?” He said accusingly.

You shook you head, a look of disbelief sprawled across your face. 

“Because of what you've done—What you plan to do! Stop! Stop now... come back! I love you!”

Suguru’s features softened and he took a gentle step towards you. Before you could get another word out, his eyes darted to the doorway behind you, and that dark angered look returned. 

You turned your head to meet the object of his gaze and were surprised to see Gojo standing in the doorway, his shades loosely between two fingers at his side.

“You’re with him! You brought him here because you know he’s the only one who can kill me!” Suguru shouted, his eyes meeting yours with a raging fire you hadn’t seen before, sending a wave of fear through your body. 

“No! I don’t know why he’s her–.” You pleaded your hands clasping together in front of you—But Suguru wasn’t listening. 

All he saw was red—the overwhelming rage and betrayal clouding his judgment, twisting every word you said into something darker.

Without hesitation, his hand lifted, fingers curling into a fist. The motion was swift, almost instinctive, and before you could react, the sensation of his familiar snake-like curse coiled around your body. 

Its grip tightened with terrifying speed, constricting your airway, and your breath hitched violently.

Panic surged through you as your vision began to blur. You tried to speak, tried to plead with him, but the pressure around your throat made it impossible. 

Your hands flew up to your neck in a futile attempt to loosen the curse’s grip, but it was no use.

Your eyes locked onto his, searching for some sign of the man you once loved—some hint of the tenderness he used to show you. But the fire in his gaze was all-consuming, the rage overpowering the softness you had once known.

Tears streamed down your face, each drop burning against your skin as your body began to falter. 

Yet, through the haze of suffocating pain, you noticed something—the glistening tears that fell from Suguru’s own eyes, tracing silent paths down his cheeks.

Even in his anger, his heart ached. 

But it wasn’t enough to stop him.

Before you could let out your final breath, you managed to say one last thing as you stared into his dangerous eyes–the same ones you fell in love with, searching for one last glimpse of the man you loved.

“I will–always love–you.” You breathed, voice hoarse as you felt your body slip into unconsciousness. 

A single tear slipped down his cheek, one he didn’t bother wiping away this time. The weight of your final words crushed him, cracking through the hardened shell he’d encased himself in. 

‘I can’t let Satoru take her from me’ he thought to himself.

Suguru’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing as your words hung in the air like a ghost. 

‘I will—always love—you.’

It was as if the last shred of your strength had been spent in those words, the way you looked at him, your eyes full of love and pain, piercing through the darkness he’d embraced.

His grip on you tightened, the snake-like curse coiling around your now limp neck with unrelenting force. 

His thoughts were frantic—disjointed. 

But then, Gojo’s voice boomed, snapping through the suffocating tension like a whip, 

“Suguru, let her go!” It wasn’t a request—it was a command. At that moment, the intensity of Gojo's eyes was enough to shake even Suguru.

“Let her go, damn it!” Gojo’s voice cracked, desperation seeping through his usual unshakable composure. 

“You’ve probably just killed her!”

Suguru’s hands faltered, his eyes widening in sudden horror. 

Gojo’s words pierced through the haze of rage clouding his mind. 

Killed her? No… That couldn’t be true. 

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, hadn’t meant for this to happen. He’d only wanted to protect you—to keep you by his side.

“No…no, no, no…” Suguru muttered, releasing the curse, causing your body to fall to the floor with a loud thud. His hand covered his mouth as he stumbled back. 

His eyes flickered between you and Gojo, and he quickly went to hold you in his arms. “No!” 

Panic seeped into his gaze as he saw your limp form cradled in his arms, your head lolling to the side. 

‘No, she’s not—she can’t be—’

“Y/n…?” Suguru whispered, dropping to his knees beside you, his trembling hands hovering over your neck, unsure, terrified of what he might find. 

His breathing hitched, and for the first time in a month, Suguru Geto was terrified.

“Suguru, what did you do?!” Gojo's voice rang out again, fury and heartbreak mingling together. 

His hands clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut as he fought the urge to tear Suguru apart. 

But even now, beneath the rage, there was still that glimmer of hope—hope that you could be saved.

Suguru shook his head, his movements erratic, his denial absolute. “She’s—she’s fine, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to—” His voice broke, trembling as his eyes darted between your pale face and Gojo’s stricken expression. 

He hadn’t meant to kill you—he never meant for it to end this way.

“I-I didn’t—” His words trailed off, his mind spiralling as he realized the depth of what he had done. 

The weight of his actions crashed down on him, and for a moment, he was paralyzed by the enormity of his guilt.

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his hands trembling as he walked towards where you laid in his arms.

“Suguru,” he growled, voice laced with cold fury. 

“You’ve killed her.”

“No!” Suguru shouted, backing away from you, as if Gojo’s words were physical blows. 

His chest heaved, his breath shallow as panic surged through him. 

He stumbled to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief, refusing to accept what had just happened.

“No, I didn’t—she’s not—she’s still alive!”

Gojo’s pained gaze flickered to your still form, and in that instant, Suguru knew—he couldn’t stay. 

Not with Gojo there. Not with the full weight of his crime pressing down on him. He turned on his heel, his heart hammering in his chest as he muttered incoherent apologies to the air, his mind fractured and overwhelmed.

Without another word, Suguru bolted from the room, his footsteps echoing in the hollow silence. 

Gojo didn’t move—he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when your life hung in the balance.

The room fell into a suffocating quiet, the remnants of your final plea still echoing in the air.

There weren’t many thoughts going through Gojo’s head as he carried your lifeless body back to Jujutsy High, just one—he had lost his two best friends that night.

—

5 Days Later

Suguru had recruited a few curse users since his incident with you and Gojo at the temple. He had managed to knock you out so Gojo wouldn’t be able to stick around and kill him, he couldn’t afford to delay his plans. Or so he convinced himself.

One evening, he was approached by two girls he had adopted, Nanako and Mimiko, who claimed to have news from Jujutsu High, as they were responsible for gaining intel from the school to keep tabs. 

“Let's hear it. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you girls,” He said softly, a warm smile playing on his lips as the two girls sat beside him. 

“Not at all, Mr. Geto.” Mimiko said taking out a piece of paper from her pocket to read some bullet points, written in glitter gel pens. 

“Um, no one is making any real progress on tracking you down, probably because they’re all idiots,” she said, rolling her eyes. Suguru let out a small chuckle.

“Well that’s good news, anything else?” He said, that same smile plastered on his face.

“Oh yeah, that girl sorcerer you fought with is dead, what was her name? Ummmmm, oh yeah! Y/n y/l/n!” 

Suguru’s entire body went rigid, the casual warmth that had coloured his voice just moments ago draining in an instant. His heart seized in his chest as Mimiko’s words echoed in his ears.

‘Y/n y/l/n… dead.’

“No,” he muttered, his voice strained and barely audible as the room seemed to tilt around him. 

“That’s impossible. I—” He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. 

“I just knocked her unconscious… I didn’t—” His words trailed off, his mind spiralling back to that moment, to the look in your eyes as his cursed spirit wrapped around your neck.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt her. I didn’t mean to…’

“Yeah,” Nanako added, her tone indifferent as she glanced at the paper. “That doctor lady’s  report said her neck was broken—shattered, actually. Sounds like there was nothing they could do. She died instantly.”

Suguru’s breath hitched in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. 

His mind raced back to that final moment, your whispered words replaying in his head over and over again. ‘I will—always love—you.’

‘How had it come to this? How had he let it happen?’

His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady himself, but the world was slipping through his fingers. 

He hadn’t meant to kill you. He didn’t want that. He had only wanted to stop you—stop you from siding with Gojo. Stop you from leaving him, like everyone else had. 

But now… Now you’re gone.

“Mr. Geto?” Mimiko’s soft voice attempted to pull him out of his thoughts, but it did nothing to soothe the storm that raged inside him. 

He couldn’t hear her. He could barely hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears, the distant echo of your last breath.

He stood abruptly, pushing away from the table, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Both girls flinched, their eyes widening in confusion as they watched his usually composed demeanour unravel.

“Mr. Geto?” Nanako called out again, her voice small.

But Suguru wasn’t listening anymore. He turned away, his mind a tangled mess of disbelief and horror. 

He had to get out—out of this room, out of this suffocating realization that he had killed the one person who had loved him enough to try to save him.

His chest heaved as he stumbled toward the door, his vision blurring at the edges. The air felt too thick, too hot, and for the first time in years, 

Suguru Geto felt like he was drowning. 

‘I killed my beautiful y/n…’ The thought reverberated like a haunting mantra, suffocating him from the inside.

He barely registered the sound of the girls calling after him as he staggered outside, cold night air hitting his skin but doing little to calm the chaos inside him. 

Suguru collapsed to his knees, his breath ragged, his hands clutching at his head as if he could somehow block out the reality of what he had done. 

The tears came, unbidden, hot and stinging, falling freely down his face as he let out a broken, anguished sob.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

“Y/n…” he whispered into the cold night air, his voice shattered. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

But it was too late. He had chosen the dark side…

The world he sought to create, one where the weak no longer suffered, now felt more hollow than ever.

And all that remained was the bitter taste of regret, the price of his ambition.

[universallychaoticpan]

Hiiiiiii can I request where Chuuya and Fyodor's s/o got captured by Dazai to be interrogate and torture for info but there's no need to do that because s/o just tells Dazai all the half-truths BUT IN RIDDLES and also s/o despite being put in an isolated glass room she is still very much in control of the situation and she can honestly get out of the room anytime she wants but not without spilling some blood ofcourse.

You really should get out more - that's what you were thinking anyway. Sure, getting kidnapped and interrogated by the ADA wasn't on your agenda for the day, but hey, plans change all the time. You smiled, flexing your wrists in the fragile cuffs keeping them behind your back.

The key was always remaining flexible.

So yes, you were quite relaxed. Your underground 'prison' was devoid of any distractions, but as always, you were never one to waste times when there were silver linings to be found. It allowed you time; time to think, to plot, to come up with a thousand escape plans, all involving varying degrees of blood and gore. Fyodor wouldn't come to your aid- you were sure of that much. Perhaps that would be insulting to others, but to you, the message was clear: he trusted you. He trusted that his little bird, his little love, his darling with the knife-tipped fingers and the bloody smile would find their way back to him no matter what. It would be child's play, getting out; another thing you knew for certain. Even with the ADA trapping you, you had deduced a few critical facts. One- they had hidden your current location from you, leaving you in the dark as to where you were. Two- the amounts of time between visitors averaged around an hour between each encounter. Three- They always came in alone, and there were only three suspects you'd come to expect. The conclusion you had come to made you smile even wider in your solitude: not only were they weakened significantly, their members were stretched far too thin to possibly stand a chance at containing you if it came down to it.

yes, you knew it sure as you knew your own name.

And it maddened the man sitting across the room from you despite his best attempts to hide it.

Osamu Dazai was quickly falling into a battle of wits with you, baited by your silence and your odd little smiles.

"You already know my question," he smiled, approaching you. "So I'll ask again for the last location of Fyodor's base of operations as you know it."

"And my answer has not changed, detective- you're an even bigger idiot than you look if you think I'm simply going to tell you." Instead of keeping your eyes lowered in some vain attempt to hide any 'tells,' you kept your eyes up. You stared him down, lips curling up into a pleasant smile. "You're welcome to leave and send in another one of your associates to try again."

He turns away, sneering as he striped off his coat, dropping it on the floor before revealing a wickedly pointed knife that reflected the slightly deranged gleam in his eyes. They chilled you, those eyes- how similar they were to Fyodor's, not in appearance maybe, but in their cool ruthlessness, in their kaleidoscopic depth that made you feel at once safe and critically endangered.

'I could hurt you, you know," he purred, slipping behind you, roughly pulling your head back by your hair and exposing the smooth column of your throat to him.

"You could," you agree, still smiling. "But what good will spilling my blood do you? Other than making me more inclined to lie in order to stop the pain...Really, what cards do you have to play? You have no way of proving what I say is true; anything I tell you is tantamount to sending you on a wild goose chase even if it is true. I suppose you could kill me, but then you've lost the closest chance you have at finding the man you seek." His eyes narrow as you chuckle. "And the longer you wait to decide what to do with me, the higher the risk grows that I will grow bored and simply walk away, leaving you lot empty handed." You swallow hard as the blade finds your jugular, a slip of a finger being the difference between life and death.

"And anyway, you've walked on the ground you seek already...it's not my fault you're too blind to see it. At this point your wasting my time, running in circles when you've found the answer. You dogs, detectives- you'd rather gnaw on the bone of a satisfying interrogation than tie up the loose ends you've already begun to unravel! The answer is so simple, you've never even thought to look- the easiest way to confuse smart people, I find, is to make the solutions to their problems the most obvious one."

You're close enough that you can register the look that crosses Dazai's face- the look of a man who's been given the all important device when it comes to solving any puzzle: a clue.

"Where?"

You let your head fall to the side, nicking your skin in the process. "Oh no, detective, I'm afraid that's all I'm inclined to offer.

Your intentions were clear - goading a man like Osamu Dazai was a dangerous game, and yet here you were. He spun the knife in his hands, until the point hovered directly above your heart. "Where?"

This time, you simply let your head fall back, smiling insipidly as you feel your ability floating at the edges of your consciousness, begging you to harness it.

"Really?" His voiced hissed in your ear, venomous and angry as he began to lose his patience. "You talk too much too often and choose now to be silent?"

"You talk too much detective-

next time, I would advise you to keep your eyes on the hands of your captives rather than their mouths."

In the time it takes to blink, you had him on the wall, as you used your hands to wrap the handcuffs around his throat and squeeze, his knife now tucked neatly against his pulse point.

"I warned you, detective- next time, I advise you to not let me get bored."

You smiled sweetly at him one last time, tightening the chain as you pecked his cheek.

"Do svidaniya!"

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

My take on the Bad Kid scars! AKA my excuse to make like a 4 page Google doc worth of headcanons.

I've thought about this kind of a lot while considering how I draw the Bad Kids because I love when characters carry evidence of their history with them (not just scars, stuff like the tin flower emblem or Figs Ayda-feather-earring also exist in this category, and I have separate notes for those too)

Since magic is a big part of healing in this world I have some stipulations for what actually causes scarring in my own headcanons-

(Rest is under the cut. This bitch is looong and it's technically unfinished. Heads up for descriptions of injuries and spoilers for the first 2 seasons of Fantasy High.)

So here's the rules:

1. It's a big story moment. Random slashes or scratches or whatever don't show up because they're not relevant to the characters history and they're small enough that I think magical means would completely cover them.

2. The attack downs them. This just makes it easier to track, any attack that knocks a character out has the potential to leave a lasting mark.

3. Based on some comments from Brennan, it seems like low level healing magic (ex. Cure Wounds, Healing Word) is essentially time-based. It basically fast-forwards the healing process months in advance. That's gonna affect how scars work. Unless otherwise stated, that's how I'm gonna approach the magical healing process.

Figeuroth Faeth

• Tuna Surprise Eldritch Blast- Doreen (S1E2)

Small burn scar on the left side of her check/around her lips from when she caught the Eldritch Blast with her face. The Phoenix Egg spell mostly took care of it, so it's quite faint, but it still can get tight and itchy. Fig has a special moisturizer for it that she keeps next to her horn cream.

• Torn ear- Figueroth Faeth (S2E12)

Honestly this is mostly because I find it funny. This is from that moment when Fig rips out her earring to give to Ayda in exchange for the feather. It's very common in D&D designs for characters with long ears to have rips or notches in them to show that they're active or battle-worn. I really like this idea of a kind of Jason Grace style scar where you look at her and you wonder "Woah, I wonder what battle caused that" because she's this legendary adventurer but the truth is that she did it to herself because she's a sweet-hearted dumbass who was tripping over herself trying to give her crush a gift. It got healed up soon enough, there's just a divet at the bottom of her ear now.

Riz Gukgak

• Hand Cuts- Crystal Interior (S1E14)

Riz was tearing through his hands trying to get out of that thing, I can't imagine that it didn't leave a lasting impact. Both sides of his hands and a little up his forearms are covered in slashes. They've healed kind of unevenly since he does a lot of work with his hands that require some amount of dexterity and precision (mostly writing, typing, drawing up maps, ect.) The forearm scars are pretty much settled, but the ones on his palms and fingers are still irritable and sometimes painful enough that he has to stop working. It does not help at all that this kid refuses to sleep or stretch or experience rest, so he probably gets a lot of stiffness and cramping too (at least, more than he would if he actually got sleep ever). Since they got re-agitated in Sophomore Year his friends have gotten very good at noticing when he's ignoring the pain and force him to take a damn break every once in a while. He has a tell for it and none of them will tell him what it is. He appreciates that they care about him, but god is the mystery infuriating. He actively refuses to acknowledge the irony of that.

• Lightning to the Chest- Aelwyn Abernant (S1E12)

In the sister fight Aelwyn knocks Riz out with a fucking lightning bolt. This is what sets Adaine completely over the edge. He gets healed up pretty fast, so it's not a life threatening scenario, but it's still a fucking lightning bolt. He's got a circular burn scar in the center of his chest. Much like Figs, it doesn't bother him much, but it still requires some attention and maintenance for at least a couple weeks. Honestly he straight up forgets it's there sometimes. Adaine probably thinks about it more than he does.

Fabian Seacaster

• Enucleation- Dayne Blade (S1E16)

So the main thing here is the eye, but it also covers a good chunk of the left side of his face. Essentially this big slashing weapon caught him right at the top of where his ear connects to the rest of his head and dragged forward far and deep enough to take out his left eye. Also notable is that he doesn't get any medical attention beyond minor heals for a hot minute. And when he gets hit he spends a couple minutes running around a burning house filled with ash and smoke and blood. The moment of Bill giving Fabian his eye patch is incredibly tender. It's also NASTY, dude. That thing is for sure covered in blood and ash and he puts it right over an OPEN WOUND. I love that scene to death, and there is absolutely no way that that thing isn't getting crazy infected without immediate/magical medical attention. I imagine Kristen and Riz took a good chunk of that frozen time to treat it as much as they could. I picture the slash healing into a pretty thick hypertrophic scar that goes from his ear over his eye to the edge of his nose. He definitely had to actually go to a hospital after prom to get proper treatment. His skin could be mostly stitched back together magically, so the main focus from actual medical professionals was putting in an orbital implant and getting him a conformer to maintain the structural integrity of the eye socket. He probably has a bunch of cool decorative prosthetic eyes for big events because he's a fancy little rich boy, but I don't think he actually uses them a lot (for a couple reasons, the main one is the eye patch. Why bother putting it in when he's gonna cover it up immediately anyway?) He just uses the conformer like 99% of the time. The eye patch mostly has sentimental value, but it also does have that charisma stat boost effect, so he has it on when he's adventuring or at school, but takes it off at home. His big issue is adjusting to his new depth perception. He spends months and months re-learning the sword with Hallariel, which is immensely frustrating. He knows how to do it, but he has to completely readjust how he thinks about approaching it, which I think would really get under his skin. Especially since it's such a big part of his identity at this point. It takes him a good while to get back to his previous skill level, but damn if he doesn't do it.

Kristen Applebees

• Gored Through the Chest- The Great Unicorn (S2E17)

100% my least grounded in any form of reality headcanon. She fully resurrected herself. The scar left from the horn of the unicorn is a little more like a slightly raised tattoo than an actual scar. It's more of a magical imprint of the divine act of resurrection than anything left behind by the wound itself. As her bones and skin and muscles literally stitched themselves back together they sort of knitted into a single point, which grew a patch of discolored skin. The skin is thick, and purplish, and shaped like some kind of rune that doesn't actually exist in any surviving magical language. A permanent mark of the impossible magic she enacted. There's an identical mark that's a little bigger on her back, where the horn entered through. A less obvious element of that scar is how it affected her heart. The thing was ripped apart, and basically the only thing that could fix that was god magic. Luckily, she got that! I imagine that her heart now has this weird rippling effect over the muscle, almost like aurora borealis. It doesn't actually affect a ton because, again, god magic, but man does it fuck with medical equipment sometimes. I also think that if you were to cast Detect Magic on her, without any of her gear or spell effects, you would still read that Raise Dead effect just radiating off of her.

• Pinky Finger- Removal and Resurrection

I think that her right pinky finger didn't entirely recover from having a full bone taken out, and now the last knuckle has some mobility issues. It's just really stiff and doesn't really bend on its own. She's also lost a lot of sensation in that finger specifically. It shouldn't get any more intense than that without extenuating circumstances, but given that god magic is a little unpredictable she and her doctor are keeping an eye on it. She does a lot of stretches and exercises to keep her hands loose and moving. Ounce of prevention and all that. It's also a part of her gym bloke routine in Junior Year.

Gorgug Thistlespring

• Slice Through the Hand- Forest of Blades (S1E3)

All the way around his hand there's this line, as though his hand was cut clean through and then perfectly realigned and glued back together. By Sophomore Year the scar has almost completely flattened, it's just a discolored line all the way around the surface of his hand.

• Crushed Heart- Nerd Ghosts (S1E14)

The effects of this one are two-fold; first, the streak of gray hair, second, a lasting effect on his heart. The prolonged strain on the actual organ of his heart from this encounter left him with increased risk for cardiovascular problems that he didn't have before. He doesn't really notice it (mostly because when it's noticeable he's so high on adrenaline that he's not really noticing anything) but his heart is definitely weaker than it should be. It's not life threatening, but it's for sure something that Digby and Wilma have stressed the importance of monitoring because they are good responsible parents. The actual visible impact from the ghost attack is the streak of gray hair he has, which is permanent. It just grows gray there now. He thinks it looks pretty cool.

Adaine Abernant/ O'Shaughnessy

• Teeth Marks- Jawbone O'Shaughnessy (S1E6)

Basically just a dog bite on her right forearm. Normally healing magic would be able to patch that up without any scarring, but the werewolf pathogen adds a complication to it. Still, pretty average looking scar. She feels a little weird about it, cause on the one hand getting it sucked, but on the other hand now every time she sees it she thinks about her amazing new dad, so there's a weird sentimental element. She and Jawbone have for sure had a long discussion about the validness of any of her feelings about it and how it's ok to acknowledge the harm done to her, even by well-intentioned parties. He probably feels a lot worse about it than she does. The reveal of which probably initiated another very long discussion.

• Gored Through the Chest- The Great Unicorn

This time it's just a normal scar, no crazy magical runes involved. I'm not entirely sure how a fully healed version of this injury would actually... Work? The part that's visible would be the broken skin, so probably a combination of a fine-line scar and a depressed scar, (sharp edges + impaling motion) but I'm not entirely sure how to properly translate that visually, or if it's at all realistic. Further research pending. Anyways she and Kristen have matching injury scars! The besties ever

[pastelpaperplanes]

Has KnockOut ever been insecure of stretch marks given how he prides on his appearance? I’m sure Breakdown doesn’t mind them, though. Also, can Megatron feel anything with that tremendous scar on his back and how does Optimus react once he first saw it?

Knockout is definitely vain to a fault, always he was all the way back when he was still a nobel, this extends to not just his appearance but also his need to keep his snazzy clothes and armor in perfect condition, as well his bow pristine!

However, what he loves most in the world is the life he shares with Breakdown. The highs and lows they faced in life beyond the Autobot Kingdom, scars and scratches they earned along the way–all are memories of how hard they fought for their life together and how much they loved the fact that they got to fight and WIN for that love.

The marks he received in life since bonding Breakdown are met with pride! (Breakdown lets little get past him to hurt KO, that and Knockout is a mean shot with his bow, both are the other’s protectors! lol, scars received are few and far in between)

Knockout’s stretch marks from Wildbreak– his greatest gift from Breakdown, his greatest gift to the love of his life, are by far his proudest yet. They made that baby!!! And that is the greatest joy and challenge Knockout has ever faced, but the best part was that he got to face it with Breakdown.

Yes, and ofc Breakdown loves the marks. Obsessed w them even–they belong to his super strong, soft, and hot hubby

As for Megatron’s burn marks, nope he does not feel them much at all, the burns were very deep and fried a lot of his nerves. It wasn’t always that way of course, healing took. years.

Optimus has seen every single one of his scars. When asked, Megs would talk his audial off telling Op the stories of each proud mark. Some range from petty fights with his brother long ago, some from his time in the gladiator pits, others from dumb youthful decisions, he's a story book ready for Optimus to dive into, he only needs to ask.

His first reaction to seeing them was of course shock, but secondly he felt truly sick. Of course at Megs, nor the melted, glassy flash, but the fact that someone could do something like that to another person. Megatron has long since been used to that look of shock, those who have seen it rarely can school their features–he eased the situation with yet another story.

The largest scar, his burns, now that is the one that everytime he talks about it, Megs cooks up a whole new story to pair it with. Megatron’s favorites are “I feel asleep in a hot spring” or “Fireworks and High Grade don’t mix” and “You see my dear Sir Orion, there is a reason why I am not allowed in any kitchen ever again so long as I live”. Optimus doesn’t really wonder anymore. He knows all too well that some well placed humor is just a mask for the too painful of stories. He does know that he has never seen a ‘burn’ scar quite like Megatronus’

“In a great flash of light, the Allspark disappeared and Left King Ultra and Megatron gravely wounded…” so the stories go. Those in the battle rumor that Megatron made a scramble for the Allspark and the artifact lashed at the unworthy King of daring to filthy it with his hands, King Ultra being too close, sadly being burned as well in It’s rage.

Megatron has his own side of the story. Not that many beyond the few trusted of his People he’s shared it with know the truth, perhaps one day the little Knight may be ready.

[sassyangelchild]

Once again thinking about posting some thoughts about the recent arc/chapter from Kagurabachi and it ended up being a wall of text so...

Samura and Uruha (Sword Bearer Assassination arc)

Spoiler for up to Kagurabachi ch58

"Those people died for me. I can't just throw away my life!"

But before that "I understand where you're coming from."

He's not shying away from the idea of them being part of the evil that should be rooted, he acknowledges that notion as valid, but he *can't* throw away his life when people who cared died protecting it. It goes against his own consciousness.

"I was ready to die at any time. For three years (...) I lost my will to live."

He's not afraid of death.

"We'll give our lives so you can escape. You'd better survive or we'll curse you."

Meeting Chihiro or Hakuri is not what made him fight for his life, it was the sense of duty. Uruha giving up would make the sacrifice worthless and he can't allow that.

Samura is fighting because people have died for them, believing them heroes when not knowing the whole truth, because whatever happened back then was so bad he believes they are the greater evil right now since they weren't even held accountable for it.

And then despite the overwhelming advantage an enchanted blade gives, Samura takes the regular sword to duel him.

"It's just our egos. All that remains is to battle to the death."

I feel like Samura acknowledges that while Uruha understands why he's doing this (they committed sins and didn't atone as they should have, even if Uruha doesn't agree with how he wants to handle it he seems to agree to some degree), he can't ask him to just not defend himself because Uruha is also bound by his duty to make all those sacrifices worth it.

It's not that Uruha himself is afraid of death, he's just stating he can't go along with that kind of plan because other people died to make sure he lives the same way Samura won't stop because other people died for them when it shouldn't have happened, when they weren't the heroes everyone believed.

They both understand even if they can't agree because it's the weight of others lives that motivates them.

Samura choosing to fight with a normal blade, giving Uruha a chance to fight fairly, really makes it feel like it's a clash of ideals and perspectives, the same way Sojo and Chihiro's fight was, the same way it's been for other fights between enchanted blade users since the war ended. They both have different takes from the people who sacrificed themselves for their sake.

Like he said "It's just our egos. All that remains is to battle to the death."

So that's what they do. Uruha isn't throwing his life, it's a battle.

If Uruha dies is going to be honoring the deaths of his comrades, fighting for his survival (even if the odds didn't look that good from the start since Samura was his master, is older and more experienced and is the one whose goal right now is to kill).

"Guess I'm going to hell too."

"Yes (I'm going to shoulder this alone). Nobody else has to endure this hell."

He's saying he will bear with the consequences and will make sure they pay for their mistakes, but since he's the winner Uruha doesn't need to concern himself with it any longer. Uruha doesn't need to feel regret because he followed through and fought to survive until the end, (maybe this is a stretch but) he doesn't need to keep enduring the burden of their past and the weight of all those lives.

When they met again they almost got no time to talk, the only personal stuff Samura got to say was right before the beginning of the fight:

"Uruha. You've been through a lot. Get some rest."

We've seen Samura cares for others, one could say that perhaps too much.

He cares and that's why he feels so responsible for every death.

I can't say I'm glad with what he did and I don't agree with how he is doing things, I'm not forgiving him for this because while I believe there is truth in what he says and they must have done something truly horrible back then betraying his former allies and friends is too much when what we've seen from Uruha is a good person with no intention to harm anyone in the future (young Uruha posing in that photo with Rokuhira destroys me, he looks so young) but after seeing that dialogue again I do believe from his pov at least he is letting him "rest" from the hell.

There is a lot of stuff I've probably not mentioned because it was already too long but yeah I don't believe someone like Samura is capable of doing this without feeling something which doesn't mean I have to like it but yeah. If there are mistakes or it seems a little nonsensical it's because I wrote this at 4am (the brainrot is strong)

[starrylothcat]

Sparks

Hunter x Fem!Jedi Reader One-Shot

Summary: You and Hunter realize your long-hidden feelings for one another. Warnings: Wee bit of angst, kissing/making out, slight suggestiveness. This is my first fic! Excuse any formatting or grammatical errors...I haven't stretched my writing fingers in a long time. I also have no idea how Tumblr formatting works, haha. I needed some fluff after that finale. This one got away from me...3,000 words. Please leave your thoughts and enjoy!

@wanderer-six tagged as requested! :)

The bonfire was now huge, burning fast and bright, much to Wrecker and Omega’s delight. Sparks flew in to the clear night air, illuminating the figures sitting around it. 

Clone Force 99 and you had just finished a tiring mission and were taking the night to decompress on a desolate, forested planet. The bonfire was actually your idea, a memory you had stored deep in your subconscious from when you were a very young Jedi Padawan. After a tough training or difficult mission, your Master would often start a fire while you meditated and reflected. The heat and cackling from the flames helped calm you, oddly enough. It was something that you continued to do, even as a Jedi General during the war. It was something that burned bright in the darkness. Something that you were all now desperate for in this new Imperial galaxy.  

You didn’t speak much of your past as a Jedi at first. It was too painful, too fresh. But as you spent more time with Clone Force 99, you became more comfortable sharing small snippets on occasion, much to the excitement of Omega who hung on to every word. Echo would also sometimes add his own stories from his old squad, which would then inspire Wrecker to tell stories (sometimes embellished ones) of their missions, reminiscing on battles won. It was nice to connect again, to have those who understood you, as you were now all outcasts. Chewed up by the war and tossed to the side, now struggling to find your place in the galaxy.

Somewhat recently after Order 66, they rescued you from bounty hunters who had suspicions you were a Jedi. You tried to keep it a secret, but Hunter found you out with his heightened senses. You warily came clean to them, telling them the truth. 

You were only supposed to stay with them for a short time, only until you found a new place to hide. Hunter was wary with having a Jedi on board, especially since they already had a target on their back. But a short time turned longer. You were helpful on missions and were careful to never expose yourself as a Jedi. Omega became particularly attached to you, and Hunter saw how much Omega was benefiting from a woman on board. You also became close with them, especially Hunter. You both connected over the baggage of being a leader, and what it meant to fail as one as well. Other feelings began to blossom, that neither you or Hunter knew how to act on, or even if you should. You found yourself talking to him late in to the night, discussing next mission plans or plans from the past. But you both always left those conversations wishing you had said more. 

Tech had just carefully landed the ship on the empty, forested planet in the only clearing he could find. It was Hunter's idea to do inventory, seeing when you would need to do a supply run next. You casually mentioned the bonfire memory as you were all rummaging through gear and supplies, as this planet reminded you of that distant memory.

Omega’s eyes widened and asked, “Can we do that tonight? That sounds fun!” while looking excitedly between you and Hunter, who was sitting down and cleaning his knife. He chuckled, a low chuckle that made butterflies swirl in your stomach. Something you’ve realized has been happening more often. But you pushed that thought aside, for now. 

“Sure, kid. This planet is empty enough. I don’t think it will attract too much attention.” Tech adjusted his goggles and looked up from his datapad. “I do not see any settlements on this planet. There is no current need for worry.” He said before becoming absorbed once more in his research.

Wrecker, with much glee, shot up from begrudgingly organizing his gear, and announced, “Fire, I like this idea! This is boring anyway. Let’s take a break and go gather some wood!” He turned to look at Hunter for approval, who shrugged and nodded. “Omega, let’s go!” Wrecker hurriedly threw the rest of his unorganized gear on his bunk. Omega grinned, also happy to get away from inventory, and began after Wrecker down the ramp of the Marauder. She stopped at the top of the ramp and looked back. “Thank you!” She beamed at both you and Hunter, and skittered after Wrecker. 

Hunter had put his knife away and was now leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, gazing at you. You felt your heart beat quicken when you matched his stare.  “You’ve done it now.” He teased as he watched Wrecker and Omega run toward the tree line. You shrugged with a small smile as you stood up from putting the last piece of equipment back in your gear pack. “Well, I have to admit, I need a break too. Let’s just hope they don’t burn the whole planet down.”

Hunter released a low chuckle again and you felt heat rise up your neck. “With Wrecker involved, I’m not too sure.” Echo quipped from the pilot seat, where he was researching where they could get supplies before the next mission. “Given the current wind speeds and our distance from the trees, it would be difficult to start a blaze that big.” Tech called from under a piece of machinery he was now working on. “But I have to agree with Echo. With Wrecker involved, statistically the odds are higher.”

You gave a small laugh, which made Hunter’s heart involuntarily quicken. It was your laugh that he often thought of deep in the night, when he was having trouble sleeping. The way your shoulders moved when you chuckled, the way your eyes glinted when you smiled. How sometimes he’d find himself almost getting out of his bunk to wake you up and take you in his arms, telling you how he feels as his lips meet yours….

A sudden crash snapped him out of his thoughts, setting his senses haywire. You heard the sound too, and you looked at each other and ran down the ramp to see what the commotion was, hands on your blasters. Hunter breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Wrecker standing with Omega at the tree line, who were both excitedly picking up branches from a dead tree Wrecker had just knocked over. Hunter ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t help but always be on high alert, especially with Omega. He could see relief in your eyes as well, once you realized it was nothing to be concerned about. You lightly touched his arm, asking “You okay?” “Yeah…” he breathed. “I’m not used to…calm.” You nodded, understanding.

“I guess we better enjoy it while it lasts.”

Your lips ghosted a smile, realizing you were still touching Hunter’s arm. You moved your hand, suddenly embarrassed. Hunter opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Echo coming down the ramp to see what the commotion was. He also needed a break, and was interested in this fire idea. “Yeah, you’ve really done it now, _____.” Echo teased as you all looked at the growing pile of logs and branches that Omega and Wrecker had collected. “Hey, don’t just stand there, come and help us!” Wrecker called as he balanced more giant branches in his arms. You gave Hunter a look and continued down the ramp to help.

The sun was getting low, and Wrecker was adding the last log to a massive pile he and Omega collected. You were collecting small sticks and brush for kindling. Wrecker put down the last one, wiping sweat from his face. “Phew! Do you think this is enough?” He huffed. “If you are trying to light a fire big enough for the entire Galaxy to see, then yes.” Tech said casually as he came down the ship’s ramp, also now having his interest piqued. “Oh, it’ll be a massive fire, I can’t wait!” Wrecker exclaimed as he winked at Omega. 

“So now what? I’ve never made a fire before. Hunter, can you teach me?” Omega asked, looking up at Hunter with large, pleading eyes. Hunter looked at her softly. “Yeah, sure kid.” He glanced at you and then put his hand on Omega’s shoulder, leading her toward the log pile. 

As Hunter and Omega began to make a space for the fire, you and Echo were maneuvering some of the bigger logs for everyone to have a seat once the fire was going. Since this planet was desolate, you used the Force to move some of the larger logs. Hunter noticed out of the corner of his eye, always secretly impressed with your graceful power. It was rare when you used it, and it captivated him. 

“What’s next Hunter? Hunter?” Hunter snapped out of his thoughts and Omega was looking at him, curiously. “You were staring again.” She said quietly. “I don’t know what you mean, Omega.” He lightly scolded, trying to change the subject.

She gave a small smirk. “You sometimes stare at _____.” Hunter cleared his throat. “And I see her stare at you sometimes, too.” She said matter-of-factly, looking back at the pile of kindling they had placed for the eventual fire. “I think she likes you.” Before he could respond, you had suddenly appeared behind them. “How’s it going?” You asked. Hunter bristled, hoping you hadn’t just heard their conversation, not even realizing you were approaching. “It’s uh…going well. I’m just about to teach Omega how to actually light the fire.” 

“I have something embarrassing to admit.” You said sheepishly. “I actually don’t know how to start a fire, either. My Master just always used his lightsaber.” You laughed and Omega smiled. 

“Mind if I watch?” You sat down next to Hunter, eager to learn as much as Omega was. Or maybe you were just eager to be close to Hunter. His senses were suddenly overwhelmed with your scent, another thing he was noticing lately. His stomach felt like it was on fire. Get a grip, Hunter. he thought. He snapped himself out of thinking about you once again, and continued with his lesson. “Im going to start with the hard way first. Say you’re stranded without gear. This is important to learn.” He took a small stick to use as a spindle and a small flat piece of wood. “This takes awhile and is a pain, but this is the most basic way to start a spark.” He began to spin the spindle between his hands quickly in to a divot he had made on the flat piece of wood on the ground, held steady by his foot. Omega watched intensely, soaking up every word and action. You saw a small gleam of sweat form at his brow, and watched the concentration in his eyes. Your heart fluttered again, suddenly imagining his sweaty brow and intense look above you in a moment of passion. The smell of smoke brought you back to reality, before your imagination went further. Hunter had made a small ember that was smoking. He carefully moved it to the kindling and gently blew on it to start a small flame.

“Woaaah, let me try!” Omega gasped excitedly and went to work the same way Hunter did on a new piece of flat wood. You watched as he patiently moved her hands to the correct position, gently correcting her when appropriate. For a dark and broody Sergeant, you recognized his moments of softness. Moments that he also sometimes shared with you, which you knew were special, especially coming from someone as guarded as him.

After trial and error, and some frustration, Omega finally got her own spark. “I did it!” She yelled. Hunter smiled.

“Good work, kid. You might just be a natural. Now, carefully put it in the kindling.”

She gently moved it to the already growing flame and looked at Hunter for approval. “There you go, you did it. That was all you.” Omega beamed and said  “Now it’s _____’s turn.” She jumped up and brushed dust and dirt off her knees, and began to walk away. “Wait, where are you going?” Hunter asked. Omega turned and called,  “I want to tell the others the fire is almost ready!” She gave Hunter a look and ran back to the Marauder where the rest of the boys had gone to rest, before Hunter and you could respond. 

It was suddenly quiet, only the gentle crackling of the small fire was to be heard. 

“I guess it’s my turn to try, huh?” You said softly, realizing it was just you and Hunter for a moment. The sun was almost set, and the small fire was casting a soft glow on the both of you. “You don’t have to-“ he began but you stopped him.

“No, I want to! What good am I to the team if I can’t even start a fire? I need to impress my Sergeant." You smirked playfully. "Also, I can’t let a kid get the best of me.” You teased as you began to spin the stick between your hands.

“You bring other skills to the team, you don’t have to worry about fire making.” He stated. “Leave that to Omega and I.” He smiled, looking at you. “Also, you don’t need to impress me. You already do that.” Suddenly, you felt shy. Hunter glanced away from you, embarrassed about what he just said, wrestling with his feelings, wondering if he had said too much. 

“Thank you, Hunter. I don’t think I’ve ever expressed how grateful I am to you, and to your brothers, for taking me in.” Hunter looked at you. “You don’t need to thank me. But I’m glad you’re here. Part of this team.” He murmured, turning away from you and looking at the fire. “Me too.” You acted before you could think, gently placing your hand on his shoulder, closing the distance between you, forgetting all about the fire lesson. Hunter stiffened a little while facing you, feeling your hand on his unarmored shoulder. The touch he often thought about late in to the night. The touch he wondered if he’d ever feel. If he even deserved it. 

Once again, you felt heat climb up your neck to your face and you began to remove your hand, but before you could, Hunter brought his other hand and placed it on top of yours. Your feelings for Hunter exploded in your chest, realizing how handsome he looked in the soft light, his brown eyes shining in the dark, wondering what you should do next as you felt the heat from his hand encapsulate yours. You were taught no attachments, but that had no meaning anymore. Was this just desperation for something that used to be taboo? You tried to read his face, as he gazed intensely at you. Hunter moved closer to you, “____...I want to tell you something…”

Your intimate moment was suddenly cut short by voices as Wrecker, Tech, Omega, and Echo emerged from the falling darkness toward you. Your hand left Hunter’s shoulder and you practically leapt away from him, startled by the intrusion. You caught a small look of disappointment on his face. “Aww yeah, it’s fire time!” Wrecker bellowed as he held a huge armful of sticks and logs. “Let’s get this going!” You were still sitting near Hunter, and Echo gave you and Hunter a sly look as he sat down on a log near the still small fire, carrying ration bars. You were suddenly distracted by the giant roar as the fire grew due to Wrecker and Omega gleefully adding more and more wood to the fire, blissfully unaware they interrupted…something. Tech tried to explain the optimal way to place logs to get the most efficient fire, but his remarks were ignored and Omega and Wrecked piled more in to the blaze, and he soon gave up.

The heat blazed and sparks flew in to the air, the wood cracking and popping. The fire was massive, and Omega had never seen anything like it and was in awe. You saw Hunter out of the corner of your eye as he stared in to the flames, his face unreadable. You all enjoyed the light and intense warmth the large blaze gave, sitting in silence for a bit. You desperately wanted to be alone with Hunter again, as you listened to Wrecker tell another taller than life tale, with an annoyed Tech trying to interject the facts. Your memory was brought back to you and your Master, quietly enjoying the fire and reflecting on your day’s mission. After Wrecker finished his story, Omega turned to you, waiting for another glimpse in to your past. She understood it was hard for you to talk about, but was hopeful to hear something from before the Galaxy she currently knew. “Omega,” Hunter warned. “____ might not want to discuss it.” He gave you a soft look. The look almost melted your heart. You wanted to desperately take his face in your hands and continue what had started before. 

“It’s okay, Hunter. I have a story.”

You told Omega of your first solo mission as a Jedi Knight. You had  infiltrated a pirate base. It wasn’t too exciting, but to Omega it was the most amazing story she’d ever heard. Echo passed out the ration bars as you told your story. After you were done, you nibbled on your bar as you stared in to the flames. There was a comfortable silence as everyone ate, enjoying the small bit of calm before you were all off again on another mission.

After awhile, the fire began to dim and there was no more wood to add. Omega let out a yawn, satisfied with her first bonfire. “We should do this more often.” She proclaimed as another yawn overtook her. “Yeah kid, we can.” Hunter whispered. Wrecker had already fallen asleep, laying over a log in an uncomfortable position, snoring away. Tech nudged Wrecker, also ready to go back to the ship to sleep. One by one, they went back to the ship, leaving you, Hunter, and Echo. Echo then stood up, bidding you both a good night. “I’ll leave you two to it, then.” He raised an eyebrow and then he was gone before you either of you could respond.

Once again, you were alone with Hunter and the slowly burning fire. He looked at you, the fire reflecting in his eyes. 

He never thought he’d be grappling with feelings like this. Especially for someone like you. But you cared about him. Worried about him and his brothers, something he’d never experienced before. It was new, and frankly, it scared him. He’d never admit it out loud, but that was the truth. But here he was, with you within arms reach again, staring at him and waiting for what might come next. You looked beautiful, ethereal in the glow of the now small fire. “Hunter…” you whispered as you maneuvered closer to him, like you were before earlier in the night. Your hand was close to his on the log you were both sitting on. You couldn’t wait any longer, the tension between you was about to snap. “You wanted to tell me something earlier?”

He stared intensely at you, trying to find the words to say.

“____, I…I wanted to tell you…I care about you.” His voice was deep, almost inaudible. You fully took his hand, looking right in to his eyes. He was suddenly overwhelmed, waiting for your response. “Hunter, I care about you too.” The second he heard you whisper those words, he boldly closed the distance, acting purely on instinct, pressing his lips against yours in a soft, quick kiss. He pulled back slightly, hoping he didn’t mess this all up. 

“____, tell me to stop and I will.” Hunter’s voice was husky and deep. Almost a whisper. It sent shivers down your spine. “Never.” You murmured as you brought a hand to his face, gently cradling his head. Relief washed over you, happy you finally revealed how you felt. He closed his eyes and leaned in to your touch, sighing a deep sigh. You moved your hand from his cheek and gripped his collar, needing more. You pulled him back to your lips for a more passionate kiss. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders as the tension between you dissipated, flying in to the sky with the embers from the fire.

It was his turn to bring his hands to your face, cradling your head gently as he deepened the kiss, your heart feeling like it was about to explode out of your chest. The sensation of your lips moving on his was almost overwhelming. His hands were strong, yet gentle as they maneuvered down to your hips, leaving a trail of fire down your body. You both pulled away again, panting slightly, looking in each other’s eyes. All the unsaid words, all the silent looks, were now completely understood by both of you. 

Your hand that was on his collar moved to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his long, soft locks while your other hand gripped his shoulder. You whispered his name as he pulled you in impossibly close for another kiss, getting drunk on your scent, your body. 

His tongue slowly made his way in to your mouth, which pulled a groan from deep in your chest. Your reactions spurred him on, his hands on your waist ghosting underneath your tunic, his gloved hands moving over your bare skin making the butterflies in your stomach explode. You desperately wanted those gloves off, to feel his skin on yours. After what felt like an eternity, you parted for air once again.  The fire had now died down quite a bit, leaving you both in almost total darkness. You were illuminated by the stars, the only sound being your shallow breaths. You both wanted so much more, but now wasn’t the time. Hunter nuzzled his face in to your neck, and moved one of his hands from your hips to grasp yours, which had fallen to your side. “I’m yours, if you’ll have me.” He whispered against your neck, his heart thudding against yours. “Yes, Hunter.” You whispered back, squeezing his hand. He moved his head from your neck and brought you against his chest in an embrace, his chin leaning on your head. You both gazed at the glowing embers of what used to be the giant fire, wondering what comes next. But at least for now, you were at peace.

[dissvicious]

NINA NSFW ALPHABET

MDNI - 🔞

Wanted to try this for a little while, I had fun doing it, hope you'll have fun reading it!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Pretty much a princess on the matter, she likes being taken care of but don't like taking care of the others. Sometimes she does and it's something very rare and precious, and both Kid and Killer are aware of it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On themselves: their boobs and their thighs, and the super sexy stretch marks they gained during pregnancy.

On Kid and Killer: THOSE MASSIVE BAZONGAS, asscheeks and hair. Killer snail trail in particular.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

They don't specially enjoy it, they don't hate it either. They'll complain for good measure if they receive it on the face but truth is they don't really mind. They prefer creampies but it's more because they like being close to their lovers till the end.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Nothing really, they don't keep anything secret, they don't feel shame towards their kinks or fetishes. I think that maybe their biggest secret is that they like soft, heart to heart, vulnerable sex too .

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Since they did sex work when they sailed alone to survive, they're pretty much experimented. However meaningful sex with feelings involved is kinda new for them.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Riding, face sitting, reverse cowgirl, anything where they're on top.

When sub, which is rare: pinned against the wall or bend over something, Doggystyle. They're mostly a power bottom tho

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

SASSY. AS. HELL. INSUFFERABLE BRAT OH MY GOD she don't take anything seriously she'll be doing Kid a blowjob and stop to play with his foreskin and make his dick talk like a muppet. More serious with Killer because she knows he's self conscious and don't want him to feel bad.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Pretty much messy, she don't really care. Don't shave her pubes or armpits, have a nice pink happy trail and a pink bush that drives her boys crazy.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Complicated. Nina is used to be, well, used so intimate, romantic connection during sex is something she experimented for the first time with Killer (I firmly believe that Perona was a pillow princess so she didn't gave much when they were together), then with Kid in a different way. She still has trouble with letting go but it's slowly going better. Softness and care are the only things that can make her cry during sex.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Surprisingly not so much, she's not really interested in lonely pleasure because she feels too disconnected from her own body. She'll rub it for a quick release if needed but not much more.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Impact play, biting, scratching, blood play, knife play, burning, bondage, choking, femdom, electrostimulation, gagging, pet play, brat taming, wax play, hair pulling, etc, etc, etc ... All of this both receiving and giving, she's an adrenaline junkie more than everything.

Big big big BIG blood fetish boys are always in for a nice night after a battle.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Pretty much everywhere, they don't like shower sex / bath sex however because of sensory issues. They especially like kitchen countertops and Kid workbench because they're a fucking tease who loves disturbing their boys when they work.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Pride issues. "You're tired princess?" "Wanna stop already pipsqueak?" "I knew you couldn't take that" and bam, she's energized for another round. Of course Kid and Killer know it and of course they use it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation (receiving), cuckolding or sharing with anyone else than her two lovers.

Praise is something she only accept from Killer, it's a massive turn off from anyone else since it makes her feel vulnerable.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Looooooves it, both giving and receiving, very proud of their skills in the dick swallowing domain and the effect it has on people when they realize that despite their size they can take massive woods in their mouth. Love eating pussies too but is more self conscious about their skills on it, anyway now they're settled with Kid and Killer so..

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Kinda fast and rough most of the time, she get frustrated very easily so she'll make it very clear that she's bored if her boys don't move quickly enough for her taste.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Their favorite type of sex! They love dragging Kid and/or Killer in storage rooms, pantries and crownests for a quick release here and there.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

About injuries, bleeding, testing their limits: absolutely, they love experimenting.

About STDs and stuff : they're very careful, due to their past as a sex worker.

About pregnancy risk: the moment I'm writing this she's 8 months pregnant and it was an accident, have a guess

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

They can handle a few rounds if their lovers keep things interesting! Stamina isn't really an issue, the main issue is boredom. They get bored really quick. Won't hesitate to yawn and roll eyes during sex to manifest it.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

They have a few toys but it's mostly for pegging or restriction stuff, or to be used by their lovers. when it comes to themselves they don't jack off much and they prefer using their fingers.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh they're the worst. They hate being denied and teased but they LOOOOOOVE doing it the other way around. They gonna rub their ass against Kid while he's working then deny him everything when he's worked up just to piss him off. They gonna wear this leather short and fishnet that drive Killer crazy and go in the kitchen while he cooks, bend over to grab beers in the fridge and wriggle their ass, then slap his hand away if he tries to touch her. She just loves playing with fire.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Incredibly loud, especially given her size. She makes screams and whines and moans that everyone aboard can hear. It became an issue when Heat and Wire complained about having trouble sleeping despite the stone walls of the ship castle. Curse like a sailor when she's about to come.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When bloodthirsty/ unhinged mood is on they like being called "it", not as a degradation /submission thing, more to emphasize on their feral side, a form of pet play kinda. That's a very special and intimate thing they mostly share with Kid.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

After pregnancy she gained some curves, stretch marks and a C-section scar. Small round breasts with nipples piercings she took off during pregnancy. She always wanted a clit piercing but is kinda afraid of losing sensibility.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Weird. It's low most of the time and she can go for months without being touched without caring or feeling pent up, but she's also addicted to her lovers and jump on them at every possible situation. Kinda demiace?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

Immediately after. She can goes for several rounds but the moment it's over she immediately fall asleep curled around like a cat.

[dustedmagazine]

Elucid — Revelator (Fat Possum)

The way muography works is similar to an X-ray in that it’s basically a noninvasive form of photography, only more intense. Muons, which are cosmic particles akin to neutrinos, are constantly moving through space and matter; captured by a muon detector, they can show an extremely detailed image of what they’ve just passed through. In practical terms, this intense imaging allows engineers to examine the integrity of stuff like the crumbling Brunelleschi’s dome or Berlin’s Kongresshalle. It also acts as a good conduit for thinking about how Elucid raps.

The Queens artist born Chaz Hall is a hip-hop veteran who at this point is probably best known as half of the attention-grabbing, truth-thumping duo Armand Hammer alongside Billy Woods. That group is a study of marked contrasts and otherworldly balance borne of the streets: In one corner, Woods simmering until he can’t help but burn fire and brimstone running roughshod over rhythms and eating up bars with an unhinged urgency as though it were his last meal; in the other, Elucid approaching his rhymes like Rafa Nadal, patiently, relentlessly chipping away with ethereal anger every bit Woods’ equal but drawn in less direct forms, webs spun so far out you’re only sure of what he’s spoken on once he’s passed through you. There’s a reason they resonate, a reason they’ve gotten so well known in less visible hip-hop circles in recent years.

But it’s no different when you go splitting atoms: Like Woods, Elucid is a persistent purveyor of the spoken word in ways that sometimes elude immediate understanding. The dude is battle-hardened and road-tested to the tune of five Armand Hammer LPs; three further collaborations as part of Cult Favorite, Nostrum Grocers and Small Bills; and now, with Revelator, three solo albums. Though all of his records are personal even when they don’t feel that way, Revelator doesn’t come from the same place as I Told Bessie, the paean to his grandmother; rather, it feels like he’s redirecting his focus to the world as he observes it.

Predictably, it ain’t pretty. “Metropolis / Inverse overlord skyscape / Fang bite, dog breath / Short leash, pit fight / From this height, at this speed / Downhill, careening” are the first words you hear to open both “The World Is Dog” and the album. Amid a swirling, industrial-strength beat, Elucid goes in on the basic viciousness of being alive. The familiar theme of survival in an uncaring system is what he — and we, by extension — are up against: Showing you where localized perceived violence didn’t come with receipts, parades of bandages, terroristic threats over crack sales … “Even rebels gotta pause / when blood spill so casually,” he offers early on “CCTV.”

But as he counters himself on “Yottabyte,” the struggle goes on. “You just gotta hold on / all that’s doing / Not an invitation to control / Can’t nobody tell me how my blood taste / My third place / complicating noun combinations over drum breaks.” Just as readily as he scythes through verses ducking and diving and weaving among the perils of living in America in 2024, so too does he point out this isn’t over, that the fight to maintain one’s dignity and morals is a daily occurrence worth the war — you go down, but you go down swinging. Some stretches are more dense, more abstract than others, but no matter the track, no matter the verbal recombinations, you feel those muons leaving a clear picture come its conclusion. The impression is always strong.

Revelator’s production aids and abets his approach. Behind the boards, there’s Michigan producer and Small Bits collaborator The Lasso, August Fanon and Child Actor; in the studio, it’s drummer John Nellen and Irreversible Entanglements bassist Luke Stewart. The result is a swirling, dissonant soundscape following in a proud lineage of New York indie rap albums that extends from JPEGMafia back to Dälek, Def Jux and Public Enemy, ultimately — a maximalist counterweight to Ka’s quiet penmanship. And not to lean too heavily on Armand Hammer references, but it also bears mentioning that “Instant Transfer” was on the group’s BLK LBL album out in March and has now been refashioned as an Elucid song featuring Woods. Pedantry aside, it slots right into one of the most abrasive (but not in a SoundCloud way), masterfully produced albums of any genre this year.

It’s also not for everybody. Even at 15 tracks, which feels slight in a year where Cowboy Carter, Cindy Lee, Mount Eerie and others have garnered so much acclaim, Revelator is an exhausting listen in the best sense of the term. Skip at your own risk: Far from hip-hop homework, Elucid’s Revelator is a port of call in this storm, a howling document from the edge, muons in which we are all tomographers.

Patrick Masterson

[thursdayinspace]

Hello “touchstone” anon here from tigers blog. I love to hear your analysis on Mulder and Scully relationship both right before and right after iwtb. You can include the revival if you want but it’s not really my cup of tea. Thank you!!

hi anon! I think their relationship around iwtb is really interesting and i have read a lot of very different takes on it. For me, it makes absolute sense for them to be where they are at that point.

Mulder has been isolated for a long time, and he isn't doing well. All his life, he's had a purpose—his search for the truth and a belief in the fact that the world was worth fighting for. All of that has been taken away. Add to that years of unprocessed trauma, and it's natural that he's fallen into a deep hole. He needs something to hold onto, but he can't have that. He's in hiding. There doesn't seem to be any kind of future for him.

Scully has gone back to work. She exists in the outside world and in her and Mulder's world, essentially living a double existence, torn between responsibilities in two universes that can never, ever touch. It takes a toll on her, as does the fact that it's hard to see the person you love suffer the way Mulder is suffering. But how could she even begin to help him? He can't go to therapy. He's in hiding. And she's too close to him. A partner can never be a therapist. The situation he's in is her situation as well. She's caught up in all the same shit, having to battle her own traumatic experiences along with facing the hopelessness and sadness at home every single day.

When he's offered the chance to help out on that case in exchange for having all charges against him dropped, of course she has to insist that he take that opportunity. He needs to get out of the house, he needs a chance at having a life and a future, a chance to be okay again. But because he's Mulder and because he's had to sit still for years, he throws himself into it head-first and completely, going straight back to the life that already destroyed them once. Could she have known that would happen? Of course. Was there any alternative? Of course *not*. It was his only chance to get to live a normal life again.

But their relationship had been strained before they were offered this chance, for all the reasons mentioned above: his isolation, her inability to help him, their trauma. They love each other. They always have and they always will. But love doesn't fix everything. Due to everything that happened to them and due to the situation they're living in, they're not able to take care even of themselves, much less of each other. You cannot carry someone else's burden for them. And especially not if you can't even carry your own. So there are cracks in their relationship. Big ones. It's hard to be happy when you see your partner going through hell without being able to help. More than that: it can lead to you withdrawing from them, because you don't want to put your own burden on their already aching shoulders, and also because you can't handle theirs for them either. That has nothing to do with how much you love someone. Our strength as people is not unlimited.

So throughout the movie, they go through a true roller coaster of emotions: she pushed him towards taking this deal so he would be able to lead a normal life again. He accepted because he knew he couldn't go on the way he was. And then she has to watch him slide back into old patterns right away, staring into the face of untold horrors, and she knows, she remembers what that did to him the last time around. She was there all those times he nearly destroyed himself for his mission. and she's tired. From everything they've been through, including the last few years where she was stretched thin between two worlds. She can't live that kind of life anymore.

But they do love each other. They have never given up easily. And they don't do it now. They're really, really close to breaking up, and I know there are a lot of takes saying that they do, at the end of the movie. I don't see that. He goes off on his own to save that missing woman, and she follows him to save him. But I think she realizes something there: she realizes that this is who he has always been and that there really isn't any middle ground. There is no room for negotiation. She can accept him like this or she can leave. And I think he realizes something similar: he realizes that she was serious when she said she can't do this anymore. So he has a choice between two options too: go back to his old life or live the quiet life with her that she wishes for. The thing is, they don't make a decision by the end of the movie. But when she leaves that morning, she leaves for work, and nothing more. That kiss by the car is not a goodbye. It's a promise to keep trying.

They're not okay after iwtb. Far from it. In terms of their relationship, they have solved very little. But they have become aware of what their problems really are. I don't think they really get to the core of it. That doesn't happen until just before the revival. But they get a little closer to the truth. Close enough for them to know that ignoring all that is wrong will only hurt them more in the long run. They are headed towards a breakup here. There are still too many things they are keeping from each other, about what they are truly feeling in the wake of everything that happened since 1993. They still try to protect each other from their own pain, and that's no way to live. But they have gained a new foothold. One that will not be strong enough to fix their relationship, but one that will allow them to break up without hating each other when they reach that breaking point.

That wording is very intentional: it *allows* them to break up. They need to spend some time apart to figure themselves out and to separate the good parts from the bad parts of their relationship. To figure out what it is that they're fighting for. The breakup is absolutely necessary for them in order to get back to a place from where they can eventually build a solid relationship. But there we're heading into the revival and this post is long enough. So. That's my take on it. iwtb is open-ended where their relationship is concerned. and I really like that. :)

[blackjackkent]

Poking through Minsc's camp dialogue tree for Reasons. Lots of fun commentary on Jaheira and the other BG1/2 characters, some of which I didn't encounter in my initial run:

Player: You and Karlach must have a lot in common. Minsc: Indeed! A berserker after my own heart. Though hers is made of hellish heat, and metal, and... some manner of coin-operated device? Player: Don't mock, Minsc. It's killing her. Minsc: I would never think to mock! She is as fine a warrior as any I've met - Mazzy Fentan stretched two spans tall!

--

Player: Have you and Jaheira always had such a quarrelsome relationship? Minsc: We have! Is it not wonderful? Player: Do you even know what 'quarrelsome' means...? Minsc: To irk your friend so that she wishes to fill you with some crossbow quarrels - but knowing she never will, for fear of hitting your hamster. There is no need for sweet words between companions such as we. Too often those are the weapons of flatterers, and frauds. But she who will beat you about the head with the cold and pointy truth? That is a true wychlaran.

--

Player: You clearly care for one another - so enough of the arguing. Minsc: ...I know you mean well, my friend. But Boo, being your friend, wishes to share some of this cold and pointy truth I mention. 'Mind your own godsdamned business.' My hamster's words, not mine Jaheira: And I am in total agreement. See? No arguing.

--

Player: For such a sacred title, you hand it out pretty freely. First Dynaheir, now Jaheira. Minsc: You suggest that Minsc uses the term lightly? Simply leaps from Dynaheir to Jaheira, with no caring for the custom itself? An unworthy thought - and WRONG! In between there was also Aerie, my second witch. She needed a protector, and Boo suggested that it might as well be Minsc. And when she went her own way, Minsc and Boo set to thinking: There is power in the wychlaran bond. Far too much to be wasted on weeping. To use that power to serve the living does not sully the dead - it honours them.

--

Minsc: You do not know this custom? Great Rashemen is ruled by the Masked Ones - wise women you might call 'witches'. To each wychlaran is bonded a berserker bodyguard. To dog her heels and watch her back, until death claims one or both. So it was with Minsc and his witch, Dynaheir. Until she died, and Minsc had to carry on without her. But Jaheira was there - to help Minsc take vengeance, and to kick his backside when he fell to brooding. As any true wychlaran would.

--

Player: What is your fondest memory of adventuring with Bhaalspawn? Minsc: The bards sing of fallen gods and mighty battles, but that is a small part of any saga. They do not sing of the times in between. When Sarevok's butt had been kicked so hard that we thought he would never return, we settled in Baldur's Gate for a while. Gorion's Ward, Imoen, Jaheira, Minsc, Boo... and Dynaheir. My witch. She hated the city at first. Too busy, she said, too noisy. Too many people. She complained of the smell, although she complained of Boo's smell too and he smells of fresh honeycakes, so Minsc believes her nose was confused.

Then, one day, we walked past a shop full of wonders. Tiny magics fizzed in the air, and wizards from every corner of the world bickered and bartered. Sorcerous Sundries. Dynaheir fell in love. Dragged poor Minsc there every day, and made him stand watch while she browsed the shelves. Minsc frowned and complained. He felt more like a babysitter than a berserker. But how Dynaheir smiled.

Not long after, Minsc and Boo were captured, and Dynaheir was dead. I would gladly be a babysitter again, to see her smile. That is what I remember, more than any battles against Bhaal and his spawn. Yes, Boo. I know you miss her too.

--

Minsc: Minsc may have been mistaken. Boo presents compelling evidence that Astarion may in fact be a vampire. Player: That he is. But one of the good ones. Minsc: Minsc has met many vampires, and never one whose smile did not hide treacherous teeth. But... as you say. This world is a strange and wondrous place. Minsc has seen the soul of an angel in a child of Bhaal. Once, even a kind banker.

--

Minsc: Ah, the great Blade of Frontiers! A fine name - Minsc has no idea what it means, but it suits young Wyll's air of mystery well. It is good to know the city did not go unprotected while I wore pigeon droppings on the Wide. Jaheira did her part, of course, but she prefers to scowl from the shadows. The city needs a name - a face! Preferably, a furry companion too.

--

Player: What are your thoughts on Shadowheart? Minsc: She hangs split between her two sides - like a flipped coin that Boo once ate while it was still in the air. But, like Boo, after a great struggle within, I think Shadowheart has finally brought that coin to earth. She is a Sharran no more - and free of her wretched and evil fellows! Player: Hard to believe Shadowheart grew up in that place. Minsc: My old friend Keldorn told me that the righteous must end their rage when the battle is done. But when Minsc thinks of those villains tormenting our gentle moon-witch, he wants to kick them in the cloisters!

--

Player: Shadowheart walks a dark path - but we can trust her. Minsc: You are asking Minsc to be pragmatic. That is a word that Jaheira uses to win arguments. It does not work on Minsc because Minsc does not know what the word means.

[crossovershipstournament]

FINALS: Max Goof (Disney)/Yakko Warner (Animaniacs) VS Huey Duck (Ducktales 2017)/Wakko Warner (Animaniacs)

Propaganda for Max Goof/Yakko Warner:

I just like them. I think its cute. Romeo and juliet vibes because theyre from different studios, Disney vs warner brothers. They're both funny, dorky guys, and they bring out the best in each other. Plus only child vs overworked older child turned parent is a really good dynamic too.

YAX SWEEP

#YAX SWEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!

#yakko x max opened my third eye #this needs to be a thing

Cameo of Max's VA expressing approval of the ship~!

#YAX SWEEP #LETS GOOO

#yax propagandists ASSEMBLE

#yax sweep #they deserve it

Ok I keep forgetting to submit my own Yax propoganga but I have put so much thought into them.

They have the same sense of humor, we literally see them tell almost identical jokes. They’re both such dramatic showoffs and they both are schemers, they're both the brains of their group (friends v family)

They’re complimentary.

They’re foils.

Beause Yakko isn’t as open with his emotions, he’s more sarcasti. But Max has been truthful about what he feels since Goof Troop. It's there on the surface and he communicates and understands in ways that would be SO good for Yakko. They're two sides of the same coin. They are opposites but they support each others weaknesses. Yakko wants so badly to make people laugh, and it’s so important to him to do so. His self worth is connected to it, but Max doesn’t like his laugh and suppresses it. It practically writes itself. So yeah, there’s all the fun WB/Disney forbidden lovers, but it works off a dynamic that would already work really well. That's why I like them so much

YAX!!!! COME ON GUYS!!!!!! What is love if not filling the other person in smiles and laughter? What is love if not being the best of friends first, the perfect duo. Partners in crime that egg each other on!!! Yakko and Max deserve a kind ending, vite yax!!!!!!! Also, through Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Yakko and Max exist within the same universe. They're so close. It's not a stretch to see them interact and understand each other. They deserve this!!!!!!!!!!!

YAX SWEEP! COME ON LETS GO

#we need the brother battle! #animaniacs #yax

Go vote for Yax I am begging yall. Two snarky teenage boys who care so much about what other people think about them, finding acceptance and joy in their shared humor, and new family in the people their companies warned them about?

Like, from Dot and Wakko's side, moving away from Yakko and his boyfriend for a moment.

Dot and Wakko need someone to be friends with outside of themselves. They need familiarity and kindness.

Who better to open the Warner's to a kinder life, than a toon from a company all about the power of familial and romantic love? The themes that surround Max and Goofy, as well as many other Disney's, are exactly the kind of thing that those kids need the most.

Yakko being happy is a the first part, but having the Warners brought into the family by Goofy Goof, the man with so much understanding and love to give, who GETS kids, and has always let Max be a kid and help him through it, his appearance through Yakko amd Max knowing each other gives the Warners a positive adult figure in their lives who will be there to support them instead of criticize them for being "too much".

Yax isn't JUST about Yakko and Max, it's about the connections these kids make that starts with the eldest opening himself up. It's about learning the world around them isn't just filled with people who want them locked up.

The world is also filled with people who embrace their weirdness and energy, and who will guide them. Even if you just like yax as friends, you have to see the potential there is for all of them

The Warners and the Goofs, to have lives grow richer.

And more, with them being from seperate companies, their worldview would be able to grow to incorporate new ideas and thoughts. The Warners aren't very open with their emotions, so a father son duo who have always been open and communicative would be able to show them the benefits of doing so themselves.

Plus, watching the Warner Siblings wreak havoc with a smile, hurting no innocents, would be exactly the type of thing to make Max smile.

He could help do smaller damage control if need be as well, he's been accounting for his and his Dad's Goof Luck since he was born, and for the fallout of his own insane schemes. Adding in the brilliant and mischievous mind of Max Goof to the minds of our puppy children trio is golden.

They deserve each other, deserve kindness and acceptance. ALL of these kids do. And every single one of them get that through Yax.

#they mean everything to me #and if they make it to the finals i will cry literal tears #GO VOTE FOR YAX ‼️‼️

#YAX SWEEP LETS GOOO

#COME ON YAXXERS!!! #VOTE FOR YAX!!!

#GO VOTE FOR YAX ‼️‼️ #LET'S GOOO #YAX SWEEEEEEPPP

votee for the yaaaaxxxx

#CMON GUYS VOTE YAX #YAX SWEEP

#yax nation needs to win #go vote!

Propaganda for Huey Duck/Wakko Warner:

Huey and Wakko are classic opposite attrack characters, while also touches of "you're drawn to people who remind you of your family" thrown in. They're both very autistic coded characters (because their shows are cowards and refuse to say the word) but in opposite ways. Wakko is very outside of the norm where as Huey holds himself to a strict set of rules. While Huey adds a bit of routine to Wakko's life, Wakko encourages Huey to cut back, go outside of his comfort zone at his own pace and also relax a little. Wakko reminds Huey of both his siblings, excitable and dramatic like Dewey, and laid back (compared to his siblings) and mischevious like Louie, where as Huey reminds Wakko of his own siblings. A bit more uptight and bratty like Dot, and intelligent and encouraging like Yakko. They also bring out different sides of each other, Wakko can be gross and messy and Huey somehow finds it charming, and Huey can help Wakko see that he's intelligent and creative in his own ways rather than being outshined by his own siblings. They both also have anger issues, and Wakko would be great at helping Huey to feel his anger rather than always keeping it hidden away. He makes Huey feel seen and heard and taken care of because Huey doesn't have to be the Older BrotherTM around Wakko. Basically just opposites attract autistic kids who help each other come into one another.

#yall need to vote for my baby angels #wakko/huey sweep #please #they deserve it #their shows treated them awfully

#MY BABIES VOTE WAKKO/HUEY YOU LEGALLY HAVE TO ITS MY BIRTHDAY

#HUEY WAKKO SWEEP YOU LITERALLY HAVE TO VOTE THE BABIES

VOTE HUEY/WAKKO PLS PLS PLS MY DARLINGS MY BABIES MY LIL GUYS

ALSO IF WAKKO AND HUEY WIN THEYLL GO UP AFAINST YAKKO AND MAX WHICH IS VERY FUNNY

And if they win I’ll release never before seem Huey/Wakko art that I’ve drawn

#CMON GUYSSSSS #WE CAN DO THIS#HUEKKO SWEEP #WE STILL HAVE 2 HOURS #we need the brothers to battle

Please vote for Wakko/Huey! They need each other to help balance each other out and to grow as people! They are so cute together.

(Also want to see a brother vs brother to figure out who has the most heartwarming relationship,but that's secondary to this)

#hey if you guys love me you'll vote for wakko and huey thanks

#VOTE HUEKKO #WE NEED THE BROTHERS TO BATTLE

#if u vote Wakko/Huey I will draw whatever request you want this is my promise to you

Art Credit: Max/Yakko art by @/doodle-poofes Huey/Wakko art by @/justadoll and @/krillconnessieur

[majorproblems77]

ITS YOUR BIRTHDAY?!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY<3333 HAVE A LITTLE GIFT:

Taking up the blade was essential for most of them. For Sky himself, he had gotten quick lessons even before his adventure, his quest that changed his entire life. He would find his Loftwing no matter if he liked sword-fighting or not. Thankfully, though his lessons were short, he knew enough to cut through rope and save Crimson before the Wing Ceremony.

Part of Sky had always wondered what would’ve happened if he didn’t graduate, or if he declined going in the clouds with Zelda. Would she have still gotten whisked away by that black tornado, or would she have never had to face the truth? Or if it was inevitable, would the Academy still allow him to go after her, down where dangers awaited? Would they have sent another, or made him lose precious time to earn the graduation before sending him?

He had always wondered, if he could’ve stopped all the suffering that he and Zelda went through. He always knew that Demise shouldn’t have been able to utter the curse that doomed all of Sky and Zelda’s descendants, that somehow through all of his wounds and exhaustion, he should’ve been able to stop the curse. It was always his fault.

The reason why the others had to take up whatever sacred sword was bestowed to them was because of the hardship they were facing, because Sky was always too late.

But it was remarkable to see their growth, how they handled monsters with ease and how they handled everything with the Courage of a Hero. How Time used his Courage to swing that giant sword and get everyone into a sense of order. How Wild used his Courage to face dangers with a broad grin and didn’t let his guilt get in the way of nocking his bow and firing arrows at his targets.

Sky imagined that he used his Courage to rescue those in need, whether that was from a threat, or a nightmare, or simply a moment of fear. He wondered what the others thought, if they had the same idea or if it was something entirely different.

However, it was always a constant reminder that the only reason they needed this was because of him, because though he defeated a God, he couldn’t stop words from being spoken into the threshold of a future Kingdom. Every time he looked into the glowing eyes of enemies, he was reminded of that moment, being too exhausted and injured to drag himself up.

Even with a powerful, intelligent blade, it was up to him.

And he failed.

“Hey, chosen, come join us!” Wild yelled from across camp, smile stretching his burn scars back.

The heroes sat around, waiting patiently as Sky hurried to join them, no longer wanting to stew in deep thoughts. He smiled back at the champion who sat down as well. The sun peeked through light clouds, bathing them in a warm light. Dew dripped from healthy, green blades of grass, brushing the bedrolls and logs. It was a beautiful day.

His smile became more genuine because even after all the blood and battle, even after all the loss and hardship, the sun still shone, the birds still chirped, and the heroes still grinned and laughed. Maybe he could also look past his failure, and look upon the future with a new perspective. Maybe he could just enjoy the present while it lasted.

I've been holding this because i love it sm, thank you so much!

My precious boy i love he

[hoboblaidd]

🦵 - Does your muse have any physical ailments? How do they live with them?

ask meme | lowkey headcanon meme

Yes he does, a few old battle wounds that linger. He's immortal and can shrug off or heal 90% of things that happen to him given enough time. But there are some things that stick. I’ve talked a little before about whether or not he scars. It’s the same idea here.

If Solas is wounded by an Evanuris wielding a magical weapon, that scars and any lingering pain that might be associated with a wound of that kind sticks around. It’s not as bad as it would be for a mortal, more like a twinge when the weather changes, or he puts the wrong kind of pressure on it for too long, or he twists the wrong way.

Couple things immediately I’ve been thinking of come from Evanuris (or equivalent).

Elgar’nan - we’ve never seen Solas act in as much pain as he did in that second memory where he drew Elgar’nan’s attention from Felassan freeing the captives, and that includes the end of DATV when he was an archdemon’s chewtoy for 2 hours. Elgar’nan said in the memory that he’d deal with Solas personally. You don’t skirmish with the All-Father and walk away unscathed. Solas sure as hell didn’t in that memory. His body language makes me think it was something right upper body, so it probably presents now as a really sore muscle in his side that he massages when it acts up.

Andruil - I think he got hit with either her spear or her bow in ratdog - sorry nixe, Dread Wolf form. I’ve headcanoned that a hit from such a weapon is enough to break the shapeshift, like breaking concentration in DND. So Solas got hit, he lost the shapeshift, and that leads to whatever truth is in the Fen’harel and the Tree fable. He was seriously injured enough that he couldn’t escape until Andruil and Anaris were both out cold. At first I thought the leg would be the most logical place for such an injury, but if Fen’harel can “bite off his own leg to escape” (also fable, just using it as an illustration), it’d need to be a more catastrophic injury than something localized to one appendage. It's not great, but we've seen time and again in war medicine that you can drag a hurt leg if you're trying to escape an enemy. A shot to the hip, though, would be devastating. It connects to so much more than just the leg and is a more disabling injury in the moment. By the Dragon Age, it also presents more as like moderate arthritis. It can be uncomfortable and might need heat, cold, or either herbal salve if he's been walking too long on uneven terrain, and he'll stretch it out in his idle animations if you're standing still for too long.

They also, of course, scarred, and I think his "scar stories" about those to the Inquisition party get increasingly funny/outlandish as time goes on.

And for something lighter, my man’s neck and shoulders ache like hell during Inquisition because he’s doing the Apostate Slouch. Bad posture is bad.

[garglyswoof]

:D Ahhh, prompt prompt prompt - how about a mash up, vampires meet kastle?? :D

She found out about it purely by chance. Some part of her had been thinking of life in Vermont that day, the skies in New York the same sheet metal grey as the dreariest of days in Fagan Corners. Her thoughts drifted enough for her to battle with her phone in a losing effort that ended with her searching the surprisingly online tiny local paper. She’d trawled through the articles, smiling at the news of 4H Club awards and greased pig races. There was a comfort in these reminders of her small town history, and when she hit the obituaries section she continued out of morbid curiosity. Was old Mrs. Wilkie still alive? Stern in her housecoat, fuzzy slippers, and ever-present broom like some modern-aged witch? How about the bank president who had tried to buy coke from her? Sure, it was a college town, but it was also a small town and most people didn’t ever get out. She had certainly felt trapped. 

“Former Penny’s Place owner Paxton Page…” The words crept into her brain slowly, as if reluctant to enter. She dropped her phone, her hand rising to stifle the sharp intake of breath.

Dad.

Things willfully ignored; things pushed back, hidden, and thought drowned rose to the surface, crested, and broke. She slid down to the floor, her hand shaking and still cupped over her mouth as if to hold it all in.

--------------

The drive was a long one and she went alone with her thoughts. She knew Foggy would have dropped everything to come along, and part of her still wished she’d asked, but…. this was better. She’d face this alone rather than explaining, though she owed Foggy the truth soon. She just wasn’t…she wanted a little more time, ok? From Kevin to Allied to almost dying in a prison to Fisk to now, Karen hadn’t had much good in her life, and Foggy and Matt, when he was tempered by apologies and guilt, were good.

Sometimes your heart makes judgments that aren’t logical, fueled by something just on the edge of your vision, just out of reach. In hindsight it’s why she latched on to them so quickly, something in her recognizing something in them. Enough to have her paying Matt’s bills when he’d vanished for months, enough to have her jumping right in as a strangely happy unpaid employee of Murdock and Nelson. Her heart panged at the memory of those first days, replete with casseroles and more flan than she could possibly eat in a week. Stretching the dollars to keep them afloat, the sound of Matt’s text to speech software and Foggy’s muffled curses whenever he tried to fill out forms on the ancient typewriter and failed miserably.

A flash of brake lights ahead jolted her out of her reverie and into the present, barrelling down the highway directly to a place she’d been forced to leave behind. Dad.

One hand gripped the wheel tighter, to prevent the shake, and the other hit the console in frustrated grief. Her phone jostled in its cubby from the motion and she wet her lips as she glanced at the screen, a picture of her and Foggy at Rosie’s, making bunny ears over what they’d thought was Matt’s oblivious face. Heh.  She still loved it. If anything it made her realize that Matt had loved it too.

Damn it. “Call Foggy”

“Mmpf? Karen?” His voice sounded far away, muffled.

“Did i wake you?”

“Yes but it’s ok because apparently,” she heard the sheets rustle, “ I am lying in a puddle of my own drool and it’s clearly time to flip.”

Karen smiled, her cheeks stinging with the stretch of it. “Late night at Rosie’s?”

“I’ll have you know I also frequent high class establishments.”  A pause. “But then I went to Rosie’s. We missed you there.” His voice was losing the grittiness of sleep and she could tell he must be upright now, imagined his hair stuck up in 10 different directions like it did after a face first desk nap.

“Yeah I uh, I went to bed early. I’m driving to Vermont.”

“What’s in Vermont?” Karen could hear the subtle eagerness in his voice and her heart panged with it. She really hadn’t told them much about her life, and she vowed to change it.

“Grew up there. Needed to take care of some family stuff.” She’d failed her first chance to open up, clearly, and tried to make it less obvious. “Dumb paperwork!” Even though she was driving she closed her eyes for a brief moment from the awkwardness of it.

Foggy was quiet for a moment, his voice soft when he spoke. “Well be safe, Karen. You back soon?”

“Yeah.” Her throat was closing up and she had to end the call soon. “Just, let’s hang out when I get back? Sunday maybe?”

“Of course.” Still soft, still accepting. Still more than she deserved.

----------------------------------------------

The town was bright with spring green as her old Cherokee rumbled onto Main Street. She passed the hardware store, sun-faded display from her childhood still advertising weedkiller, the old barrel she’d always tried to climb on top of anchoring the door open. Many shops were closed, and she saw that most of them had town curfew signs plastered in the windows. When had that started up, she wondered.

She wasn’t immune to nostalgia, obviously, or she’d never… her heart clenched with the reality of what she was here for, and she turned on Sycamore, right on Laurel, her blinker clacking loudly. There were a lot of church signs up, not something she remembered from last time she was here. Not…not signs saying “St Luke’s Lutheran Church” either, these were like that weird stretch of road Marcie had talked about on I-70 outside Kansas, where every other billboard was Hellfire and Brimstone. 

THE DEVIL WILL TAKE YOU

FAGAN CORNERS IS DAMNED

She thought it strange, but when she crested the hill the diner was a shock piled on top of another. The sign was bright and clean, Sue’s Vittles, and she felt the rage rise up in her, an urge to tear it down, before she came to her senses. It wouldn’t just… have sat there forever. The town had to move on. She wondered when her dad had lost it, and how far in debt he’d taken Penny's Place. She wondered if she could have saved it.

She knew she could have, if he’d let her.

The return home tour continued on, her eyes rimmed with red now, wet with tears both shed and not. She had never felt so alone in her life. She drove three miles in the wrong direction to avoid the bridge and tried to think of what she was doing here even as she pulled into the town cemetery. She knew he’d be buried next to mom, and pulled a small bouquet of peonies out of the passenger seat as the engine settled, ticking. 

There was a new stone next to her moms, and she knelt, tracing the letters with her fingers. Paxton Page. She remembered her and Kevin making fun, popping the syllables, “Paxton and Penny Page” before they’d dissolve into giggles. Everything she thought of made her heart ache.

She sat there for hours, talking to her mom, saying what she couldn’t say to her dad. That she’d thought herself beyond redemption until Father Lantom had gotten through to her, that she still did, sometimes. She told her mom about Foggy and Matt, and then she told her about Frank. God, she’d needed this. She knew her mom would understand, more than anyone, about seeing through to the heart of people. She wondered where Frank was, wished she knew, wished she had some way of contacting him. Despite their last meeting and her anger towards him, she would never let go, not really. 

“Sometimes, just someone makes you feel safe, at least when you’re with them. And then when you’re not… I don’t know.” She shifted, sitting back on her haunches and idly rubbing a peony petal between her fingers.  

“Me and Frank. Wrong place, wrong time, maybe that’s what it will always be for us.” She said, staring at her mother’s name, carved in stone.

The gravestone stared back, mute, as the light dimmed and she ached with the silence. Evening fell quick in this neck of the woods, without the conflagration of light that made up the city. She shivered in the fall of the spring evening, her throat aching with tears spent but feeling better in the spending of them.

She leaned over the gravestones one last time, peonies settled at the base, and said goodbye.

Gathering her things she startled at the sound of a footfall, the first time she’d heard any noise since she’d settled in. It was hard to see in the fading light, but the man standing at the hood of her car looked like no one she knew, though she waved anyway, small town and all. He didn’t wave back and she shrugged and rounded the back of her car, warily eyeing him as she slipped behind the wheel, the curfew signs flashing in her mind.

Was there some sort of crime ring? Her brain ticked as she started her engine and the man stepped away from the Jeep, a dark slick of a smile caught in the headlights. Karen felt a frisson of fear and pulled away back onto the gravel, eyes in the rearview as she turned down the lanes that led to -

A closed gate, though she remembered from illicit midnights with friends that it was like a fence gate, unbolted and something she could lift and swing out. Karen reached into her purse and felt the comforting weight of her gun slip into her palm. The man wasn’t in her rearview mirror, but it was too dark to tell where he was. She put the Jeep in park and left it running, sliding quickly out of the seat and lifting the gate latch, spinning around and slipping her other hand up to grip the gun two-handed. It was no use, the darkness was complete, no lights to break up the dim beyond the Jeep's headlights, and she rounded the vehicle, shoulders tense, her mind racing, her -

A hand across her mouth, an arm across her chest, pulling her arms down and pointing the gun at the ground. She screamed behind the clamped hand, stamped her foot where she thought the man’s instep would be, snaked a hand up and smashed her elbow backward, hearing a satisfying grunt as the blow landed. She spun away from the arm banded across her middle, trying to transfer the gun to her now free hand, but he was too fast. Her wrist wrenched back, pain shooting up it, the gun falling to the gravel below. 

She could see him now, his hair dark, unkempt, his face attractive if it weren’t for the gleam of satisfaction in his gaze, if not for the - oh god oh god she’d known they were real Matt and Foggy had made fun of her but she’d known it and oh god she fought she kept fighting she had to escape, her arms thrashing, trying to duck and use his weight against him, but nothing shook that iron bar of an arm loose from her chest and the smile descended and with it those fangs, sharp and oh god she closed her eyes she let them slip closed because maybe this was redemption, this was closure, maybe this was…

----------------------------------------

ONE MONTH LATER

The city reeked of hot dogs. Hot dogs approaching rancid as the last of the summer sun baked the scent of an overturned delivery truck’s escapees into the street. Frank’s nose wrinkled with the stench as he ducked into an alleyway. The smell of piss here wasn’t much better, but Frank wasn’t here to avoid smells, knocking hard on an unmarked door. He waited, knocked again, heard an irritated voice shout back at him, accent thick even through the door.

“Don’t expect a delivery til -”

Frank lodged his foot in before the man could pull the door closed, stepping in and locking the man in a headlock with an athlete’s grace. 

“Get the fuck off -”

“Shut the fuck up.” Frank squeezed tighter, feeling the trachea beneath his arm. 

The man floundered feebly, choked gasps ragged as he lost the air to function. Frank maneuvered him into an office close to the door, pulling out some duct tape and lashing him to the chair, gagging him for good measure. 

The warehouse would be empty this late in the day - Frank had been monitoring it for weeks. Still, he let the captive’s head loll as Frank pushed out of the office and scanned the warehouse, moving low to the ground in a room clearing pattern ingrained into his bones. Clear. He checked the warehouse door, ensuring it was locked, and placed a nearby bucket of loose hardware on the lip of the door’s bottom edge, advance warning should someone decide to open it.

He circled back through the warehouse, eyes still darting about, up to the loft, behind the stacked crates, his footsteps less than a whisper on the concrete as he circled back to the office, unfolding a chair and straddling it, arms propped on the headrest, waiting for the man to awaken.

He did with a start, his eyes bulging and curses muffled behind the tape. 

“I’m just here for a few questions Aron,” Frank said, watching as the man’s eyes widened at the use of his name. “Word on the street is that your little Albanian enterprise here is bigger than Rudaj ever was,” Frank said. “Something about a secret weapon, huh?”

Aron’s eyes narrowed. You didn’t live long if you weren’t able to face a little questioning, and something in Frank’s demeanor told him that Aron held all the cards here. Frank needed to flip the program. 

He looked up, spotted the beam he’d seen in blueprints, and rummaged through his bag for some rope, tossing it over the beam before knotting one end through a set of shelves and forming a noose in the other. He slipped it around Aron's neck, patting the man on the cheek with a smile, before hoisting the man up to his feet, looping the slack in the shelves.

He removed the tape at his mouth then, deftly avoiding the spit and rolling his eyes at Aaron’s Balkan curses. “So what can you tell me?”

Silence, and once again a discomfiting smile spread across Aron’s face. Frank hated when they were difficult. He pulled the rope, reknotted it. Aron's back was rigid now, spine stretched as far as it could to lessen the pressure, breath harsh in the closed space of the office.

“If you don’t already know,” Aron smiled despite his struggle to breathe, “There’s no harm in telling you. You’ll be dead within a matter of hours.”

“Yeh? Good to know.” 

“Even if you are the Punisher.” A ragged breath. “Yes your reputation precedes you. It also means nothing.”

Aron’s idle threats were wearing thin. “Okay.” A tug at the rope. 

“Superhumans.” Aron rattled out. “Stronger than you. Faster than you.” His eyes glittered. “They’ll drain you dry.” He coughed, and Frank caught what it was trying to cover. A shift in the eyes to a point over his shoulder. Frank ducked and rolled and heard the swish of air above his head, shot back with an elbow and caught air himself. A faint footfall, a flap of fabric, where the fuck was this guy?

Fast. Too fast. Impossibly fast, Frank thought as he was thrown out of the room, his head cracking on the wall outside. He shook it off even as he was moving, realizing he needed to put distance between him and the threat. He vaulted into the main warehouse, analyzing the terrain, potential weapons. Superhuman. Drain me dry, huh? He knew he had only seconds, ducked behind a crate and backed against a wall where pallets stood leaning. A flash of movement and Frank heard laughter as the heel of a hand smashed against his ribs. Broken, he had a moment to consider while the other hand closed around his throat.. Pain and rage clouded his vision and he knew he had one chance, one chance or it was all over. 

In hindsight he’d probably wonder if it was worth the choice, but for now survival instincts kicked in and he cracked a plank off the pallet behind him and brought it up with all of his strength, trying not to breathe in to avoid the pain dulling the blow. His assailant’s grip on his throat proved his downfall, removing the advantage of speed. The plank hit its mark, the adrenaline and training allow the jagged edges to pierce through skin and muscle, through ribs. A high-pitched keening, terrible in its inhuman sound, issued from the assailant’s throat, and Frank watched features swim in and out of view. Pale skin, a jagged scar cutting across a pair of thinned lips. A mouth split in pain, and there, there - he couldn’t be sure but he also knew it couldn’t be anything else - incisors long and sharp. 

The hand tightened on his throat briefly, muscles trying to continue past the ceasing of life, and the vampire in front of him dropped to the floor, wheedling noise still issuing from its throat, fading now with the dying of light in his eyes. The eyes, Frank thought, were the worst. Sclera shot through with red, but so human. Equal in death, the light gone. He fought his failing consciousness, he needed to get out of here before more showed up. He knew that face. Knew him from the papers, when he was human. The Albanians leg up on gang activities needed no more explanation than this, he thought as every inhale felt like ground glass in his bruised throat, his chest.

He stumbled back towards the office, lurched through the doorway to the shocked face of the mobster who still stood, throat noosed. Frank tugged at the rope anchored to the shelving and looped it a few more times with the rest of his strength, ignoring Aron’s choked breaths and gasps.

--------------------

Lana almost killed him when he returned. The pit bull / boxer mix hadn’t yet learned to not jump up, and her paws on his chest earned a pained grunt.

“Fuck. Down, Lana. I need you to be a good girl, please.” She tilted her head at him, boxer jowls flopping. He couldn’t help smiling through his pain. Pushing past her into the small kitchen, he grabbed a steak out of the freezer and some aspirin and eased himself down on the couch, steak pressed against his ribs. 

This was as close to home as he’d had in a long while, this warehouse unit in Queens. Secure enough with Micro’s help - he still couldn’t call him David. David was for the married guy, with kids, that Frank shouldn’t be bothering. The separation helped. His chest panged again, but not from pain this time, as he thought of those he’d lost in his unceasing war. Curtis had let him go. David wanted nothing to do with him. Karen -

Karen had disappeared off the face of the earth a month ago and it was driving him crazy. If he knew where she was, if he just knew, then she was safe. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with a grimace as Lana’s tail thwacked against the couch cushions, her brows alternating as she looked up at Frank, face nestled in her paws.

He found her last byline - a little over a month ago - a report on the growing presence of Eastern European crime families, actually. It…didn’t seem enough of a report for her to be targeted but who knows what she had gotten into. He knew her, she was persistent beyond what was safe. Karen wouldn’t let go. 

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want her to, despite his claims otherwise. 

So where was she? He slid a palm down his face, frustrated.

He checked his sources, found nothing. Reaching over his shoulder with difficulty - you forget that the simplest of actions is immeasurably harder when you’ve got a broken rib - he flipped on the police scanner. He and Lana listened for news of vampires, caught no mentions, nothing unexplained. The warehouse he’d invaded was off the radar, so he had some time before that would be circling around the airwaves, at least police ones. The steak was partially thawed now, so he tossed it in the dog bowl where Lana inhaled it as if it were her only meal in weeks.

Where was she?

-----

TWO WEEKS LATER

The Albanians were still expanding their empire, despite the setback at the warehouse. Frank wondered how many vampires there were. It clearly wasn’t an epidemic, which he’d feared initially but understood now - hard to keep power when you’re just spreading the source of that power around. Frank was on the streets, ribs starting to heal but deep breaths still causing sharp twists. He knew he needed more time. He also knew he didn’t have it. 

He had to find her, and so he was here in Hell’s Kitchen, eyeing the neon Rosie’s sign as he approached, it flickered Ro ie' tonight, the esses flickering in and out. He didn’t want Red catching him out here, instead hoping his friend would be the first to leave. It was a flip of the coin whether Murdock would find a way to turn him in, that high-and-mighty morality of his a ticking time bomb, Frank thought. 

His eyes shifted from the flickering sign as a voice called out. 

“Spare some change?”

That voice...he'd know it anywhere. “You’re alive, oh god I thought -”

Karen laughed, blanket wrapped over her telltale locks, ball cap pulled low over her brow. “Nice to see you too, Frank.” She reached out a hand, as if to take change from him, and pressed a folded paper into his grip. He held on a beat too long, her grip cold in his own, taking in the details of her face, what he could anyway. He ducked down to catch her eyes and her own darted away. 

“Not now, ok?”

He nodded and walked away, waiting until he was back in the warehouse to open the paper. The smile spread unbidden across his face.

Grand Ferry Park. You know where. 1 hour.

She sure had a sense of drama, he thought, thinking of a time long past, jokes of hipsters and her hair a bright flag in the breeze off the water. He thought of the softness of her cheek, and when he took a deep breath this time he didn’t even notice the pain.

-----------------

Lana was losing her mind, and not in a good way. He’d brought her with him, knowing Karen loved dogs, but she was having none of this meeting. This sweetheart of a dog had her hackles raised, growl low and deep as Karen put up her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, as if pained.

“What is wrong with you, girl?” He knelt down beside Lana, hand tight at her collar and glancing up apologetically at Karen. “Sorry, she’s the calmest dog usually, I thought you might like to see her.”

Karen slowly lowered to the ground, her hand held out. “Do you have a treat I can give her? Maybe that will help.”

“Yeh, sure.” He tossed her a packet from his bag and she opened it, shaking out some near where she knelt. Lana licked her chops but still growled low in her throat, if a bit more of a confused growl.

“Here, what’s her name?” A glance up at Frank as he responded. He noticed her hand shaking. “Lana, sweet girl. Got a treat for you!”

Frank encouraged Lana when she looked up at him, her expression almost hilariously human and clearly saying “you trust this lady??” The dog edged forward, tentative, and snatched the treat from the ground where Karen had placed it, backing up but calming her growl. 

“Well, progress at least.” 

Her smile was just as he’d remembered. 

“Where have you been, Karen?”

A flash in her eyes. “Didn’t know you kept tabs on me, Frank. You seemed pretty clear about me staying away.”

It hit him like a blow he deserved, and he fought for a response and lost. There was nothing he could say, he knew that, but he still wanted to try. It came to him in as he saw her eyes damp and hard, but still not hiding the hope behind them.

“I’ll always want you to be safe, Karen.”

She scoffed at that and stood up. “It’s a bit late for that.” 

“What, what is it, what happened to you? Do I need to punch Red’s light’s out?”

Karen laughed at this, bitter and so unlike her it closed his throat. He did this.

“Just…stop, Frank. I need you to listen.” A barge horn sounded in the distance as if to punctuate her words and her brows eased, just a little, at the humor of it. “I’m…” She stepped closer, Lana alert at the motion, and cupped his face in a hand. “I know the Albanians are after you. The vampire you killed was one of their sires from the old country. I don’t even - Only you, Frank. Older vampires are so strong, you had a one in a million chance.” She shook her head at this, as if still disbelieving.

“How do you know?” he asked, leaning into her touch, cold yet still a comfort. He searched her eyes, gripped Lana’s collar a little tighter.

“I know, because I’m one of them.” 

He tore away from her, the motion and the tension in him sending Lana into a fit of barking, her muzzle flecked with spittle. He couldn’t - he heard that high-pitched keen in his head, tried to reconcile it with the expression on Karen’s face. He pulled his Beretta out, trained it on Karen’s anguished face, looked around for bystanders. He backed away towards the railing bracketing the East River. If he needed to he’d escape in the water. But Lana…

He’d let down his guard, bringing her here. Letting himself dream and hope and wish and here was Karen and goddamn she looked beautiful, her eyes bright and hair streaming in the wind off the river and he could not reconcile the pieces.

His voice was a shadow of itself when it rasped from his mouth. “Explain, Karen. Tell me you’re not a monster. Tell me -” he stopped, unable to say more. 

He saw her eyes close and the resoluteness stiffen her spine. Hope bloomed in his chest. She…she was still her. Her stubbornness, her implacable will.

“I’m not a monster, in the same way you aren’t.”

He worked his jaw, thinking, eyes casting about, settling on anything but her now. Her words were ones he’d normally deny in his heart, but it seemed the stakes had shifted, and his gut reactions fell flat in the face of the fact that Karen Page was here, and she was a vampire.

“Guess that’s why Lana’s losing her mind,” he said finally.

Karen laughed at that and goddamn if it still didn’t make his heart flip with the sound. What was wrong with him. 

“Look I -” she started, uncertain. “I was bitten a month ago in Vermont.” She noticed his quizzical expression. “My Dad, he…I saw his obituary in the paper, so I drove up there. The town was riddled with vamps, some offshoot of the Albanians taking root in Fagan Corners of all places. They’ve locked it down since, but lucky for me!” She lifted her hands, her tone mocking. “Not my favorite trip ever. One star.” She joked, and cast her eyes down when it fell flat.

“Came back and have been feeding off criminals. Not like they're hard to find in this town. Frank -” She caught his gaze in her own. “I wanted to see you, wanted to see you and…I don't think anything can stop them, not anything human." She stopped, searched his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if she found what she was looking for but somehow knew what her next words would be all the same. Still, he let the pause linger. It was a moment, one to let go in. If there was anyone he trusted, it was her, goddamn, and maybe...maybe it was finally time to show that.

She inhaled then, and he idly wondered if that was force of habit or if vampires needed oxygen. He breathed a breath of his own, rib aching with the effort, and drew closer, sliding his hand into the silk of her hair, fingers sifting through it. He looked at her then, full on, not letting his gaze wander, not letting himself look away. He nodded then, an answer to the questions in her eyes, and bared his neck to her.

also on ao3

[primelight]

Erdtree forgive me for what I'm about to do (WNM mini fic, that's not the title but sorry not sorry)

SO as some of you may be aware of, I've written...rather far ahead in 'Who Needs Maidens.'

In light of RECENT TRAILER DEVELOPMENTS my creative brain is going rabid, and to temporarily sate it I'm going to post a mini part of one of those thingies here. I might toss it out. It's rough. I might not pull the proverbial trigger, which is why it's going nowhere near AO3. It...kinda works as a standalone fic, though.

WARNING: Dubious consent (not super graphic), WEIRD imagery, Miquella's dilemma about being an ancient eldritch being stuck in, first, a child's body, and then whatever Mohg turned him into. Basically he's a dream-walking adult/demigod/eldrich abomination.

And, uh, spoilers.

Working Title: To Burn Alone, Once Again

Miquella’s body was cursed with delicacy, with beautiful, sterile youth. His life was but a moment, frozen in time. But Miquella’s mind grew old. In his dreams, he was free. His abundance was unrestrained. 

Trina was a useful mask. Beautiful, like him, mysterious and wise. He shrouded himself in mist, and traveled in shadows. He lived through others, gathering memories like flowers, slipping through the shadows of their dreams. 

But sometimes, when power flowed through him, and a dream was so strong that he could touch it, Miquella would cast Trina aside, and dare to reach for the raw blood and emotion burning in the world. He took up the sword with hands as large and dextrous as his father’s. He crossed the rolling hills of Altus in the dreams of soldiers, and waded through the despair of Tarnished Hunters in Limgrave. He donned grand, red-and-black vestments plucked from his half-brother’s mind. He loaded his body down with rusted iron armor, and stuffed linen into his boots to cushion the blisters on his heels. 

He tasted faint, alluring memories of ale and greasy, tavern-fried duck. He caught the scent of blood and shit on the Caelid battlegrounds, but also of hot honey-tea and warm bread. He felt – 

Miquella did not dare draw close enough to truly feel. He risked discovery, reprisal, and then retaliation from forces beyond his control. 

And guilt. To experience the terror and thrill and pain of battle alongside a dreamer was to touch the softest, most vulnerable parts of them. More joyful memories were worse, for Miquella longed to sink deeper.

He told himself that he simply wanted to share such things with the dreamer. But when it grew cold and dark in his cage, and when the days before and after, before and after, before and after the burning of the Erdtree stretched on for too long, Miquella knew the truth. He wanted those precious moments for himself. He wanted everything.

Miquella embodied Abundance, after all. He was meant to sow his seed, to reach out to the very corners of the Lands Between, and to fill the cosmos itself. If not for the curse, his legs would be long, his shoulders would be broad, and he could join his other half in battle.

You will always be my blade, Miquella thought, because he knew that Malenia would not have it otherwise. So I will be your shield. 

Waiting was hard. Miquella soothed himself with his own dreams, his own plans, and watched, unable to do more than suggest, to hint, occasionally prod a sleeping mind in the right direction. He got better at it each time the Erdtree burned. 

He could not truly interfere. Yet he could not turn away from the Volcano Manor, not when he realized what had happened. 

What should not have happened, not with — 

Miquella cursed Mohg with every fiber of his ancient soul.

…and Bernahl dreamed. 

Keira crossed the room once more. He relived the moment when she realized that he was watching every move she made. And then, again, when her laces loosened, and his gaze snared on the dip between her collarbones, and then slid lower as her shaking fingers twisted in her tunic, unknowingly teasing him. And in hindsight…oh, if he’d known, he’d have taken more time to draw the moment out. 

But it continued. A rush of anger, then the crush of his mouth to hers. Blushing, stammering, and then heavy breaths and soft moans.

Their clothing lay in a heap on the rug as he coaxed her with his hands and words. But too quickly, the searing heat of her had him gasping in his sleep.

His dream pulsed and lingered, stretched and indulged. Bernahl’s hands squeezed and soothed in turn. He was still tangled up in her warmth and scent, more than enough to inspire him once again. 

The dream urged him on, demanding that he look closer, squeeze tighter, fuck harder, for it could almost see, and surely then, it would almost feel… 

…Not enough. 

Miquella moved on, and dreamed of another life.

…Malenia’s Cleanrot Knights imprisoned Mohg at the first hint of his betrayal. Only the Haligtree’s treaty with Leyndell spared the Omen demigod. Rumor had it that Morgott the Grace Given had set a quiet, isolated cavern aside for Mohg, and left him to his blood sorcery and cruel prayers.

Instead, Miquella emerged tall and strong from the Haligtree roots, wings trailing behind him like a gossamer veil. Malenia had been waiting for him, wounded and still twisting in Rot, but overflowing with joy. Miquella held her close, excessively careful of his newfound strength. The top of his twin’s head rested just below his chin. They were a matched set, at last.

Together, Malenia and Miquella conquered the Rot, brought it to heel like a rabid dog, and spat in the face of its foul god. The Haligtree remained hollow, as he no longer had need of it, but Elphael grew nonetheless. Albinaurics, Misbegotton, and Tarnished alike flocked to the Haligtree alongside the Grace-blessed humans of the Lands Between. Miquella’s power grew with every life he took under his wing. 

Miquella dreamed that Keira found her way there as well, and offered her help, first to his knights, then to his builders, and finally to the gardens growing from the roots. She kept her sword at hand, but she claimed a greenhouse for herself, and used half-forgotten knowledge to help her fellow travelers. Soon, many of Miquella’s devotees would come to her for instruction, and her scarred hands would fill Elphael with green and gold. 

Perhaps he would hear tales of the strange Tarnished who could make the most stubborn plants grow. Perhaps her teachings would spread to his inner circle, or the fruit of her labors to his table. 

Perhaps he would decide to thank her himself. 

Miquella would come upon her by a carefully arranged accident, his wings hidden under a simple robe, and appearing as simply a very tall, very comely man. He’d find her hard at work in her garden, clad as lightly as decency would allow, spots of earth dusting her face and blackening her hands, her skin gleaming with sweat.

Perhaps he would sit beside her, heedless of his attire, charmed by her passion for her work. Perhaps his heart would ache when he saw how she missed her First Tree, but then nearly burst from his chest when she offered him half of her lunch.

She’d work out who he was, of course, perhaps on their second meeting, if his eyes gleamed too bright, or if she saw his wings. 

Would Keira be frightened? Excited? Mortified? Flattered?

Miquella rather liked the thought of all of them, depending on his mood.

Regardless of her reaction, he would give her some time to think. A day or so later, he would find her again. He would curl over her, cup her face in his hands, and make his intentions clear. 

No-one would dare watch if he lay with her among the lilies. Not that Miquella would care. They could stay there as long as he wanted, wrapped up in his opalescent wings, their bodies lit by the soft glow of unalloyed gold.

A lovely dream. Perhaps he was a romantic at heart.

…

…Or upon establishing his rule, Miquella could simply summon Keira to his chambers. The God of Abundance and Lord of the Haligtree would, naturally, want to personally interview a Tarnished with such an unusual passion for growing things.

His attendants would bathe her in steaming water infused with sacred oil, and cleanse her with soap formed from Trina’s lilies, known for relaxing the mind and softening the skin and hair. Her woes would be smoothed away, fragrant oils massaged into her skin until it glowed with health and softness, and her hair combed until it shone, and left to flow down her back in dark waves. 

Her face needed no paint, no adornment, and after Bernahl Miquella barely had the patience to hide her body in the lightest of moth-silk.

But for the dream, he would, if only to draw it out. 

Keira would be nervous, though she would hide it well, wouldn’t she? Bernahl hadn’t realized that she had never had a man until he’d been knuckle deep inside her. She would likely be considering whether or not to lie about her lack of experience, as only a complete imbecile would mistake his intentions.

Would she lie? Miquella would, of course, take her at her word, for what Tarnished would lie to their god? Then he could allow himself a little bit of greed, could press his suit quickly, roughly…and surely she would open for him so easily that any pain would simply heighten her pleasure. 

And despite her clear anxiety, Bernhal had made her so very wet…

She’ll be wetter for me, Miquella thought, in the garden or in my bed. He groaned at the surge of sense-memory, and curled long, powerful fingers in thick, dark hair. He tugged, and the sharp cry he received in return cut a line of fire down his spine.

Honeyed seduction melted into a frenzied claiming. Silk thread spun and writhed about Miquella’s bed as he pinned Keira beneath him, his smile as beautiful and terrifying as a blade. He smelled blood on her hands, and smoke in her hair. Erdtree smoke, from the dozens of times it had burned, each time bringing him one step closer to freedom — his little champion —

Miquella grasped for the pieces of sensation he’d cobbled together from thousands of dreams. Here, he tasted the power, the strength he craved. Every atom of his divine flesh pulsed with health. His curse was a memory, a vague, unpleasant dream as he cupped Keira’s face in hands that could crush her skull like an egg, and promised to be gentle. 

A lie. This way of love was not soft, and would never be safe. 

Miquella dreamed on, enfolding himself in borrowed sensation. He bid her cling to his shoulders and hips, and as it was his dream, she dug deep, and cried for him.

She wept until her eyes ran red, pleaded until she grew hoarse. She told him that next time would be the very last, that he would be free. He would ascend. She begged him to stay with her, to speak to her, to take her with him, anything – please —

…It was just a dream, so Miquella simply told her yes, and yes again, and took her.

Keira cried out, and he knew from the wet, lewd sound of their bodies that he barely fit inside her. And it would likely be worse — better, he needed more — in reality, considering what Mohg had made of him.

“You’ll forget him,” Miquella whispered.

Keira buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.