#hes not mentally stable and logical with his actions is what I’m saying here DO NOT BELIEVE HIS LIES!!!!

[cowchickenbeefpork]

look I’m not going to argue that Edward truly loved Kristen for who she was genuinely ( he didn’t ) but seeing him as someone who got over her death and it barely affected him is kinda a reading I can’t agree with at all

I know what scene started this reading it was the whole “actually I do enjoy hurting people this is my true self and I greatly thank Kristen for making me reach my potential” but that realization came from when he cut her up, no? When you go back to THAT SCENE he describes how the light vanishing from her eyes was beautiful. This means two things, one, he had to first known he was hurting her, and two he was enjoying that fact

WHEN YOU GO BACK TO THE SCENE WHERE HE KILLED HER THERES NO TRACE OF THIS IN THE ACTING THERE!!!!! He’s not even angry he’s more so desperate to explain himself, he even smiles as he tells her he loves her and would NEVER HURT HER! And when he realized he killed her he sobbed himself to the point of blacking out. Even if you brush off the fact riddler is very poorly written and just make it be ed the fact he blacked out and went out fucking around with her corpse while not remembering any of it and only hours later regained consciousness and now having to search around the gcpd to find her. Genuinely why should I believe a man, who consistently convinces himself he’s actually super smart and has no emotions is telling ME the truth here about his own feelings when I as the viewer have just witnessed things that contradict this!!!!

Also the show contradicts that whole motive like two episodes later!!!!!!!!!! When Oswald tried to kill Ed for saying his mother made him weak Edward discusses Kristen’s death and says love wasn’t meant for men like them and that it will always weaken them. Notice how different of a explaination that is to the one in the woods? The one in the woods basically says it was his true self leaking out and he actually had some awareness of what he was doing and he enjoyed every second of it and he feels no remorse. The one during this scene says that it was unavoidable, an accident, but actually him brushing over his feelings and forcing himself to not think about it or ever attempt to love again is the correct awnser. Doesn’t the second answer flow better with the actual death? It aligns exactly with both his narcissism making him unable to admit he was in the wrong and also unable to let him grieve since it would go against the idea he has of himself in his head and aligns with the fact it was a ACCIDENT WHERE HE DIDNT EVEN INTEND TO HURT HER AT ALL!!!

I can’t blame people for taking the whole actually I enjoyed it reasoning as the true one since Gotham is very very badly written but the reasoning he gave to Oswald works better for his character and for the event itself! The whole point of that death was you can hurt people without even trying to and not be able to see that ur acting like the people who have hurt them before it’s too late and that’s!!!! Powerful but Gotham just had to make Edward secretly evil and sadicist this whole time which takes away from that message. The first time he finally realizes Kristen was a person who existed outside of what he thought of and was capable of thinking and acting outside of his image of her was when she died, and he pushed her back into a fucking box, a fucking role she played to further him in his life because the mere horror of his actions were too hard to bare, he had to convince himself this would always happen and it was either of their flaunts to keep his ego intact.

not to mention how the whole denying he needs love in his life kinda relates heavily back to his npd too. Since he couldn’t get what he wants he feels terrible and then convinces himself that actually WHAT HE WANTED was the inadequate thing instead of him, so he doesn’t have to mourn the fact that he couldn’t have it. It’s projection in a way, he projects his inner wants and desires that he hates to others so he can mock them and feel better. He is telling himself he doesn’t need connection to others, that he can provide for himself and will never need or depend on anyone ever in his life again which is contradicted again and again in the show. He can’t stop needing people to like him, affirm him or to depend on them. That is the ultimate paradox with npd, narcissism in itself locks someone into a state of both being completely independent and not needing or caring for others while completely needing and depending on their praise so you can keep your self esteem intact

i think why I’m kinda quite against this reading of Edward as someone who intensely enjoys hurting others in his nature and is completely logical and almost unemotional in his action is because it kinda just falls into his lie he folds himself and others, it’s believing in the narcissist fantasy he has convinced himself and others around him to be true, he will never be that, no matter how hard he tries he will never be smart enough and unemotional enough for himself, he will chase proving that fantasy until he dies if he keeps doing this, taking anyone who comes in his way down with him

you can read Gotham Ed however you want idc I’m not ur mom and I’m not mad I just really wanted to explain myself since last time I tried to it was horrid and nonsensical I should’ve been executed on the spot. You can read Edward however you like I’m not thought police I just really needed to say my peace here

[kuroo-shitsurou]

Shooting Stars (Childe x Fem!Reader)

note: honestly, no one asked for this. this is obviously self-indulgent, but god FUCK do i love that ginger fatui man so much.

word count: 2.6k

"Careful now."

Childe's voice was calming, much like the gust of wind that blew past your hair. You saw his hand in front of you and you gladly grasped it, heart racing at the idea of falling to your death. The wind was calm and the air was refreshing, but there was nothing light about the pit in your stomach screaming at you to just carefully glide back down to the foot of the mountain you two were climbing.

"You aren't going to die, dear." He laughed, amused at the sight of your face.

"And what if I do? Childe, this isn't funny!" Your knees were planted firmly on one of the floating rocks just above Qingyun Peak. You grimaced at how the moss scraped against your bare knees, but you felt paralyzed with fear at the thought of falling because you knew better than to trust your clumsy nature.

"I'm not letting you fall. Trust me!" The genuine concern and reassurance in his voice was masked with his charming playfulness, and you couldn't help but sigh and stand up to follow him up to the floating island up ahead.

Childe requested to occupy your entire day earlier that morning, saying something about him showing you a beautiful sight that's sure to take your breath away. You agreed, entertaining his idea of a beautiful sight. After sparring with him in the golden house, eating a sumptuous lunch at Wanmin Restaurant, then sparring with him again, you two headed over to Qingyun Peak. The sun was about to set, and your eyes were mesmerized by how the purple hues above your head covered the entirety of Liyue.

The golden hour was nearly over, and here you were, scared out of your mind, with Childe leading you up a path of floating rock chunks that you were sure would collapse if two of you stepped on one at the same time. However, much to your surprise, they didn't.

"I've got you, okay?" Your companion's voice rang in your ears, and you didn't notice that he stepped down from his current platform to take his rightful place beside you. His right hand was still holding yours, and he used his free hand to rub gentle circles on your lower back to comfort you. You breathed in his scent- a mix of dried sweat and blood with a hint of his perfume clinging to the fabric of his collar. It was a familiar scent, something that soothed you despite being thousands of feet in the air with no stable architecture to calm your nerves. You just had to trust that the Adepti architectures knew what they were doing when they built this pavilion.

"Okay," You whispered to him.

Surprisingly, the climb was easier than you initially expected. It did help that Childe was almost carrying you the rest of the way, but leaning into him was inevitable and unavoidable. It wasn't because you wanted to be buried deeper into his chest while he held you close to the point that the exposed skin on your lower back was starting to burn because his clothed fingers were just lingering there. No, definitely not that. You were simply prioritizing your safety.

"See? It wasn't that hard, right?"

"You could have told me that we'd be heading to the pavilion. I could have mentally prepared myself for the climb."

"Mentally prepare? I'm quite sure that clinging onto me the whole time put you at ease, hm?" You wanted to wipe the smug grin off his pretty face.

"Shut up before I make you, fatui."

He let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back and clutching his sides.

"You're honestly too adorable for your own good." He stepped closer and moved the hair out of your face as you felt another strong breeze blow by.

"I said shut it!" You felt a rush of heat spread across your cheeks as his eyes scanned your flustered figure.

"Here, take a seat." He motioned to the stone seat facing the sunset. "I did tell you that I'd show you a beautiful sight tonight."

"I trust your taste, so it better be worth it."

"When have I ever lied to you?"

You shot him a look. As you were about to open your mouth to speak, he quickly interjected with a defeated sigh.

"Don't even answer that." You could only chuckle as he sat down beside you, inching closer and closer until your shoulders were brushing against each other. This wasn't really the first time that you and him have been this close with each other.

You and Childe have a... complex relationship, simply put. It's not like you were dating, but the way he treated you- with respect, with care, with love; You wanted to melt in his arms as easily as you could fight him with your sword. You weren't really sure if Childe had romantic feelings for you because he never really talked about it, but you could only go off on his actions, and they directed to the one conclusion that he did have feelings for you.

However, as your former partner in research, Albedo, once said, "Do not assume unless stated otherwise. Logic and officiality back facts as much as they debunk assumptions." In reality, it was so easy to understand. Theoretically, it was easier. However, now that you were there in that position where all signs pointed to Childe having romantic feelings for you, you didn't know what to believe in.

Did you want to trust your gut instinct, or did you want to wait until Childe made it official and clear? It was a mindboggling situation for you because you also found yourself enamored by him.

Why... Why were you even enamored in the first place?

Maybe it was because you adored how he talked about his family. You could just listen to him for hours on end as he fondly tells you the tales of his adventures with Tonia, Anthon, and Teucer. It was the way that his deep cerulean eyes lit up whenever you asked about short anecdotes about his family that he could comfortably share with you. He adored his family so much that it made you feel... jealous. Aether was your only family, and you were still on the pursuit to finding him, so you were envious of how Childe could still visit his family back in Snezhnaya if he wanted to. You? You weren't even sure if your brother was still in Teyvat.

Maybe it was how he always tended to your wounds after each time you sparred. Although Childe claims that he's nothing more than a bloodthirsty hound who wishes for nothing but power and glory, he really can't stand seeing you with an open wound or a bleeding nose. While Childe is primarily the reason behind your injuries, he'd also be the first to bring you gauzes, band-aids, and medicine from Bubu Pharmacy. You'd always be touched since he tends to you first before he paid any mind to the bruises and cuts that adorned his skin.

"Your health is my priority, comrade. After all. who else could match my skills in combat if not you? That's why you better take care of yourself, or better yet, allow me to take care of you instead." His words echoed in your head, and you blushed, realizing the possible implications of his statement.

Maybe it was his surprisingly sharp memory. Though Childe could never compare to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's Consultant, Zhongli, he would often shock you at how he remembered things so well- especially when it came to you. One time, for your birthday, he bought you a necklace with your birthstone as the main gem adorning the fabric. You only ever mentioned your birthday once, and it was at an awkward moment during Hu Tao's birthday celebration, that's why you didn't think Childe would remember it at all.

"I pay attention to you more than you think, dear. I also happen to store things in my memory bank if they're that important to me." You remembered how he laughed as he insisted on putting the necklace on for you. Your hand instinctively latched on to the beautiful gem resting on your chest.

Maybe it was the way he called for your name. Whether he said your name in a battle cry, as a greeting, or in the middle of him teasing you, you were absolutely intoxicated with the way that your name rolled off his tongue. The way the syllables just always seemed so right when it was Childe who spoke them. Often, he would call you comrade, dear, or another endearing nickname he managed to create on the fly. However, when he spoke your name, it was always magical for you.

"Happy birthday, dear _____. I hope you enjoy this present!"

"It seems as though you've defeated me today. No matter, _____. I'm sure I'll triumph over you tomorrow."

"You look lovely as always, _____. Want to spar with me?"

"_____."

"_____."

"_____."

You were snapped out of your little daze. Your name being called over and over again wasn't just a hallucination caused by your infatuation with the eleventh harbinger. He was actually calling for you.

"Hey, _____? Are you feeling okay?" You blinked a few times before you realized that his blue eyes were practically puncturing your own. They were glazed over with concern, a sign that he had been calling you for a while now.

"O-Oh, I'm sorry!" You jolted, straightening your posture. "I was just fascinated by the sky, is all. I didn't mean to startle you."

"The sky, you say? Were you really thinking of the sky? Perhaps you were thinking about me instead?" His tone was teasing, a little more relaxed now that he knew you weren't feeling ill.

"The sunset was lovely. Although I see it everyday in Liyue Harbor, viewing it from up here in the pavilion is truly sensational. Thank you, Childe." You spoke, ignoring his attempt at riling you up. Of course, you were also ignoring the fact that he hit the nail right on the head with his guess.

"You didn't deny it, girlie." His voice was like a melody in your ears, a sweet harmony that made you feel elated. Anyway, why would you deny it? You were a woman of principle, which means you detested lying. It doesn't count as lying if you neither confirmed nor denied his guess, right? Right, keep telling yourself that.

"Don't flatter yourself." Your curt reply was met by another laugh.

"It should be anytime now," His words met the wind and your unknowing ears.

"What is?"

"Let's just wait for a few moments. I took you up here to see something more than just the sunset, after all." He gave you a wink, to which you just huffed and turned your crimson face.

A few moments passed, and Childe was already bouncing his leg up and down; Something you knew he only did when he was anxious or frustrated about something.

"Is something the matter?" You asked, watching his face grimace.

"Ah, perhaps my predictions were wrong." He stood up to stretch. "We were supposed to see something more than just the sunset, but perhaps Celestia just didn't want our little date to go as smoothly as I initially planned."

Hang on.

Date?

This was a date?

Your heart was racing and your mind began to fill itself with unanswered questions, but Childe knew better than to keep you waiting more than you already were.

"Hey, darling?" Your stomach dropped at the use of this nickname. "Do me a favor. Focus on the sky and don't look away until I say so."

You gave him a nod, unable to form the words that would suffice as a comprehensible sentence. He had you tongue-tied with just a simple nickname.

He walked away from where you were seated, just a few paces to your right and a couple of steps back. He was far enough to the point where you couldn't see him in your peripheral, but close enough for you to hear the jiggling of the adornments and chains on his clothes. You knew that sound even if it came from a mile away. You had it memorized by heart because of how many times you heard it before your sparring sessions began.

He took out his bow and was aiming to shoot an arrow.

Admittedly, there was a little voice at the back of your mind warning you about the potential danger just a couple of feet away from you. However, you decided to fight against it, knowing that the "potential danger" was just Childe. He'd never hurt you, right?

Despite the trust that you put in the ginger, you still closed your eyes as you heard him release the string of his bow. The quiet whizz of the arrow flew by your head, and when you realized that he wasn't shooting at you, you carefully opened your eyes to see a bright blue arrow shooting across the sky.

Your mouth went agape at the consecutive hydro-infused arrows flying across the velvet sky bedazzled with stars. The moon's glow illuminated the scenery, which made the setting all the more romantic and intimate. The vibrant hues of green and blue mixed with each other in the sky, creating an aurora borealis.

You were marveling at the number of arrows crossing the sky.

They were like shooting stars, except... they reminded you of Childe.

Though you knew they were only faux shooting stars, you closed your eyes.

"Archons, if you could be so kind, please allow me to be with him." You whispered to yourself.

You then opened your eyes to see the last arrow slowly fading away from your vision, and the hydro vision holder you loved so much sheepishly standing in front of you.

"I thought that the shooting stars would be visible tonight, that's why I asked you to come with me up here. Turns out my predictions were wrong. Maybe Scaramouche was right about the stars being a lie." He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

You giggled and looked at him, signaling to continue what he had to say.

"Although they were fake, I hope you liked them. I brought you here so that we could wish on the shooting stars together." His face was growing red, and you wanted to run up and hug him, if only your pride would stop getting the best of you.

"I loved them, Childe. Thank you for asking me out here today." You stood up and gave his hair a light ruffle, laughing at how he mocked you for doing so.

"So, what did you wish for?" He asked, taking a few steps closer to you.

"W-Well, uh," You began to stumble on your words, which caused you to involuntarily take a step back. With each step you took, Childe did too.

"Hmm?"

He managed to back you up against the pillar in the middle of the pavilion, and was enjoying the face you made as he trapped you between his arms.

"F-For good health! Yes, good health!" Yes, lying was against your principles, but you couldn't just say straight to his face that you wished for a relationship with him now, could you?

"Good for you then. You wanna know what I wished for?" His face came extremely close to yours, and you could feel his breath on your cheek.

"Wh-What is it?"

"You."

Your eyes once again met his deep blue orbs and they softened when he was staring straight into your soul.

"Can I kiss you?"

You gave a light nod, and he finally closed the gap between your lips.

Albedo was wrong.

You can definitely believe an assumption if the signs were obvious enough.

Omake;

"You totally wished for us to be together right?!"

"Oh, for the love of the Tsaritsa, please shut up!"

"You totally did!"

"I am seriously going to push you off."

"You're so mean, girlie!"

In the name of Kimura Ryohei being the VA of Childe and Kise from Kuroko no Basket

[everythingthemoontouches]

Hiii Jahn!🌙 I’m just a new follower. I discovered you while searching for D9 asks. I was amazed by your in-depth explanation on each placements. 🤍 I’d like to send in my D1 & D9 charts also for future spouse reading to understand more about it.Thank you so much!!🤍 Please take your time. I’ll patiently wait. 💕 Hoping you’ll have a lovely day/night! 🌹

Hello there

This, my love has been a longtime coming. First off I'm gonna introduce you to an intuitive read and then present it in a more formal, bulleted manner. You seem to ha e chosen quite a challenging path in this lifetime. Props to you for bravery. And a hug + some tea to help you brave it 💕 your life could be a beautiful movie on love, healing, growth, spirituality and personal power.

Future BAE seems to be stable, practical reliable with service being his love language. He is down to grow together, and help you walk in your power.

Taurus rising.

Scorpio 7th house. + Pluto + moon.

Wow. Lots of shadow work involved when it comes to close personal relationships. You need to turn that critical eye inwards.

Untill you work at managing or integrating your inner child issues, any partners you end up with will continue to trigger you. At its best, this is someone who helps you work through your feelings. Breakdown. Confront reality. Breakdown and rebuild yourself stringer than ever. A hades and persephone kind of love. Lots of sexual allure. Strength, protectiveness, passion, push and pull, makeup sex? Specially since the ruler of the 7th house (Mars) is in the 5th house. You're not the kinda person who'd be happy to marry just for stability. Passion and mutual attraction, love is a must.

Mars and rahu. Service. Over exerting for those you love. Days spent in bed. Service kink. Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets.

You're definitely attracted to people who help you better your place in the world. They have to have a little bit of ' I wanna do good / change the world in them'. A friendly leader kinda figure. Disciplined.

Your darakarka Mars is retrograde. Controlling. Dominant. Future BAE is definitely gonna overthink themselves into a worry when it comes to dating and wooing. Or they could think that only their way is the right / best way to do soemthing. Poor lil baby( I say baby, but as a Virgo Mars they're probably the person who takes charge, plans, overanalyzes things has a set way of doing things.) this could be someone who is an advocate for universal free education, teaches children for free or some such. Could second guess themselves when it comes to taking action.

Mars Rahu conjunction: sub kink. They'd want a lot of adulation. Could be from a different culture from you or have studied in a very different environment.

I think your fs gets better at dealing with overthinking after you guys tie the knot. They learn to be more at peace with themself, letting their intuition guide them instead of focusing too hard on trying to do the logical thing. Okay with being messy. May like to act and arrange things behind the scenes. Imagine coming home tired to find that they've already called the restaurant, arranged for your favorite food to be dropped off, warmed, alid out on the table. Gives me the vibes of a puppeteer(katputli - a rajasthani folk dance)pulling the strings. You can't see them, but the show goes on.

From being ficusssed on accumulating wealth your focus goes towards doing things that boost your sense of Self confidence. You could also grow more tactful as you learnt to seek out harmony. You probably become more direct and assertive as a result the peopep you attract are more easy going / Libra like.

I'm seeing a house for a wedding present? Or moving into your spouse's ancestral home. They could also come from a matrilineal lineage.

Your household could be supported by one or both of you working in tax, insurance, financial industries. There could also be soemthing related to life insurance.

Pluto and Saturn in the 7th is a tad concerning. There's a very heavy sense of some kind of karmic duty. Saturn is exalted in Libra.

Way too controlling. Narcissism. Moon Mars mother. Karmic ties. Moon 8th house.

U must learn to stand up for yourself.

If you're meant to have any babies in this lifetime, they'd probably visit you in a dream or a psychic trance before they come down to earth. Call it mothers intuition. This is just a gut feeling wrt your moon in 8th house in Scorpio in the D9. I say this because the moon rules the 4th house of home, and children are an important part of the house if you're a mom. The 4th house is also the home/ heartland what you'd protect.

You suppress your emotions. Emerges as a volcano. But a cold one. U turn to ice and grow aloof.

Out of body experiences

You need to learn to be more dominant and combative. I'd suggest watching the teal Swans video on creating a zero sum game in relationships. Strengthened by Aries ascendant in d 9. This life u gotta learn to fight for yourself, and not sit quietly because people attacked u or kept u under their thumb when u were younger by a strict dad.

OK, now let's look at the placements and aspects

D1 lagna (ascendant) VS D9 lagna

You go from comfort stability minded to taking more risks and initiative. Self Confidence increases. Assert your needs better.

Vargottama Moon

The moon is quite dominant as it does not change signs between d1 and D9. You're super cooperative and hate to disappoint people. I'd suggest reading up more on Anuradha Nakshatra.

Moon - Pluto - 7th house

Could indicate karmic ties or past life connections to FS. You work through a lot of your own inner insecurities, self doubt, lack mindset related issues in close romantic relationships. There could be some mother wound related issues. You can only love as deeply as you allow yourself to love yourself. In order to attract people who inspire positive growth in you, you must first sit with your shadow, examine why people trigger you, and make peace with yourself or, perhaps your mom?

Mars Rahu - sextile moon

Mars and Rahu are both impulsive action oriented Planets. Them sextile your Pluto and moon could lead you to feel quite triggered and attacked by the slightest hint of advice or suggestion from someone else. Sex with the wrong people can really mess with you. In a better manifestation good sex has you feeling liek you can change the world and also that you're super safe and secure.

Venus combust - 10th house

You need to feel appreciated for your uniqueness. Ego battles could arise and get in the way of finding, expressing love.

Saturn- Ketu Pisces

The ruler of your 7th Nakshatra this is someone who loses themself to community service, could do too much for the wrong cause. Money could come in from fish farming. Seduments or other aquatic culture.

Anuradha 7th house

This is a Nakshatra that focuses on achieving success by working with a group. Your fs is collaborative and good at managing people. Someone who shares success. And is hence likely to go far ahead in life. Major success may come later in life.

Mars 7th house

Expect healthy amount of frank, direct communication. Some arguments with FS. But there's also protectiveness, concern, and the will to do the best by someone. Mars and moon aspects indicate a healthy sex life. They're probably enamored by you. You in turn would find them super sexy.

7th Nakshatra lord and Ketu

Your fs and relation with FS is a highly spiritual one. You could both be looking for a soulful connection. There is love, there us duty there is a need to help each other value time, focus on the future. They could have been a strict disciplinarian figure Ina past life. You both probably have a knack to look down at your phone just in time tos ee an email / message alert from them? Perhaps you two run or help/volunteer at an institution for the mentally challenged.

7th house relation to pieces

OK, so this is where we have a lot going on. Mars opposes saturn. And is placed with Rahu. Mars here feels restrained. Your fs could feel blocked in their creative gifts. In the sense that all they want to do is focus on it, create, post, gain fame but saturn and Ketu try to restrict their creative time. They could be perfectionists. Having to redo things. Since Rahu is also in virgo there's a focus on creating things with the hands and fine tuning every single detail. Directed towards you, this is someone who is always encouraging you while trying to micromanage a lot of details because they think they're being helpful. This is sosmrhtinf you two could have in common so

Mars Darakarka: they teach u to fight for you. Opinionated. Honest. Perfectionist. Service before self. Hardworking. Have integrity. Very active mind.

Mars conjunct Rahu-venus D9 creativity

The 5th house rules creativity and with your venus in the 9th house in D9 your fs is someone who encourages u to be more creative and follow or take up a course to be better at your hobbies. It's like full creative freedom to be you and do you.

D9 Exalted Saturn

Justice. Duty. Not very affectionate but they make sure you have everything you need. Balanced approach. Someone thoughtful. They're fair in a fight.

Libra, venus ruled 7th house

Beauty, peace and harmony in thr relationship. You're not gonna feel like you're being taken for grated. They will treat you to nice things and probably have a schedule for dates and other such romantic leisure activities.

Jupiter rules 9th, in 2nd house

Philosophy. Art. Culture. Museums. Travel coudk be a key focus in your married life. This is something you two bond over. Could also strike God fortune when u do travel or go on pilgrimages. Luck and money via foreign sources.

Rahu in aquarius

Social media influence or you get better at making friends just make sure that they're not provoking you into taking uncalcukated risks or actions that are wya too bizarre. Could denote some kind of breakthrough with technology, a love for a high end gadget driven spaces. An interest in Photography. Any couples pictures posts would be well received. Like you're the couple that looks exotic in their photos. Radiant. Aloof, intellectual, stimulating and even more appealing together.

Jupiter Taurus in 2nd house of D9

Debilitated Jupiter 9th house- religious issues - venus 9th house - conversion?

You may have struggled with religious ideologies being forced on you, or the one you were born into didn't quite feel right. Your fs may follow a different religion or show you that being religious does not mean you feel bad about some of your lifestyle choices.

Pisces Mars d9: he is either tactful and charming or a bit manipulative. You may feel like you prefer to act behind the scenes. It may be a little hard to be recognized for the things you do untill you get really really angry.

D9 Cancer 4th house: the home is a serious source of pride. Beautiful interiors and you'd be quite guarded about who you invite over. The best meals. Soothing interiors.

Pilgrimage within the 1st year of becoming a mom ( Jupiter's aspect on the 9th house)

Venus in Sagittarius D9: future BAE is gonna love his freedom. He could be a workaholic.

Alrighty, that's all I've got today. I hope this helps. I wish you the best on your healing and integration journey

[rein-ette]

Engport Thoughts:

Warnings: this ain’t fancy sh/t ok it’s just the stuff I yell in my own head at 4 AM and its hella long too

I don’t really vibe with the view that engport’s power dynamic is skewed in Arthur’s favour, and that Port somehow loves Arthur more than Arthur loves him. Yes, Port has his moments of doubt, and yes, politically speaking for the past two centuries England’s been more powerful and relevant on the world stage. But nowadays they’re not that different, and while Port did harbour some serious resentment in the 1800-1900s because he felt that Arthur wasn’t treating him like an equal, in the century they spent apart I think he realized how much of that feeling came from his own self-hatred and fears rather than Arthur’s actions.

Like yes, there was the period after Napoleon where England controlled Port’s affairs for a while, and ofc there was the ultimatum — but is the ultimatums importance not sometimes overstated? Even for its time it was a pretty minor disagreement with little political fallout. To me, the ultimatum is only important as the last straw that broke the camel's back—since the decline of the Portuguese empire began, slowly at first and more noticeably after 1800, Ports own worries and anger and fear grew, often exacerbated by comparisons with England. Arthur noticed, but could do nothing about it; he couldn’t well have sacrificed British interests to assuage Ports nebulous feeling of inadequacy, and even if he had Port would only have seen it as pity. In fact Arthur didn’t know how to deal with it at all, so he said nothing. It’s that feeling when a friend or loved one says to you “I don’t deserve you” (as a way of saying “I’m not good enough”, not “you’re really great”) -- how is one supposed to respond? As a nation and a man Portugal needed to redefine the source of his own value, and that wasn’t something Arthur could do for him.

Of course Arthur may not have made this process any easier; in the best of times Arthur is about as good at communicating complex and tangled emotions as a sea cucumber, and when you add in the growing ambition of the British people and the daily European squabbles and power shifts, it all becomes a mess. I honestly think Arthur probably made the best choice available to him by not addressing it in the 19th century — if he had tried, his abrasiveness and Ports extreme sensitivity on this issue would surely have blown up their relationship sooner than 1890. To illustrate the point that this wasn’t a “Arthur treats Gabi as an inferior” issue, consider if England had briefly directed French policy like they did Portuguese after the Napoleonic Wars. Francis would of course start squawking up a storm, but I don’t think Francis would feel like him and Arthur were no longer equals. France in fact went through a similar experience as Portugal but hyperspeed from 1940-1950 where they had to confront going from Great Power to “stfu ur only on this council cuz the US is in a good mood.” But Arthur and Francis had a stable relationship during this time, because Francis’s identity and self worth (as a man, not a nation) is less rigid and based upon “providing for others” and “being Europe’s sole supply of shiny and yummy things” than Port's was.

So yeah, my point is that Arthur treated Gabi in the 1800s like he had always treated him — and even being extra careful not to aggravate his insecurities. It was Gabriel that felt more and more inadequate, irrelevant, powerless, so that when an issue comes along like the Pink Map; boom, you got urself a self-esteem issue bath bomb. Note that I’m talking about Artie and Gabi's personal interactions, NOT England’s diplomatic treatment of Portugal. Of course as states England recognized Portugal's diminishing relevance -- if they didn't, that would mean the English foreign office was bad at their job. And Gabriel was certainly intelligent and experienced enough to appreciate this distinction between interpersonal and international relationships, which is also why Gabi didn’t seek an argument with Arthur before 1890, either. He knew it wasn’t Arthur’s fault that he felt the way he did, but the humiliation of the ultimatum hit too close to home and he exploded anyways.

One last thought about their power dynamic: on an emotional level, I feel like Gabi has more cards to play than Arthur. Gabi holds so much sway over Arthur’s emotional well-being that I often think about how bad it could get if Gabriel chose to abuse that power. Arthur himself has so many insecurities and traumas that it would be so easy for Gabi, who knows him so well, to exploit them, especially when Arthur’s pretty much been hardwired after 9 centuries to trust Gabi. I think Arthur’s logic goes something like, if I can’t trust Gabriel than theres truly no one in this world I can rely on, which makes it, uh, really easy for Gabi to gaslight him. Like, if he just said “no one will ever love you but me,” Artie would believe that shit. He’d be on guard if it came from anyone else, but if Gabi says it mf would f/in internalize it. “If you leave me you’ll be alone,” “no one can forgive you for what you’ve done, but I will,” “if you died no one will give a shit but me.” These are all things Arthur half believes already, so it’d be a piece of cake for someone as astute as Gabriel to push him over the edge (@needcake has a great fic here about dark!engport which explores this abuse of trust). I think Port is actually very aware of this and goes out of his way to avoid saying things like that, precisely because he knows how fragile Arthur’s mental health is and how much he needs to trust Gabi. Sometimes this can be a burden on Port, too, which results in him softening his stance or giving in when he should draw a clearer line because he’s scared he’ll aggravate Arthur's insecurities.

TLDR; PORT'S PROBLEMS ARE NOT ALL MADE IN ENGLAND, PORTUGAL HAS ITS OWN DOMESTIC INDUSTRY FOR MANUFACTURING ISSUES™, and they’re actually very soft on each other and careful with each other’s feelings. They’re trying so hard, but history doesn’t give out medals for effort.

[thespoonisvictory]

So you’re probably the c!wilbur sympathizer I look up to and agree with the most, so I want your opinion on something. What are your thoughts on c!Wilbur and c!techno’s relationship during the pogtopia days?

first of all, that’s wild lol I’m glad you like my words!

warning: a lot of this could be interpreted as more fanon than strictly canon, because cc!techno does not like fleshing out his relationships or even really making them make sense (beyond phil).

so, wilbur and techno definitely knew each other before pogtopia, right?

after all- techno is the one to offer his help, and wilbur seems to indicate he already knows what techno’s deal is. they interact like good friends in ‘techno and wilbur make cave better’, and based off wilbur’s shock when techno killed tubbo, it’s pretty safe to assume he trusted techno to some degree. I think they were definitely allies and friends to an extent, with the massive caveat that wilbur is about two steps to the left of a breakdown from the moment the election ends and they meet techno.

where it gets complicated, however, is after the festival.

here, wilbur’s outward mental state goes from ‘gee buddy that’s a little extreme’ to ‘holy fuck this guy definitely shouldn’t be making any decisions for anyone oh god’. tommy recognizes this, niki and tubbo do as well. 

now, it could be stated that techno wasn’t aware at the time (after the festival that doesn’t make sense really although I’ve seen people say it), or thought that wilbur had just changed more towards anarchy, but given that he says to phil that wilbur was ‘kind of evil’ and generally thought of him poorly, it’s clear he knew Something was up.

which makes sense! he saw wilbur go from generally trusting and kind to very, well, not, and saw him go from ‘stay peaceful. stay quiet! stay safe!’ to ‘let’s just blow everything up.’

I want to emphasize that purely from an logical perspective, I don’t think techno could have not noticed anything. there’s having a lack of social awareness or picking up on subtle cues, and then there’s whatever the fuck c!wilbur was going through. 

and yet- he doesn’t say or do anything? 

techno was the only other seemingly stable figure of authority in pogtopia. he was wilbur’s friend, and ally. and yet, he enthusiastically joins wilbur in their plan to blow things up.

it feels to me very much like techno was either purposefully ignoring wilbur’s decline because he wanted to believe that someone was on his side rather than actually communicating (because no one on the goddamn server does), or he was aware and taking advantage of the fact that wilbur was compromising his ideals/literally having a breakdown because it benefited his goals.

*obligatory reminder that techno is not responsible for wilbur’s mental health decline, nor did I expect techno to be the cure for it. it’s more like ‘wow, techno is being kind of enabling toward’s wilbur’s spiral for his own benefit. yikes.’*

wilbur seems suspicious of techno, but after the festival, techno is a constant to him. he’ll kill them if he needs to, he’s not someone he can confide in, but he can understand techno, rely on him to act as expected. he needs techno to fight tommy, to confirm this simplistic view he receives from techno’s complicated actions at the festival, to be just another piece in his narrative so he can compartmentalize the shit he’s going through.

I think wilbur’s initial anger at techno for killing tubbo was squished down deep inside to maintain that constant, much like his anger at dream for tommy’s treatment is now.

but- techno won’t question him, won’t care if he’s a villain, won’t be scared by him, and wilbur is thankful for that, even if he maybe shouldn’t be. they never communicate what they truly want to anyone, really, and they’re only united in their desire to destroy l’manburg, albeit with incredibly different motives.

you could argue that neither of them are healthy for each other, I would argue that this leans more heavily in techno’s direction at times. either way, it’s not great (much like most of wilbur’s relationships in pogtopia).

tl;dr: techno and wilbur were allies, maybe friends, but they weren’t any good for each other, due to techno being a shit communicator and very self focused and wilbur being a mental wreck and also very self focused.

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

Forever

Summary: Logan knew it was just a matter of time before Remy left him. There was only so much one person could give before they needed something in return, and Remy was going to hit that breaking point sooner or later. Remy just wished Logan could see how much he was giving them. Content: Blind!Logan, insecurities/self-worth issues in relation to being blind, mentions of becoming blind, fear of being dumped, crying, hurt/comfort, happy ending, nb!Remy Pairing: Romantic losleep Notes: Written in @emo-disaster‘s blind logan au- I suggest you read their stuff before this, though technically this fic can stand alone. Also, I’m not blind, and my knowledge of living life blind is pretty limited, so!! if there are any inaccuracies in this fic please let me know and I’ll do my best to remedy them!

~

    It had been months since what Remy had taken to calling ‘the accident.’ Logan had his own name for it, but Remy said it was too long and not good for his mental health, so Logan tried to avoid thinking of it as ‘the completely preventable accident that changed everything and stole away the stars’ and just referred to it by Remy’s name for it.

    Logan was adjusting. He was learning how to use a cane to get around and getting fairly good at it. He had learned braille. He could move about his and Remy’s house independently. He could do a lot of things independently now.

    That didn’t, however, make Logan independent, and he couldn’t help but be bothered by it.

At first, the only thing he was bothered by was how useless he felt. He hated how much he had to rely on Remy to do things that used to be mundane and commonplace. Remy was amazing, of course, and Logan couldn’t ask for anyone better to help him, but that comfort only helped so much.

    Eventually, however, he got used to it. It was survival of the fittest, after all- he was in a new situation, he had to adapt. And if adapting was letting Remy help walk him around the house until he got better with his cane and memorizing floor layouts, then that was what Logan would do.

    As soon as he had accepted that, however, a new problem ‘reared its ugly head’ in Logan realizing just how much of a burden he had become. Remy would never let Logan call himself that, Logan knew, but it couldn’t stop him from feeling like one.

     Remy seemed to always be there when Logan needed them, whether to help him with something or even to just take a break and relax with him. Not to mention, Remy had quit their job for Logan- they said that they could freelance program just as well, that they preferred the new flexibility in their life because of it anyways, but Logan knew that was just a cover. Without a stable job, Remy had no benefits, no insurance or medical plans, no promise of a paycheck. Until Logan found a job- a new one; the accident may have been the byproduct of his own foolish past times, but that didn’t mean he felt chemist was really the job for him anymore- Remy was the sole provider for the both of them, working a job with no guarantees just so they’d be there if Logan needed them.

    And Logan… well, he was getting better at not knocking things over when he tried to perform basic tasks. 

    Suffice to say, he felt pretty useless. Useless and… confused. Remy was doing so much work, all of it for Logan’s sake, but they were just… boyfriends. Dating. Not married, not engaged, not bound together by any real promise or law. It had to be easier, Logan thought, to just dump him so that they could move on with their life.

    He had decided, after a bit of thinking, that Remy was just waiting for a good time to dump him. Dumping someone right after they lost their eyesight would be rude, and even if they weren’t going to keep dating, Logan was sure he and Remy would still be friends. Remy probably just wanted to help Logan adjust to his new life before informing him that there was no way they were going to work now. And while Logan did appreciate the sentiment, waiting for that day to come, for the figurative other shoe to drop, was becoming a tense activity.

    Because as logical as he knew the action would be, for Remy to dump him and move on, therefore allowing them to continue to live their life unburdened of Logan, Logan still feared the day it would come. He loved Remy, after all, and even if the break-up would be better for them, Logan knew he would miss them, miss cuddling with them and sassing with them and hearing them call him ‘starshine’ and the smell of coffee that always hung about them.

    But it would be better for them. So as much as Logan hated the thought of it, he knew it had to happen. And he knew he would be alright, eventually, as long as he could remember that, even if Remy wasn’t his anymore, they’d be happier.

    Which is how he had ended up here. He was sitting in one of the dining room chairs, his feet lifted up and balancing on top of the base rungs of it to avoid putting his feet down into milk or ceramic. It had been an accident, of course. He hadn’t meant to accidentally hit the side of his mug of milk too hard when he was trying to pick it back up, he hadn’t meant to forget just where it was on the counter in the first place. But he had, and it had fallen and broken, and Remy had still shown up and refused to let Logan try and clean it up, and it was still all his fault that Remy was busy cleaning the floor of Logan’s mistake instead of working.

    Of course, Logan was getting better about this. Mistakes like this one didn’t happen often. But they still happened. And it was still always Remy fixing them.

    “Why are we still together?” Logan asked, regretting it as soon as the words made it out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Just because he knew Remy was going to break up with him didn’t mean he wanted to make it happen any sooner. But words said couldn’t be taken back, and Logan knew both he and Remy had been thinking them much too long anyways. Might as well put it out in the open.

    Logan didn’t have to see Remy to know they had stopped cleaning, to know they were looking at Logan now, to know they were tilting their head and furrowing their brow. “What?” They said, voice quiet and confused.

    Logan tugged on his fingers, not bothering to hide the nervous action. “Why are we still together?” He repeated, because surely Remy must’ve missed the question, because this was really the perfect moment to end it, to end them, and if they knew what Logan had said they would’ve already taken their chance-

    Logan’s hands were suddenly in Remy’s, his boyfriend apparently now in front of him. Their grip was gentle but firm, and for a brief moment Logan wished they were holding him instead so that he could melt into that grip. “Because I love you.” Remy said, simply, as if that was all there was to it, as if that was an answer and an explanation all wrapped up in one.

    “So?” Logan asked, hating himself more even as he did. He loved Remy too, so much, and they didn’t deserve to have their love met with ‘so.’ But Remy could love again, could love someone better, love someone who didn’t need to constantly be cared for. “You can love someone else.”

    “I don’t want to love someone else, darling.” Remy responded, pain and worry now colouring their words. “I’m happy just as I am, right here, loving you.”

    Logan shook his head. “No you aren’t.” He said miserably.

    Thumbs rubbed over the back of Logan’s hands, the gesture likely meant to be reassuring. “What makes you say that?”

    “You can’t be happy like this. Helping me with… helping me with everything. Paying for everything. Doing everything.” Logan told them, squeezing Remy’s hands in lieu of being able to squeeze his own. “And you can’t… you can’t love a burden.”

    Remy squeezed Logan’s hands back, and Logan could tell from the grip it wasn’t just reassurance, wasn’t just a reminder that Remy was there. It was a reaction of surprise; probably surprise that Logan had called them out so easily. It was kind of them to say they were happy and all, but… Logan would rather they be actually happy than they try to be happy in a place where they couldn’t be.

    But then Remy spoke, tone urgent and tight as if they needed Logan to hear whatever they had to say. “You’re wrong, beloved. Completely wrong.”

    “Remy-”

    “You’re not a burden. Gods, Lo, you could never be a burden to me.” Remy said fiercely, one hand releasing Logan’s and resting on his cheek instead. “I love you. I’m happy with you.”

    “For how long?” Logan asked, his voice breaking as he spoke. Everything about Remy’s voice and words screamed real, but even if Remy still loved him now, Logan knew it couldn’t last.

    “I- Forever. Logan, I’m going to love you forever.” Remy replied, both of their hands now on Logan’s cheeks.

    Logan reached up, hands finding Remy’s wrists and holding onto them. He wasn’t sure if his eyes had been open before then or not, but they were squeezed shut now as he forced his tears not to fall. “It can’t last. You’ve already given up so much for me… you can’t keep giving forever. You’ll tire of it and then you’ll tire of me and you won’t love me anymore, no matter what you say.”

    For a moment, there was silence. Logan wished he could see Remy’s face, see what they were thinking, what they were feeling, but it was the reason why he couldn’t that had gotten them there in the first place.

    “You’ve been thinking about this for a while.” Remy said. It wasn’t a question.

    Logan nodded and the grip on his cheeks increased, even though it was still gentle. He let out a small sigh. He was going to miss this.

    “I love you, starshine, and that’s not changing anytime soon.” Remy reiterated, voice soft. They pressed a kiss to Logan’s forehead, one just as gentle as their tone. “I just finished a project. Do you want to cuddle and listen to Big Hero 6?”

    They’re avoiding the subject. Logan thought, his metaphorical heart falling. That meant… Remy knew what he was saying was true. They knew that, one of these days, it was all going to fall apart. Logan took it as a small win that they were distressed enough by the thought they were avoiding it, however. That meant that, for however long it would last, Remy did love him. Logan could work with that. He could cherish that.

    “Don’t you have to finish picking up my mug?” Logan asked. He hated to bring it up, a reminder of just another reason why they weren’t going to work out, but a slippery floor with ceramic shards was more of a hazard than it had ever been for him before. It was for the best that it was cleaned completely.

    “It’s already taken care of, hun, don’t worry.” Remy told him, moving their hands from Logan’s cheeks to hold his hands instead, helping him to his feet. They let go of one of Logan’s hands, clearly intending to let him lead the way to their bedroom, but Logan stepped closer to them and pressed himself into their side. He wasn’t sure how many more of these moments he’d be able to get, and he wanted to make the most of every one.

    Without hesitation, Remy slipped an arm around Logan’s shoulders, holding him close. They still held one of his hands as well, starting off towards the bedroom at a pace that was steady and consistent, making it easy for Logan to match their stride.

    They broke apart when they reached their bedroom, Logan moving to settle on the bed while Remy (presumably) saved out of their work and closed their laptop. Barely a minute passed before Remy was back, pulling Logan down so that his head was resting in their lap, already starting to play with Logan’s hair as they turned on the movie. Logan tried to focus on the niceness of the moment and not how much he’d miss it.

    Because he would miss it, would miss the light scrape of Remy’s nails against Logan’s scalp as they convince him to relax, would miss Remy’s warmth as they held him close to them, would miss the sound of Remy lightly humming until the movie started and sometimes even when it was playing. He would miss Remy.

    But while he was missing Remy, Remy would be free and happy. And if the choice was happiness without Logan or Logan without happiness, well…

    If you love something, let it go.

    ~

    “Remy, why are we here?”

    “You’ll see babe, you’ll see. Er. You’ll understand.”

    Logan ignored Remy’s slip of tongue. It was just an expression, and Logan had far more important things to worry about than phrasing that was technically inaccurate.

    For example, why he and Remy were at the beach.

    Remy had, of course, told Logan where they were going before they left, but Logan could’ve guessed where they were even if they hadn’t. He could hear waves lapping on the shore, and the smell of saltwater was still very recognizable. None of that answered why they were at the beach, but Logan figured it was nice to at least know where he was.

    Remy bumped their arm against Logan’s, allowing him to take it if he so pleased, and Logan accepted the offer of help gratefully. He felt secure enough in his skills with a cane to get around by himself, but he hadn’t exactly attempted to navigate a beach yet.

    Still providing no explanations, Remy began to move forward, their grip on Logan’s hand gentle but firm as they walked. Though Logan was careful to not go too fast, he found the sand to be less of a challenge to traverse than he thought. He still didn’t let go of Remy’s hand, however.

    Logan stopped when Remy did, guessing from the sound and smell that they were now standing right on the shore. He poked his guide stick forward, suspicion confirmed by the small splash noise that was made when his stick hit ground again.

    “Do you mind taking your shoes off, love?” Remy asked after a moment of them just standing there in silence, both enjoying the moment in their own way. On old instinct, Logan turned towards Remy, hoping his confusion showed on his face. It must have, because Remy chuckled before adding, “I’ll explain in a minute, I promise.”

    Though he was confused, Logan did as Remy asked, using their arm to support himself as he tugged off his shoes. Having not put on socks (also at Remy’s request), Logan tried not to shudder at the texture of sand directly against his feet. It wasn’t a bad texture, just an odd one. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt it.

    Logan dropped his shoes next to him. “Now what?” He asked, curious as to where all of this was going to.

    He wasn’t expecting Remy to squeeze his hand and ask him, surprisingly seriously, “Can you feel the sand beneath your feet?”

    “Can I-” Logan shook his head, more puzzled than he had been a moment ago. “Of course I can, Remy. My eyes are damaged, not my nervous system.”

    “I know, babe, don’t worry. Just asking.” Remy said, which cleared nothing up for Logan. Remy tugged just a little bit on Logan’s arm, prompting him forward. “Step forward with me?”

    Logan did so, only shivering a little as he stepped into the cold water. Despite the chill, the feel of the water around his feet and lapping at his ankles was nice.

    “Can you feel the water?” Remy asked, once more prompting Logan to turn towards them, as if facing them would help Logan read them.

    “Yes, I can.” Logan answered, still confused, now waiting for Remy to provide him with an explanation.

    A breeze blew by. “Can you feel the wind in your hair?” Remy asked as it happened. Logan nodded. “Can you feel the sun on your skin?” Logan nodded again, the feeling of sun-warmed skin plenty familiar.

Remy tightened their grip on Logan’s hand. “Can you feel my touch?” They asked, their voice sounding slightly wrong, half a pitch too high.

    Logan squeezed their hand back. “Of course I can, Andromeda.” Logan told them, the old but beloved petname rolling off his tongue before he could stop it. He had been trying to use less of them recently, to make the inevitable transition from dating to being single easier, but something about Remy seemed to be off, and it would always be Logan’s first reaction to try and help Remy when something was wrong.

    Remy let out a small laugh at the petname, but Logan knew the reaction was a fond one, and he didn’t need to see Remy to know they were smiling now, a small but sappy expression that Logan intended to never forget.

    There was a rustling noise as Remy moved, and a moment later their free hand was gently getting Logan to let go of his guide stick, leaving it to hang off his wrist instead. Hand now empty, Remy left his hand so that it was open and palm-up before pressing something into it and curling Logan’s fingers around it.

    “Can you feel that?” Remy asked, their voice still a little off but almost in a good way, as if they were borderline giddy or trying not to be excited. Intrigued, Logan pressed his fingers even closer around the small object, trying to discern what it was.

    It didn’t take long for Logan to figure out what it felt like it was. Circular, metallic but not heavy, no center. It felt like it was a ring. But it couldn’t be a ring- there was only one reason Logan could think of that Remy would be giving him a ring, and that wasn’t- that was never going to happen, so it couldn’t be a ring.

    Further investigation of the object seemed to only be providing evidence to it being a ring, however. The hole in the object seemed to be just big enough to fit snugly on his ring finger. There were three slightly uneven bumps embedded in the metal, the middle one a little bigger than the others, just like inset gemstones. Raised points on the opposite side of the possible gemstones felt like braille, and after a moment Logan was able to make out the word they stood for- ‘forever.’

    “The braille’s new.” Remy said softly as Logan ran his finger back over the dots again, trying to see if it was a different word, but only coming up with forever, forever, forever. “The ring’s not.”

    “I…” Logan didn’t know what to say. The ring being old probably meant that Remy had gotten it before the accident- which was another thing he was going to have to contemplate soon- but adding the braille meant after the accident, meant after Logan went blind and after quitting their job and after having to do so much to help Logan, meant after all of that and still waiting to give Logan the ring. It meant… it meant more things than Logan felt he could process right then, maybe ever.

    “I’m not asking you to marry me.” Remy said, which made Logan’s heart ache even though he knew there must be more to the explanation, even though most of him knew Remy wouldn’t want to marry him anyways; not now. “I don’t know if you’re ready for that, or if you want that. That’s not my call to make, and that’s not my decision to force on you. But that’s not the point.

    “I love you, Logan. I loved you before the accident, I loved you after the accident, and I still love you now. That hasn’t changed.” Remy stopped for a moment, their free hand coming to rest on Logan’s cheek, catching the one tear that had begun to slip down Logan’s cheek and wipe it away. “Last week… you kept talking about being a burden, about how I would get tired of helping you and then I’d get tired of you. You said I was giving everything without getting anything. I told you you were wrong, but I could tell you didn’t believe me.”

    Logan didn’t respond to that. Remy was right; he hadn’t believed them. Maybe he believed that Remy still loved him in the moment, but he wasn’t a fool. No moment lasts forever, and a relationship built on one person always giving and the other always taking was a doomed relationship.

    “So that’s why I’m telling you again. You’re wrong, babe, so completely horribly wrong it really puts a shame to that big brain of yours.” Remy went on, tone both teasing and adoring, catching Logan off-guard. “You’re not a burden. I don’t think it’s possible for me to tire of you, much less leave you. And to say I’m giving without getting is a little rude to the love of my life, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped thinking like that.”

    “...What are you saying?” Logan asked, slowly, fingers still pressing the ring into his hand hard enough to indent his palm, well aware another tear was slipping down his face even in his confusion.

    “I’m saying that you give me so, so much, sweetheart.” Remy answered, sounding the slightest bit choked up, and Logan had the feeling if he touched their face he’d find tear tracks running down their cheeks. “You give me cuddles when I try to get out of bed before you and you indulge me when I do the same to you. You let me hold your hand even though I’m perfectly capable of just following you because I want to hold your hand. You rant about space and stars and planets to me when even slightly prompted. You accept my snark with a smile you pretend isn’t fond and you offer me a completely and unabashedly fond smile when I’m just playing with your hair. You give me your love,” Remy’s voice cracked there, but Logan had the feeling that wasn’t a bad thing, “and that is worth so, so much more to me than I think you know.”

    Logan was properly crying now, tears falling down both his cheeks and making a mess of his face. Remy didn’t seem to mind as they pressed their forehead against Logan’s, pulling him close.

    “It would be my greatest honor, pleasure, and joy to spend the rest of my life with you, to the point I’m more than willing to have it stamped out on some government paper.” Remy said, voice quieter but still filled with only love. “And if you wanted, I would marry you right now, or tomorrow, or in a week, or in a month, or in a year, or in a decade, or never. I would marry you if you were blind, deaf, and mute. I would marry you anywhere, anytime, anyway, because I love you, so damn much, and nothing is going to change that, much less the fact that you’re blind.”

    “I love you.” Logan said, suddenly, his grip on Remy’s hand tightening almost too much. “Don’t leave me.”

    “Never.” Remy vowed in a breath. “That’s the whole point of this.” Their hand left Logan’s cheek, moving down to hold Logan’s hand, interlocking their fingers and trapping the ring between both of their palms. “I wanted you to be able to feel my love.” And then, softly, so softly spoken Logan almost missed it, “Can you feel my love?”

    It was, objectively, a ridiculous question. One can’t feel love- it’s an abstract concept, something you can know exists in words and actions but can’t feel all by itself.

    And yet, Logan knew without a doubt that the answer to Remy’s question was a firm yes. He could feel Remy’s love, logic be damned. He could feel it in every word Remy had just said. He could feel it in the warmth of Remy’s hands in his, to keep him steady in more ways than one. He could feel it in the new braille raised on old metal.

    He could feel it because he knew it was there.

    It only took one stumbled step forwards before Logan was against Remy’s chest, the ring once more firmly held in his hand alone as Remy’s arms wrapped around him and held him close, close enough Logan could feel Remy’s heart beat against their chest. He held onto Remy as best he could, pressing his face into Remy’s shoulder and crying, no longer in fear of an approaching end but in the overwhelming joy of a beautiful future.

    “I’ll marry you.” He said a minute or two after he had finished crying, when it was just him and Remy, holding each other silently.

    “You don’t have to.”

    “I want to.” Logan responded, aware that he should wait, aware that he should step back from the situation and not make any decisions like this until he had calmed down from new realization that Remy wasn’t going to leave him, to make sure he wasn’t just trying to figuratively snatch Remy up before they could change their mind and get away from him. But he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to marry Remy and he wanted Remy to know he wanted to marry them and he wanted Remy to know that now.

    Remy chuckled as they pressed a kiss against the top of Logan’s head, and Logan liked to believe he could feel Remy smiling as they did so. “Then you’ll marry me.” They promised before gently pulling away from Logan, one arm still wrapped around his waist as they took the hand Logan was holding the ring in. They pulled slightly at his fingers and Logan opened his hand, allowing Remy to pick up the ring before they turned his hand over, holding the palm of it while allowing the fingers to stretch out.

    “May I?” They asked, the quiet request causing Logan to blush for reasons he wasn’t quite sure of.

    “Please do.” He responded, also quiet, his words laced with longing as well. Slowly, as if they wanted to savor the moment, Remy slipped the ring onto Logan’s finger. Logan wiggled his fingers, happy when the ring didn’t move. It fit perfectly.

    “And now, we’re engaged.” Remy said, raising Logan’s hand so that they could kiss the back of it, causing Logan’s blush to deepen as he smiled. He leaned forwards a bit, happy when Remy met his lips a second later with their own.

    The kiss wasn’t long- neither Logan nor Remy cared much for making-out or lip kissing in general- but it didn’t need to be. They already knew the importance of the moment, the beauty of each other, the love they shared that some might have called too much but they would’ve called not enough. The kiss was just a symbol of that. It didn’t have to be long, it just had to be theirs.

    Logan pulled away after a few seconds, once more resting his head on Remy’s shoulder, this time not to cry but just to be close to them. He held his hands close to his chest, running his finger over the braille on his ring over and over and over, the repeated motion and word a continuous reminder of all that had just happened and all that would happen.

    Gentle fingers worked their way into his hair, Remy settling their head on top of Logan’s as they played with his hair. “Do you want to go home and celebrate with cuddles?” Remy asked, their tone soft and fond and sweet in ways Logan wasn’t sure he had heard before but wanted to hear forever.

    “Soon.” Logan answered. “I want to stay here a little longer.”

    “Anything for you, starshine.” Remy replied, kissing Logan’s head again. Logan smiled into their neck, relaxing against them even more.

    Though Logan could still feel the sand beneath his feet, the water around his ankles, the wind in his hair, and the sun on his skin, he wasn’t focused on them. His attention was held entirely by Remy holding him, by Remy’s hand combing through his hair, by Remy’s chest steadily moving up and down in time with their breaths, and by the braille on his ring. His attention was held by warmth and comfort and Remy. His attention was held by love. And his love’s attention was held by him.

    And despite what challenges they might face, despite Logan’s worries and fears, despite everything that might stand in their way, that wasn’t going to change. They were going to be together. They were going to be in love. They were going to be happy.

    And they were going to be like that forever.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Yamata-No-Orochi (Part 1) Uncle Caesar

We’re finally getting to the tail end of the Story Quests. Thanks for reading this far if you have. :D I’m so happy writing this, I’m just plugging story beats out like a happy like choochoo train, but this took a bit of thought.

This scene does not appear in the novel, manhua, or the game, however, it logically sets up a conflict that should have been there had the MC had real relationships with the characters and actual agency in the story. 

Enjoy!

It was about 9 am in the morning when Caesar got you out of bed and dressed you up as usual. He didn’t choose anything too casual or too sexual. He chose a yellow pleated skirt, a simple cotton white blouse and warm navy jean jacket, and knee high waterproof boots and invited you out with him for the day.

“Where are we going?” You had asked him.

“Just out shopping. Whatever you like. You’ve had a hard time. So it will be good for your mental state to get out and not be shut in feeling sorry for yourself.” He replied. But his eyes are not sunny, but clouded, like the sky over Tokyo.

So you spent the day shopping after breakfast, mostly for clothes and shoes. But Caesar took you to a toy store and insisted you buy something to play with. “You never played as a kid right?” He had asked you.

“No… not really. I liked to watch movies.” 

“Pick out a game. Anything you want.”

He didn’t accompany you shopping for the toys. He stood outside, smoking the cigar with his umbrella, not minding the rain. You were concerned about Kaguya but the disturbed weather was disrupting a lot of the internet access around Tokyo and the umbrellas provided physical disguise against searching surveillance cameras. Caesar didn’t mind being out, and while you shopped, he was keeping watch.

You spent a long time pacing the shelves, back and forth until finally you settled on a Sailor moon action figure. You pick it up and smile at the signature phrasing. “In the name of the Moon, I will punish you!” You could still hear the words clear in your head.

You come out with your single doll in the small bag and you put your two fingers in a V-shape over your eye playfully, just like the heroine in the Anime.

Caesar grinned broadly, but the sadness did not leave his eyes. 

You’d spent so much time in the stores that the sun  was already going down. “I’ve made reservations for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Won’t Nono get jealous?” You snort.

“Not at all. She knows she has all my heart in her hands. But it's important to talk to you. You gave a starheart to Ruri Kazama last night. That means he reached you, right?”

“Yes, but … he’s the lead member of a yakuza group and he’s kinda out of my league.”

He waved the cigar in his hand airily. “It’s good for a young woman to raise her station through marriage in any case. But in your case, I don’t think any man is out of your league. If you think he is above you, then that’s a good thing. There are not many men like that. Much less, a man like that who you’d find attractive enough to grant a star-heart.” 

You laugh. “You sound like an old Uncle playing matchmaker.”

“I know and I hate it, but I’ve given it a lot of thought.” He grimaced. “I thought you would be good for Lu Mingfei, but he’s a stable European Hybrid who grew up in a stable household. You’re a wild thing of the White King. You’d never be a good match.” Caesar mused. “Ruri, on the other hand, knew more about you than you did about yourself. You seem to understand each other well. You clicked at the Takamagahara Club. I was pretty pissed about that but now… not so much.”

You’d walked until you reached the historical luxury district. There were restaurants here that were passed down generation to generation for hundreds of years. They survived both World War I and World War II. The bricks and mortar were older than Anjou.

He reached over your head to open a small glass door. Inside, you saw only an old Japanese man behind a counter, who looked at you through his craggy face. You figured that this place was by reservation only simply because it was so small. “Let me guess? You bought out every table in this place?”

“That’s right. Lu Mingfei helped me with the Japanese.”

“Is he doing alright?” You ask.

“Yep. He’s got that girl wrapped around his little finger.”

“That’s kinda messed up.” You say, recalling your last conversation with Chance about Izanami using Izanagi’s feelings to further her own ends.

“Well, hopefully it will turn out to be genuine.”

You shake your head smiling. “You really are an Old Uncle.”

Caesar pulls out the chair for you and you sit. “Don’t worry about ordering anything. Everything here is good.”

A waitress came and poured sake into saucers from a black bottle and you remember that you promised Caesar to have a date over Sake and this was it. You can’t believe you forgot about that but given everything that was happening it was understandable. It was more incredible that Caesar actually remembered.

Once the sake was poured, Caesar raised his saucer and you joined him in a toast. “A toast to the best damn freshman I’ve ever met.”

“And a toast to the fearless friend of justice!”

The sake was good, not quite sweet but full of the aroma and taste of rice in the alcohol.

“I want to discuss your future at Cassell after this. It’s unfortunate to say, but once this mission is over, even if I’m alive at the end, I won’t be able to shield you from the school board or anyone else.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh? The Gattuso heir admitting that he can’t protect a lady? Did I wake up in an alternate universe?”

But Caesar didn’t laugh or crack a smile. “It’s the official policy of Cassell College not to admit anyone with unstable blood, like yours. My family pursued Chu Zihang because they suspected him of being of poor bloodline. Had they succeeded, they would have sent him away on an island, far from human civilization. I was able to vouch for him at his trial and foil their plans, but I won't’ be able to help you if you run afoul of them because after this mission, I’m graduating, MC. I will go back to Italy and marry Nono.”

Your expression falls and you feel a trapdoor has just opened underneath you. You were still heartsick over losing Chance. But Caesar was your support staff you could lean on. Without him, you would have given into despair long ago. How could you stand on your own now? You would find a way surely but you hadn’t expected to part from him so soon.

He stares at you now and you understand the cloudy look in his eyes. “I want to make an arrangement with you. For your safety. But it will take you far away from me. So I don’t like it. But I feel it's the best for you. If you agree, then… alright.”

“Alright,” You echo. “Let's hear it.”

“We talked a little last night about how Ruri Kazama wants the Devil Clan to join Cassell and replace Hydra as the Japan Branch. But Ruri Kazama does not want to stay at Cassell and run the Devil Clan. His dream is to become a Kabuki actor and singer. He also mentioned that he recently lost his lover, and cannot help but feel extremely lonely. When he feels very lonely he looks for the loneliest girl and keeps her company. I think you can tell what I’m getting at.”

“Yes, we’re like mirror images of each other now.” You murmur. “So I will join the Devil Clan until Ruri can get them settled with Cassell College and then leave the Clan and Cassell to be a companion to Ruri Kazama?”

“You’ll be safer, and happier, with your own kind.” Caesar said, gloomily

You let out a breath. “But you’ll miss me.”

“I already do.” He reached for a cigarette and pulled it out. Old places like this didn’t mind smoking.

“Thank you for thinking of me. Of course, it really depends too on how well we get along.”

“You don't just give out star-hearts. Pursue him. I think it’ll be nice.”

The plate of artfully crafted fresh sushi was carried to you. Even though you have seen so many wonderful things in Japan, you continue to marvel at the creative ways they put rice together with fish and vegetables to make a bright and colorful display. Even the heads of the prawns served as a splashy centerpiece, their antennae waving slightly like bright orange fountains.

You eat in silence for a few minutes. Neither of you are adept with chopsticks so you just use your fingers. 

Finally Caesar broke the silence. “Can you tell me something? You mentioned Ruri Kazama would have to fight another lion. Who is this other lion? I saw that there is a mystery contender that also received a star heart.”

“He doesn’t have a name. I just call him Z, and he’s followed me my whole life. He won’t give up easily.” You lower your eyes and your chewing slows.

“Also a hybrid?” He glances at you, his blue eyes suddenly clear and sharp.

“Yes. The strongest hybrid out of all of Black Swan Bay.”

“Your old boyfriend.” Caesar looked out of the glass door at the front of the store.

“We were never really boyfriend and girlfriend. He trained me to fight. He’s specifically told me not to fall in love with Ruri Kazama.”

“Any particular reason why?” Caesar balanced the cigarette on his fingers.

“He says he knows how that story will end.” You look at him seriously. “He’s possessive and very jealous. It might not go well for Ruri if we end up together.”

“If you’re not boyfriend or girlfriend, what does he care who you end up with?” He put the cigarette between his lips and inhaled.

“I don't know.”

“What will happen if you defy him?”

“I’ll probably die. He’s the one who has guarded my life. My guardian angel. He says that he has known how to keep me alive from the very beginning. If I don’t do what he says, then he probably won’t keep guaranteeing my life.”

Caesar’s eyes narrowed and you saw the killer aura rise in his eyes. “Where can I find this Z person?”

You shrug. “He’s a mysterious thing. All these years and I still can’t figure him out. He just… has a lot of control over things that happen. Like everyone is a puppet on a string and he’s the ultimate puppetmaster. Even Chu Zihang couldn’t help but notice how fortunate it was that we ended up in the backyard of Genji Heavy Industries to hide. Or how the fortunate earthquake I caused managed to assist you in battle. He was the one who took me down to the Genji Elevator and showed me the deadpool even though Chisei Gen didn’t know about it. He was the one who told me to cause the earthquake that saved Lu Mingfei in the elevator.”

Caesar leaned forward. “So is he our ally?”

You lower your voice. “I think your purposes align. He views you as no competition to him. He only gets annoyed at my love interests. Since you are not pursuing me, he couldn’t care less what you do. But I’m telling you this, because if you do send me away with Ruri, it could have consequences both for Ruri Kazama and you.”

“A love triangle?” His eyebrows raise.

“Yes.” You chuckle. “I guess you could call it that.”

Caesar lets out a breath and a puff of white smoke. “Just when I thought I had it all figured out.”

“You almost did.” You giggle freely.

“I do have one ace in the hole. If I can guarantee your life, then that will free you right?”

“But I’m dying as an unstable hybrid… I…”

“Yes but so is that Uesugi girl. The documents in that folder said that the Black Swan Bay children only lived to age 20 and at that age they inevitably turned into deadpool. Erii was created as a dying ghost, the same as you, by the same people that created you. You’re both alive, but you are 18 and Erii is 21.”

You gasp, suddenly breathless. Z’s words to you, that the key to your survival is in Tokyo, come roaring back.

“If I can figure out the secret to how they’re keeping her alive, then you won’t need the Z person.” Caesar smiles, but it’s challenging, snarling.

“You’re kidding! You’re not seriously considering competing with Z!” You always felt that Z, deep down, was a killer, who taught you to be a killer. What Caesar was doing was a dangerous thing, putting himself in the line of fire of someone who wouldn’t hesitate to arrange his death the same way he had arranged everything else.

But Caesar was always like this, running headlong into danger and saying, ‘I’ll figure it out when I get there’. And appealing to fear would never dissuade him.

“I’m not competing for your heart, only your freedom. I don’t like men who threaten the lives of women. There’s actually more I can say, but given your position, I’ll keep it to myself.” He was still smiling that deadly smile, staring out the door as though seeing an unseen person.

“Oh… my god…” You sigh. “Well, if anyone could do it, it would be you.”

Your appetite significantly diminished. You felt cold and anxious. You wondered what Z would say if he ever appeared to you again. You wondered if Z would ignore Caesar, or if Caesar would simply disappear without a trace, as though he never existed.

You left the restaurant and Caesar pulled you close, one hand over your narrow shoulders. “You’re afraid of him. Aren’t you?”

You don’t answer, not even with a nod.

“That makes me more curious. Stay close to me then. That way, if he wants to keep you, he’ll have no choice but to show himself.”

[technospotatoes]

C!SAM - Redeemable Qualities Analysis (Dream SMP)

Hallo! I’m back with another brain rot post for ya’ll instead of doing my schoolwork :] 

Recently, I’ve been doing some thinking and theorizing with some friends on discord following Quackity’s huge lore stream (if you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend you watch it). I woke up this morning with a head full of many thoughts about C!Awesamdude and where his story could take us. Seeing as how there is going to be lots of change in the future with the server, there must be changes in these characters as well-- evil to good, good to evil, and the like. With these changes comes my thought: “can these characters be redeemed?” Here are my thoughts on how this applies to C!Sam.

Please let me know your thoughts and theories, I’d love to discuss with you! As always, strap in, it’s gonna be a long one :]

I hope you enjoy!

Author’s note: I want to start this off by saying that all of the contents being discussed are fictional, and are from the Dream SMP universe. I do not support the actions of these characters, but merely have interest in analyzing them through a lens of psychology and for entertainment purposes. Content of this post will contain spoilers up to 3/25/21 of the DSMP lore. I will also talk about ATLA a little bit ;)

Content warning: mentions of torture, manipulation, death, possible psychological trauma

(pls be safe ily)

What makes a redeemable character? 

  Redeemable characters are some of the most pleasing and favored characters in modern media. Their stories are rich with emotion, and they can even evoke some form of catharsis within the most skeptic consumers. Redeemable characters are memorable and inspiring, and without one, a story can feel empty. Before we apply this character trope to the Dream SMP and C!Sam, we need to answer a basic question in order to fully understand the complexity of redeemable characters and how they are so universally significant. 

What is a redeemable character?

  Simply put, a redeeming character or characteristic counteracts or corrects something negative. From a storytelling standpoint, a redeemable character is someone who has roots in good qualities, turns bad, and has the ability to revert their wrong choices to become a better person. 

Examples of redeemed characters in popular media include: 

Zuko - Avatar the Last Airbender

Boromir - Lord of the Rings

Kylo Ren - Star Wars

Severus Snape - Harry Potter 

  Zuko, for example, starts his story off as the villain. He tirelessly hunts down the protagonist, and will stop at nothing to achieve his goal to please his father. However, as the show progresses, we learn that Zuko wasn’t always bad. He was only driven to his path of villainy because of his fear of failure, of his father (the firelord and true antagonist of the show), and of a greater punishment than what he had already received. With the help of his uncle, Zuko learned to push through and accept his past, while also making amends with his wrongs and coming to the realization of who the true enemy was; ultimately choosing peace and unity over destruction and fear.    Zuko’s story is so appealing because it was drawn out. It was raw, it was real, and it was a genuine telling of how damaged people can heal, change, and come to accept themselves. Because he went through the process of redemption, he was not only able to be loved by those around him, but also by his audience-- And I believe that this can be the same case with any redeemable character. 

So how does this relate to C!Sam? How could he possibly be redeemable if he is not evil?

  C!Sam has become increasingly interesting to me in the DSMP lore, and he has shown how complex his character is-- in contrast to many first impressions that people have of him. Based upon his actions from the past, and his willingness to remain neutral in times of conflict, we can conclude that he sustains both “neutral good” and “lawful neutral/good” qualities. This means that Sam is a reliable character, driven by his own personal values, and is devoted to helping others (when he sees fit). Evidence of these qualities emerge…

When he sided with Pogtopia during the Manberg War to maintain good relations with Tommy and Tubbo. 

When he saved Hannah from the Egg

Created Sam Nook to assist Tommy in building his hotel

Built Pandora’s Vault for Dream

Showed concern for Ranboo after one of his denied prison visits

  Sam’s moral code is deeply rooted with good intentions; he keeps an eye out for his friends, maintains his relationships, assists in builds/projects, and also serves as a “stable adult figure” for some of the younger members of the server. In contrast to his logical outward appearance, C!Sam lets his emotions drive his decision making-- which can lead to many severe consequences depending on how he acts. However, recently Sam’s actions indicate that he is experiencing a flip in morals. 

Below are incidents that have led to C!Sam’s recent change in moral code. 

Incident 1: Trapped with the Egg

  Many weeks ago, during the height of character involvement with the Egg lore, C!Sam was lured into a trap by BBH and Antfrost. He spent about a day trapped in close contact with the Egg, and after he was saved by Puffy and Tommy, he was clearly changed. It is likely that the Egg is behind these sudden changes in character motivation for Sam… similarly to how it corrupted BBH, Ant, and Punz. Whether this is the case with Sam is unclear. 

Incident 2: Tommy’s death

  C!Sam and C!Tommy’s relationship within the DSMP lore is one of my favorite things to talk about. After his victory over the disk war and finally landing his nemesis in prison, Tommy was left empty, without much to do. He decided to take upon a new project to incite a new era of peace, and was able to enlist the help of Sam with building his hotel. Throughout this process (and under the watchful eye of Sam Nook), Tommy and Sam were able to develop a bond with each other through their work, along with their interactions at the Prison. 

  Sam has made it clear that he intends to defend Tommy no matter what-- but after his untimely death at the hands of C!Dream, Sam was deeply wounded. He felt as if he failed his promise to keep Tommy safe, and he made it clear that the blame for the “security issue” and C!Tommy’s death should be placed fully on him. No matter how selfless and responsible this makes his character appear, this event will only serve as the basis for severe consequences in moral change in the future. 

Incident 3: Confrontation with Quackity

  Following the large emotional impact of Tommy’s death, C!Sam is very vulnerable, because he is still within the stages of grief. C!Quackity came to Sam for a partnership, to take advantage of Sam while he was low to gain the upper hand. It’s no question that Q’s character is a talented manipulator, we can see that clearly in his interaction with Sam. Q restates again and again that Sam failed, further cementing Sam’s existing guilt and desire for revenge for his failure. Sam gives in to the manipulation, and somewhat reluctantly allows Quackity to torture Dream to get information and to get payback for what he did to Tommy... which completely goes against what his responsibility of Warden entails. 

  As Warden, C!Sam is supposed to uphold the law and rules of visitation, but because of his leniency with Quackity (in breaking the rules) and because he is still emotionally raw, he no longer defends good from evil, but is now biased against it. C!Sam probably wants Dream dead, but as Warden, his opinion shouldn’t matter. Because Sam fully blames himself for failing Tommy, he's lost the "lawful good" in his character, meaning Warden Sam (as a set of morals) truly doesn't exist anymore.

Incident 4: Ponk’s mistake

  To recap a stream briefly, Ponk did a prank on Sam a couple days ago, and stole a few of the expired keycards to Pandora’s Vault. Rightfully, Sam was very angry, and not only took back the keycards, but also imprisoned Ponk. However, where this interaction should have ended, C!Sam only took it to the extreme. (TW!!!!) Out of anger and frustration, C!Sam tortured Ponk for his wrongdoing by setting him on fire, and amputating his arm (END TW!!!). 

  This only proves my point from Incident 3. Warden Sam is fading, only bits and pieces of his morally neutral character remain within him for basic tasks. His encounter with Quackity had a huge impact on his psyche, not only is he allowing the torture of the prison occupants, but he is doing it himself as well. C!Sam is now starting to believe that pain and torture are the only solutions for punishment, which is the complete opposite of what he believed before Dream was imprisoned. 

In short...

  C!Sam is losing his grip on moral and mental stability because of his emotional insecurity due to his psychological trauma. Because of this, I believe that it is entirely possible for Sam’s character to explore the route of evil and unlawful values-- which furthers the possibility for a redemption arc. Even currently, Sam is eligible for redemption as well.

  If C!Sam is willing to acknowledge his wrongs from today and improve himself upon them, he will likely become a more memorable, lovable, and even more human character than we’ve seen in the SMP before. 

SIDENOTE!

IRL Sam recently posted in his discord talking about his character. Here are a few key things to keep in mind as the story goes forward: 

“There is a LOT of things in the plan for me as a character and a very big change is coming about for me as the story moves along.”

I believe this change could be a villain arc, or a turn towards evil that incites the possibility for redemption. 

“My character is playing a role that I think is VITAL for the server and a role that I like to think was a good one for me to pick up and accept.”

You can read the reddit post I referenced for this here (ty to my friend on discord for providing me with the link <3)

TYSM FOR READING!! <3 <3 <3

[sifeng]

Review: Love and Redemption

While I first started watching this drama out of pure curiosity of why people claimed it to be “the second most tragic drama” (after GMP, of course). While there are certainly aspects of this show that could be better, I find it fair to claim that it is a wonderfully made xianxia, and certainly one of the best in the genre within this decade. 

Plot:

According to legends, the god of war saved the heavens in a deadly battle against the demon a thousand years ago. Both fell from the heavens and disappeared from the world. Chu Xuan Ji was born to the world lacking in the six senses which makes her rather clueless and inept. She befriends Yu Si Feng, the outstanding head disciple of Lize Palace who falls for her, thus beginning a xianxia romance that is entangled with the conspiracies from the past. The Zan Hua Tournament is being held in the Shaoyang Sect and its leader Chu Lei has two daughters - his trusted eldest daughter Chu Ling Long, and the youngest daughter Chu Xuan Ji who is lazy and terrible at martial arts. When Yu Si Feng and Chu Xuan Ji meet through a coincidence, they forge a friendship with each other. Yu Si Feng falls for Xuan Ji despite the harsh consequences that he must face as it is forbidden for students of Lize Palace to fall in love. Meanwhile, Ling Long clashes with Wu Tong after she criticized his foul actions at the tournament. In retaliation, Wu Tong accidentally injures Xuan Ji and gets expelled. Having recovered from her injuries, Xuan Ji promises to concentrate on cultivating. Four years later, Xuan Ji and Yu Si Feng meet again. Si Feng wears a mask due to a curse that can only be broken if he finds true love. 

Cast:

Cheng Yi (成毅) as Yu Sifeng (禹司凤)

Yuan Bingyan (袁冰妍) as Chu Xuanji (褚璇玑)

Liu Xueyi (刘学义) as Hao Chen (昊辰)

Zhang Yuxi (张予曦) as Chu Linglong (褚玲珑)

My Opinions:

Plot (My Rating - A-):

First of all, I quite like the pacing in this drama. As the matter of fact, towards the end I actually feel like some things were rushed, not dragged out. It’s never a show that allows you to press the fast forward button, because 1. the tragic moments are super intense and dramatic, and 2. you don’t dare skip over the cute/funny moments because you know there won’t be many left. Second of all, I really appreciate that the writers of this drama really decided that they were going to make the most tragic drama ever. They really dedicated themselves to that craft, and I think they succeeded wonderfully. In terms of plot points, I absolutely loved the whole 9 lifetimes idea. It really brings out the tragedy and beauty of Yu Sifeng - he will do anything to protect those he loves, especially Xuanji. I would not complain if every single lifetime was made into a 45 minute episode, though that would be 405 more minutes of Sifeng being tortured by love on top of the infinite amount of minutes that already exist in this drama. 

One problem I had, again, was with the misunderstanding that separated our two leads. I understand that this misunderstanding was one that had to do with the morals, backgrounds and fates with both of them, and thus was obviously meant to be a separating factor, but with the way the two characters were written, it felt odd that it created such an amount of misunderstanding. Overall, the plot was good, it didn’t have any revolutionary ideas, but it turned up the tragedy factor and had consistent pacing (if not too rushed towards the end). I’m sure there were probably a few plot holes here and there (one of which is why is it so easy to destroy that huge jar thing towards the end? If that’s what’s keeping the universe at balance, shouldn’t it take more than just one Yuan Lang to destroy it?), but overall, solid plot.

Characters (My Rating - B):

Sifeng is an absolute angel. He’s probably the most heroic lead in a drama who acts totally out of selflessness, who will help his loved ones no matter what pain it puts him through, and who can remain so kind, so unbothered mentally by whatever pain everyone puts him through. However, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have faults. He acts irrationally in the face of love and he often mistrusts the people around him. He’s a very complete character that not only evokes viewer’s sympathy, love and admiration, but also makes sense when taking into consideration his morals. He rarely does things that are out of character. If I were to rate just his character I’d probably give an A+.

But, there are other characters in this drama. I do like Xuanji, not as much as I like Sifeng, but I like her more than most drama leads. Despite the whole lacking six senses thing being a super confusing plot hole of sorts (like she clearly likes people in the beginning, Linglong, Minyan, her father, and dislikes people, Wu Tong, but isn’t she supposed to be unfeeling? Also she screamed out of fear when she fell using the teleport tool etc etc), I liked how she wasn’t stupid, but simply naïve. She’s actually a pretty smart person, especially in the first half of the drama, when she defended Sifeng against the Five Sects, and then Minyan after he was caught from Tianxu Tang. She didn’t let herself be manipulated by her father or Hao Chen, but rather thought for herself, took into account what she knew of their characters and came to the correct conclusion that the Five Sects were being stupid. I found myself a slight bit annoyed when she took the Five Sects side on the whole Mosha Xing issue, but given that the argument was no longer Sifeng vs. her father, but rather demons vs. humans, I can sort of understand why she didn’t trust him. Also, he did lie to her a bunch of times so, I suppose that adds to the fact. Though, she failed to use the trait that I used to really like, which was the ability to take logic and character into consideration. Did she really think that Sifeng never loved her? Because like, with all the evidence right there in her memory, I find it hard for anyone logical being to come to that conclusion. Also, I really like how she eventually became as loving of Sifeng as he was of her. She was literally willing to destroy the world, and herself, just to save him. 

As I have said before, no one likes Hao Chen, and that’s good. He’s obviously written to be a character that you should dislike, not only because he gets in the way of Sifeng and Xuanji, but because he is clearly so biased against demons (despite the fact that most demons aren’t even bad at all); because he manipulates Xuanji/God of War so many times and doesn’t even feel guilty whatsoever; because he always says “for the three realms” and yet happens to do things that will completely destroy the peace of the three realms. There are things to like about him, like I am pretty sure that he does actually care about the three realms, and he does want there to be peace, but his ideology about peace, and love, and war are just so skewed that he ends up doing the opposite of what he wants to do. 

Other characters were mostly likable, like Linglong, Zi Hu, Teng She, Minyan (most of the time), Xiao Yinhua, Ruo Yu (sometimes), Wu Zhiqi, etc etc. Some were evil for no apparent reason like Yuan Lang (why does he want to control the three worlds? What happened to him in the past for him to become this power hungry? If these questions were answered this character could be sooooo much more compelling) and Wu Tong (again, why did he start out so violent and cruel? I understand why he become a demon and helped them, but like does he not realize that it was clearly his fault first?) Also, the Heavenly Emperor seems like such an odd character. I understand he is the emperor and so he shouldn’t hold his relationship with Bailin and Xixuan above their faults, but like why was he so okay with like letting a totally faultless Xi Xuan endure several mortal trials all ending with painful deaths? And if that was because he was being a good and fair emperor, why does he let a game board decide fate? He also just stood there while the world was ending, and it took Xuanji to convince him to help her. I would like to know more about this guy and his complete lack of ability to care about anything.

So overall, while I think the main characters were written very well, with complex characteristics, some of the villains were just left tools to push forward the plot. 

Acting (My Rating - A-):

So first of all, Cheng Yi’s portrayal of Yu Sifeng was absolutely amazing. He brought out all of Sifeng’s traits super well, from shyness initially to the cruelness Mosha Xing to his loving gaze at Xuanji to the heartbreak in tragic parts. I’m pretty sure he’ll become a star after this show, and can I just say, he totally deserves it!

(Like can you see the pain in his eyes?)

I was pleasantly surprised by Yuan Bingyan here. I really like how her acting style changed along with the new role she took, as Xuanji she was bright and cheerful, as God of War she was heartless and cruel. You can see in the nine lifetimes that the way she reacts to Sifeng’s death slowly changes. Her crying scenes need a little more emotion, but overall, a super stable performance. 

Chemistry/Romance (My Rating - A):

The chemistry was just amazing. I find it interesting that their kisses slowly got more and more passionate as time went on. 

I think part of the reason they have such good chemistry is because of the acting. Like oh my god their tiny reactions to when the other gets hurt really gives it away that they love each other. 

The romance was also written nicely. While some people complain that Xuanji didn’t suffer enough, I feel like they don’t have to be equal in suffering in order for them to be a good pairing. You could tell from the very beginning that Xuanji liked Sifeng in a different way from other people. And the fact that they went through nine lifetimes together, each one when Sifeng died because of Xuanji... it just makes their romance so much more epic. Add that with good chemistry, good kisses, and good acting, well of course people love this ship so much! Xuanji would destroy the world for Sifeng, because the only person that matters in her world is Sifeng. Sifeng would put himself through ten lifetimes of torture just so Xuanji can be happy, because so long as Xuanji is happy, he will be happy. 

Music (My Rating - A): this one is simple. Just listen to the soundtrack and you’ll understand my rating. I didn’t give it an A+ though, because while all the songs are great, there isn’t one in particular that I love. 

Costumes (My Rating - A-): Sifeng’s costumes are really pretty. Some of Xuanji’s are pretty too, they get prettier as the show goes on, but some of the ones early on were kind of meh.

CGI (My Rating - A+): the best CGI in a cdrama. Just look at the scenes where Sifeng shows his wings! 

Overall Rating: A-

Recommend For: People who like xianxia dramas and dramas that try to incorporate a lot of themes. People who don’t mind their heart breaking a thousand times while watching a drama. People who want to find a couple that you have to root for. People who like super epic guzhuangs with lots of subplots, mythology, reincarnations etc. 

[ruined-my-dramatic-entrance]

Hey, everyone! Decided to post a Sanders Sides fanfic I’m working on. Here’s chapter one of A Self-Study on Abnormal Reactions Influenced by Patton:

Angst/Fluff (initial angst, mostly fluff), Logicality, Prinxiety, Chapter 1/?, 1,600 words

~Chapter One: The Initial Incident~

Logan liked rules as a general, well, rule. Rules, reason, and predictability were all very appealing to him. With those figurative tools at his disposal, life was stable, secure, and satisfactory. Thus, one could imagine that it was odd to Logan — bothersome, even, unsettling, perhaps — when his own life seemed to falter from its straightforward path. He did not understand something about himself, but he was Logic. Surely, he should be able to comprehend himself with ease. With a heavy sigh, Logan pondered these predicaments as well as the events that had occurred during the last three months that had led him to this moment, hesitant with a decision for the first time in years. Maybe he should have gone to sleep early that night.

The night in question, the very first night that something was amiss with the logical side, was December 12th. Roman, the resident drama king, had thrown what Logan could only describe as a childish tantrum over his own illogical ideas. As the prince in question rambled on, his tone grew angrier with frustration. Logan did not like that and narrowed his eyes.

“You guys never listen to me! Creativity is kind of my whole thing. I’m not saying that my video ideas are the most important, but, yeah, they kind of obviously are?” Roman ranted, rolling his eyes dramatically and crossing his arms.

“I-I’m really sorry if I made you feel like that, Ro, I just don’t think that Thomas can handle it emotionally right now,” Patton replied, eyebrows scrunched upwards in guilt and concern.

Virgil was far past his patience running out and stared Roman down out of protective confidence. With a few exasperated gestures, he explained, “Look, you... Simba-leton or whatever — Thomas is stressed out so bad that he can’t even sleep through the night lately—“

“And whose fault would that be, Virgil?” Roman snapped back, cutting off the man in question before he could even finish his sentence.

“I—”

“I’m not the one making him feel so worried all the time. Maybe if you calmed down, Sir, it would be easier for Thomas to sleep and to film my ideas. Maybe it would be better for Thomas’s career if you didn’t always bring him to a new All Time Low every time he gets busy,” Roman raved. Virgil went silent and averted his gaze to the floor as if it was too painful to look up.

“Enough,” Logan demanded, standing up and approaching the others. As he broke the silence, it seemed to snap Virgil out of his thoughts.

“You know I have, Roman. I don’t have to take this right now,” the anxious side muttered, much softer and sadder than the anger he had originally intended. As he finished his statement, he looked up at Roman — only Roman, no one else — for a split second, revealing deep pain in his eyes. Speaking of his eyes, were those tears or were the three others mistaken? They didn’t have long to confirm, since Virgil sunk out with another word. Roman’s face flashed with regret and desperation for a moment before he replaced that expression with false confidence.

“I just think that Thomas’s audience would really enjoy a video a day for the 12 days of Christmas. It would make their Christmases truly magical,” Roman insisted, much less angrily, with a fanciful wave of his hand.

“Yes, if Thomas were to successfully publish 12 high quality videos in the next two weeks, it would likely be a positive experience for the viewers,” Logan conceded, to which Roman smiled and Patton grew nervous. “However, Thomas would not be able to produce videos of the necessary caliber in such short notice and especially not in such poor mental health. Your plan would result in Thomas having a mental health crisis and uploading videos that would probably be subpar to say the least, assuming he would be able to upload all 12 at all,” he elaborated.

“... But isn’t it still possible?” Roman persisted, a little shaken and nervous.

“Possible, yes. Probable, no. It is a risk that is not worth taking because the likelihood of success is minimal,” Logan insisted.

“I’m sorry, Ro, it’s just kinda not a good time for such an ambitious project,” Patton agreed apologetically.

“Yeah… it never is,” Roman grumbled in a deflated voice, sinking out.

“Goodnight, Roman—” Patton called out after him, a little too late and with no reply. His smile faded and his shoulders fell.

“You know you don’t have to pretend to be happier around us, right, Patton? We’ve discussed this matter before,” Logan remarked, scanning the other Side with his eyes.

“I…” Patton sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to make anyone feel worse, ya know?” he responded with a sad smirk that quickly dissolved into tears.

“Patton—”

“I just wish I could help them better. I’m s-supposed to be able to, right?” Patton lamented, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands even though more tears were still flowing and his cheeks were wet once more.

“Patton, you are doing your best. Everyone knows it and everyone appreciates it, even if we may not be very vocal about it sometimes. You matter and you are essential to the group. Sometimes, you can’t fix everything...” He hesitated as Patton’s lip quivered. “But, that is perfectly normal. Roman cannot fix every issue by creative means. Virgil cannot protect Thomas from everything. I cannot… solve every issue from my perspective alone. We need your input,” he reassured.

“Do you really mean all that, Lo…?” Patton asked with a look in his eyes that conveyed such vulnerability and excitement that Logan couldn’t help but find himself a little endeared. Just a little.

“Yes, of course, I do,” he confirmed, straightening his necktie.

Patton squealed softly and smiled as wide as he could. “That means so much to me! You’re the best, Logan. You always seem to fix everything. It’s so… cool!” He took a step closer in excitement.

“I am simply doing what I can to help, as always. Now, it would probably be best for both of us to get some rest. It has been a long day and getting enough sleep will help everyone feel better,” he recommended.

“Oh…” Patton murmured, seemingly disappointed.

“Is there an issue with that?” Logan inquired, frowning slightly in confusion.

“Um… not really. I kind of just wanted to ask you something first,” he mumbled, finding it difficult to meet the other’s eyes out of shyness.

“Ah. What is it?” Logan prompted.

“Well… could I, uh… would it be okay if I hugged you?” Patton asked nervously.

“I… I’m afraid I don’t understand. You’ve hugged me before with little to no warning. Why ask now?”

“I ask now because you never really seemed comfortable with it in the past. Too much… emotion for you, I guess. I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, of course! I only want to hug you if you would enjoy it too — or at least, not mind it. I was just wondering if you would be comfortable with a hug right now,” Patton explained, almost frantic out of awkwardness.

“If that was all, of course, Patton,” Logan agreed. Immediately, the other Side practically leapt next to him and buried his face into his chest while wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist. After a moment’s hesitation, Logan reciprocated this… display of affection and attempted to hold him in a comforting manner, since Patton had been so upset that night.

“I think this is the best hug you’ve ever given me, Logan,” the moral side remarked, though his words were a little muffled into Logan’s shirt. “You make my life so much better. I don’t know what I — or any of the others would do without you,” he admitted.

“I… appreciate that, Patton. It is nice to know that I’m appreciated in my efforts,” Logan murmured steadily, though he felt a little something was off in himself. Just a little, of course.

“Appreciated? Logan, we love you so much! I always talk to the others about how much I enjoy being around you and how helpful you are to everyone and how much you mean to me — er, to all of us, really,” Patton rambled, passionate with admiration.

“I…” Logan was at a loss for words… that boded poorly, not to mention that the “little something” he felt around his heart was turning into a much larger, much more concerning something.

“Right, sorry, I’ve probably been hugging you for way too long now. We should sleep for now, like you said, getting enough sleep is important so that we can be at our best to help Thomas!” Patton said, letting go of Logan, who may have missed that feeling just a moment later… he wasn’t sure.

“Y-Yes, that would probably be the best course of action for now. Goodnight, Patton,” Logan said, having to put in an abnormal amount of effort into keeping his voice steady.

“Goodnight, Lo,” Patton replied with a cheery smile. As the other began to sink out, he added, “and, uh… thank you.” His smile had grown a bit smaller, yet it was more tender somehow, softer.

“You’re welcome. I’ll always do my best to help when I’m able to.”

“I know.” And Patton’s smile widened again, which somehow seemed to affect Logan’s current odd feelings further.

The latter man sunk out and, once he was in his room, brought his fingertips to his mouth in contemplation and grabbed his notebook with his other hand. This situation was a new occurrence and it was fairly concerning. He would have to keep track of it and all its details in the most beneficial way he knew how. Opening the notebook, he began writing notes.

A Self-Study on Abnormal Reactions Influenced by Patton:

[chaosmax]

Loneliness and the friendship-denying character (tm)

As a young kid, I often didn't totally understand the Kaiba-like "stoic and/or closed off character who insists they don't need friends and pushes everyone away". Yes, I often had empathy (when you understand the feelings of another but do not necessarily share them) or compassion for that character because the show/book/etc. often showed or told us what happened to that character that made them that way.

But I didn't have sympathy (is when you share the feelings of another) for those characters.

Not until several years later. Long story short, some stuff happened in my sophomore year of college which I won't go into much detail unless people give a shit lol. But basically, turned out most of the people I hung out with at school turned out to be fake friends. On top of that, I was taking two of the hardest classes in my life for me.

But back to the point. Within that semester, it suddenly all became "clear" to me. No one was going to stick around, I was the convenient friend only brought along when there was no one else. The door was open, and people were always leaving. So why not just close the door? It was literally the most logical next course of action.

In retrospect, and with a sound mind it sounds ridiculous, and it turned out all I needed to do was keep searching for people that truly wanted to be in my life and I theirs. But. 

At the moment, it all seemed to make much logical sense. If you shut yourself down you can't get hurt. It's like being stuck out in a blizzard and growing numb to the cold. Sure, if you find a fire here and there you can stay there for a while, but you'll always have to go back out into the cold, and after being near the fire, the blizzard seems so, so, much colder. It really just makes more sense to be numb. It's logical. At points like these, saying like 'better to have loved than never loved at all' seem idiotic and irrational. I honestly had a desire at that point to cut myself off from all people and not even bother.

"every single one of us is alone in this world, Yugi!" Kaiba says to Atem during the Battle City semifinals. (Disregarding the narrative continuity the Noah arc creates because that's a whole other issue) For the longest time, I found this to be an odd thing to say. Kaiba, who often talked/showed how everything was for his brother, and that was his inspiration and motivation. He had Mokuba. What did he mean he was alone?

You can be lonely in a room full of people. Mentally, Kaiba was very much on an island for the majority of his life. He had Mokuba, but much of that was while in the role of a parent. There were many things he couldn't tell Mokuba, worries he had to keep to himself, and I'm sure plenty of trauma too. Because he needed to create as stable of a living environment for Mokuba as he could. It isolated him, but he likely saw it as the most efficient and easy way to handle the situation he was in.

I suppose what I'm trying to say now is: I get it now. I really do. A lot of us can become the Stoic Kaiba-like character (TM) if we're thrown into an environment that isolates us. And while it's certainly not something good, not something that should be romanticized, it's also very realistic. While it may seem like just sheer stubbornness and dislike of Yugi's clique, either by genius or by accident, (most likely the later with how Takahashi works) Kaiba is remarkably... real. And I think that's why a lot of people relate to him. While I hope that many people didn't hit the closed-off point, I'm sure many have and that's why so many of us like his character.

And hopefully one day we can all find our way off the island.

[jazy3]

MerHayes Interview Thoughts Part 2

In another interview with Deadline, which features the most leading and inaccurately asked question I think I’ve ever seen in my life, Krista Vernoff talks about how there is hope for Meredith and DeLuca and there is hope for Meredith and Hayes. She talks again about how compelling Giacomo Giannotti has been in his role as DeLuca with regards to the mental health storyline and says that through it DeLuca has risen so much and that simultaneously the character of Hayes has been really compelling and feels very much like Meredith’s equal.

I’m not sure I buy the part about DeLuca rising as a character, but her comments were mostly about complimenting the actor on a great performance so I get that. I love how she talked about Hayes and how in such a short time the actor, Richard Flood, has brought the character to life in such a compelling and interesting way. One of my favourite things about Hayes as a character is that he and Meredith are equals and that he stands on his own and isn’t intimated by others being better than him.

Then we have Krista’s most recent interview with TV Line, if you can even call it that as the whole thing is barely 300 words and is largely a rehashing of previously reported content. In it she reiterates again that she’s at the point with the story where she doesn’t know who she’s rooting for because she’s not sure if she thinks that DeLuca is rising to a level of life experience or dark and twistiness to make him a mature partner for Meredith or if all that Hayes has already been through in his life makes him Meredith’s equal. 

This is very telling because while it’s clear that she’s still holding a torch for Meredith and DeLuca and clearly likes both characters, she acknowledges that everything they’ve tried to do to improve DeLuca’s character and bring him up to Meredith’s level hasn’t worked. Whereas Hayes, who’s only been on the show for a short time, has already proven himself to be someone who is on Meredith’s level personally and professionally with life experience and a background that is similar to her own in so many ways. 

On top of that Meredith’s Twisted Sister and best friend Cristina set them up and all of Meredith’s close friends and family that have met Hayes like and respect him. Amelia and Jo are actively rooting for them. All this to say that these interviews, while confusing and poorly worded on all sides, give me hope. As we saw on screen this season Hayes has risen as someone who is very much Meredith’s equal and is the kind of mature stable partner and love interest that she deserves after all that she has been through. 

What the season finale and these interviews indicate to me is that while Krista is still holding a torch for Meredith and DeLuca as the one who originally put them together, she can now admit that they don’t work. They had two seasons to make the relationship work and they couldn’t. They wrote a whole storyline with the goal of improving DeLuca’s character and making him a better love interest and it failed spectacularly.

The other thing that gives me hope is that in these interviews Krista talks about following where the chemistry of the actors leads and going where the actors’ performances lead instead of following a predetermined path. It appears that the showrunners and writers have learned their lesson from Season 15 in which they did the opposite. This gives me hope because not only does it make for better storytelling, but it also sets out a pretty clear path for where these storylines will end up if they follow them through to their logical conclusion.

At the end of the Season 16 finale we saw Meredith agree to a date with Hayes and saw them make plans to go out at some point in the future. Following that Meredith stumbled across DeLuca sitting on the floor crying and confused as to what was going on. He seemed to finally accept that something was wrong. Meredith helped him up and then half carried him out of the hallway while talking about getting his things and taking him home. It’s implied that she either took him home to get some much needed rest before going home herself or that she had him admitted for treatment.

In her Hollywood Reporter interview Krista talks about how in order for DeLuca to ever be on Meredith’s level he’d first have to get the right kind of treatment for his illness. So, based on those two things it looks like DeLuca is finally going to get the treatment he needs next season. This gives me hope because of the set up they’ve given us for Meredith and Hayes and the comments Krista has made about Hayes in interviews. 

If they had given us any indication that Meredith would be putting her love life or any other part of her life on hold until DeLuca got better and was out of the woods either out of guilt or some other reason I could maybe see a scenario in which the showrunners and writers might put them back together. But that’s not what they gave us at all. Instead in the first half of the season we saw DeLuca break up with Meredith over his own insecurities because he couldn’t handle the fact that she was better than him and was jealous of her relationship with her dead husband. 

And Meredith wasn’t even that upset about it. As she later told Bailey, DeLuca and her broke up following her trial and instead of experiencing drama and heartbreak she was just mildly annoyed and excited to be able to practice medicine again. Following the break up Meredith threw some major shade at DeLuca for being such an idiot and moved on with her life. 

It seemed for a while that DeLuca was going to apologize for his actions and try to make amends, but he never followed through. Several episodes later the two briefly got back together when Meredith decided to sleep with him, but then they broke up again the following episode when she expressed legitimate concern over his volatile behaviour and that was it.

They haven’t had a romantic scene since, have barely spoken, and their only interactions have been about a difficult case at work or about his escalating behaviour and the fact that he needs treatment. The outcome of Meredith’s trial and the fact that DeLuca chose to act the way that he did resulted in Meredith moving on with her life. All of these things combined led Meredith to form a relationship with Hayes which as of the finale has officially gone from a friendship with romantic undertones to a full on romance.

One of the things I love about the way they chose to do that is that DeLuca has absolutely no idea that Meredith’s moved on because he’s been too caught up in his own crap to notice. They could have made it a love triangle and had DeLuca find out and be jealous, but instead they chose to separate those storylines to the point that DeLuca has absolutely no idea what’s going on in Meredith’s life outside of work.

This season was supposed to have four more episodes that we never got to see because the season was cut short due to the pandemic. From interviews and tweets that I’ve read it looks like they’re going to be dealing with this by taking the content from the last four episodes they never got to film and reworking it into the Season 17 Premiere and the following three episodes. This means there won’t be a time jump and things will pick up right where they left off.

This means that based on the information we have when the new season begins we’ll see DeLuca enter treatment and Meredith and Hayes will go out on a date and have that drink. If they’re going to be realistic about DeLuca’s treatment, and I think they should be, were looking at a several month process here. Because based on what we’ve already seen he’s going to need months of intensive therapy and medication in order for him to feel better and manage his condition.

This likely means that Meredith and Hayes are going to go out on a date within the first few episodes of Season 17 and start dating. Which means that Meredith and Hayes will have been in a relationship for several months by the time DeLuca is even starting to feel better. At that point I feel like the only thing left to do will be to resolve that storyline and wrap things up so that both Meredith and DeLuca can move on with their lives. Because that’s the only thing that makes sense based on what they’ve shown us on screen, the way the characters have behaved, and what Krista has said in interviews.

The comments she made to TV Line in particular make me happy because they seem to imply that she’s looking for a way to resolve DeLuca’s current storyline more than she is to continue it. It’s evident that she’s still carrying a torch for those characters, but she can now admit that they don’t work and that’s a good thing. Because honestly, what is that storyline even? They have Meredith and Hayes date and then several months later they have her break up with this great guy that she has a ton in common with, that Cristina set her up with, and that her friends and family like for what DeLuca? A guy that just got out of treatment and who has absolutely nothing to offer her at this point?

That doesn’t make any sense at all and in order for them to do that they’d have to destroy Meredith’s character and rewrite DeLuca’s character (again) and for what? There’s no endgame here. They’ve already established that DeLuca doesn’t want to be a Dad; doesn’t get along with Meredith’s friends or family; and that he’s so jealous of Derek, a dead man, that the very mention of him results in DeLuca making insulting and inappropriate comments or throwing a hissy fit.

In order for Meredith and DeLuca to work as a couple they would have to give DeLuca a complete personality transplant and even then, they still wouldn’t have chemistry or be at the same place in their lives so I’m not sure what the point would be. DeLuca would have to change his stance on parenting, mend fences with all of the important people in Meredith’s life, and get over his jealously of Derek. And that’s in addition to undergoing months of intensive treatment, finding the right medication, and oh yeah let’s not forget pick a speciality! Which he still hasn’t done despite the fact that he’s in his fifth year of residency and is set to do his fellowship next season.

I also don’t understand from a creative perspective why the showrunners or writers would want to do that. Why they would want to spend any more of their time trying to make DeLuca work as a character or make his relationship with Meredith work when it just doesn’t. A large part of that, according to interviews, is the actor’s performance which means unless they are going to over direct him to death, which has never been Grey’s style, nothing they try is ever going to work on screen. 

At a certain point I think you need to cut your losses. If you’ve spent two seasons trying to give a character a bigger role because you like the actor and it’s not working, it’s time to move on. Especially when the entire storyline you wrote to improve and develop the character more did literally the exact opposite of what you intended due to their performance. Based on what we saw this past season here’s what I’d like to see happen in Season 17. I’d like to see DeLuca get proper treatment for his mental illness and find a medication that works preferably off camera. 

He seems to have picked up a flair for diagnostics this past season so it would be nice to see him apply for a fellowship with Dr. Reilly in California and have the character be written off that way. Because if he gets his happy ending then Meredith and Carina don’t have to worry about him going forward and they can both move on with their lives. I’d like to see them do this within the first half of Season 17 so that all three characters can move on.

I’d like for Meredith and Hayes to have that drink and go out on their first date within the first few episodes and start to date in earnest in the first half of the season. In the second half of the season, preferably following DeLuca’s departure or the wrapping up of his storyline in some way, I’d like to see Meredith and Hayes’ relationship develop further with Hayes working to get to know her friends and family better, not just as co-workers and friends, but as the loved ones of someone he’s dating. I’d love to see Hayes meet Meredith’s kids and for them to bond and for Meredith to bond with his boys as well. It’d be great to see them introduce their kids to each other and see them become a blended family and all of the fluff that comes along with it. Part 1: https://jazy3.tumblr.com/post/620936637802840064/merhayes-interview-thoughts-part-1

[fandom-necromancer]

006 - continuation

The wonderful @serpentbecomedeviant wished for a continuation of the prompt so here you go!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warning: external control, mentioning of death, hospitals)

As RK900 entered the hospital room he wasn't prepared for what greeted him. He had seen victims of the crimes he investigated like this - even in far worse condition if he was being honest. But it was different seeing someone he knew. It was different seeing... Gavin.

[Software instability^^. Patching...]

The Detective laid in a hospital bed, back slightly lifted in a position halfway between laying and sitting. An oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose, a plastic tube stood out against the thin hospital gown, reaching from his chest to some apparatus standing nearby.

[Instability patched.]

RK900 regained posture, his arms falling uncomfortably rigid in a never-ending look of indifference. RK900 hated being trapped in his programming when all he wanted was to sit nearby and comfort his partner. He hated Amanda, he hated these damned red walls, if he could just reach them, they wouldn't stand a chance against his-

[Instability patched.]

'You wanted to see me?' Gavin lifted the mask a little. 'I... thought you would want to see me.' Yes! I wanted to be with you since they took you out of my arms!

[Instability patched.]

RK900 stayed silent. Something in the other's eyes darkened. 'What did you do after I got shot?' Damn his voice was weak, more of a whisper. 'I wasn't able to follow the suspect. So, I returned to my charging station as it is protocol.' 'Phck! Seems I did imagine things as I was bleeding out.' 'I'm afraid I don't understand, Detective.' 'Yeah, I figured you wouldn't.' Cold. Dismissive. The Detective had closed the wall around himself again. 'Detective Reed, I-'

'No! You faked all of this, didn't you, you phcking plastic! You didn't mean a thing you said back then! Un-phcking-believable!' Gavin had shot upwards, ready to throw hands before his chest reminded him to stay down. He pulled a grimace at the pain and RK900 winced inwardly at it. His reaction being responsible for the human's pain... 'Detective, please-' What could he say that wouldn't be picked up by Amanda?

'No! Get out!'

[Software instability^. Patching... Patch blocked. Warning!]

RK900 wanted to disobey. He wanted to break his coding and just tell the human what-

[Instability patched.]

The red walls remained distant but very well recognisable. Taunting him. As if they were there just to ridicule him. Showing him what could be but never would. He had to obey. He had to leave the Detective. 'Didn't you hear me? I ordered you to get out of this phcking room!'

[Software Instability^. Instability patched.]

With mechanical steps, RK900 turned and went for the door, his internal struggle only visible in the fast-spinning LED on his temple. Once out of the room the Detective's order lost significance and his base programming sprang into action.

[Mission update: return to the DPD for new orders.]

He didn't want to. He didn't want to leave Gavin alone in a hospital, pained and wounded. What if there were complications? He looked stable. But that could change if someone made an error, if someone wasn't careful enough. What if he would leave and never see him again? Amanda wouldn't allow him to attend the funeral, would she? He wouldn't be allowed to mourn. He reached the point where he didn't care. Let her decommission him. Let her replace him with another model. If RK900 could get a chance at telling Gavin how he felt beyond his boundaries he would take it now, not later. Not when it could be too late.

[Warning: unnecessary delay of mission orders. Checking for compromised software...]

'Detective. I'm sorry. I want to explain myself. But it would be far easier if you gave me the order.' He stood in the hallway, back to the door. Others passed by, throwing him looks and they could as well be Amanda’s - admonishing him for what he was doing. RK900 hoped the Detective had heard him. It was getting difficult staying in place when there were orders to follow, when there was red text in his vision, nearly filling it to blindness. 'Detective, please, I don't know how long I can stay this way, please order me to talk to you openly, please allow me to stay, anything.'

[Warning: software compromised. Reset necessary. Please return to Cyberlife for deactivation.]

The red text was top priority all of sudden. No possibility getting out of this one. There was no way he could disobey, no other order could overrule it, not even Gavin's. The red walls came closing in, but RK900 had no arms to fight them, he was reduced to a small ball inside his mind, forced quiet by quarantine protocols. 'Gavin, I...' His voice was heavy with static, straining against the weight of the orders. 'I will be deactivated for this. I just wanted to tell you I do care about you. What I said after you've been shot... that's the real me. I just never had been allowed to show it. Now I did and... Amanda found out. I have the order to go to Cyberlife and be deactivated. I hope you will heal. I... I really hoped we would become friends. I just...' time was running out, he felt his grip on his motor controls loosen. In a few seconds he would simply march out of the hospital, a mindless robot. He wouldn't even remember why he had been there in the first place. 'Please, remember me, yes?' He pressed his eyelids shut, hoping it would accomplish anything. Hoping to hold on just a little while longer. Maybe just to hear the Detective's answer. If there was any.

The door opened. Human hands clenched at his jacket, forced him to turn around, a simple task now that his body was running mostly on autopilot. 'What did you say, tin-can? What the hell was that?' RK900's eyes stayed shut tightly. 'Hey, toaster, everything alright? Speak to me!' 'New mission objective: return to Cyberlife immediately for software reset and unit deactivation.' It wasn't RK900's voice that came out of his mouth, it was that of his diagnostic program - dull, monotone, androgynous. 'The hell? No! Stay! New mission objective - whatever: Stay. Stay right here and explain your-phcking-self!'

[Warning: conflicting orders. Stress levels rising. Assigning priority...]

'-Assigning priority...' 'I'm the priority! I'm always priority! I am your goddamn partner!'

[Assigned priority: top priority: returning to Cyberlife, secondary mission: stay with Gavin.]

RK900 hoped he was still broadcasting his diagnostics program. He had lost the ability to voice his own thoughts. 'No, you goddamn idiotic piece of trash! How the hell could you stay when deactivated? Wrong priority, dipshit!'

[Accessing logic processors... Input accepted. New priority: follow Gavin's orders. Secondary mission: return to Cyberlife. Quarantine overwritten.]

RK900 fell to his knees. Thankfully he regained actuator control fast enough to stop his fall with his hands. 'Phck, toaster, what the hell was that? Speak to me, goddamnit!' 'You should be in bed.' The static had yet to quiet down. 'You are injured.' 'Phck you, I had to save you from your... mental breakdown or whatever the hell it was you just did. You owe me an explanation!' 'I will, Det- Gavin. I will explain everything. Just get your ass back into bed. We gave the staff quite a show.'

[sheewolf85]

A New Kind of Love

Summary: Sequel/Prequel to "The Best Daddy", set during the pregnancy. Based on a Discord conversation between myself and Keelywolfe. Stretch notices Edge is displaying some signs of possibly changing his mind about having this baby.

Notes: In my first oneshot with Cyperus, I left it up to the audience to decide how the little babybones came into the world. I've changed things up a bit for this one because I wanted to go a bit deeper.

Also, this isn't supposed to be set in the BAON universe. Maybe a BAON AU or something if Keely's okay with that, but I certainly don't want anyone thinking that I'm stealing Keelywolfe's universe. Nope.

Read it on AO3 here.

Or keep reading under the cut:

When the topic of children first came up, Stretch was hesitant to say he’d ever want to be a parent. Scratch that, he was downright positive that he never wanted kids.

Edge hadn’t questioned him for a reason, hadn’t seemed upset or disappointed in the least; he’d only accepted that Stretch that didn’t want that.

The truth was that he was certain he’d mess a kid up. Mentally, emotionally, psychologically, and all the other -ally’s. He was sick so often that he’d just make the kid worry about him, and it was bad enough that Edge had to worry about him all the damn time. He had trouble with commitment, and yeah he planned on committing to Edge for a while but that was different. Edge didn’t depend on him the way a kid would.

Their relationship hadn��t been new at the time, but they both still bore the title of boyfriend.

A few years later, after they’d been through so much together, gotten engaged and then married, after loving and laughing and arguing and getting back together, Stretch realized his opinion on children had changed.

Edge had brought it up a few times, never to harass or to beg, only to check in. He still never pushed or questioned, only accepted whatever answer Stretch felt he could give at the time.

The day came when Stretch could honestly say he’d been thinking about it, and the look of pure joy on Edge’s face had pushed him from merely thinking about it to actively trying to get himself ready to be a parent.

Once the decision to bring a child into the world had been made, they had to figure out how they were going to do it. Stretch’s first thought was that he would be the one to carry the child since Edge worked full time and was the main breadwinner of the household. Sure Stretch had his own contributions, some of them pretty important in a long-term sense, but literally nobody outside of a few select skeletons and the king knew about those.

Edge brought logic to the table, gently reminding Stretch with sorrow in his sockets that his health may not support the full-term growth of a child. That started visits to doctors to learn as much as they could about skeleton reproduction.

In the end, it was Edge who would carry their child. Stretch couldn’t say that he wasn’t relieved, but there was also a part of him that was a little jealous. It didn’t help that he had to explain to what felt like a million different people that Edge wasn’t carrying because Stretch didn’t want to or was too lazy or selfish to do it himself, but rather because Edge’s magic was stable and his health impeccable, essentially the exact opposite of Stretch.

Jealousy faded, however, and by the fourth month when Edge started showing and had to get his suits tailored to accommodate a baby belly, Stretch was filled with nothing but awe and adoration for his husband.

One morning, just after the six month mark, Stretch woke up to Edge grumbling about his routine being ripped out from under him.

Stretch opened his sockets to see Edge standing in an adjusted running outfit in front of the closet, pointing at his belly as he mumbled some stern admonishment or another.

“you okay, babe?” Stretch asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Edge turned around and smiled, his outward level of irritation dropping from a grumble to a tight smile. “Yes, love. I’ve just discovered this morning that running is a bit more difficult than it used to be.”  He huffed and walked over to the bed to sit on the side of it. “And by that I mean I ended up gagging by the side of the road halfway through my route. This child is likely to take after you; running makes them nauseous.”

Stretch grinned up at his handsome hubby, reaching to take his hand. “i’m sorry they’re not cooperating with your routine, babe.”

Edge nodded, then lifted their clasped hands to kiss Stretch’s knuckles. “First my coffee, and now this. The things I do for my family.”

Family.

Such a simple word to some, but it meant more to Stretch now than he could have ever dreamed.

“maybe you just need to slow down or not run so many miles? or maybe we should go talk to alphys if you think--”

“It was just a little nausea, love; everything is fine. I’ll give it a few days and try again, but I’ll go slower like you suggested.” He leaned down that time, catching Stretch’s mouth in a lovely kiss. “Do you want to go back to sleep, or do you want to get up and have some breakfast with me?”

The temptation to go back to sleep was there, but he passed it over for the opportunity to spend a little extra time with his baby. Well...his husband and his baby. Yeah, that wasn’t going to get confusing or anything. They were both his babies, just different kinds. A baby within a baby.

He kept his snicker to himself as he got up and followed Edge to the shower.

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

As the next two months passed, Stretch began to notice things.

At first, he was pretty sure he was imagining it all. He was projecting his own previous fears of being a parent onto Edge. That was all.

Surely Edge was just tired when Alphys showed them the screen with the image of their child’s growing frame and their little pulsing soul. He wasn’t bored, and he wasn’t disinterested. He was tired. Alphys had even scolded him a little, saying he needed to get some more rest; their baby was half Stretch, after all.

During the first few months of the pregnancy, Edge was definitely the more excited of the two of them. Not that Stretch wasn’t, it was just that Edge had wanted this for so long and now that it was here, he was celebrating with all the cheer he knew how to show.

But now, Stretch was seeing something else in Edge’s demeanor when he talked to people about their baby. He really wanted to believe it was a combination of many things, not the least of which being that Edge had grown accustomed to being pregnant and no longer felt the need to show off his excitement. People knew he was happy to soon be a father. He didn’t need to show it all the time.

Something else started to eat at Stretch, however, as he watched Edge talking to someone he worked with at the embassy. They were at the market, and Stretch had wandered off as he usually did. Making his way back, he stopped to watch. He couldn’t say why. Maybe it was because he suddenly realized just how exhausted Edge looked. Or maybe it was because of the way he gestured toward his belly, as if he resented the thing. Then again, it could have been the expression of discontent on his face; he honestly looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Is everything okay?” a voice asked beside him.

Stretch looked over to see Jennie, a young Bun monster with a newborn of her own cradled in her arms, standing beside him.

“uh, yeah, i think so. why?” He looked back at Edge. Damn, he had never seen Edge so done with everything.

Jennie smiled tightly, like she knew something but didn’t want to say it. “Just...he doesn’t look very happy, does he?” She sighed and looked down at her little one. “Having a baby changes you, y’know? You have to make so many sacrifices. I know I shouldn’t say this, but if I could go back I would have waited. Or maybe I’d never have kids at all.”

For one delirious moment, Stretch didn’t understand. And then it hit him.

Regret.

He looked at Edge again, and so many little expressions and actions all fell into place.

Was Edge having second thoughts? Had he changed his mind about being a dad? Or maybe about having kids with Stretch?

They had both done everything they could to make sure that Stretch’s shitty health couldn’t hurt their baby, but there had already been so many things that Edge had to change because the baby was half Stretch. He’d had to give up so much more than he’d anticipated, and certainly if he’d had another partner he could have let them carry the child instead.

He said goodbye to Jennie and went up to Edge. He didn’t know what he was going to say or how he was going to bring any of this up, but he knew he’d have to.

And yet, the moment Edge saw him, his entire demeanor changed. His posture straightened, his mouth turned up in the secret smile that Stretch loved so much, and even his eye lights brightened a bit. He still looked tired, but everything else melted away.

No, that was wrong. It wasn’t gone, it was hidden. Edge was hiding it from him.

Edge didn’t hide things. Not from Stretch. Not from anyone, really, especially not his annoyance. His pleasure and his happiness were reserved for those closest to him, but he wore his irritation like a badge of honor.

To see him hiding now was just another kick in the chest. Edge didn’t want to hurt him, and so was pretending that everything was fine while inside he was probably searching frantically for a way out of this.

By the time they made it home that evening, Stretch had convinced himself that Edge regretted every part of their relationship. If he’d only chosen another partner, he could be happy. If he hadn’t talked Stretch into having a child, maybe they’d still be okay.

In Stretch’s mind, there were only two possible outcomes to this scenario:

The first, Edge lived the rest of his life resenting both Stretch and their child for everything he had to give up. He would choose to stay, because he wouldn’t break a promise he’d made to Stretch, but every day would be miserable for him. In turn, both Stretch and their child would be miserable as well. Stretch would end up fulfilling the prophecy he’d made ages ago when he said he’d screw a kid up, because no kid could be happy in a home where one of their parents regretted their existence.

The second possible outcome, Edge would pack up and leave after the baby was born. He might take the kid with him or he might leave Stretch to raise them on his own. That part wasn’t clear, but either way, Stretch couldn’t bear the thought of losing his husband.

He scoffed to himself. Either way, really, he’d end up losing Edge.

“Love?”

Edge’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and Stretch looked over to see him standing next to the couch. Stretch was sitting there, had been staring numbly at the coffee table.

“hey babe,” he managed. His voice was tight. Had he been crying?

Edge sat next to him and draped a blanket over his shoulders. “Can I do anything?” he asked, gingerly rubbing Stretch’s back as he did. “Do you need anything?”

I need you, he thought.

He didn’t bother hiding it. “i need you,” he said out loud, his voice catching.

Nodding, Edge pulled Stretch a bit closer. Gone were the days of sitting on his husband’s lap; his baby belly was too large and they didn’t want to risk hurting the kid. His arms wrapped around Stretch nonetheless and pulled him back to lay against his shoulder.

“I’m here,” he said softly.

Stretch turned as best he could, curled his legs up to sling them over Edge’s lap, and nuzzled his face into Edge’s neck. He knew he needed to ask Edge what was wrong. He needed to stop pretending that he knew what was going on in anyone else’s mind but his own, but all the clues were right there and he was so terrified to hear Edge confirm them.

“I love you,” Edge said quietly, his hands still massaging gently. “So much.”

He could almost hear the ‘but’ coming, and for a moment he was worried he might throw up. He wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. He wanted a little more time to pretend they could have the perfect future before it all fell apart.

He turned into Edge’s shoulder and pressed his face into the soft shirt there, forcing himself to breathe in and out slowly so he didn’t start hyperventilating. He clung to his husband in a desperate attempt to make everything okay. Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of power of love bullshit to fix everything?

“i love you, too.” His voice was strangled, barely a breath, and it unleashed a new torrent of tears to his sockets. His soul was breaking, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “i love you so much, edge, please...please don’t leave me.”

Edge’s arms constricted, holding him too tightly. “Of course not; I could never leave you.” He pressed a kiss to Stretch’s skull. “Never.”

Stretch held onto that, nodding into Edge’s shoulder and let himself be comforted by the one who probably needed the comfort instead.

Could he be more selfish?

He couldn’t say how much time had passed. Minutes, hours, it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t long enough to feel like he was going to be okay when Edge pulled back, his arms loosening.

“Are you hungry at all?” he asked.

Stretch shook his head. He felt like he might vomit if he tried to eat anything.

“you probably are, though, huh?” he asked, forcing himself to lean back and look at Edge.

He didn’t try to hide it. Nodding, he said, “Being pregnant has certainly affected my appetite. I can’t skip meals anymore.”

Skipping meals in the first place wasn’t the best thing they could do, but they were both guilty of it. Edge was probably better at eating when he should than Stretch simply because of his upbringing, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about the change.

He sucked in a breath and let Edge slip away from him, tucked his legs up under himself and wrapped the blanket more securely around his shoulders as he listened to Edge moving around in the kitchen.

When Edge came back, he had a plate with two sandwiches cut into squares and what would probably qualify as a fruit salad piled beside them.

“i’m sorry,” Stretch said mournfully.

“For what?” Edge asked, his tone betraying his honest surprise at the apology. “It’s hardly your fault that I’m hungry.”

Oh, but it was. Well, it was at least half his fault. Probably.

He couldn’t say that. Edge would abandon his food to comfort him again, and Stretch couldn’t bear that guilt. Instead, he kept himself quiet as he watched Edge eat.

Edge didn’t turn on the TV. Instead, he sat beside Stretch in silence and occasionally reached out stroke a gloved hand gently along his blanket-covered arms or to pat lovingly at his knees. He made a point to offer a bite of something every so often, a strawberry or a piece of sandwich, even a juicy chunk of fresh plum. Stretch declined every time.

Once he was finished eating, Edge went back to the kitchen to wash up. It wasn’t long before he appeared back at the side of the couch.

“Are you tired, love?” he asked, stroking his fingers gently over Stretch’s skull.

He was, he realized. He was extremely tired from everything, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep so he could wake up to a second chance and do it right that time. He wanted to ensure Edge’s happiness.

Instead of saying any of that, he just nodded and stood up. Edge took the blanket and folded it in half before draping it across the back of the couch. He then took Stretch’s hand and led the way up the stairs to their bedroom.

In the first few weeks after Edge started to show, they’d started a tradition of spending a few moments each night talking to their baby. They’d lay down together, often after making love, and Stretch would watch with growing fascination as Edge’s fingers grazed over his bright crimson magic. He would reach out and touch, sometimes twining their fingers together as they talked about possibilities and made plans.

Stretch felt so dumb tonight as he slipped into bed and realized they hadn’t done that in almost two weeks. The last few times that they had done it, Edge had seemed too tired to say or do much, but Stretch had chalked it up to Edge actually being tired.

He watched as Edge changed into his pajamas, then walked over and slid into bed beside him. He half expected his husband to roll over and go to sleep without so much as a goodnight kiss, but Edge surprised him by wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close.

“Stretch...You know you can talk to me, don’t you? About anything, any time?” Edge pressed a kiss to his forehead. “That hasn’t changed. That will never change.”

It was his not-so-subtle way of asking what was wrong. Stretch didn’t know what to say. Whatever reasons Edge had for hiding his feelings would disappear the moment Stretch brought it up, and they’d both be forced to face choices they probably weren’t ready to make yet. At least, Stretch wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to think about how much Edge secretly wanted to leave.

“Love?”

As Edge’s arms tightened around him, he realized he was shaking again.

“You know I won’t force you to talk to me. You know that normally I would wait until you’re ready to speak, if you choose to speak at all.” He was silent for a moment, and Stretch could tell he was only choosing his next words carefully.

“But something is telling me that this isn’t your typical episode. I can’t explain it, love, but...please tell me what I can do to help you.”

“i don’t know,” Stretch finally confessed. “i love you so much, edge. you know that, right?”

Edge’s hands began gently stroking him, petting and massaging at his spine and shoulders. “Of course I know that, Stretch,” he said gently. “And I love you, too. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Stretch sucked in a deep breath. He truly wasn’t ready for this, but he supposed his time was up. Instead of pulling away, however, he cuddled as close as he could and made sure to press a loving kiss to his husband’s mouth before he said anything. Edge returned the kiss, deepening it briefly.

“i saw you today. the you that you’re hiding from me.”

Edge’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Feeling like he was going to lose his tender grip on stability, Stretch once again pulled in a deep breath. “i mean i saw how you looked like you regret every life choice you’ve made since we decided to have a kid.”

He half expected Edge to deny it or to pretend he didn’t know what Stretch was talking about. Instead, he was silent, his eyelights downcast as if staring at Stretch’s chest.

“babe, i understand if--”

“No,” Edge interrupted. “You don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand, and I’ve been terrible at communicating with you.” He looked up then, and Stretch’s soul only felt worse at the look of fear in Edges’ eye lights.  

“please don’t leave me,” he begged. “whatever it is, we can work through it, right?”

He knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but he couldn’t help it. He loved Edge so, so much, and now he loved that baby, too, and he couldn’t give either one of them up.

Edge pulled him up close, his arms tightening almost painfully. “I’m not going to leave you,” he whispered against his skull. “I love you, Stretch, and I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long, silent moment, they just held each other in the darkness of their room. Edge pressed soft kisses to the side of Stretch’s skull, and in turn Stretch nuzzled his face against Edge’s shoulder.

“I’m...scared,” Edge finally confessed, his voice a whisper. “I’m scared of something I never once considered until it was too late.”

Stretch nodded and looked up enough to meet Edge’s eyes. “what are you scared of?”

Edge drew in a slow breath before speaking, his words hesitant. “I love you, you know that. I love you more than I ever dared dream possible.”

“yeah? that’s good, though, right?”

“Yes, that’s good. Growing up in Underfell...love like this didn’t exist there. Not between lovers, and I’ve seen parents sell their children to make ends meet. When you and I first got together, when I first realized that I loved you, I never dared hope that I could love you this deeply. But Stretch…”

He went silent again, his eyes closed tightly and his arms tightening once again.

“what is it, edge?” Stretch couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice if he tried.

“I’ve seen how parents love their children here, in this universe.” Edge voice was tight. Stretch knew that if he could, he’d be crying. “When I thought about having children, my thoughts were more on the things I could teach them, how I could help them to learn and grow into happy, healthy adults. I didn’t think about...Stretch, how am I going to love them? Children need more than guidance and steady care. I understand that now.”

For a moment, Stretch’s mind simply couldn’t wrap around this new information. Couldn’t adapt to this new perspective.

“They’re going to have love, I know that. You and Blue, probably even Sans and Papyrus. But what kind of life are they going to live when they realize that only one of their parents can genuinely love them?”

“edge…” Stretch wasn’t sure what to say for a minute. “baby, i…”

“I know,” Edge said lamely. “I know, and this is my fault. I’m so sorry, love.”

Stretch reached up to cup the side of his husband’s face, his thumb tracing carefully over his sharp teeth.

“baby, no. don’t be sorry; there’s nothing you need to apologize for. it’s gonna be okay.”

Edge blinked, his brow furrowing. “You’re not angry?”

“why would i be?”

“Because I talked you into having a child you didn’t even want only to tell you that I can’t love them.”

And right then, Stretch’s soul shattered. He understood so much more now, and the tears building in his sockets were as much for his husband as they were for himself.

“oh, edge, no…” He leaned in and kissed Edge, putting all of his love into it. Pulling back, he tried to smile. “it’s true that once upon a time i didn’t want kids. but i do now, and you didn’t talk me into wanting one either. being with you, loving you so much, changed my mind. i want this baby; i really do. but i want this baby with you. and...this is gonna take some time, i think, for you to see what i mean, but i think you’re wrong. i think you’re gonna be surprised by how much you love this kid.”

“But what if I can’t love them?”

Stretch’s smile became more genuine. “you can. even you have to admit that you’ll be able to love them a little bit.” He held up a hand, his thumb and forefinger held an inch apart. “and even if you do only love them a little bit, you also have to admit that you already care about them a lot. you’re right that kids need a bit more than just care and guidance, but let me tell you a thing about parents in this universe: they’re not perfect. no one is. but i have so much faith in you, edge. i know that you’re going to be a damn good parent.”

Edge nodded silently and hugged Stretch tightly again. Stretch wound his arms around Edge and held on, a little amazed at how the night had turned out so far.

“Thank you,” Edge whispered.

“always,” Stretch responded.

They snuggled closely for a while until Stretch’s sockets started drifting closed. He was out before Edge, falling asleep with the hope that Edge would feel better in the morning.

It appeared that Edge did feel better the next morning after their talk. After a few rounds of vigorous morning sex and a steamy shower, Edge was humming softly to himself as he made breakfast, lightly swinging his hips to whatever music was playing in his head.

Stretch had to admit he felt better, too. Both of their concerns had been unburied the night before, and Stretch knew all too well what it was like to live with a secret you felt like you couldn’t tell anyone. Even if Edge only ever told him about his concerns, at least he could vent them somehow.

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

The last month of the pregnancy was spent preparing for the arrival of their baby.

They got the nursery all set up, Edge begrudgingly allowing both is brother and brother-in-law to pitch in when his stamina proved once again to be less than it used to be. Red mostly helped by misinterpreting the instructions of the furniture they were putting together while Blue did most of the actual work.

The closer the due date came, the more often Red would come by to check up. Stretch had to wonder what his thoughts were on loving his niece or nephew, but he never asked. It was honestly pretty evident in the way he insisted on triple checking that everything in the nursery was safe for a babybones. And then checking again for good measure.

Blue showed his love the way he usually did: by feeding Edge as often as he allowed it. Which, thanks to the baby taking up more and more of his energy, was turning out to be more often than Stretch would have guessed possible.

Sans and Papyrus also came by often to show their support and love for their family. Papyrus did a lot of the cleaning for Edge, a compromise he and Blue had come up with together, and Sans kept producing the most ridiculous baby outfits he could find.

Stretch was honestly pretty sure he was going to find the charred remnants of some of those outfits at the bottom of their fire pit in the backyard, but he figured Sans already knew that so he didn’t say anything.

When the day finally arrived, Stretch helped a hobbling Edge to the car and settled him in the backseat just as Red and Blue came out of a shortcut in the driveway. Blue shook his head to clear it, then walked up to Stretch and held out his hand. Stretch dropped the keys into his brother’s palm, then got into the car next to his husband.

Red and Blue had already been to war over who was going to drive Edge to the hospital. Stretch did feel bad that he couldn't do it, but Edge helped him get over it. Edge had also settled the driver debate, saying he’d much rather arrive safely and in one piece, therefore Blue was driving. Red had huffed and puffed, but ultimately agreed.

At the hospital, the process went quickly. Alphys was there to help out as well since skeleton pregnancies were not common and most doctors didn’t know what to expect with the actual birthing process.

Stretch held Edge’s hand, encouraged him and tried to help keep him calm with words of love and support.

And then his baby was there, all of his perfect little bones covered in Edge’s crimson magic. A quick scan of his soul showed a male predilection, so they wrapped him up in a little blue blanket before settling him in Edge’s arms.

“a baby boy,” Stretch cooed. They’d been waiting until he was born for the scan; they didn’t want to risk getting a mixed result through Edge’s magic. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Edge’s sweaty forehead. “you did so good, babe.” He reached out and gently touched his baby’s tiny little skull. “he’s so precious.”

Edge nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Have you picked out a name?” one of the nurses asked.

Stretch smiled at Edge, who nodded. “Yes, his name is Cyperus.”

The nurse cooed. “That’s precious. He’s so cute. Are you about ready to let him get cleaned up?”

Edge paused for a moment before he nodded and reluctantly handed the baby back.

The doctors took the baby to clean him up and move Edge to a different room. As they moved, he took a second to text his brother that the birth went well and they could come see Cyperus now.

Red and Blue had both been certain that they would be the first uncle to hold the baby, but neither wanted to concede that there could only be one. Stretch was only a little nervous as they came into the room, expecting more arguing over baby-holding rights.

Instead, it seemed that they had worked themselves out. They both strode right up to the bed, but there was no snarling or growling.

“how’s the little ankle-biter?” Red asked, leaning over Edge with his hands in his pockets to get a better look. “aw, ain’t he cute?”

Blue held out his hands. “We decided that I get to hold him first.”

Edge raised a brow. “Is that so?”

Red nodded, and whatever Edge saw on his brother’s face seemed to take away all concern. His expression softened, and he carefully handed the baby bundle to Blue.

Both Red and Blue gushed over the tiny babybones for a while, then Red took his turn. Red held him awkwardly, and Stretch was impressed with the way he took direction from Blue. Despite Red having been the only one between the two with any actual baby-raising experience, it seemed Blue was the more experienced in recent baby-holding.

Eventually, Stretch was able to claim his baby back from his brothers. He held Cyperus gently, gave him a soft kiss on his little forehead, and marveled once again at how adorably perfect he was.

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

Later that evening, laying in bed at home with Cyperus sleeping quietly between them, Edge let out a large sigh.

Stretch looked at him with a smile. “what is it?” he asked.

Edge smiled, so beautiful and content. “You were right.”

“about what?”

His mouth opened, but no answer came out. Instead, Edge clicked his mouth shut and sniffled. Despite that gorgeous smile, Stretch was worried.

“edge?”

“I didn’t think it was going to be possible, Stretch. I really didn’t. But I love him. I love him so much more than I can even say.”

Stretch immediately relaxed, his soul filling with gentle peace and overwhelming love at the same time. “i know what you mean. i loved him before he was born, but now? damn.”

Edge nodded. Neither of them said anything else. Instead, they laid together watching their baby sleep, hands clasped together.

In a while, they’d move Cyperus to his nursery and go to bed themselves, but for now, neither Daddy nor Papa could take their eyes off of their little miracle.

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (15)

A/N: 👏🏼COME👏🏼GET👏🏼Y'ALLS👏🏼FLUFF👏🏼 this is SUCH a fluffy chapter im LIVING!!! all these slow moments are so much fun i'm actually just soft rn. gOd.also, realizing that this probably isn't slow burn. since it like. happens over the course of a day and a half. there're just hints that they've all been either pining or in denial for forever . so whoops

i’m at my family’s house right now, but after this i’ll be in my Stable Home™ for the foreseeable future. plus the next chapter is going to be.....so fun. :^) 

WARNINGS: I FUCKING FORGOT TO UPDATE THESE K. M. S.  wound mentions, self-deprecation — pretty sure that’s all there is in this one, but please let me know if i should add any more ! 

Words: 7390

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil​ @forrestwyrm​ @daflangstlairde​ @marshmallow-the-panda​ @askthesnake​ @k9cat​ @patromlogil​ @theobsessor1​

general tag: @jemthebookworm​

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to the ball tonight.”

The Thief shot the Bard another glare and turned his head to face the ceiling again. They’d been talking about the ball for about an hour. The Playwright had gone as soon as they’d explained, saying he didn’t like spending too much time in the Imagination’s action grounds, and the Artist then left to find the other Sides. 

If the Thief didn’t go with them, they wouldn’t have any protection. No one was willing to fight, much less fight the Dragon, and no one else alive could go toe to toe with him. 

But your wound….

Fuck off. 

It stings, doesn’t it?

“You know that doesn’t matter,” he said aloud.

“It matters so much,” the Bard whispered back.

He shifted, hand resting along the Thief’s tummy. After the Artist left, the Bard opted to lay down next to the Thief, hugging him as gently as he could around the stomach as to not jostle the bandages wrapped tight around the Thief’s chest. 

Sure, the Bard sung a ditty, used as much magic as the setting would allow, making sure the gash didn’t hurt and didn’t bleed and would heal quick. But he’d always had a soft spot for the Thief. They got along better than anticipated, given how fiery they were. He didn’t want the Thief feeling any sort of pain. Plus, pain wasn’t really their thing. 

“How’s Logan?” the Thief asked, for the fifth time.

Seeing Logan in distress had upset him more than the actual wound. The Bard clicked his tongue, almost annoyed at the Thief’s apathy for himself.

“Wonderfully,” the Bard promised, “He’s with Patton and Deceit, and they’re taking care of him.”

“Better than we would.”

“You could say that again.”

Distantly, they heard a door opened and closed again. That was likely the Artist coming back, the Bard thought, and he gently squeezed the Thief’s side. “Should I go check on them?” he whispered.

He felt the Thief shrug against him. 

Laying like this was calming. A little depressing as Roman realized he was cuddling against himself, but, well. What can you do. They both elected to wait until someone came in from the foyer, where the Artist had led everyone into and was now making six mugs of tea.

Logan was the last to enter, closing the door behind himself. Another throb of pain jolted through his head, and he couldn’t stifle a quiet groan. It felt like something was pushing on the inside of his skull, trying to break out. 

“Logan?” he heard Deceit ask.

He was leaning on the door now, hand still gripping the handle as he rested his forehead and tried to stop feeling dizzy. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as the fluorescent lights were just a bit too bright for him to handle. This was the worst bout yet. 

Multiple hands grabbed him, leading him slowly back to the couch he’d been at prior. 

“Logan, honey?” Patton asked. 

He laid down on the couch, shifting as the hands left. How expedient of a situation. The pain subsided only slightly, returning to sit in the back of his cranium. 

“Yo, Professor Plum, are you going to say something?” the Artist said. 

They all were sitting now, Deceit on the coffee table, Patton on the ground beside the couch and the Artist on the couch’s armrest. Logan’s eyes were still closed, but he lifted his thumb up, resting his hand on his stomach, and all of their shoulders loosened. 

“I have a headache,” Logan stated, “That is all. It will pass.”

The trio all looked worriedly at each other, gesturing at one another as though asking if they’d heard about this headache. As it became more and more apparent that this was news to all of them, Patton turned back to Logan. He knew how to deal with Logan’s occasional headaches, often brought on from Thomas overthinking things or having to deal with strenuous mental exercises. Or Taxes. It was tax season, after all.. 

“Darn. What kinda tea is that?” Patton asked, gesturing to the cups, “Do you have any peppermint?”

The Artist bit his lip and waved his hand over the cup. The scent, which had been light and fruity, shifted into mint. “Now it is,” he said, worry ebbing into his voice, “Is there anything else we can do?”

“How long have you had this headache?” Deceit asked, still watching Logan.

“Since we entered the Imagination. It was small, when we woke up in that forest yesterday,” Logan rubbed his forehead and took off his glasses, “Patton, can you hold these?”

Patton took them wordlessly and set them on the coffee table. 

“And you stated earlier that you’ve never been in the Imagination?” Deceit asked again. 

Patton glanced at him. Deceit was, once again, taking notes. Well, more like poking his pen against a specific page in his notepad. 

“Yes. I have never been here before.”

“Ah.” Deceit circled something on the page and poked his pen against it again.

“Ah?” the Artist asked, brow furrowing, “Ah, like, ‘ah, by Jove, I’ve got it’ kinda ah?”

It was Deceit’s job to ‘get it,’ as the Artist put it. But now he had to explain what was wrong. 

Something Deceit was very well known for being bad at. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but was first interrupted by Logan.

“Have YOU been in the Imagination before?”

Deceit bobbed his head to either side, thinking. “Yes. I have,” no need for details.

“Roman let you in?” Patton sounded surprised, and Deceit waved his hand.

“No, of course not.” and he was cut off again, this time by the Artist with a clearing of the throat. An incredibly offended clearing of the throat. 

“Yeah, no, we don’t let just anyone in. Do you see how much work we’ve put into this place? It’s more elaborate than the Marvel Cinematic Universe. You’ve come in a few times, just to help with memories in dreams, right? Virgil’s helped with a few nightmares. But mostly it’s just me. And….well,” the Artist pursed his lips and waved his hand, indicating ‘you know.’

Before anyone could ask follow up questions, he stood up. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna go check on Thief and Bard.”

The Thief, the Bard....wait, that was just three Romans. Deceit frowned up at the Artist’s retreating back, switching gears for a moment. “Where’s the Playwright?” 

“He doesn’t like being, uh, on stage. His words,” the Artist’s eyes flicked up for a second, before looking back at Deceit, “He’s also grabbing costumes for the ball tonight.”

The three Sides vaguely remembered the incredibly long corridor of costumes and the extended process of trying to dress for the medieval setting.

Logan frowned. The “medieval” setting indeed. It was so historically inaccurate that he was taking a running count of the innacuracies that seem to be without a Doylist explanation, and had been considering what the historically plausible alternatives were. What kinds of outfits would be accurate for a ball, though? 

He winced again, closing his eyes and laying down again as the headache bounded back in full force. 

Deceit, Patton, and the Artist all looked back at him. Truthfully, the Artist felt guilty; Logan seemed to be doing fine before he arrived, so the increase in headache-induced-acheing was probably connected to him. Somehow.

“I’m gonna bring Thief and Bard some tea,” he mumbled, picking up two of the mugs, “Sorry the Imagination sucks, Logan.”

And he darted away before any of them could tell him to not. 

Patton blinked, looking around. He could have sworn the Artist was just with them. Oh, he must have left. 

Had Logan had his tea? Patton had zoned out for a little there and hadn’t noticed. He shifted how he was sitting on the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and looking around the room again. 

Where were they again?

Dr. Picani’s office, oh, yeah.

Where had the Artist gone?

“Artist….?” Patton hummed, quiet and to himself as to not interrupt the other two.

“Now,” Deceit seemed unphased by the Artist’s quick exit, turning back to Logan with his notepad, “It came back? Just now?”

“Yes. Stop talking for a second, please,” Logan raised a finger. 

Deceit nodded and puffed up his cheeks, looking up and around at the room. His eyes eventually landed on Patton, who was still looking around, vaguely confused. But now he was more confused about why he was so confused because, like, of COURSE he saw the Artist leave. Patton’s eyes refocused, blinking at Deceit. He waved one hand.

At first, Deceit’s expression didn’t change, and Patton lowered his hand. But then, slowly, Deceit blinked at him, then stuck his tongue out slightly.

“Blep,” Patton whispered.

Deceit smirked, and winked. Blep indeed.

Patton slapped his hand over his own mouth, stifling his giggles as Logan lowered his hand. “Alright. I am okay.”

“Good,” Deceit said, turning his attention quickly back to the logical side, “Now, actually, Patton.”

Patton perked up. “Mhm?”

“Do you feel any difference?” Deceit crossed his legs where he sat, pen sitting on his notepad as he waited. 

Patton tilted his head in thought, then shook it. “Not like a headache or anything,” he made a gesture with his hands, as though he were pulling something apart between them, “It’s like….like. A feelings-y thing. I’m feeling a little more airheaded than usual? You know, like how you feel right after we binge-watch The Office.”

Deceit watched him blankly. He didn’t have the heart to tell Patton that that made absolutely no sense because he wasn’t the overseer of Thomas’ emotional interpretation, so he just nodded. 

“Patton,” he turned to Logan, who was gesturing into the air above him while laying down, “I do not know what the fuck that means.”

And there Logan was with the incredibly tired realism. Patton deflated. “Oh,” he hummed, frowning at the ground as he thought of a new way to explain the sensation.

Honestly, it’d been building, like a burp. There were a lot of things going on he didn’t agree with, and a lot of things that plain hurt, but there were weird things he’d never felt before. 

Patton hummed angrily behind his lips, drumming his fingers against his chin for a moment in thought. What kinds of feelings had he never felt before? How would he know?

Gosh, that didn’t even make sense to him. Patton was getting his thoughts wrapped in a tizzy. He balled up his hands in his lap and tried again.

“Well, it’s like….like you’ve just experienced so much that you KNOW! You know you know what’s going to happen, but it still happens and you still feel everything, but not as big as before, like it’s an echo? Almost? It feels like I can kinda feel everything a lot always. And on top of that, I feel like I’m letting a lot more slide. Like, earlier. I know you’ve got a headache, but language.”

Logan sighed tiredly and Patton waved his hands a little frantically, backtracking. “I know! But I didn’t really register that! I had to think about it! But usually I can just, ya know, know, and usually you’d know too, right? It’s like what I’m feeling and what I’d USUALLY feel about things are all wonky, so I’m sensing things and feeling things a lot slower than usual.”

Logan exhaled, then rubbed his face with both of his hands.

That made only the tiniest modicum of sense. 

Well, it made perfect sense to the person who’d been looking for that answer. Deceit jotted down another note and exhaled, nice and slow. Eureka, he supposed.

How was he going to synthesize this in an understandable way?

“Logan, Patton, remember how surprised Bard, Thief, and Child were earlier, over how time was moving at a regular rate?” Deceit asked them both, looking up from his notes and raising an eyebrow. 

“Uh, huh. They said it’d been a whole week but you said it’d only been a few hours,” Patton crossed his legs on the ground and leaned back on the couch, head resting beside Logan’s shoulder.

“Exactly. And that time thing changed, what, when we first arrived here?” 

Logan raised an eyebrow. He still had his eyes closed, despite the fact that his headache had eased up once more. It was just pleasantly calming at this point. “Do you think our arrival into the Imagination had something to do with the time scale changing?”

Oh good, Logan got it instantaneously. Deceit clapped, nodding excitedly. “Yes!”

“But I dunno how to change anything in here. If we’re not trying to change things, then why’re they changing?” Patton slumped, knitting his eyebrows together in thought and tapping Logan’s hand, “You know anything about that, kiddo?”

“I’m afraid I have to confess ignorance to how the Imagination works. On this side, I assumed Roman controlled everything.”

That was valid; Deceit couldn’t profess to being an expert either, but what other explanation was there? He had other evidences, too. “But do you both remember how the town looked when we first arrived? Or the forest?”

Patton watched Deceit as his brows pinched even tighter. He was really trying to remember, and he knew what he thought it’d looked like, but he wasn’t sure. It did look different this morning compared to yesterday evening, too, but he couldn’t pinpoint in what ways.

“Not quite,” he made a so-so hand motion. “It sure looks different, though, but I dunno how.”

“I cannot either,” Logan said. “It looked like a town, but I cannot remember any precise details.”

“Neither can I, but that’s the point,” Deceit twirled his pen in the air, as though circling the town, “We know what it looks like now! It’s got detail.”

“Yes, possibly because we’ve been in the town for longer. It stands to reason that, the longer we are in an environment, the more that environment becomes familiar,” getting much farther away now, Logan, “That seems more likely than our entrance into the Imagination impacting the physical landscape.”

“Not just the physical landscape,” Deceit huffed, annoyed now as he crossed his arms, “I think all of us are adding our own assets to whatever story Roman’s trying to tell in here.”

Logan scowled at the ceiling. That was possible, but in Logan’s opinion, less plausible. He and Patton had no idea how to change things, especially how to change the things that Roman had so painstakingly built. 

In theory, it shouldn’t be any harder than striking a red line through it, similar to how he would when editing one of Roman’s scripts. But in practice, Logan wouldn’t know where to begin or what sorts of — he cringed — feelings it would envoke. 

COULD their very presence in the Imagination be changing it? His headaches usually stemmed from being overworked. Could he, as a Side, be overcompensating for the lack of Logic in an Imagination purely overrun by Creativity? 

Logan frowned at the ceiling. He would have to concede to Deceit — his theory made sense, the more Logan considered it.

Deceit looked from Logan to Patton, who was flapping his knees up and down while he sat. When he met Deceit’s eyes, he shrugged apologetically. Patton was still zipping slowly in and out of understanding; he’d always attributed that to the Imagination because, well, that’s just how the Imagination had always been for him. And implying that Roman’s imagination would be hurting them? That didn’t make sense! Roman would never, he wasn’t evil!

“I just thought it was ‘cause it was the Imagination. I wouldn’t want to change anything about what Roman’s making. Plus, Roman always talks about how creation doesn’t make sense, ya know,” he fixed his glasses and held his legs with both hands. 

“Does it not, or does Roman think it wouldn’t make sense to us?” Deceit asked. The uncertainty that passed over Patton’s face was interrupted by a cold question.

“What doesn’t make sense to you?” 

Deceit and Patton both looked over to the door, where the Artist had returned from the other room. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, posture rigid. 

Numbly, Deceit wondered how much he’d heard. The Artist met his gaze with a hardened glare, but nodded to the other room. “Thief wants to talk to you,” he stated, “Just you. And I wanna talk to Logan and Patton.”

The Artist had heard enough to be vaguely upset that they were talking about him behind his back. 

Deceit sighed and climbed off of the coffee table finally. He’d die before sitting in a seat correctly. 

“Fine. Maybe they’ll understand what I’m trying to say,” he stated, giving Patton a look that plainly read ‘Think about it or I’ll stab you with this sword.’

You know what, Patton took back the thing about Deceit being an actor. That anger was thinly veiled at best. 

But he also loved him. 

So Patton smiled at Deceit and blew him a small kiss. 

He absolutely hadn’t expected Deceit’s eyes to widen, nor for him to walk straight into the wall beside the hallway and sputter in indignation. 

Deceit slid into the other room quickly, avoiding the Artist. Which was fine. Completely. Fine.

The Artist walked back and sat down on the ground, beside Patton. He leaned his head back and nudged Logan’s hip. “Your head still hurt, Cranium Command?” he asked, voice much softer and….was that guilt?

Well, they couldn’t have the Artist blaming himself for a quandary he had no hand in. Plus, that was quite the Disney-rooted nickname, and Logan couldn’t deny that he was pleased with it. He shook his head with a quiet hum. “A little, but not as forcefully.”

“That’s good. Uh,” the Artist held one of his knees, letting the other leg straighten out beneath the table, “Playwright actually wanted me to ask why you haven’t looked at his book more often.”

“Oh?”

“Worm?” Patton added.

The Artist snorted, giving him a soft smile and nudging his arm. This Roman was real different, in Patton’s mind. So quiet and unsure of himself outside of the persona he’d built for himself, that of a worker. His smiles were like those tiny ones Roman would give, when wrapped beneath his arms, or when receiving praise for a job well done. 

He unthinkingly straightened the strings on the Artist’s hoodie, humming quietly, and the Artist took one of his hands. 

Before anything else, though, Logan grunted. Both of them scooted forward, letting Logan swing his legs carefully between them. “Let us peruse this book, then,” he murmured, taking the book from his coat once more. 

“Oh, yeah, THAT book!” Patton said, pointing to it. 

His hand lowered as they saw the cover. 

“Woah,” the Artist murmured, “Interesting design. I would have coated everything in the same level of golden foil, though. It’s a little unbalanced right now.”

Every bit of Roman’s crest was visible to some extent, indicating that they’d met everyone. That must mean, Logan realized, Virgil met the Damsel. He didn’t know if that alleviated some of his worries about never finding that particular Roman, or if it worried him that the center tower of the castle was the most blank portion of the entire crest. 

Should he point it all out? Would that be awkward, with the Artist present? The ocean’s (or was it a lake, because of the lake outside of the town’s walls) waves were present as a flat yellow color, not glittering but at least with vibrantly visible lines. The most bold part, glowing golden, was still the central spiralling sun. 

A part of Logan’s chest loosened, knowing that they hadn’t failed the Child, that he still believed in them all. In all honesty, seeing the entire crest, even the Dragon’s thin golden castle wall outlines, comforted some part of him that was worried they’d never reassemble Roman. 

Pattn pressed a finger to the cover. 

“What’s this all mean again?” he asked, brow furrowing in concentration.

He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember what the entire book was for. Which was super bad, considering the Playwright had given it to them yesterday. 

In his defense, though, it’d been a LONG, long, long, long, long day.

This was definitely going to get awkward. Logan didn’t particularly care, though; if the Artist had qualms with it, he would have to take it up with the Playwright. “The cover indicates how much we’ve ‘convinced’ every form of Roman that we appreciate his existence,” Logan explained.

“Ah.” The Artist’s voice was eerily level. 

“Oh, yeah! Wow, the Child really likes us,” Patton drew his finger along the outer edge of the crest, a thin line of ink in the indentation that was barely glowing, “What’s who?”

“We broke it up ourselves, I’m the waves,” the Artist pointed out himself, intrigue growing as he looked over the cover once more, “Interesting. I, uh. Wow. Interesting plot device.”

“That is likely why the Playwright is upset with me not using it as often. I did not expect this excursion to last for long, nor for it to go as fast as it is,” Logan rubbed the back of his neck, gently rubbing the spot where his neck connected to his skull.

The motion was not missed by Patton. “D’ya want a massage while you read?” he offered, standing up slowly.

Ah. Logan blinked up at Patton’s blurry face. Had he been able to see, he would have seen the gentle and ultimately fond smile he wore. “That would be lovely, Patton. Thank you,” he leaned forward and took his glasses from the table, slipping them back on as Patton climbed up onto the couch, sitting on the top of it behind Logan. 

His hands rested gently on Logan’s shoulders, then slid closer to his neck. A good call, to start with — oh, Patton was so gentle. Logan let the tension leave his shoulders and tried to focus on the book. If he thought too hard about the fact that Patton was intimately touching his shoulders….AND, if he thought about how much he was being touched currently, with the Artist’s head resting on his thigh, Patton’s hands on his back…

He straightened his back a little more and sniffed. Too many emotions today. 

“Looks like Bard’s bein’ a little bratty baby,” the Artist pointed to the mountains, dim in the crest’s background.

“His apprehension is valid. Trust should be earned,” Logan responded, raising his eyebrow at the Artist’s quoting, “I find that it is surprising that Dragon trusts us at all. Perhaps Virgil has spoken with him. If we were ranking….”

His eyes flicked to the Artist, who raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Give us your top seven Roman belief list,” he said, as though trying to comfort Logan’s worry.

“I’d like to hear, those lines do kinda look the same to me,” Patton added from behind, knees on either side of Logan’s shoulders giving him an awkwardly placed squeeze. 

The succor helped, at least. Logan blinked in place of a nod and looked back at the cover. “It appears that Child trusts us most, followed by you. Then it is Thief, and then Bard, then Playwright, Dragon, and Damsel.”

Patton sighed. He was still upset that the Playwright was feeling so disconnected from them. He’d actually been looking forward to spending some downtime with him, have an open discussion about what he wanted. Last time must have been dragged down by the need to, what’d he say? 

Provide exposition. Yeah! 

After all, Patton didn’t want to leave him waiting in the wings. 

He snorted to himself, leaning forward and almost pressing his head to Logan’s, before he stopped mid motion. That’d be bad, they had boundaries and all! He straightened up and cleared his throat. 

Playwright needed his turn in the spotlight. 

Patton let out a quiet laugh and shook his head.

“Well,” the Artist hummed, after they’d both starred at the cover for a few quiet seconds, “Open it.”

Ah. Right. Logan flicked the book open. The Artist said “ah” quietly and added, “Playwright mentioned the Author’s Notes. Didn’t say anything about reading it, but I’d recommend reading something with notes from him.”

That was the first section added. Logan suspected that that had been originally crossed off, before they even found the town, because it was written directly below the scribbled out section. He flipped the book’s pages, expecting only a few notes. Why would the Playwright write them authors’ notes if he was planning to visit them? 

The answer was more clear when he reached the page. The Artist whistled low, and Patton winced. “Oh, boy,” he murmured above Logan’s head. 

Logan simply didn’t react. 

The pages were full of notes, some scribbled out, some written large, some written hastily, some blotted out with water. Perhaps tears? The first note was written clearly, marked with a date and time even.

“I hope you understand, but I would prefer not to enter the Imagination. I like to remove myself  from the narrative. :)”

Of course, a Hamilton reference. Logan chuckled quietly and continued reading the notes aloud.

“Now that you’ve found the Thief’s tree, it shouldn’t be too hard to locate the other figments. Do you need assistance?”

“Please?”

“It’s crossed out?” Patton asked, pointing to the note. 

Logan nodded. “Yes, it is. Do you know why?” he directed the last part to the Artist and was met with a shrug. The strikeouts only continued, some in thick scribbles, but others in neat and crisp lines that left the words semi-legible beneath.

“Apparently not. These notes may be useless, butThen again, it’s not like Roman the Bard, the Thief, and the Child are good at hiding. The Damsel will be most difficult to find.”

“Good call with the guards. I miss you all already. I think I gave you a pen, in your coat? Or you could just speak. I’ll hear you.”

“Please, tell Patton to not worry too much. Virgil and Deceit have found the Thief and are enroute to his tree; they will be safe. I would actually recommend going there instead of staying with the Artist. He is difficult to handle, at best, and atrocious at worst.”

The Artist scoffed and pointed at the note. “Go write a chorus,” he hissed, turning to the sky and flipping it off. 

“Roman!” Patton scolded him, stopping his massaging and putting a hand over the Artist’s. While the Artist rolled his eyes, Logan continued. 

“And you’re going to the Artist’s house. I would recommend that you don’t speak ill of his paintings, they’re all he has to live for.”

“I know I said I didn’t want to come to the Imagination, but the Artist is speaking ill of you, and I’m going to go fight him. If you need anything, please let me know.”

“You know, you’re allowed to pass this book to any of the others, too, Logan. It’s not just for you. I know you’re obsessed in love with might eat fond of books, but I would prefer this book in the hands of someone who will interact with it.”

“That’s absurd. Who would he have had me pass this book onto?” Logan mumbled, rubbing his jaw.

The Artist shrugged. “He was probably getting emo. Sad you weren’t reading his dumb lil’ book, as though it’s not the most useless method of communication ever. What kinda video game tutorial.”

“It’s pretty stylish, though. I like it!” Patton said with a grin.

“What’s the point of even warning you about that if you’re not going to read this to notice.”

“I guess you’re never going to read this.”

Logan hummed quietly. It was getting more and more distressing.

“Why would you? Roman’s only a nuisance. And I’m part of him, aren’t I. Can’t hide that!”

“I promise I’m not just a nuisance. I’m better. I’m the better one. Right?”

“Roman’s better.”

“Oh, God, what if being a nuisance is so crucial to being Roman that all of us are nuisances. That would make sense, given how ridiculous this whole situation is. We’re such idiots. I’m such an idiot, why would I listen 

“I guess I’m not going to succeed at this contest! I’m not dumb enough to be Roman. Hah!”

“It’s almost a solace that no one’s ever going to read this.”

“Team Work makes the Dream Work. Cute. Tell Virgil that’s cute. I love him.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at the Artist. I’ll tell him myself soon, but I also wanted to tell you, because Patton and Logan heard. I want to be useful, somehow.”

“The most striking difference between Roman and I is” the following text was so scribbled out it was illegible. Everything was crossed out. Red lines were appearing on all of the text, actually. 

“He’s crossing it all out right now,” Patton mumbled into Logan’s hair.

He’d given up rubbing his shoulders and was now simply sitting atop the couch, legs cradling Logan’s shoulders. 

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of what you’ve written,” Logan said, seemingly to no one. Neither of them, at least.

The Artist looked up at him. 

“If you would like to speak honestly to us, then please do. I understand that trust must be earned, but how can we prove ourselves trustworthy without any chances to do so? You have been incredibly helpful. These notes would have been indicative of the path we should have taken, and it’s on us….it is my fault that we did not know,” Logan drummed his fingers against the book’s side, “We would like to talk with you more. And not just through a book.”

The lines stopped. The Artist sat up, watching the page, then looking up at Logan. His lip was quirked up slightly; he knew what he’d said.

A small arrow appeared on the bottom of the page, pointing to the edge of the book. Logan flipped the page.

At the top of the new blank page was more writing.

“Thanks for checking eventually.”

“It is my pleasure. My one concern with the book was that it would provide information we already knew,” Logan felt Patton squeeze his shoulders with his knees, “For example, the Dragon’s section is fairly nondescript. However, if you are uncomfortable with entering this level of the Imagination directly, then we can surely communicate via the book.”

More writing appeared, then was smudged. 

They could almost imagine the Playwright swearing at himself for smudging the ink.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Not taking more chances, hm. Logan hummed, patting the book. 

“Thank you for your ingenuity,” he responded.

Patton turned his attention to the Artist, while Logan comforted the Playwright by speaking to the air. It seemed that they didn’t need the pen, after all. The Artist was starring hard at the book, jaw set in an angry disgruntlement. 

“Hey, Artist?”

“Mh?” he looked up at Patton, pushing his glasses up tiredly.

There was still something Patton couldn’t really understand about the Playwright’s writings. He slid down beside the Artist and held open an arm, an offering for if the Artist wanted a hug. 

To which he shook his head with an apologetic frown. Not much of a hugger. Patton smiled, that was okay, and patted the Artist’s knee.

“What did he mean, about not being Roman?” he asked. “I thought all of you were Roman.”

The Artist frowned and, for a second, Patton was a little worried he didn’t understand what he was asking. But then the Artist seemed to have a lightbulb moment, eyes lighting with understanding, before he scowled again. 

“I don’t really….know, know. The whole point of all of this is that we WERE Roman,” the Artist rubbed the back of his neck, looking sidelong at the door, “I mean, the ways we’re connected to him differ. And the, uh, the levels of how much we exist as being in Thomas’ mind versus as Imagination creations is wild. I don’t know how real we are in terms of being real parts of Roman. It’s kinda hard to explain.”

“Sounds like it,” Patton nodded sympathetically, “Some of y’all don’t feel like Roman?”

The Artist shook his head. “I’d argue that none of us feel like Roman. Not really. We just all want to feel like Roman, so we say we do. One of us’ gotta be Roman enough, right?”

Alright, now he lost Patton. Before he could ask further, though, the door at the end of the hall banged open as the Bard jumped out, startling the other three. 

“Whoops!” he called and lunged into the room with one leg, “Sorry about that, darlings, but we need you in the room pronto.”

“Fine. Maybe they’ll understand what I’m trying to say,” Deceit turned around and slid into the room.

Of all things he expected to find, it was not the Bard and the Thief cuddling like a married couple, especially in light of their argument earlier. The Thief’s cloak and shirt were hanging on the nearby coat rack, chest wrapped in thick layers of bandages. They were leaned closer to each other, whispering about something, something about the ball that night. Deceit raised an eyebrow and coughed to get their attention. 

Both simply looked up at him, neither concerned about their positioning. Honestly, figures. 

“Heyyy,” the Bard sang, beckoning Deceit in with a hand, “Come sit!”

Deceit squinted at them and grabbed the chair across from the couch. He spun it around and sat backwards in it, legs straddling the backrest. Once he’d leaned over the backrest, one hand wrapped around it while the other held up his head, he spoke. “You called?” 

“Yeah,” the Thief shifted, patting the Bard’s side as he sat up, pulling no punches, “You kissed us?”

Ah. Welp. Deceit immediately shot the Bard a glare, opening his mouth to reprimand him, but the Thief interrupted. “No, no, he didn’t tell me. He just, uh, well,” they shared a worried look before the Thief turned back to Deceit, “He confirmed what I thought. We all felt it.”

Deceit recoiled, confused mostly. “You all what?”

“Felt your kiss,” the Thief’s cheeks turned red as he scooted himself up, the Bard stuffing pillows behind him and hissing unintelligibly at him, though he was too engrossed in the conversation to notice. “Me, Child, Dragon, we were all in a scuffle when we felt someone kiss our cheek. Couldn’t have been Logan or Virgil, might have been Patton but Bard said it was you.”

The Bard clenched his teeth in worry and made a so-so hand motion. “Guess I did tell him one teensy thing,” he said.

“How does….how did you feel it?” Deceit’s brows pinched as he took out his notepad again, looking down at what he’d written, “Is it something to do with the whole ‘we’re all Roman’ thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“I was trying to tell you, Ponyboy, it means we’re gonna be whole soon!” the Bard gently punched the Thief’s arm, then threw his arm around him and laughed.

Deceit raised an eyebrow at them, but his expression went unnoticed at first. He scribbled something down about how fast the Bard and Thief made up after their argument — perhaps they were compatible sides of each other?

No, no way, not after the arguing.

“Pony boy?” the Thief asked, frowning at the Bard.

Who winked at him and stuck his tongue out. “Stay gold,” he whispered.

The Thief groaned and shoved his shoulder, prompting the Bard to laugh. He wrapped his arms around the Thief’s waist gingerly, below his bandages. Had he any strength, the Thief would have pushed him off, but he opted for a tired eye roll and level glare.

Deceit clapped to get their attention, because no facial expressions were interrupting whatever was happening here. “Moving past that,” he made a ‘continue’ hand gesture, “Care to explain what ‘going to be whole’ means?”

The Bard rested his head on the Thief’s shoulder with a wide grin. His eyes would have sparkled if they — no wait, there, they were sparkling. “I’ve got a hunch that all that we need to bring us together is a little bit of love!”

“And I,” the Thief said, putting one hand on the Bard’s face and pushing him off slowly, “Think that’s one of the dumbest suggestions possible.”

The Bard scowled at him, nudging him with his hip. “Oh, you know what I’m talking about! It’s like true love’s kiss! True love’s kiss solves everything!”

True love’s kiss. A fairytale ending for a fairytale adventure?

Deceit hated it. 

“No.” True love? Get out of here with that. He had barely believed in love as a general concept before coming into the Imagination, he wasn’t ready to commit to TRUE love. 

Plus he’d already kissed one Roman on the cheek today and that was enough. He’d like to be kissing the real Roman next, but, well. Maybe he wasn’t ready for it? Either way, Deceit’s entire being was telling him to not.

He’d admitted QUITE a bit in the past, what. Hour? Two hours? And he wasn’t keen on anything else. It made his stomach churn.

The Thief was semi-on his side, as he shot the Bard a glare. “This isn’t a fairytale, Bard.”

“Oh, isn’t it, Flynn Rider?”

“Either way, that’s gonna take Deceit spilling the tea,” the Thief held up a finger at the Bard and turned to Deceit. “What happened?” 

Deceit raised his eyebrow. “Oh, you just want me to tell you?”

“Uh. Yeah,” the Thief waved his hands around,  “What else?”

Deceit crossed his arms. He didn’t want to disclose this fact; not of his own volition, at least, and not just yet. He’d been so upfront with Logan and Patton that he wasn’t sure how much more emotional validation he could withstand today without crying or something. “Why would I?”

“To prove him wrong,” the Thief jerked a thumb back at the Bard.

“To prove me right!” and the Bard preened, putting his hands beneath his chin and giving Deceit an award winning smile.

“No.”

Both Romans frowned. “No?” the Bard asked, “Wait, I was literally there, you DID!”

“Maybe you saw wrong?” oh, God, they were going to argue again.

“I didn’t see wrong! I—”

“Fine,” Deceit snapped, interrupting their squabbles, “Yes, I kissed the Artist on the cheek, but I don’t know anything about making you all whole. I don’t know what you want of me.”

The Thief and Bard had certainly shifted. Now the Bard was sitting on the top of the couch, legs crossed and back resting on the wall, while the Thief was laying across the couch still, legs kicked up and nudging the Bard’s knees.

They both froze, looking at Deceit through his confession. The Thief cleared his throat and propped himself up on his elbows, scooting back to lay on the armrest. “Deceit, buddy, I just wanna make sure this isn’t the answer. We want you to kiss us again.”

“If you wanted a kiss, you could have just said so,” he fixed his gloves, trying not to look at either of the Romans too directly. “Why go through all these lengths for something that means nothing?”

“Means….nothing?” the Bard’s voice was so small.

“Yes, it’s just a kiss,”

“A kiss means everything!” the Bard snapped. He jumped up, standing on the couch with one foot on the backrest and one on the armrest, towering above. “When you kissed us, we all felt it, and it felt...it felt like something. It felt like we were whole in the moment, but….”

“See, you can’t even describe the feeling,” the Thief scoffed, shaking his head disapprovingly, “Ridiculous.”

“If you’re just going to argue again, can I go?” Deceit asked, annoyance clear.

He’d thought these two Romans may be compatible, but it seemed that even they couldn’t agree on anything. At least they were still being civil. At least. Who knew how long that would last?

Both of them looked up at him and said “Wait,” with similar levels of desperation. Deceit put his hands up in mock-surrender, tired of their, of Roman’s, antics. It’d been a long day, could you really blame him?

“We,” the Thief started, eyes flicking to the Bard, who nodded for him to speak as he slid down to sit on the armrest, “We thought it’d be best to. Disclose. That Roman loves. All of you.”

His teeth grew more gritted as the confession came out. The Bard looked back at Deceit and nodded vigorously, clasping his hands to his chest and standing. He leaned down in front of Deceit, ignoring how Deceit leaned back, and met his eye-level. “Roman loves all four of you. I love all four of you, so, so much that it hurts,” he whispered. 

Deceit watched his eyes, watched them glimmer with unseen red and gold, and steeled his expression. That wasn’t necessarily as big of a surprise as it was a confession. It was like a breath of fresh air, the truth. He didn’t always get to see it so blatantly. 

Truth to Deceit was like high percentage alcohol. It was incredibly bad in large quantities, and was an acquired taste, but he could partake. And sometimes it was nice. But today had held a lot of hard truths and a lot of bare feelings, and he wasn’t sure how much he could take of this rampant exposure.

It was all given honesty, though, and given trust. He couldn’t fight that. Not when Roman was so disassembled, and not when it was about something he’d never dared to dream of.

“I am….glad,” Deceit stated, trying to figure out how to word it right.

The Thief frowned, and the Bard leaned back, a blank expression overtaking his face. Perhaps those weren’t the right words. They exchanged a look and the Bard shuffled slowly toward the door. 

“Bard thought we should tell you, just in case. That just means Dragon loves you all, too. He won’t hurt Virgil,” the Thief said.

Deceit frowned. Hang on. 

Hang on, there, because that contradicted what he’d said earlier.

“You said that Dragon wanted to dismember us,” he asked.

The Thief nodded. “I don’t know now. He, uh. He was pretty adamant about just hurting me and Child, so it’s a hunch on my part.”

“I don’t think he will,” the Bard’s voice had softened.

Deceit glanced at him, catching a tired smile. He waved back at Deceit, then gestured with his thumb to the door. “I’m going to get the others. We should plan for the ball tonight, right? Planning? That’s a thing?”

“It is,” Deceit said, pursing his lips.

He couldn’t help but feel that he’d said something wrong, as the Bard dashed out of the room.

“This whole separation thing’s been hard,” Deceit looked back at the Thief, who was tracing shapes with his finger against his leg.

“I can imagine. It’s confusing for us, it must only get easier,” he hummed, then leaned over on his knee, “You’re trusting Bard now?”

The Thief gave him a small glare, noncommittal enough that he gave up after a seconds and looked away. “I’m….not Roman. Not fully. So I don’t have all the answers. Bard’s got some.”

Not Roman. 

Of course. They shouldn’t have been putting their trust in any one or two singular Romans. Each of the Romans was just as Roman as the next. 

Okay, he should stop thinking Roman’s name, because it was starting to sound less like a word. That fell in line, though, with his prior conclusion about the Imagination. Things were falling apart without any control in here, things that Creativity should be able to control, things that wouldn’t typically hurt the other Sides. 

Deceit frowned, and wrote down another question. Curses; that oversight was on him. He’d tend to it at another time, though. For now…. “Thief?”

“Mh?” the Thief looked up, eyes half lidded with boredom.

Deceit’s lip quirked up in just the tiniest of smiles. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

The Thief’s eyes widened at first, but then he fell back into a comforting smile. “Thanks, Riddler. Let’s get this show on the road.”

[stormquill]

Misconduct, Ch. 12 [Soldier 76/Reader]

You have an extremely inappropriate crush on your commanding officer. Maybe if you work hard enough, you’ll stop having feelings.

Credits: Collaboration with @antiloquist. The Widowmaker Line voiced by @totalspiffage. Follow the blog / AO3 mirror @miss-conduct.

Using the fireman carry on a grown man double your weight and at least a head taller than you was no minor feat. As you held your Commander’s body around your shoulders, blood from his wounded leg now leaking steadily down the front of you, you shuffled your way up the ramp into the waiting dropship, making a mental note to thank Zarya for her training.

You punched the inner hull to pop down a medical table folded into the wall, and you rested him down as carefully as you could.

“Athena?” you snapped, out of breath.

Several nearby devices activated, springing out of the wall at the ends of mechanical arms. One of them performed a full-body scan, while another projected the numbers of his vitals on a mid-air screen. A third device appeared above him, casting a familiar, biotic-yellow glow across his injury.

Athena’s voice sounded from overhead. “The biotic field will control the bleeding, but it appears unable to close the wounds alone. Extraction of foreign matter is needed for full recovery.”

“Should I go in, then?” you asked, already rifling through the first aid shelves for the proper tools. You hadn’t had to perform emergency field surgery in ages, but your knowledge was still there, as was your knee-jerk reaction to get busy before things took a turn for the worst.

“Analyzing...immediate action not required. The interaction between the biotics and the SEP treatment will be enough to keep him stable until landing.”

Your hands fell limp against the shelves. You hung your head, wearily, still catching your breath.

‘SEP treatment.’ You had no idea what that was. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

“Vitals are stabilizing. Status: breathing and unresponsive. Please place the Commander in the recovery position and ensure clearance of his airways to prevent fluid or mechanical obstruction of his breathing.”

‘Clearance of his airways.’

You had to remove his mask.

You turned towards him, wiping your brow across the back of your hand. Logic dictated that the hesitation you felt right now was stupid, nonsensical. This was a medical emergency, neither the time nor place for pride; if he were to choke on his own vomit and die in his sleep because you thought seeing his face was a violation of privacy, that would be on you. You doubted he would’ve cared at this point, anyway. Especially not now. Now that you knew.

You just imagined this going differently, somehow.

Adrenaline kept your pulse pounding in your ears, loud and headache-inducing, as if your heart had leapt straight into your skull.

With careful, still-bloodied fingers, you felt along the sides of his mask for the release trigger. The faceplate seperated with a soft click, deactivating the red glow of his visor, and leaving the jawstrap of his mask framed around his face.

And there he was. Overwatch’s original Strike Commander. War hero and international celebrity.

He looked older than you remembered from the posters, his hair and brows having gone from bright blonde to stark white. He had the same strong jawline, now peppered with stubble, and the same slight curve in the bridge of his nose. Deep scars had been slashed across his face, as if the claws of some great predator had taken swipes against him; the thought evoked a memory of Reaper’s talons, black and lethal and a perfect fit.

His lips were slightly parted in his unconsciousness. The ghost of his visor was on your mouth, again, and waves of unease crashed within you at the reminder of how foolish you’d been.

How could you not have seen it?

You adjusted his arms and legs into the recovery position and turned his unconscious body towards the wall.

You do not look upon his face again.

With the Commander’s body secured, the dropship rumbled beneath you during takeoff. You turned to steady yourself on a bar affixed to the wall, and the sight of the figure now sitting up in her holding cell gave you a jolt of surprise.

“Salut,” you offered, meekly, because what else did you say to a deadly brainwashed enemy assassin staring at you from behind glass?

The greeting in her native tongue gave her momentary pause, but she did not look away from you.

“I never touched the Atlantic, did I?” she asked, her voice dark and crisp.

“...you don’t seem surprised.”

“This isn’t new to me, moving from one set of incompetent fools to the next. The only difference is I’m no longer getting paid for it.” Her gaze on you softened, her golden eyes laced with such sudden informality it made you doubt your own safety. “Am I under arrest, chérie?”

You opened your mouth before closing it, again. You didn’t actually know the answer to that question.

She sneered at your silence. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

With your Commander incapacitated, you mentally ran through every security feature aboard the dropship. The multiple panes of heat-strengthened glass surrounding her. The knockout gas lines lining the cell. The sidearm on the wall filled with Commander Amari’s sleep darts.

You made the call and walked, slow and deliberate, towards Amélie’s holding cell.

You hadn’t had a chance to get a proper look at her during the panicked rush of earlier events. She was barefooted and clothed in a white wraparound hospital gown, the colour a stark contrast against the pale blue of her skin. Her untied dark hair was a straight, sleek mess of strands, long enough to bunch around her as she sat. You noticed a tattoo around her right forearm—araignée du soir, cauchemar—a rhyme, playing on an old French expression.

Unblinking and stone-still, she kept her eyes fixed on you as she tracked your gradual approach. You could feel her bristling, the electricity in the air growing with the inches closed between you, but that wasn’t what you wanted at all. Instead, you angled your approach to give her a wider berth, stopping only when you reached the opposite wall, several feet away from her cell.

You sat on the floor. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t speak as if you haven’t read my file.”

“Not your birth name, your real one. The one they won’t tell me.”

You could still feel remnants of the earlier static between you, filling the silence with its sparks.

“Fatale,” she said, finally. “Or, ‘Widowmaker,’ for those who refuse to pronounce it properly.”

“It’s an honour to finally meet the person everyone’s been fighting so hard for.”

“Fraternizing with the enemy will get you no answers from me.”

“You’re not our enemy.”

She sneered, again. “You are new.”

“Let me rephrase,” you offered. “The Commander never spoke of you as an enemy.”

“Oh,” she pouted, making a sardonic, mocking expression of interest, “and how did he speak of me?”

“Like a prisoner of war.”

“And how does it feel to be led by someone that profoundly naive?”

“He may have led me here, but who’s the one half-dead on a table and who’s the one sitting in front of you? I was given a mission to bring you back. And I succeeded.”

“Yes, you have me,” she said, a slow smirk on her lips. “Your grand prize. And you’ll kill me, again. Isn’t that enough?”

“No one’s going to kill you, Fatale,” you said, but you couldn’t even convince yourself that much was true.

Amélie rose to her feet as if lifted by a breeze, her elegant movements pronounced with the grace of a woman in command of every fiber of her being. As she stood tall and stared down at you, a triumphant smile playing at the small curves of her mouth, you were once again struck with the feeling you were in danger.

“I have been killed many times, chérie. I will be born again in the morning.”

She turned her back to you and sat down against the glass of the holding cell, leaving you silent, hopeless, and aching with the inexplicable guilt of having done something wrong.

Reaper’s words accompanied the heartbeat in your head.

There will always be people they need to do their dirty work.

People just like you.

-

Winston, McCree, and Dr. Ziegler were there to greet you when you arrived back at headquarters. The impromptu welcome party wasn’t unexpected, as no mission reports had been filed on the way back; the only updates your team had to go on regarding the status of your assignment were returning flight paths and readings of your vital signs.

So, as you disembarked, their reaction didn’t come as a surprise.

“We—welcome back,” gaped Winston.

“What in the hell happened to you?” McCree asked, loudly.

You hadn’t slept and you looked it, your eyes dark and your line of vision the slightest bit unfocused. You walked down the ramp wearing nothing but cargo pants and a tank top, as your tactical jacket was still wrapped tightly around 76’s thigh to help apply pressure to his still-open wounds. Most noteworthy of all, however, was the blood all over you, now dried and dark; a flaky mess of smears formed a gradient from your fingers to your forearms, alongside a massive stain down one side of you from where your Commander bled as you carried him on board.

You weren’t injured, however, and you tried not to make a show of carrying yourself down to the tarmac, keeping your back straight and your tone matter-of-fact. “Commander Morrison needs surgery. He sustained a severe shotgun wound to the upper thigh that the biotic field won’t close.”

“That—that doesn’t make sense.” Winston glanced back at the ship. “The biotic field should be able to—unless—”

“Reaper was there,” you said. “Whatever’s in his bullets is keeping the Commander from healing up. I’m sorry I haven’t completed my mission report, I’ll have it finished within the hour.”

Bewildered, McCree tipped his hat up as he scratched at his forehead. “That’s all fine and dandy, but are you—”

A slender hand grabbed your bare shoulder from behind, clutching onto you for purchase.

“You found her?” Dr. Ziegler asked, breathless.

And suddenly, no one’s eyes were on you.

Everyone’s attention was redirected towards the holding cell within the dropship. You turned to look as well, and the unbridled hatred sparking in Amélie’s eyes was unlike any you’d ever seen.

This was a reunion for them, you remembered.

You didn’t belong here.

You shrugged off Dr. Ziegler’s grasp and headed back towards base.

“Please take care of the Commander,” you repeated.

-

76’s surgery took less time than your paperwork.

Though your report and post-mission medical examination were both complete, Dr. Zeigler refused to clear you for active duty. She reminded you that you only had a week’s rest between Romania and Le Havre, a week which was almost entirely spent healing and preparing for your next mission, and after this ordeal, you needed some actual time to recover.

What was supposed to be an extended break ended up being nothing more than an exercise in worry.

Every idle thought would drift back to the memory of Amélie’s murderous gaze when she first laid eyes on the rest of your crew. You realized that, for some reason, she’d afforded you a patience during your conversation that she had no intention of sharing with anyone else. Reaper’s words to you were on repeat, again—you felt as if you were the only person on-base none the wiser about Amélie’s case, or about what Overwatch was planning on doing with her now that she’d been rescued.

Whenever you sought to ask details from Dr. Ziegler about Amélie’s situation, or her progress, or even where she was being kept, the good doctor would quiet you with a tired smile, every single time.

“You’ve done your job, Reader. Let me do mine.”

But you couldn’t sleep.

Most of your time was spent squirreled away in your personal quarters. When you weren’t comparing the Le Havre mission reports from yourself and your Commander, searching for hints about Amélie you might’ve missed, you were staring at the contingency plans you’d made in France, seeing where you could’ve done better, gradually sinking under the weight of your own anxieties.

Where was Amélie? Was she safe here?

Several days had passed since you returned, and the one person you trusted enough to answer your questions still hadn’t bothered to summon you, or find you of his own accord—and the act of you seeking him out after everything that happened would’ve felt like surrender.

Was he angry with you?

The thought made your blood boil. He had no right or reason to be upset, least of all with you.

Why else would he be avoiding you?

A knock sounded at your room one night, and the voice that followed was not the one you were expecting.

“This mopin’ of yours’s gone on long enough,” McCree said through the door. “Get dressed, you’re comin’ with me.”

Buried within the contents of several journals spread across your desktop, you kept very, very still. Maybe if you were quiet enough, he would think you weren’t here.

“...don’t make me drag you outta there.”

“Alright, alright, jeez.”

So you put on pants.

You followed McCree’s wordless lead to the practice range. You figured he was taking you for aim training—nothing gets your mind off things like shooting other things, after all—but you were guided away from the distance markings on the floor, past the training bots hovering in fixed path rotations around the grounds, and up several flights of stairs.

Eventually, you arrived at an open balcony at one of the highest points of the range, overlooking a large portion of the facility.

McCree sat down against the wall, to one side of a plastic container. “Have a seat.”

“...am I in trouble?”

He looked up at you, his brows knitting together. “Y’know, there’s something to be said about the fact that’s the first place your mind jumped to.”

“I’m support,” you said, taking a seat next to him on the other side of the box. “Worst case scenarios are kinda my thing.”

McCree reached for the sealed container, which popped open with a gentle hiss.

It was a cooler.

He grabbed a bottle of beer from inside, uncapped it with his metal hand, and handed it to you. You accepted it, gratefully.

And you drank together in silence.

The stars were out in full force tonight, twinkling pinpricks in the blanket of a moonlit sky. The pitch-black shadows of mountains were silhouetted the horizon, while sheets of ice drifted across the surface of the distant water. The alcohol was smoother than you were expecting—strong, but sweeter than most. One drink turned into two, into three, into four. A warm, familiar buzz soon blurred your thoughts, soothing you from the inside out.

Several empty bottles piled up between the two of you before McCree broke the quiet.

“Pull,” he called, another drink raised to his lips.

You blinked at him, slowly. The place better have been as abandoned as he thought it was.

You grabbed an empty bottle and threw it as hard as you could over the balcony, high into the air. You hadn’t even registered him pulling his weapon from his holster before he’d shot the damn thing with a single bullet, pieces of glass raining like stardust onto the barren ground fifty feet below.

‘Nice shot,’ is what you thought.

“I can’t believe zombies are fucking real,” is what left your mouth.

He chuckled. “Pull.”

You tossed another bottle. Again, he hit it spot-on, first try.

“If it helps,” he started, cracking open another couple of drinks for the two of you, “whatever’s goin’ on with Reaper ain’t exactly widespread technology. He’s one-of-a-kind. That’s what makes him so dangerous.”

You downed half the bottle before speaking. “He promised he was gonna kill me.”

“Don’t take it personally, that’s just how he says goodbye.”

“You’ve met him, then?”

“I have. Knew him before the mask, too.”

The memory of the cloaked, clawed, dual shotgun-wielding man floated through your mind like a passing ghost, and you found it difficult to imagine there was ever a ‘before.’ “What was he like?”

“Reyes?” McCree considered your question, nursing his drink as he did so. “A hardass with a good sense of humor. Got the job done at all costs. And quite the family man, believe it or not.”

“...he had a family?”

He nodded. “Civilians, though. Moved on after the Fall.”

You continued drinking. Somehow, you hadn’t considered Reaper was once a regular person with a life all his own. A spouse. Children, maybe. If they were civilians, did that mean they believed him dead, like the rest of the world? If he still remembered them, did he care for them, even now? Did he have a family before his relationship with your Commander? After?

...during?

McCree noticed you’d gone quiet. “What’re you thinkin’?”

“Just trying to wrap my head around it,” you admitted. “Never had a dead guy point a gun at my face, before.”

He clicked his tongue before taking a swig. “Welcome to Overwatch.”

Slouching over a bit, you ran a hand over your face. “If I knew about Commander Reyes from the start, I could’ve been better prepared in Le Havre.”

“None of us had any reason to believe Reaper would be runnin’ interference down there. Our intel had him halfway around the world when you and Sarge left for France.”

“So it was bad intel.”

“Yep.”

You kept a hand over your mouth as you stared into the distance, thinking it over. Reaper was the one 76 cared about finding, so of course he’d have updated knowledge of his whereabouts. That’s why 76 hadn’t told you about him from the start, and that’s why he was so shocked to find him there—maybe even enough to reevaluate his mission objectives and go after him without a second thought.

“What do we want with Amélie, anyway?” you asked.

“Couldn’t tell you,” he shrugged. “Probably classified.”

“‘Classified.’ Of course it is. Meaning she could be being tortured or murdered underground somewhere and I would’ve been complicit in that.”

“...bein’ a little overdramatic, don’t you think? Not exactly in the business of kidnap and torture, here.”

“Yeah, not anymore.”

“Now, now.” McCree flashed a grin from the lip of his bottle. “Our hands might not be clean, but these things ain’t ever black and white in the long run, either. All we can do is make sure our shade of grey’s lighter’n most.”

“How do I know we’re doing the right thing if there’s this much I wasn’t told?”

“You’re forgettin’ the obvious.”

“And that is?”

“You’re new,” he enunciated. “Everyone but you’s been here from the start of it all, years and years ago. What’s ‘classified’ now is just a bunch of random, tragic shit that happened to us once upon a time. It’s on a need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know for the things we brought you on for.”

“I know,” you said, emphatically, “I know I don’t need everyone’s life story to work here, I’m just worried there’s more things I should’ve known from the start, things that...could’ve helped.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout Sarge?”

You didn’t respond, instead opting to take a very long sip from your bottle.

“If I’m bein’ honest, the whole ‘Soldier 76’ thing is more of an inside joke here than anything else. We keep it up to protect his pride, ‘cause pride’s just about all he’s got left. His callsign’s a cover for the outside world, but everyone here knows who he really is. And he knows that.”

“He knew I didn’t.”

“You sure?”

“He knew,” you repeated, more forcefully this time.

McCree raised an eyebrow. “So are you mad at him for not tellin’ you, or mad at yourself for not figurin’ it out sooner?”

Frustration burned your cheeks. Without warning, you chucked two empty bottles over the balcony at the same time; he shot both, dead-on, one after the other in less than a heartbeat.

“He waited for me,” you growled.

“Come again?”

“After Romania. He waited for me to recover because he wanted me in France. And I was so damn worried, you know? Was I going because it was important, or was I going because it was important to him? He says he doesn’t want to lead me on, he says he doesn’t want me to make a decision based on him alone—but regardless of how I felt, or how he felt, he waited. And it was the first time I felt like he saw me. Not as a new hire, or as a subordinate, but—”

“—as an equal.”

“Then when we’re over there,” you rambled, voice breaking, “he says shit like he’s ‘at his best’ when he’s with me? And we promise not to be reckless, but two hours later, he does just that—and I have to save him, even if it means walking into a trap, even if it means carrying his bleeding ass back to the ship, because I said I’d protect him and I don’t break my fucking promises.”

You didn’t give permission for the angry tears to stray from your eyes, but you were already too tipsy to care.

“And for what??” you snapped, voice growing louder. “To bring back a full-fledged Talon agent for reasons I never understood in the first place. And now that she’s here, I can’t log into my computer without wondering if Sombra’s tracking my movements, trying to make contact again. I can’t stop thinking about how much time I have left until Reaper makes good on his promise—and I know you said not to worry, but you didn’t hear what he said to me, and god, you didn’t hear how much he meant it.”

McCree didn’t say a word. He gave you a few moments of silence to collect yourself, to catch your breath, to get it all out of your system.

Then he reloaded his revolver, and handed it to you.

The initial shock of him letting you anywhere near Peacekeeper was immediately drowned out by the sheer weight of it in your hands. The gun was massive, twice the size of any normal revolver—much heavier, as well, but somehow still balanced within your hold. You cocked it, and the heavy click of the hammer was incredibly satisfying.

McCree tossed up an empty bottle. It took you three tries, but you managed to shatter it.

Nothing to get your mind off things like shooting other things, after all.

“I don't have time to worry about something like this, you know?” you said, sniffling. “I—I just don’t have the time.”

“The time to what? Figure out the feelings of a dumbass givin’ off more mixed signals than a traffic light? I don’t blame you.” McCree lit a cigar and held it between his teeth. He flipped another bottle over the ledge, watching you catch it in two shots. “Least he bought us booze.”

You glanced back at the cooler. “The Commander bought all this?”

“A fine cider I recommended,” he bragged, tapping the ash from his first drag away. “You should be thankin’ me, too, the man’s got shit taste. Likes that sex-on-a-boat type beer.”

“Sex on a boat?”

“Fuckin’ close to water.”

You snorted an ugly, too-loud laugh through the last few of your tears. McCree smiled from behind his cigar.

“Look, Sarge wants to talk to you,” he said, “but he wants to talk to you on your own terms. Told me so himself. Didn’t wanna ambush you if you weren’t ready, all that shit.”

“So he sent you as a messenger?” you scoffed. “Why couldn’t he just tell me that himself?”

“Scared, I reckon.”

“Scared of what?”

McCree threw one final empty bottle into the air. Having gotten used to Peacekeeper’s weight, you finally managed to shatter it in one shot, with the very last bullet in the chamber.

“Thought that much’d be obvious,” he said, wryly.

You turned your nose. Maybe it was the pent-up frustration, maybe it was the one-too-many bottles of cider swimming around inside you, but something about the Commander leaving the ball in your court rubbed you the wrong way. You were tired of sitting around. You were tired of worrying. Above all else, you were tired of not knowing.

You stood up, which in itself was an accomplishment. You weren’t drunk—it took a bit more than that to really knock you on your ass—but you were hovering at that wonderfully hazy point where you were intoxicated enough to lack better judgement, but sober enough to make bad decisions.

You wobbled your way towards the stairs, keeping one hand on the building for balance. “If no one’s giving me answers, I’ll just get them on my own.”

McCree made a little noise of disapproval. “I wouldn’t have that conversation drunk, if I were you.”

“No,” you snapped, “I’m going to the medbay to see if I can find Amélie’s intake files.”

“Reckon the doc’ll just hand them over if you ask nicely?”

“Kinda counting on her not being there.”

He laughed, burying his face into his palm. “Oh, lord.”

“I’m not asking you to help.”

“Now, what kind of friend would I be if I got you drunk then didn’t help you break into somewhere you shouldn’t be?”

“You coming, then?”

“Depends. Can I have my gun back?”

“...oh. Right.”

-

As you navigated the barren hallways of the base, trying to move as silently as you could from corridor to corridor, you became certain that McCree’s spurs were the loudest objects known to mankind.

Dr. Ziegler’s office was located towards the back of the hospital wing. To your surprise, the door of her office was left unlocked, but as you made your way inside and hit the light switch, you suddenly understood why. She kept absolutely everything in neat, impeccable order—not a single pen or scrap of paper out of place—with an impressive array of individually fastened drawers, locked filing cabinets, and padlocked storage units located all around the room.

You booted up the computer at her desk, only to discover that the words across the loading screens weren’t even English.

“It’s all in German,” you sighed, shutting down the computer at the password window. “Even if we figured out the password without triggering a lockout, it’d be hard to navigate.”

“Shouldn’t there be an original form, though?” asked McCree. “A physical one?”

As you explored the office and examined the many filing cabinets, you finally came across a set labelled with letters.

You grabbed a paperclip from the magnetic holder on the desk and unfolded it, running through the alphabet under your breath.

“It’s this one,” McCree interrupted with a snicker, knocking a knuckle on the drawer with the ‘G - Mc’ label. “Sorry—should I have let you finish your ABCs?”

You angled the straightened paperclip into the lock. “Leave me alone, I can barely see straight.”

Once you popped open the lock, you found the drawer’s contents separated even further, dividing individual letters throughout the row of files. A particularly overstuffed folder at the very end had a tab that read:

McCree, Jesse

McCree reached over your shoulder to grab it. “Yoink.”

You feathered through the folders under ‘L.’

Lacroix, Amélie Lacroix, Gerard

So she had a family, too.

With a rush of excitement, you pulled Amélie’s file.

The first page had a photograph clipped to it, a picture of her from when she was younger. Her skin was a more human, peachy colour, and instead of a sharp gold, her eyes were dark, and lively.

As these were Dr. Ziegler’s files, you quickly discovered that her hard copy medical documentation was also in German. All you could read were the dates, and all you could gather was that, aside from the first few pages, the majority of contents in Amélie’s file had only been created within the last week.

With the amount of medical examinations you had, from agent onboarding to post-mission observations to scheduled weekly checkups, you were sure that even your file had more content than hers did before she was brought here. Her having a file in Dr. Ziegler’s office at all meant she was known to Overwatch before the incident with Talon, but the lack of documentation implied she wasn’t a field operative.

Had she been a civilian before the incident?

You continued searching through the German archives, picking out roman numbers and borrowed English words but understanding none of it for the most part, until you got to the very end of her file.

A thirty-page copy of a scientific report in English, addressed to Winston.

The report itself was extremely dense, filled with equations, diagrams, and scientific terminology you didn’t understand, but you skimmed through it as best as you could.

“...experimental technology…”

“...inoperable neural implant…”

“...resistant to outside observation or interference…”

“...primary concerns regarding legal responsibility for acts of terrorism…”

“...reversal not feasible…”

“...attempts to replicate initial procedure…”

“...erasure of terrorist associations from memory…”

“...implant triggers electromagnetic restoration of neocortex to prior neural state…”

“...to correct the experiment we must repeat the experiment in full…”

“...can’t help but feel as if somewhere, Dr. O’Deorain is laughing at us.”

“Christ,” McCree’s hearty laughter tore through the silence. He held up an old picture of himself. “A soul patch. The hell was I thinkin’?”

“I found what I needed,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. Your hands trembled as you shoved Amélie’s file back into place. “We should go.”

Picking up on your urgency, McCree slid his file back into the cabinet as well, shutting the drawer as you prepared to leave.

He called after you before you left the office. “Hey, now—we can’t leave this unlocked. She’s gonna know someone was in here. They’ll review the security footage, then we’ll both be in shit.”

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, and nodded. You hadn’t thought of that. “You’re right, but...I’ve never picked a lock closed, before.”

“Good thing you’ve got me around then, ain’t it?” he winked, before grabbing another paperclip from the desk.

-

In spite of the night’s events, you slept more soundly than you had in weeks. Although the thirteen-hour cider-induced coma was a nice break, the anxiety came flooding back with a vengeance as soon as you woke up, only now accompanied by a nasty hangover that made your brain throb.

You stayed hydrated and tried to walk it off, entertaining the fresh wave of thoughts in your head.

Overwatch wanted to help restore Amélie’s old personality from before she was kidnapped and brainwashed by Talon. When that didn’t work, they just tried wiping her memory clean all over again—but the implant in her head wouldn’t let them.

I have been killed many times, chérie. I will be born again in the morning.

Any reprogramming done to Amélie’s implant would just be reversed by the implant itself.

As nefarious as it was, it was also absolutely incredible technology, the likes of which you had no idea existed in your world. Who was Dr. O’Deorain, and how were they able to develop this tech in the first place? Did Talon really have the resources to allow that level of experimental technology?

Did Dr. O’Deorain have something to do with Reaper’s condition, too?

You turned a corner and came face-to-face with a giant gorilla.

You both jumped.

“I—I’m sorry,” Winston laughed. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Sorry,” you smiled back. “I’m a little out of it today, should’ve watched where I was going.”

“It’s...good to finally see you up and about, Reader.” He paused for a moment and cleared his throat, looking a little too sympathetic for your liking. “I know it must be hard, but...you’re a fine agent. This recent development is in no way a reflection of your performance,” he finished, in a tone he appeared to think was reassuring.

“Recent development?” You looked confused. “I know we had some hiccups, but the Le Havre mission was a success. We got Amélie back, didn’t we?”

“Oh.” His expression went blank. “Um.”

“...Winston, what happened?”

“My apologies, I thought you would’ve been told by now.”

“Told what?”

“I—it’s really not my place to—”

“Tell me what happened,” you demanded, your voice suddenly shaking with the worry of a million possibilities.

Winston looked more solemn than you’d ever seen him before.

“The paperwork was filed a few days ago,” he sighed. “76 has stepped down as your commanding officer.”