#i hope this turned into a coherent post somehow

[mm-lurking]

Malfunction: Heart Mode - Boothill

Based on this post. fem reader. Praying this is not ooc. Writing is kinda choppy, I tried my best. 1.6k words. tag: @nvuy hope you like it -- Boothill is one strong muddle-fudger. He does not give a rat's behind when it comes to romantic love, affection, and all that fudging nonsense. Even if it has crossed his mind, he's too busy dealing with the forking problems of the cosmos and most importantly trying to find that son of a nice lady who is responsible for killing his sweet angel and destroying his planet.

Yet here he is, standing in front of you at the bar with a drink in his hand as he hears his machine heart starting to whir. You both were regulars at the bar and often ran into each other from time to time. Your encounters were akin to something like being seatmates; there was enough information exchanged to know about each other yet it was nothing personal. While you didn't quite understand why he would disappear for long periods before returning like nothing happened, you never questioned it and were simply happy to see him again.

He too liked meeting up with you. He couldn't help but flash his razor-sharp teeth whenever he saw you; calling you “partner!” out loud before greeting you and asking how you had been. The little interactions you both had were always a pleasure and as time passed, he seemed to grow more attached to seeing you.

Today was a little different. Compared to your usual outfit, you were dressed up all fancy and the more he looked at you, the louder the whirring of his heart got.

"Fudge."

He mutters under his breath. You look at him inquisitively as he turns his head sideways and sighs.

"Something the matter Boothill?" "It's nothing partner."

You watch as he chugs down his glass and sets the empty vessel down on the bar counter before ordering more.

"I haven't even finished my first drink yet and you're already done?"

You laugh a little as you take a sip of your drink. The dim lights of the bar made your jewellery glow and alongside the reflections of other shiny things, you looked heavenly in his eyes. He doesn’t answer so you look over and find him dazed.

"Boothill...? Um, do you need some space?" "Fudge!"

He can't help but say it out loud this time, covering his face as he scrunches his eyebrows and frowns. This was not how he normally behaved. What in the hot diggity fudge was going on with him?

"Yes- I mean no, ugh fork me!"

You stand there confused (and slightly amused) at how he seems to be fighting himself like a madman. He almost looked possessed from how he kept going back and forth with himself as if he was surprised at what he was saying. Like his tongue wasn't his own.

"I'll give you some space."

The last thing you wanted was for him to hurt himself or those around him. You finally decide to leave just to make sure everything's alright only for him to grab your arm and then quickly let go in shock.

"Sorry 'bout that partner.”

Boothill awkwardly apologises for his unusual behaviour. Before you can reply, a drunk accidentally pushes you from behind and you lose your balance causing you to fall straight into his arms.

“I-!?” “Um…?!”

Both of you are speechless. He swiftly holds your waist with one hand while the other firmly holds onto malt juice. Your hands are tightly gripping his shoulders from the fear of falling. No coherent thought is spoken but the flustered look on your faces has got some of the bar regulars around you giggling.

You don’t even hear the apology of the one who accidentally pushed you. It's as if time has slowed down and nothing exists outside you both. Strangely, he doesn’t let you go and you don’t move either making things even more awkward.

The strong alcohol you were sipping on makes you tipsy and somehow gives you the courage to lift your head and gaze into Boothill's unique eyes. You've always admired how dashing he looks; from his physique to his dressing style and even his interesting way of speaking. And now here you were up close, staring disrespectfully at his face and how handsome he looked.

Boothill is no different either, he's gazing at you hesitantly as he tries to find something to say but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is-

“Fudge me…” “I'm sure the ladies at the ranch think about that regularly.”

You mumble without thinking and he tenses up.

“I- what?!”

He stutters as his cheeks turn slightly red and his eyes widen.

“Uh?! Nothing!”

You mentally slap yourself for blurting that out loud. Even if it was true, why did you have to say it and make things awkward? Come on! You both were having a somewhat endearingly awkward time together! 

You attempt to conjure up something to smooth things over but your thinking is disrupted by a strangely loud machine sound that seems to be coming from nearby. The whoosh is accompanied by irregular beeping sounds, almost like one of those technology things Boothill had told you about. 

You glance around to see if you can find the source only to realise-

It’s coming from Boothill.

“Oh.” You whisper under your breath but the cyborg (who still doesn't let you go nor drinks his beverage and is as still as a statue for some reason) hears you loud and clear.

“Something the matter, pretty lady?” “Yes. Do you plan on us staying in this position until the bar closes?”

Instead of answering his question, you deflect it with another. He turns red again and stammers badly which makes you giggle and further confirms your theory.

“Gotcha.”

Before Boothill can ask what you’re doing, you slowly drag your hands down his shoulders until they rest on his chest. You feel the rapid whirring of his heart through the vibrations it emits through your fingertips. A tiny smirk spreads on your face and you look back at him.

“You’re pretty cute.”

You flirtatiously speak. The look of confusion and embarrassment on his face makes you laugh harder.

“What- hey what- I-”

Boothill’s stammering only gets worse alongside the overheating of his heart. He tries to reply with a snarky comment but the only thing he’s capable of doing is squeezing your waist harder and propping himself up with the bar counter to avoid falling. You, being the woman you are, do not stop the teasing.

“You can’t handle affection, can you? Look at you sweet thing, your heart is overworking and your synesthesia beacon has already overheated.” “Shut…” “I barely said anything and you’re malfunctioning already? How amusing.” “Son of a nice lady…” “I am indeed the daughter of a nice lady.”

“You-!”

He is bewildered at your unexpected behaviour but that painfully obvious blush on his cheek tells you he's not mad about it.

“Oh dear,” you chuckle and pry yourself off his metal chest, “I should stop or else your…eccentric friends…will hold me responsible for any severe malfunctions.”

This was enough teasing from you today. If it were up to you, you would go on and on but you feared any dire consequences that would affect Boothill. You lift and steady yourself up nonchalantly as if you just didn't cause the ranger to nearly pass out from your shenanigans.

Despite the cold metal exterior, he feels the loss of warmth from you moving your body away. His hand slowly retracts from your waist but lingers as if he hesitates to let go. The overheating of his system rapidly starts to decrease, however, he is unable to calm his emotions down completely. He turns his attention away from his mechanical heart and gazes at you curiously while you fix your wrinkled dress.

“You are one hell of a woman.”

A long sigh leaves his mouth as he speaks as if still processing your chaos. A sly smile appears on your face when you (finally) hear him speak properly.

“Took you a while to get talking didn't it mister?”

That grin on your face screams ‘this wasn’t even my best attempt’ but he shrugs it off. He unknowingly takes a step closer to you as if wanting your presence as close to him as possible. The (welcomed) intrusion into your personal space causes you to sharply inhale. He simply places his hand over the rim of your filled glass and whispers gently.

“You think I'd let any lady come close like that?”

Your mouth practically foams as you try to formulate a response. Eventhough you're not looking him, you can feel his gaze on you which makes you nervous.

“I'll tell you something sweetheart. I've got some fudging business to attend to in a bit but the next time we meet, I'll finish what you started.”

His voice is low and rumbly as he subtly warns you of the consequences of your actions. He follows it with a tight squeeze of your hand and then steps away from you. Your mind protests his leave but you're too stunned to speak; had you put yourself on his wanted list now? 

There is a devilish smile on his face as he checks his gun and locks it before walking away with it casually. Next time, he'd show you what a cowboy is capable of.

Hey, at least you were living out the dreams of those ranch ladies. ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[imaginedisish]

The Only Exception (Din Djarin x fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!!! Ahhh here is the Din Djarin x reader fic I said I’d post. This has been sitting in my WIPs since late November/early December. This is what I was working on before I got sick. I’m so happy it’s done. I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out, although I may have written something similar to this already. It’s very much inspired by “The Only Exception,” by Paramore. I’m hoping I didn’t use this song as a title yet....Oh well. ENJOY!

Summary: Din has been wildly overprotective of you lately, but maybe it’s because there’s something lying deep below the surface that’s been threatening to bubble over...

Warnings: SMUT!!!!! 18+ Please!!! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cursing, canon typical violence, Jedi!reader, Razor Crest still exists (and it’s def bigger in my head than it is in the show), praise kink, friends to lovers, angsty but fluffy and smutty dw, I only proofread like 2 times so it may be bad (it’s 3:16am...so...we die like men!), AFAB reader, uhhh I think that’s it...

Word Count: 3,078

“I swear to the Maker, if you don’t get back on the Crest now, I’m gonna-,”

Din is cut off by the sound of your lightsaber clashing through the plastoid armor of the stormtrooper to your left. You swing your saber around, showing off more than you need to. You throw it down the alleyway, feeling through the force as it cuts through another stormtrooper before finding its way back to your hand.

“You’re gonna what?” You say, tilting your head to the side. You point your saber to the stormtroopers scattered around the alleyway. “I just saved you.” You close your saber and cross your arms cockily.

Din shakes his head, his gaze refusing to meet yours. “And where’s the kid? You just left him on the Crest?” You roll your eyes, turning your back towards him as you remove your cloak from your shoulders. There, in perfect condition, is Grogu, secure in a little carrier on your back.

“You really think I’d be that dumb?” Your words have a callous edge to them. Din had been far moodier than usual over the past few days, and with that came a strange overprotectiveness that you hadn’t seen before. It was starting to feel as if he thought you were going to mess up, that you couldn’t take care of yourself. “You think I’d put the kid’s life at stake?”

“That’s not what I meant.” The anger in his voice has all but melted away. You’re shocked by how defeated he sounds now.

You inhale deeply, taking a moment to calm yourself down. “So what did you mean, Din?”

“We don’t have time for this now.” He’s curt and almost a bit cold, his modulated voice echoing off the walls of the alleyway. “We need to get back to the ship.”

You hate the way he’s brushing you off, ignoring you, pushing you to the side. You didn’t need this; you didn’t need to put up with his shit. Not anymore. “What is going on with you?” The words come out louder, more aggressive than you meant them to.

Din takes a single stride towards you, his broad figure practically shoving you against the wall in the process. “We are not doing this here.” The feeling of him being so close to you clouds your mind. You can’t form a coherent thought, never mind a sentence. You want to say something, to stand up for yourself, but you can’t. “Now cut the shit so we can get back to the ship.” There’s that anger again, that finality in his voice.

In the distance you can hear stormtroopers chatting, whispering your name, mumbling on about Grogu, warning each other about the Mandalorian. Din was right. There was no time to hash this out here. You nod, finally caving in. Din takes a step away from you, immediately grasping your wrist in his hand before making a break for the Crest, just on the other end of the alleyway.

Somehow you make it without being seen. Din lets go of your hand, motioning for you to get on the ship. You make a b-line for the back and carefully remove Grogu from his carrier, placing him in his crib. You stand frozen in place in front of it, watching his eyes flutter open and closed as he slowly drifts off to sleep.

You don’t want to move. You rather watch the child you had come to care so deeply for sleep peacefully than deal with a massively enraged Din. The oncoming fight would most definitely wake Grogu, so maybe it was best for you to hide in the little corner that you had come to call Grogu’s bedroom, completely unnoticed. But obviously, that’s not an option. You begrudgingly step towards the end of the hull and decide to keep your hands busy by organizing the tiny stock of food that lined a makeshift shelf along the far wall.

You can hear Din’s heavy steps on the other side of the ship, presumably heading up towards the cockpit. After a few seconds and many annoyed grunts from Din, the ship is lifted into the air and away from danger.

You try your best to bring yourself to get angry at him, to yell some explicative across the hull of the ship and spit a curse in his helmet-covered face. You wanted the consequences, for him to storm over and scream back. But you couldn’t – because things weren’t normally like this. Din had always been kind, caring, protective even.

He'd leave the cockpit to grab a blanket from his cot when you fell asleep in the co-pilot’s chair. He’d come back and gently, yet silently, tuck you in with it. It was the only blanket he had. Sometimes you’d wake up in his bed, having been carried into it at some point during the night. He’d be awake, taking care of the child, flying the Crest, making sure nothing and no green baby woke you up.

You’d be lying if you said his doting behavior didn’t draw you to him, that it didn’t make you crave him. Every soft touch on your shoulder, every time you pretended to be asleep just to feel his arms wrap around you as he brought you to his cot. You’d let your stares linger a little too long from time to time, pushing past your reflection in his armor, searching for some sort of sign that maybe he feels the same.

You wanted him to come up behind you, rest his hands on your hips, squeezing softly at the exposed inch of skin where your top and your pants just can’t seem to meet, and whisper in your ear in that husky, modulated voice that he’s sorry, that he’ll make up to you by-

“Never, ever, do anything like that again.” You practically jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice. You quickly turn around, not realizing how close Din had gotten to you. His chest is practically flush against yours, the proximity causing you to stumble back against the shelf, threatening to bring it down with you.

Din immediately snakes an arm around your waist, keeping you from falling against the cold metal floors below. Your arms instinctively reach up around his neck to stabilize yourself. You’re glued to him now, and you don’t particularly want to let go. You swallow harshly, intimidated by the way the beskar clad man seems to tower over you, by the way you can smell him, by the way his forehead practically touches yours.

You take a deep breath, furrowing your brows and doing your best to collect your thoughts despite the fog that the moment seemed to create in your brain. “Do what? Save your ass?” You spit, instantly regretting the harshness of your words, even if he deserves them.

“You weren’t supposed to leave the ship.” He’s stern, his voice somehow punishing. “You were supposed to stay here with the kid.”

You shake your head, feeling far too much like a child caught playing in the front seat of their parent’s speeder. “You needed my help! You would’ve died out there without me! And I can handle myself,” You yell, trying to ignore how you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “If this is about risking the kid’s life, I promise you I wasn’t. I would never put him-,”

He cuts you off, “I know you wouldn’t, that’s not what this is about.”

What? You think to yourself, confused beyond belief. If this wasn’t about the child, then what could this possibly be about? “So then what’s the problem?” You ask, more aware of the way that Din is holding you against him now than you were before.

You can hear Din inhale deeply through the modulator. “You.” A shudder rolls down your spine. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” There’s still an edge in his voice, but he’s calmer now, almost pained, as if considering your death in some dark corner of his mind.

“Sorry that my death would be such an inconvenience for you,” You say sardonically. “It’ll be hard trying to replace me with some other force-wielding wizard that’ll be willing to babysit for you, since clearly that’s all I am.” You wanted the words to sting him, to hurt him, and maybe they did, but it felt like a punch in the gut to simply think them. You wanted to grab the words from where they still hung in the air and shove them back into your mouth, to swallow them so that they could burn in the acid of your stomach.

Din tilts his head down, crushed, defeated. Your heart winces. Fuck. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His stare finds yours again, and you quickly look down at his shoulder, too embarrassed to have him look you in your eyes.

You shake your head. “But Din, that’s the problem,” You say, somehow finding the courage to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. How am I supposed to know what you mean if you won’t kriffing tell-,”

“Fucking hell, I don’t want to lose you!”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

Din looks around the hull, as if the words he was searching for were hiding, wrapped somewhere around its silver walls. “I can’t lose you. And before you ask, no, it’s not because you train the kid or whatever the hell you think it is.” You can feel the pain in his voice, guilt quickly filling your gut. “It’s just…” He trails off, silence hanging heavy in the air.

“Well…what is it?” You mumble, struggling to force down the lump in your throat. You wish you could see his face, to get a sense of his expression, an inkling as to what he was really feeling.

“You,” He says, as if those three letters held some secret, omniscient being or meaning. To him, they did. It was you. You were the thing that kept him up at night, the thing that made him want to show every facet of his being for the first time in his life.  “You’re reckless and careless and sometimes you drive me absolutely insane.”

You scoff. “Wow, what a glowing review of my services!”

Din shakes his head. “You don’t fucking get it. You’re so much more than that, because even though you drive me crazy,” He pauses; the modulator picks up his breath as it catches in his throat, “I know I’d never be able to spend an entire lifetime without you in it.”

You’re speechless. An entire lifetime? “Din I-,”

“Close your eyes.”

“What? You just said all that and you want me to close my-,”

“Just close your eyes. You trust me, don’t you?”

Of course I trust you, smart-ass, You think to yourself. So, you do what he says, shutting your eyes firmly. Then there’s a hiss, and then something clunks loudly against the floor. And then…

It’s warm, and soft, and smooth, and all those other perfect words someone would use to describe the perfect kiss. He has a mustache under all that metal, and now you know, because it tickles ever so gently just above your upper lip. His hands squeeze your hips just a bit tighter, pulling you further into his chest.

His lips press deeper into yours, hungrier. You keep your eyes closed tightly, your hands sliding up and into his hair, combing gently. He moans into your mouth at the touch as he guides you away from the shelf and towards his cot.

“D-Din,” You stutter in between gasps.

“What is it, mesh’la?” He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

You can feel the heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach, but there’s something stopping you, something telling you that there’s no possible way this could ever be real, that it wasn’t a set-up, that it wasn’t a dream. “Do you really want this?”

“More than anything.” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and you silently wish to yourself that you could see it. “Do you?”

You nod, repeating his words, “More than anything.”

His lips find yours again, his knee nudging in between your thighs as he pushes you down onto his cot. He’s on top of you now, his hands on either side of your body. “Wanted you for so long…” He whispers in your ear. “Wanted you this whole time.” Fuck, he was going to kill you.

Din presses sloppy kisses into the crook of your neck, leading up to your jaw. His hands stretch under the hemline of your shirt, his fingertips gliding across your stomach and towards the edge of your bra. You shudder as he reaches underneath, slowly inching towards your chest.

Something was changing within him, and that something was you. You made him want to throw his Creed away, to ignore all he had been taught his entire life. How could you ever possibly be something he shouldn’t have? He needed you.

More than anything. And you needed him.

“Please,” You beg. “I need you Din, please.”

And just like that, something within him finally switched.

“Open your eyes, cyare,” He’s so quiet you almost miss it. His fingers dip underneath your bra, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger teasingly before doing the same to the other. “’Want you to look at me when I make you come.”

Panic rises to your chest. “W-what, are you sure? What about the Creed, what about-,”

“It doesn’t matter, not if it means I can’t have you.”

You wait a moment, giving him time to change his mind, but he doesn’t. You let your eyes flutter open, his curly hair and brown eyes flooding your vision. And Maker, there’s that smile, the smile you’d only heard through laughs and sarcastic, snide quips. You swear your heart skips a beat, maybe even two. He was perfect. Of course he was fucking perfect.

“You’re beautiful,” You whisper, your hands finding their way to his cheeks, his neck, your fingertips carefully running over his lips. His forehead rests down on yours, his eyes closing softly, reveling in the intimacy.

Din lifts himself off you and makes his way down your body, settling in between your legs. His fingers hook the waistline of your pants, tugging them down and throwing them somewhere in the hull. He feels your core through your soaked panties.

“So fucking wet for me, pretty girl,” He coos, practically ripping your panties as he pulls them down your legs. “Need to taste you.”

“F-fuck, Din,” You breathe sharply as his tongue laps at your clit, your hips lifting off the mattress. Din presses an arm across your hips, keeping you down against the cot, his free hand spreading your slick, teasing your entrance.

“’Tastes so good,” He rasps, his voice vibrating deliciously against your core. “Doing so good for me sweet girl.”

His mouth sucks harshly at your clit, taking the small bundle of nerves into his mouth, lapping at you like he was starving. You wanted more, needed more.

“N-need you, Din,” You whine, your hips fighting against the arm that held you down. He pushes you down further into the mattress, his mouth pressing even deeper onto your core.

“Not done with you yet,” He grunts, pushing two fingers into your entrance, pumping in and out, fast and hard. You could feel yourself growing closer with each thrust.

You moan his name like it’s a prayer, and in this moment it is. “Din, please, I, just…” But you can’t finish your sentence. It’s all too much, his fingers, his tongue, his voice, him. He was everywhere and everything all at once. And yet you needed more.

“Use your words, sweet girl,” He says patiently, nonchalantly.

“I want…” Your words fail again. “I…need you to f-fuck me, please.”

But he doesn’t stop, he keeps going. “I said I wasn’t done with you yet.” You could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, teetering just on the edge.

“I’m so close,” You pant in between ragged breaths.

And then, abruptly, he pulls away, leaving you cold and empty. Before you can even think to sit up or reach out for him, he was back, his hips resting against yours, his pants and armor now somewhere scattered to the side. You could feel his cock throbbing against your inner thighs. He lines himself up with your entrance, teasing you.

“Din,” You whimper. “Plea-,”

He buries himself inside you, cutting you off, stretching you out. “So fucking tight,” He praises, pulling all the way out before thrusting back into you, filling you up again. “So soft, so perfect.” His fingers find your clit, circling the nerves roughly.

His forehead rests on your own as his left-hand searches for your right one. His fingers intertwine with yours just above your head, keeping you from drowning, cementing you there with him. It all feels so good, each pump, each circle at your clit. You can feel your walls clenching around him.

“Taking me so well,” He soothes, rocking into you. “Such a good girl.” It was all too much, his words, his cock.

“I-I’m gonna-,” You choke, white heat flooding your vision. You know Din isn’t far behind, his hips stuttering against yours.

“Come for me, sweet girl, that’s it,” Din moans, sending you over the edge. You feel yourself shattering underneath him, falling apart into a million pieces, only to be put back together again. His name slips off your tongue as he comes inside you.

His hips roll slowly against yours, gently rocking into you a few more times before pulling out.  

He shifts a bit so that you can comfortably lay on his chest. After all that, there’s only one thing you can think about.

“You wouldn’t be able to live without me?”

You look up at Din. His smirk stretches into a smile. He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t, no.” He says it so matter-of-factly, so simply, as if it was common knowledge. “I need you. I always have.”

“I need you too.” He was the only person you had ever needed, the only exception. You didn’t need to tell him. He knew. Always has, always will.

You are the only exception

You are the only exception

And I'm on my way to believing

Oh, and I'm on my way to believing

[mrs-gauche]

Let's talk about the Red Lyrium Idol

(…Because it's not like this thing has been discussed to death over the past ten years, right? 😂 *drops my two cents in the Scrooge McDuck money bin*)

Ah yes… The red lyrium idol. The one thing that's given me a headache since 2018, as I'm still trying to figure out how this damn thing could possibly fit into my bazillion tinfoil theories.

Whether it's the first official DA4 teaser in 2018, the Blue Wraith comic series or the entirety of the last chapter of Tevinter Nights, a lot of the supplementary media and promotional stuff setting up the course for DA4 seems to be centered around the idol. Quite literally, in some cases, like this mural from the first 2018 teaser:

It certainly led us to think that the idol won't just be another McGuffin (or so I hope lol), but other than that, it's still heavely shrouded in mystery…

Which is why I will now make an attempt to unravel this and gather every single bit of information we have on it (so far) and maybe that'll get us closer to some sort of answer in the end (actually, it won't, because this got SO long that I had to split this post in two parts lol No one's going to read all of this anyway 💀)!

Look, I just needed to get this behemoth of a post out before we might get an actual substantial trailer tomorrow and none of this will probably matter anymore. 😂💀

(Note: This whole thing was initially intended to be solely for myself to keep track of any information we've gotten about the idol since DA2. But since it's gotten SO long over the years, I figured why not just rewrite it into a somewhat coherent text and post it on here? :D ......Seriously, it's really, REALLY effing long.)

The Idol's Journey so far

To me, the idol always seemed to be something like "The One Ring" in LOTR. A forged ancient artifact with creepy unknown powers that is said to feel "alive", almost as if it possesses a will of its own, seeing as it has somehow found its way from countless random people, back to (presumably) its former owner. It also appears to be somewhat cursed, given that almost everyone who held it at one point seems to have died or gone mad by now (Yeah, I'm very worried about Varric and Hawke 👀).

Let us start with a quick summary of the journey the idol has made in the span of about 12-13 years (not counting the unknown timespan in which the last chapter of Tevinter Nights takes place):

First discovered by Hawke and Varric in an ancient Thaig in the Deep Roads.

Stolen by Bartrand, who then made a quick trip to Rivain.

Sold to Meredith, who turned it into a sword.

Taken out of Meredith's petrified corpse by Carta dwarves.

Sold again to a Tevinter mage, who brought it to House Qintara in Ventus.

Handed to a secret agent of Fen'Harel named Gaius (who was impersonating Magister Qintara).

Traded away to Tractus Danarius.

Handed to Magister Nenealeus at Castellum Tenebris to be used as part of a ritual.

Picked up by Cedric Marquette after the fortress fell, while trying to escape.

Handed back to Tractus Danarius, who then probably (not confirmed) went to Nevarra to perform another blood magic ritual.

Picked up by a Mortalitasi who (maybe) took it to Tevinter.

(Supposedly!) ended up in a vault under an auction house in Llomerryn in Rivain, where it was (supposedly!) retrieved by Solas.

That's quite the journey… that you wouldn't even know half about if you didn't read the comics or Tevinter Nights. But whereas the book and comics were all published after the first teaser trailer in 2018, after which the idol became the center of the fandom's attention and speculation, it should be noted that a connection to the idol was in fact already made way back in 2014, when people noticed that the image of Solas holding Flemeth's lifeless body at the end of Inquisition was very reminiscent of something else.

...Which brings us to the point of what the idol is even depicting to begin with.

Description

Before I'll start to give my own description based on the models in-game, the teaser and concept art, I'd like to quote the people who've actually seen it in person.

In the last chapter of Tevinter Nights, we are being told three tales by three different people, who all describe the same idol differently.

The Carta Assassin: "A couple hugging, too thin to be dwarves - but it's sitting there, glowing softly like a ruby lit by the grace of the Maker himself. […] It's heavier than you'd think - lyrium's heavier than you'd think, too, but this was heavy even for that. When I hefted it in my hand, it was like it wanted to keep moving, like it was liquid inside."

The Mortalitasi: "An idol crafted from red lyrium, which seemed to show two lovers, or a god mourning her sacrifice. It whispered in our minds when we saw it […]."

The Orlesian Bard/Solas: "He whispered something as he picked it up, tracing his gloved fingers gently along the crowned figure who comforted the other."

The one thing that all of these seem to have in common though is two figures who embrace each other in some way.

Which is interesting, because in all the depictions of the idol we've seen so far, it clearly shows three people instead of two. Granted, the third figure is a bit cramped up in the back of the crowned figure, but what's strange is that not even Solas himself mentions this third figure.

Most notable though is the crowned female looking figure in the center, which is holding onto the two other figures on each side of the ring shaped object (or it's the two figures holding onto the female?). The figures themselves look rather goulish, deadly or skeletal, with their bone structure clearly visible and all their expressions captured in a mix of horror or torment. The small carved-in lines coming from the middle figure's eye sockets also resemble black tears, much like we've seen on "The Mother" in Awakening.

There's also no sign of clothing, which is all the more apparent on the concept art of the idol, in which the breast of the middle figure is.. much more prominent. lol (We don't make fun of saggy boobs in this house, it's just nature and gravity after all, but for the sake of observation, I will note that they do remind me of Broodmother boobs, too 😂), aside from a hint of what could be a veil on the middle figure's head.

At the bottom of the idol, the lower bodies of the figures seem to fully submerge within its name-giving red lyrium and this "claw" type thing, which is coming off in the shape of crystalline red lyrium spikes at the tail end, though in the concept art and the DA2 model, these spikes were clearly more like red lyrium roots. But either way, the bottom makes it kinda look like it's been broken/ripped off?

We can also see tentacle like features, that remind me of the figures we've seen in the mural in the 2020 teaser and the depiction in the 25th anniversary book that revealed to us what the Archdemons were initially supposed to look like. 👀

I'd also like to point out that in the original concept art of the idol, the ears of the crowned figure look much more pointy to me than in later versions. 👀

There's also this "ring", that I've seen many people connect to how the Veil is often portrayed in Solas' murals.

But if this ring is supposed to depict the Veil, then what could it mean for the crowned figure reaching across to hold that ominous third figure on the "other side"?

And yes, I recognize that this ominous third figure also seems to be missing a left arm, just like another certain main character. 👀

The one thing that stands out the most though, is probably the crown itself. Most people might first associate it with Andraste, when the same shape can be traced as far back as ancient statues of Mythal.

Yeah, there's definitely a pattern here. 😂

That being said…

Connection to Mythal & Solas

Okay, we all know about the theory that Andraste might have been Mythal's previous host, right? We all know about the parallels between Mythal's story, Andraste, Flemeth, etc. And after comparing the idol to Flemeth and Meredith in their moment of death, considering all of the above/following and how old this thing potentially is, I will now make a wild guess here and argue that the idol is in fact depicting Mythal's death.

"He whispered something as he picked it up, tracing his gloved fingers gently along the crowned figure who comforted the other. But I could not make out the words, for I fear they were elven."

Not only does Solas seem to hold sentimental value for whoever the crowned figure is supposed to be, while also talking to it in elven, but the way he describes to "caress" the idol in Tevinter Nights does also seem to mirror how Flemythal was comforting him at the end of DAI.

However, I always thought it was a bit odd how Solas describes the idol as "a figure comforting another", when… tbh, "comforting" would probably be last thing that comes to my mind when I look at this...

"Agony" would be more fitting here, maybe? lol Kinda begs the question of how Mythal was murdered, too, with this being her expression in her moment of death? 👀

Without getting too much into it here, if there's one thing we can take from everything we've learned so far about their past, Solas' relationship with Mythal must've been a rather complicated one, to say the least.

"He did not want a body, but she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face."

Solas calls Mythal "the best of the elven gods", calling her "the mother, protective and fierce", and Solas is even described in the designer's notes as "Mythal's oldest friend" who is all about free will, yet if the spirit origin theory is true and Cole's cryptic comments in Trespasser are in fact about them, it was Mythal who gave Solas a body against his will, potentially bound/enslaved him with her vallaslin, and maybe even forced him to act against his original purpose?

"You should have seen me when I was younger. Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight."

Cole: "You didn't do it to be right. You did it to save them." Inquisitor: "Solas, what is Cole talking about?" Solas: "A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything."

How much of what happened was Solas acting out Mythal's will, or rather, acting out of vengeance and pain in reaction to Mythal's death? How much of it was him acting downright impulsive?

Solas: “Cole is a spirit. The death of the real Cole wounded him, perverted him from his purpose. To regain that part of himself, he must forgive.” Varric: “You don’t just forgive someone killing you.” Solas: “You don’t. A spirit can.”

Or was it Mythal's death itself that "wounded him and perverted him from his purpose", just like he described what happened to Cole?

And what does that say about Mythal then, when she clearly hasn't forgiven her murderers and still strives for vengeance after all this time? What if Solas' own perception of Mythal and all the circumstances surrounding her murder is warped because he was once bound to her? 👀

Anyway. To get back to topic.

So if we assume that the idol is in fact depicting Mythal's death, then that brings us to the next question of why the idol is even made of red lyrium? Or rather, what is Mythal's connection to red lyrium?

We know that red lyrium is tainted blood of a Titan. Mythal was the first to kill a Titan and mine their blood for things we won't get into in this post. So, how did the idol end up in the Deep Roads, anyway? How long had it been there? One thing that's kinda strange to me, is how the DA wiki page about the idol says that it was forged by the dwarves, solely based on the fact that it was initially found in the Deep Roads, when we have no actual evidence for that. We've seen statues of both Mythal and the Dread Wolf in the Deep Road section in Trespasser where the mining of lyrium was undergone, but we don't know if the dwarves even had any part in building them as well.

Would the dwarves forge an idol of the elven deity who conquered them and killed their Titan, if they were somehow forced to do so? We also have to remember that dwarves were and still are the only ones able to actually mine raw lyrium safely, but even the Carta dwarves in Tevinter Nights had to take several precautions in order to recover the red lyrium idol from Meredith's corpse. And even then, many of them still fell shaking or went mad in its presence like Bartrand.

So if it only takes that little exposure to have that much of an effect on someone's sanity, how were the ancient dwarves or anyone even able to create it in the first place? What if the idol was initially made of blue lyrium but was then somehow corrupted?

And if we take one moment to really think about what an idol actually is.

"An object representing extreme devotion and religious worship to a god."

While Solas doesn't think of any of the Evanuris as actual gods, he still seems to hold Mythal at such a high regard that he wouldn't even speak of her at a sacred place like the Temple of Mythal (whether or not that was because he just wanted to withhold any secret ancient knowledge). He's able to fully recite the invocation to Mythal if you bring him with you to her altar. He also looks exactly like the sentinels in Mythal's temple.

I could go on, but generally speaking, there are so many little hints pointing to Solas being a former slave/servant of Mythal that, again, we won't get into here, but it's important to mention when trying to figure out why the idol (presumably) even belongs to Solas.

"The idol's journey is now complete, and it has found its master."

In Tevinter Nights, the Dread Wolf claims that the red lyrium idol belongs to him. He also made sure to punish those who tried to misuse it, going so far as to march in with an entire army of spirits and snapping a guy's neck with his jaw. (Yup, you're better off not to touch the Dread Wolf's stuff for dirty blood rituals, kids.)

"You use my idol carelessly, and in doing so, you threaten all creation."

Additionally, in the last chapter of Tevinter Nights, Charter and other spies conclude that Solas must need the idol for whatever ritual he's planning, while Solas in Bard disguise claims that he's already in possession of the idol now and therefore, I quote, "cannot be stopped". (Though I personally still don't actually buy a single thing about his vivid tale at that auction house, but we'll get back to this later. lol)

And if the idol belongs to Solas, was he the one who created it, or did he order the dwarves or someone else to make it for him? But why would he intentionally make an idol out of red lyrium, anyway? He is fully aware of the dangers and corruption that comes with being exposed to red lyrium and its use. Especially considering that red lyrium is blighted and how he repeatedly expresses great concern over the Blights and gets furious over the Grey Wardens' attempts to preempt them by killing the Archdemons (because he obviously knows more than us).

So, does he know a way to use it without getting corrupted like everyone else? The Seekers of Truth are so far the only ones we've seen to be immune to red lyrium thanks to having their minds touched by a spirit of Faith during their vigil. Could Solas' connection to spirits/his hypothetical spirit origin allow him to use the idol without it effecting him?

But if any of this is true, then l'm again asking myself what even was the purpose of the idol to begin with? Why or when was it created? How does it differ from any other red lyrium, and what could Solas have used it for in the ancient past?

Powers & Effects

So, let's talk about what this thing can actually do (as far as we know).

(Btw, this is the part where I will shamelessly copy a lot straight from the DA wiki, because truth be told, I'm just a German struggling with limited vocabulary and I figured there's simply no way to summarize this any better than the wiki already has. 💀)

Just like any other red lyrium, we know that being exposed to the idol for too long will make you mad/paranoid/possessive/violent, while also grant you special powers, until overuse causes your body to be completely overtaken by red lyrium. It seems to thin the Veil wherever it is currently kept, allowing spirits or demons to interact with the physical world.

It also emanates a song that is slowly turning people who hear it insane.

The Song

"It sings… sick music." "It eats you inside until you're nothing." "It creeps into your thoughts, humming." "They hear a different song. The song behind the door old whispers want opened. They are dead and dark and done." "Songs screaming far away. It wants to wake up but can't remember how."

(- Cole's comments about red lyrium/red templars)

After Bartrand took the idol and left Varric and Hawke to die in the primeval Thaig, he started hearing voices, claiming the idol was "singing" to him. Even after selling it, Bartrand could still hear the idol and was eventually driven mad by its red lyrium.

Three years later, it is discovered that Bartrand had chipped a piece of the idol off and left it in his estate, which causes the house to behave like it was haunted and the Veil was torn.

Then during the "Haunted" quest, Varric himself remarks several times to hear music while walking through the estate, much like the Carta assassin in Tevinter Nights recalled to have heard "music in the wind, like some old song I heard as a kid but can't quite remember" when obtaining the idol from Meredith's corpse.

Important to mention here is that Varric seems to also be the only one in the party able to hear this song.

Varric: "Hey… is that music? Where is that coming from?" Hawke: "In don't hear anything." Varric: "Where is that singing coming from? You hear it, right, Hawke?" Varric: "Where is that voice coming from?" Hawke: "What voice?" Varric: "I can barely hear it… I wish I could make out the words."

Varric also told us that, after Bartrand went mad, he tortured his non-dwarven servants by cutting pieces off them to help them "hear the song".

(And remember, the idol was found in an ancient primeval Thaig in the Deep Roads, sitting on something like an altar, indicating that it was being worshiped by the ancient dwarves as well. Presumably because they too were being influenced by the idol's/red lyrium's song?)

Haunted

During the "Haunted" quest, we learn that the mere presence of a shard of the idol in the estate causes:

"Voices whispering in the walls"

Random objects moving on their own

Apparitions/screaming spirits appear running across the floors

When Varric picks up the piece of the idol, he starts to exhibit the same symptoms of madness Bartrand showed, at which point Hawke can either let Varric keep the piece, or can take it from him with the intent of having Sandal destroy it.

If Hawke asks Anders to diagnose Bartrand in Act 2, he suspects a demon at work, however Bartrand is a dwarf. Instead, he determines that "his mind has been poisoned by something powerful".

In Tevinter Nights, the Carta assassin recalls that, in the attempt to retrieve the idol from Meredith's corpse, most of his colleagues fell shaking and whispering the closer they got to it.

Meredith

After Bartrand sold the idol to Meredith, she reshapes it into her sword Certainty, which does eventually drive her insane as well. It also gives her unnatural powers, such as the ability to animate the statues in the Gallows, and even limited flight capabilities.

(My question is though, were the things happening in that final fight directly caused by the idol or was this just the result of the Veil being already weakened that much by the many terrible things that happened at that place/Kirkwall in general?)

Anyhow, during the final battle at the Gallows, Meredith overuses the lyrium sword, causing it to burst into dust and petrify her into a statue.

Though as we all know now, some part of Meredith seems to have survived somehow, as her… mind(?) or something was shown to now still "live" within the red lyrium somewhere in Kirkwall at the end of Absolution. She (or "it") also seems to have somewhat control over the red templars now, too.

So, how is this possible? What exactly is she now, if it even is herself and not just a manifestation/echo of her memories or something? Could it have something to do with the idol? No one really knows (and we might never find out, if Netflix won't give us a second season, anyway lol), but I do think it's curious how the idol is likely depicting Mythal's death, who didn't actually die either and lived on through the ages as a type of lingering "wisp" clinging to various hosts. 👀

I also want to point out how Solas did suspiciously include Meredith's petrified corpse in his mural in the 2020 teaser as well, placing her right under that ominous upside down figure with the tentacles.

Furthermore, just like Meredith, the idol also seems to be somewhat indestructable. lol After Meredith's sword burst into dust, it regrew inside her petrified corpse (which Solas was apparently also aware of). What's interesting is that it regenerated in Meredith's chest of all places. You know, like, where the heart is supposed to be? 👀

Then there's also this curious line from Anders, when talking about Varric acting strange after obtaining a shard of the idol:

"This thing's magic seems only more potent when broken."

I've mentioned it before, but with the spikes (or roots in DA2) at the bottom part of the idol making it look like it was ripped or broken off of something, you have to wonder if its current state is somewhat broken, even after regenerating.

"Hot-Blooded"

During the Haunted quest, Fenris will remark this:

"Whatever is here is angry."

In DAI, Cole repeatedly comments on how red lyrium feels "very angry" and how it is "less angry when it's cold". We know for a fact that red lyrium emanates a noticeable heat. A corrupted Bartrand is especially weak to cold/ice magic.

While anger is generally associated with heat, I find this aspect particularly interesting, given that red lyrium is tainted blood of a Titan.

And building on that, while still searching for further connections between red lyrium, the idol and Mythal… Remember how the ancient sarcophagus in the Blue Wraith and Dark Fortress comic was used in a ritual, in which lyrium combined with fire of a Great dragon carved lyrium infused markings into Fenris' and Shirallas' skin, granting them special powers.

Not only was this ancient sarcophagus specifically built only for elves, and its design resembling that of Mythal's statues…

…but here we have a case in which lyrium is purposefully "set on fire" by a Great dragon to create "elven super soldiers". Mythal is always depicted as a dragon. And she mined lyrium in humongous amounts.

Again, red lyrium emanates heat. If this was common practice in ancient times, then I feel like it's not surprising that a Titan would eventually be pretty damn angry in reaction to its blood being continuously burned for centuries [insert boiling blood joke here].

So, aside from the red lyrium being blighted, could there be a connection in Mythal burning the Titans' blood? As far as we know, it did take a couple of aeons in which Mythal (presumably) continued to mine (and burn?) the Titans' blood, before the ancient elves sealed the Deep Roads for good, because they discovered something… bad. As Solas himself declares in the vision described at the mural depicting a Titan's death:

"Let this place be forgotten. Let no one wake its anger." "The vision grows dark. An aeon seems to pass. Then the runes crackle, as if filled with an angry energy. A new vision appears: elves collapsing caverns, sealing the Deep Roads with stone and magic." "Terror, heart-pounding, ice-cold, as the last of the spells is cast."

And there it is again. That anger we're talking about. What's so interesting to me, is how this does sort of come full circle with Mythal and the idol after all, since the motivation behind Mythal's actions, even after thousands of years, remains her unwavering desire for vengeance upon the people who betrayed and murdered her, which, in a way, does mirror the same anger/heat that the Titan is emanating from its tainted blood.

And speaking of blood……

A Ritual Blade

In Tevinter Nights, we learned that the idol is able to produce a blade, which is then used as part of a blood magic ritual.

"The Tevinter mage was killing his slaves. […] He had cut the throat of one of them, and then another, catching the blood of his victims on the idol as he made his way around the circle. […] The Tevinter mage raised the idol before him, and I saw a spike of lyrium spring from the base of the idol, so that all at once, it was not merely an idol, but a ritual blade. He slashed his own hand, and a wave of power pulsed through the cavern. It was as though we were the blood, and the cavern was the body through which it flowed, and we fell, all of us, to the ground, our minds pulled into the raw chaos of the Fade by the power of his ritual."

In the end of the Dark Fortress comic, the idol produced another red lyrium sword, that could be fully detached and was then placed onto the before-mentioned sarcophagus, turning Shirallas into a raving beserker that was pretty much invincible as long as he was in possession of that same sword.

While the blue lyrium infused sword that was used in Fenris' ritual simply dissolved in the process, the sword produced by the idol could "regenerate" and was especially resistant to Great dragon fire.

"Unlike the lyrium-infused swords of the so-called Arcane warriors, this sword should survive the ritual."

In the final fight against him, Marquette comments on how Shirallas "feeds energy to the sword from the red lyrium in his veins" and how in turn "the sword heals his wounds".

So in both the comic and Tevinter Nights, the idol/the weapon produced from the idol seems to draw power specifically from the blood of its wielder. It makes me wonder if it was initially intended to be used this way, since we have to remember that it still presumably belongs to Solas, who claims to not practice blood magic, because it seems to make it more difficult to enter the Fade.

Which is ironic, given what the mage in Tevinter Nights did to disrupt the Fade, but also how the Magisters Sidereal used a massive blood ritual to enter the Fade physically.

And oddly enough, in your first conversation with Solas about blood magic, he makes this curious analogy with daggers as an example…

Inquisitor: Every time I've seen blood magic used, it has been for some evil purpose. Solas: I once saw a woman being stabbed in the stomach with a dagger. She died slowly, in angony. It was repulsive. If the Chantry outlawed daggers, would that stop the people from using it? Of course not. […]" Inquisitor: "You don't need to sacrifice a slave's life to make a dagger." Solas: "I suppose it depends upon the dagger."

So… Could Solas be referencing Mythal's death here? Or what if the dagger here is referring to the idol in its blade form? What the heck does he mean by "I suppose it depends upon the dagger"? Was a slave's life sacrificed to create the idol maybe?

But if blood magic wasn't the sole purpose for why it was made, then what else could the idol as a ritual blade be used for?

Which brings us to…

Dalish mythology

According to Dalish legends, Fen'Harel told the Creators and the Forgotten Ones that the Avvar had forged a "terrible weapon", a blade that would end the war between both clans of gods. He told the Creators that it was forged in the heavens, while the Forgotten Ones were told that it was hidden in the Abyss. And when the gods went seeking it, Fen'Harel sealed them both in their realms forever.

Okay. So, let's just assume for a second that the blade in this legend was actually the idol in its blade form. Because hell, what are the odds of having two "super powerful ancient blades that belong to Solas"? lol

If they are in fact the same weapon and the part about Solas tricking the gods is true, why were the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones so eager to get this thing, to the point that they would fell into a trap?

And with this, I'd also like to point out the level design in the scene in which Flemeth takes Kieran's Old God soul in the Fade. I can't help but feel like the statue of Dirthamen being stabbed in the back with a sword, crying a stream of blood, resulting in a huge pool of blood, as well as a bloody ouroboros symbol on the ground, is a very deliberate design choice. Especially considering the context of this scene with the revelation about Flemeth and Mythal, I'd argue this is all in reference to how Mythal was betrayed and murdered.

Again, the idol could depict Mythal in her moment of death. In the final fresco in the rotunda, the one Solas never finished before leaving the Inquisition, we see a wolf looming over a dragon slain by a blade.

In the last visual of the 2022 cinematic that, going by Varric's narration, could potentially depict the destruction of the Veil, Solas appears to hold something that resembles a blade with a very destinct handle. Additionally, we've since discovered an icon hidden on the Steam page of DA4, that shows a dagger with an identical shape and the same glowy purple as the Dreadwolf title.

So we have the idol in its blade form, the blade Mythal was potentially slain with, the blade Solas is holding in the 2022 cinematic, Solas mentioning a dagger in relation to blood magic and Fen'Harel's blade in Dalish legends.

That's a lot of blades... and a lot of blood. lol

The Hunt of the Fell Wolf

"The Hunt of the Fell Wolf" is the title of a poem that can be found in the Jaws of Hakkon DLC. It tells a story of former Inquisitor Ameridan, his friend Haron and their fight against a demon wolf.

Along with numerous odd things in this tale that could be interpreted as some kind of metaphor (or just the devs messing with us, if you want to know more, please check out this post), it also mentions an "idol of fade-touched stone" in connection to the demon wolf.

The wounded knight in darkness Found within the cavern’s gloom An idol of fade-touched stone, Which could prove the monster’s doom.

In the poem, after a grim fight, the wolf takes Ameridan's friend Haron to its lair, a "labyrinth of winding cave" (which many believe is referring to the Deep Roads, just like the ancient Thaig in DA2 where Hawke and Varric found the red lyrium idol originally) where Haron, oddly enough, also happens to find an idol. What's intruiging though, is that this idol seems to be connected to the wolf in such a way that he can only be defeated if both him and the idol are destroyed and struck down at the same time.

With burning blade, Ameridan And monster met again Whilst elsewhere did Haron valiantly With demon-wards contend.

As demon-stone was shattered, Ameridan struck true: Beast and spirit—both felled at once, Though neither hunter knew.

"Beast and spirit—both felled at once"

Two entities that are connected across two different places… as in the physical body and the spirit maybe?

As in the waking world and the Fade?

So, let's reiterate.

The red lyrium idol belongs to the Dread Wolf. Cole remarks how he can feel that Solas is "in both places". The word "Dread Wolf" itself is an anagram for "World" and "Fade". We've talked about the popular spirit origin theory before, Solas taking a physical form against his will because of Mythal. The whole matter of Solas' "true name" before he called himself Pride. Solas' entire personal quest, which may or may not mirror his own past, a spirit of Wisdom being denied its original purpose, turning into a pride demon ("He wants to give wisdom not orders"). His strange remarks at the end of Cole's personal quest ("We cannot change our nature by wishing"). The fact that Solas makes Cole forget about his true identity, just like spirit!Cole does. The visual portrayal of Solas "consuming" Flemeth's powers at the end of DAI. The way in which Solas doesn't recognize anyone in the waking world as "people", but will vehemently debate you on why spirits should be considered people.

"But the People… They need me." (- Solas to Flemeth at the end of DAI) "Never again." (- Solas after burning the mages who were responsible for Wisdom's corruption) "From this moment, should you ever bind a spirit, your life is mine." (- the Dread Wolf's final warning to the mages in Tevinter Nights)

All of this considered, what could the poem in JOH imply for the connection between Solas and the Dread Wolf/the Dread Wolf and the idol?

"They made bodies from the Earth, and the Earth was afraid. It fought back, but they made it forget."

One theory assumes that the creation of the Veil lead to the separation of the ancient elves' bodies and their souls/spirits, assuming that before the creation of the Veil, the Evanuris somehow made bodies from the Titans/lyrium for spirits to manifest and then enslaved/bound them to their will by marking those bodies with their vallaslin.

But if that's true, then what happened to Solas when he created the Veil?

"He broke the dreams to stop the old dreams from waking. The wolf chews its leg off to escape the trap."

In all the murals, tarot cards and illustrations, the Dread Wolf and Solas are always depicted separately.

What really IS the Dread Wolf? And what is he to Solas?

"It was a beast unlike any I had ever seen. Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon, and it came to us on wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons."

From what little we know of the Dread Wolf himself, he only seems to exist within the Fade (that is to say, before the Veil, Solas was already depicted as a wolf, presumably even before his rebellion and before the Evanuris "bestowed" him with the title "Fen'Harel"). In the Mortalitasi's tale in Tevinter Nights, his army of spirits follows the mages back to the waking world, yet the Dread Wolf himself remains in the Fade. In one of the frescoes in the rotunda, Solas portrays the Black City surrounded by the six burning red eyes that resemble those of the Dread Wolf, almost like he's keeping watch over the eternal prison of those he banished. In the Tower tarot card, the Dread Wolf is ominously looming over Solas, almost like it's about to consume him, while in one of the Trespasser murals, it looks more like the Dread Wolf follows his lead. And then there's the DA4 2018 teaser mural, in which they're opposing each other, only seperated by the red lyrium idol in the center of the Veil.

If the red lyrium idol is connected to Solas like the idol in the poem is connected to the wolf, could this be part of the reason Solas is so desperate to find it? Does it possess some kind of spirit? Can the Dread Wolf only be defeated if the idol is destroyed at the same time, just like in the poem?

Where is it now?

So where's the damn thing now?

Well, in my opinion, there are two options.

Option 1) The bard's tale in Tevinter Nights was complete bullshit. lol

Despite Solas trying to convince us that he already obtained the idol in a vault some time ago under an auction house in Llomerryn, it's possible that, much like his whole charade in that chapter, this tale was also entirely fabricated. lol

To make it short, here is a list of arguments for why the "bard's tale" could've been a complete lie:

Solas attended this spy meeting specifically for information on the idol's whereabouts (because he doesn't actually know where it is currently?).

Everything until the last two pages was an act.

Both the Mortalitasi and the Carta Assassin point out several contradictions within his tale.

Upon hearing the other spies assuming that he needs the idol, it would just make sense that he would want them/Charter to believe that he’s now in possession of the idol and “cannot be stopped”, so that they would drop all effort to find it before him.

On the very last page of the book, there's a lists of bullet points of information when Charter is about to write down her report, and it does not explicitly say “He has the idol” but rather just what it looks like, which suggests that Charter didn’t buy his story either.

So if this was all lies, the last known location of the idol would therefore be the unknown person who took it when escaping from the Dread Wolf's spirit army in the Grand Necropolis in the tale of the Mortalitasi.

Meaning that Solas would therefore still be searching for it now. (Which would actually be kind of hilarious, considering how there's likely gonna be a ten year timeskip since DAI, so he would've been searching for the flippin thing for the better part of a decade now. 😂 We know from the end of the Blue Wraith comics that he had followed the idol's path via eluvian, but maybe he just lost track of it at some point? In fact, the last we heard from him, Solas was apparently busy pursuing some Venatori people to get another ancient artifact called the Crucious Stone in the The Missing comic, much like he prevented the Tevinter mage in Nevarra from using his idol. Solas after ten years of searching for the idol was probably like "Oh fuck it, I give up, on to McGuffin Nr 2 then". lmao)

In an interview with the comic writers Nunzio DeFilippis and Christina Weir, they talked about how in their initial draft of Dark Fortress, Solas actually *got* the idol(!!) from two of his agents by using the eluvian located at Nenealeus' place before BioWare stepped in and requested a change. 👀 That version would've explained how Solas was able to track the idol through the eluvian we see at the end. Their own interpretation was that Solas can only overlook a certain radius within the area of where another eluvian is located. Which would actually support the assumption that Solas might've lost track of the idol at some point after Nenealeus left the place… but that's just their interpretation and not official BioWare canon (yet), sooo…. Hm.

Option 2) Solas has the idol now.

So let's assume that the part about him obtaining the idol in Tevinter Nights was actually true and it's now in his possession.

Aside from this, the only thing that could speak for Solas already having the idol in the beginning of DA4, is once again the final visual in the 2022 cinematic.

If this cinematic is in fact playing at the beginning of the game as a general re-introduction to the lore and the last visual is depicting Solas in the middle of destroying the Veil using the idol, then.. well yeah, there it is, in his hand…. at least, for now. Making Solas succeed in the first 10 minutes, I guess? lol

……Unless!

See, a few years ago, I speculated about how the idol might actually be the perfect plot device/motivation for our new protagonist to get involved in the whole Solas deal without even knowing who he is.

Let's say the last visual in the 2022 cinematic is actually showing us a hypothetical scenario, and not something that has already happened/is currently happening. Like, Varric gives this expository narration explaining who Solas is and what might happen if we don't succeed in getting the idol. (Notice how Varric says "And we're the only ones who can stop him" at the end… Like there's still a chance to stop him before this actually happens.) We know from Tevinter Nights that Charter knows that Solas needs the idol for whatever ritual he's planning. And Charter obviously informed the Inquisition/Varric about this as well. So the next logical step for the Inquisition now would be to obtain the idol (whether or not the bard's tale in TN was true) to prevent this ritual at any cost, right?

The comic The Missing re-emphasized that Varric is now in charge of getting people that Solas doesn't know. And this might be where the new protagonist gets recruited by Varric (who is still a spymaster after all) and gets assigned the alias "Rook" for a heist mission to obtain the idol. (And after a very thorough observation of the DA4 reddit leaks from 2023… it looks like Rook might've actually succeeded in this potential quest?)

While we don't know when the stuff in the leaks actually takes place within DA4's storyline, I think it's safe to say that Rook will obtain the idol at some point in the story and that it will play a pivotal role, if the blurb on the Steam page for DA4 is to be believed. lol

As well as what could likely end up being the game's icon, found on the Steam page.

And again, remember how in the Hunt of the Fell Wolf poem, it seemed like Ameridan struck the wolf’s body in the waking world, while his friend Haron killed the spirit (inside the idol?) in the Fade. What could this imply for DA4 then, if we are applying the role of Ameridan, Haron and the wolf in this tale to the Inquisitor, Rook and Solas?? 👀 Is this how we can stop him? The Inquisitor confronts Solas in the waking world, while Rook has to destroy the idol/fight the Dread Wolf in the Fade?

Or could it just be a metaphor for the Inquisitor in DA4 keeping Solas occupied to distract him from Rook, while they can figure out another secret way to deal with him/how to get/destroy the idol?

See, the thing is, we have to remember that this is after all, a video game. lol Meaning that, if our protagonist gets to carry around a powerful ancient artifact/weapon, I would assume that this has to be somehow implemented in the gameplay as well. What we can take from the short footage of the 2023 reddit leak, is that Rook might carry the idol (if it really IS the same thing) while still fighting with their own main weapon in combat. So, what if the idol serves as more of a special power tool outside of combat, for example, like the anchor did in DAI, where it can only be used for special occasions? Let's say, the idol in its blade form can't be used in battle but is able to "split" the Veil or reality, like the anchor was able to open and close rifts? Or, if we assume that the idol is something like an ancient phylactery (which btw is my favorite theory and I will talk about in my second post), maybe it can be used as some kind of "tracking device"? Actually, I'm super curious to learn how Rook is even able to carry it like this in the first place, since we know what kind of effect it usually has on people. lol

~~~~~

Anyway, I'll make a hard cut here now and save the rest of this behemoth of a post for a second separate post (because I also just realized that tumblr doesn't let me add any more images 😂💀), so if any of you actually made it this far... thank you for being just as crazy as me about this and I will post the second part shortly after. lol ❤

[cleolinda]

I'm gonna admit that I got on Twitter like a big ol' dramatic dork last night and said, knowing full well that Elon Musk was doing exactly this, "If he changes the name to X, I'm out, I can't do this anymore."

Not because "X" is doofy and a terrible branding move, although it is, but because he wants to do THIS shit. Yeah, no, I am not hanging around for your global interactivity "everything app" bullshit. You want me to fucking BANK with you? YOU? You just lost about $30B running a platform into the GROUND by FIRING EVERYONE and doing whatever damn thing popped into your head between shitposts? Are you HIGH? I cannot hang around for this "tech king of the world, 420 blaze it lmao" bullshit. I could not stay at my beloved Livejournal after SUP said all the users would be subject to Russian law in 2017. I know The Moment when I see it. I can't do this.

I admit, I might go back every few months and say "Hey, I posted XYZ on any platform but this, please leave this godforsaken place," and I don't want to delete my accounts. I've been on Twitter since 2008, and I have a ton of livetweet threads (on my main and also on an alt for that purpose. Remember that time I livetweeted the Twilight gender-change book? That glorious trainwreck?). I've saved some of them via Thread Reader PDF downloads, but there are still more to get. I don't want to utterly destroy book and TV discussion we did over there.

I haven't used Twitter regularly since maybe 2016 (about the time the post-Gamergate alt-right really moved in), but the conversation and community, decentralized though it was, before that--we're going to lose the last vestiges of that, the way everyone on Reddit was upset about losing the collective knowledge over there. And I'm so fucking angry about it. I'm so angry. I immediately came back here the week he took over last year because I knew, I KNEW, somehow that Twitter would be destroyed. I just thought it would burn down in a smoking heap of rubble, not turned into a shambling tech zombie under a different name. I just. I can't do this anymore.

Also, shut the fuck up, Linda Yaccarino. Just because you can put Elon Musk's nonsense into coherent verbiage doesn't mean "a global social media/marketplace/banking system/walled garden that's basically X-Treme AOL" isn't a fucking nightmare. I hope the EU bans the fuck out of you both. See you in bankruptcy court.

[qqueenofhades]

Good Omens Season 2: Some Thoughts (and also Screaming)

First, /screams

Second, obligatory disclaimer that this meta contains MAJOR SPOILERS for all six episodes. If you somehow have managed to remain virginally unspoiled, look away now, scroll past, or add "good omens s2" and "good omens spoilers" to your block list, as those are the tags I have been using for all posts and reblogs.

Third, /screams more

Okay okay okay. Deep breaths.

Anyway, so, uh, how about all that, huh? First, the good thing about the tone of the season overall was that it felt considerably darker and more adult, in a good way. We didn't have the precocious kiddies, the kitsch and literally-comphet Anathema and Newt, the so-clever narration, etc. All that was gone, which makes sense when you consider that a) the end of last season saw them reboot into an entirely new universe, and b) the fact that God has gone silent is, in fact, a major plot point for the season. We don't have Her slyly telling us the story, or indeed anything, and everyone is left to make their own judgments and take their own actions. Which, obviously, gets them into a lot of trouble, especially when Metatron (the Voice of God, aka someone acting in the belief that they're speaking for God and therefore doing terrible harm) swoops in with the ultimate buzzkill at the end of episode 6. But we'll get to that.

The downside was that the main, present-day plot (hiding Gabriel in the bookshop and trying to get Nina and Maggie to fall in love) was fairly thin, felt stretched out and at times weirdly paced, and otherwise existed mostly to get us to That Ending and the setup for season 3. But the ending was so damn good (if obviously, very painful) that I can't be TOO mad, not least because we spent six episodes with them just making absolutely no pretense about the whole thing being as incredibly homosexual as possible. I'll be honest: I did not think they were going to actually, explicitly go there. Neil Gaiman has been so consistent about "your interpretations are valid and you're welcome to read it however you want, but the only canon is what's on screen," which I think is frankly a good thing (not least since the Neil GAYman Cinematic Universe is consistently very, very good to us queers), that I just... didn't quite think they'd pull the trigger. Sir Terry is dead and can't have active input, this is based on a book published 30 years ago, maybe they didn't want to make it LIKE THAT... etc. I certainly hoped, but I didn't really think they would.

Uh. Well.

As I said in my various semi-coherent liveblog posts, I honestly don't think there was a single straight person in the entire season, among both major and background characters. Aziraphale/Crowley and Maggie/Nina are the obvious paralleling couples, but Beelzebub (using "they" pronouns and addressed as "Lord" despite presenting as femme/femme-adjacent) is clearly nonbinary and therefore also queer, and the countless gay/queer side characters were just /chefs kiss. From Job's son making a sassy pass at Aziraphale, to the random Scottish goon with Grindr on his phone (which he then gives to Aziraphale, because what is subtlety), to the interracial couple with the trans spouse at the Pride and Prejudice ball, there was just a lot of casual, unremarked, non-story-critical queer representation visible at every turn. It's like the NGCU saw the bigots wailing about Sandman season 1 being extremely gay and went CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, LET'S MAKE GOOD OMENS 2 EVEN MORE GAY.

God bless.

Obviously, Jon Hamm as Amnesia!Gabriel stole the show (he was SO fucking funny) and it was also incredibly fun to watch Miranda Richardson repurposed as a scheming demon. Nina Sosanya also reappeared as Nina the coffee shop owner, which leads us into the Maggie-and-Nina subplot. They're obviously, wildly, incredibly clearly an analogue for Aziraphale and Crowley themselves, but they're also each, crucially, a mix of both. On the surface, Maggie is Aziraphale: the plump, blonde, earnest, sweet-natured one owning a slightly dated book music shop and somewhat clueless about emotional nuances, while Nina is (also on the surface) Crowley, the hard-edged dark loner who doesn't want to open herself up to people or be spotted caring. But emotionally, Maggie is Crowley: the one openly pining, clearly besotted, only wanting to hang around their crush and do whatever they can to make themselves useful, while Nina is Aziraphale. Interested but reticent, attracted but conflicted, trapped in an abusive relationship with a demanding offscreen "lover" (Lindsay/Heaven) who tries to constantly control and shame them without ever offering much, if anything in return. By the end, they bring themselves around to what Maggie/Crowley are offering, but by then, well. We've got a lot more problems on our hands.

As I also said in my earlier posts, this entire thing has always been a metaphor for religion, queerness, and what religion -- especially abusive, fundamentalist, organized religion -- does to queer people, but they really cranked the FUCK out of that metaphor this season. Aziraphale is guilt-tripped, controlled, and shamed for his attraction to Crowley at every turn. He is torn between his imagined duty to Heaven, in all its ignorant, uncaring, bureaucratic, gratuitously cruel system that he still insists on seeing the best in because he can't bear the alternative, and the chaotic and sometimes grey but genuinely more good morality that Crowley offers him. (Can I just say, we were explicitly shown that the two of them together doing "just a little miracle" are more powerful than Heaven AND Hell combined.) And at the end, he's told that the only way he can be with Crowley -- what Metatron explicitly blackmails him with -- is if they both go back to heaven, submit themselves to the cruel system again and give up everything that has made them who they are: their home in London, their human friends, their reliance on each other, their independence, their own ways of doing things. You can be queer in this (religious) framework, but only the limited, watered-down, controlled, controllable, constantly-under-supervision kind of queer, which relies on both you and your lover "converting" back to the true faith. And if you don't cooperate, they will literally kidnap you, lie to you, manipulate you, take you from your soulmate, and force you right back into doing the one thing (destroying the world) that you never, ever wanted to do in the first place, because in their minds, that is still better than this. It's for your own good.

Ouch.

And the thing is: that's why the ending a) hits so hard and b) is so fucking painful, because of course Aziraphale agrees. He has no conception of being able to defy Heaven on his own; he has always, always needed Crowley for that. In the flashbacks, when Aziraphale is faced with an order from Heaven that he desperately does not want to carry out (such as letting all Job's children get killed), he still relies completely on Crowley to "outsmart the rules" and find a better way. Crowley is A Crafty Demon; that's what he does, and so Aziraphale rationalizes it to himself that therefore that must be fine. Even in season 1, when he really didn't want the Apocalypse to happen but initially thought it was his duty as a good Heaven footsoldier, he relied on Crowley to talk him out of it and allow him to do what he really wants instead. That's their whole dynamic in a nutshell, as exemplified in that scene in episode 2, where Crowley tempts Aziraphale with the "pleasures of the flesh" while sprawled on his back in Ravish Me mode like the giant walking gay disaster that he is. (Sorry, buddy. That beard. Can't do it.) Everything that Aziraphale's existence is, that makes him who he is, that he loves and cherishes the most (in this case, food and wine) comes from Crowley. Everything else is just background noise.

Throughout the season, what we see is Aziraphale increasingly coming around to the fantasy of being with Crowley. He's coy and flirty; he talks about "our car" and expects Crowley will let him (which he does); he wants to have a Jane Austen ball and for them to dance together (oh my heart); he even thinks, at the crucial moment, that the best way for them to be together is to go back to heaven just like they were in the beginning, once more perfect angels, as if those entire six thousand years of struggle and grief and pining and separation and falling didn't happen. And Crowley -- poor, poor, brave, devoted, heartbroken Crowley -- has just heard for the first time in said six thousand years that actually telling the person you love how you feel is an option. Maggie and Nina tell them point-blank that their whole stupid plan failed because people aren't chess pieces who can be moved and automatically achieve the desired result. And of course this gobsmacks the dearest and dumbest Ineffable Husbands, because they can't conceive of anything else. People are chess pieces in the Great War of Heaven and Hell; Aziraphale and Crowley themselves are chess pieces who have been desperately trying to get out of being moved by external forces, but that doesn't change the fact that that's what they are. They don't have volition or agency aside from that which they can sneak for themselves in brief and stolen moments. That's it.

Until, well. It's not it. They discover that this whole would-be war is actually an elaborate ruse to cover up another angel-demon romance, that of Gabriel and Beelzebub. (I'll be honest, I'm 99% sure they did this storyline because they saw the fans crackshipping them, but I appreciate a fictional narrative that values and incorporates its fans' input, rather than trying to constantly "trick" or "outsmart" them or "do what they don't expect.") And Gabriel and Beelzebub get to be together, but only by leaving their world forever. They have to desert their homes, their structures, even their own identities, and never return. And Crowley and Aziraphale are so rooted in their "precious, perfect, fragile" life in their little corner of Soho, with their bookshop and their Bentley and their dining at the Ritz (which they didn't get to do in the end because METATRON /shakes fist), that that just doesn't work. Neither of them can conceive of doing that. So Aziraphale thinks "go back to heaven and try to make the terrible system do some good and take what we can in terms of being together" and Crowley just... pours out his heart. He's ready to fucking propose. He barely stops himself from saying something to the effect of "I want to spend eternity with you." He begs, he pleads with Aziraphale to go away not in the literal sense, but the emotional/metaphysical: to finally break this toxic dependence on Heaven and tell them once and for all where to stick it. And because he is desperate to make Aziraphale understand, he finally throws all caution to the winds and recklessly, desperately, adoringly kisses him, the one thing he's wanted to do for ages and...

Gets. Shot. Down.

Ugghhhhh. I'm suffering all over again. Aziraphale wants him, hungers for it, for them, and yet he's been so abused and so conditioned by Heaven (he's still blithely repeating to Crowley's face that "Hell are the bad guys!") that he just cannot accept that kind of desperate, blind, limitless, lawless affection. He even forgives Crowley for this "transgression," just to really twist the knife, and Crowley just can't take it, can't face up to how terribly this has all gone up in flames, after he went to heaven trying to find the answer for Gabriel's situation. Gabriel, who he fucking hates. Gabriel, who tried to kill the angelic being he loves (and for which Crowley has transparently never forgiven him). And yet at one pouty puppy-eyed look from Aziraphale and a warning that whoever is harboring Gabriel might be in danger, Crowley leaps headlong into the Bentley again and rushes to the rescue while "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" is blaring. He stoutly protects Gabriel; he does a miracle to disguise him; he lets him have hot chocolate and stay in the bookshop; he guards him from the literal demonic horde outside. All because of Aziraphale. That's it. And then, it still doesn't work. Not only that, Gabriel's absence and decision to forego Armageddon gives Heaven the one tool they finally need to take Aziraphale away from him.

I repeat: Ugghhhhhhhh.

(In a good way. Ngl, I love this angst. This is the kind of angst my brain Thrives on, the Thematic Parallel Romantic Character Arc kind. Nom nom nom. But also: AGONY.)

I also need to talk about Aziraphale driving the Bentley, aside from the obvious metaphor of him being in Crowley's home while Crowley is in his. Last season, we had the "you go too fast for me, Crowley" scene with them sitting in said Bentley, which was Aziraphale saying he's not ready for a relationship. In this season, as noted above, we see Aziraphale increasingly embracing the potential fantasy of being with Crowley. But here's the catch: when he's in the Bentley this time, driving it, setting the pace, acclimating to the idea, he's driving his own idea of what the Bentley/his relationship with Crowley is. It's not the real thing. He plays classical music; he supplies himself sweets; he turns it yellow; he drives too slow. Crowley calls him in another old-married-couple snitfit to complain that Aziraphale's messed it up, but what Aziraphale has actually messed up (or will, by the end of the season) is far more consequential than just a car. He's changed the entire shape of their relationship to the one he thinks can make it work, and it just doesn't. It has to be them -- "we could have been... Us" -- or it's not even close to the truth. It's not worth their time.

I repeat: Ouch.

Speaking of the writers validating fan theories, I know we all picked up and screamed about on Crowley's idea of Peak Romance Guaranteed To Fall In Love being sheltering from rain and gazing into each other's eyes, which confirms that that poor bastard was indeed ass-over-teakettle gone as soon as he met Aziraphale (again) in Eden. I also need to talk about the 1941 redux, because wow. This time, the danger comes from Hell, which we see being its usual self: gleefully, pointlessly cruel, pettily backbiting, dirty, sniping, tedious, endless, determined to mindlessly destroy because They're The Bad Guys and they like it. So they blackmail, spy on, miracle-block, illicitly photograph, and try to prove that Aziraphale and Crowley are secretly a couple, right after Aziraphale himself has just had the Light From Heaven realization that he's in love (which we all also picked up on in s1). They're forcibly outing them (to speak of more Religious Queer Trauma) in order to break them up/get them into trouble with their authorities/families. Aziraphale and Crowley manage to escape it mostly by dumb luck, but Crowley having an altogether freakout, hands shaking, barely able to actually point the gun at Aziraphale even in the knowledge that it's supposed to be fake, is just... wow. He can't even fathom the idea of ever trying to destroy him in earnest, especially when he knows on some level that Aziraphale also finally just realized his own feelings. So I just need to --

/screams

Anyway, Aziraphale's entire arc this season is doing what he thinks is the right thing and then inadvertently causing harm and damage as a result. In the Edinburgh flashbacks (live slug reaction of me: SEAN BIGGERSTAFF???!!) he tries to stop Elspeth from stealing bodies and gets Morag killed and Crowley drinking the laudanum to save him (though that part with David Tennant just riffing left and right, using his natural Scottish accent, and being Tiny Crowley/Huge Crowley was hilarious). He invites his neighbors to a Pride and Prejudice ball and makes them all the target for demonic attack. And of course the Job episode: Aziraphale, horrified at Heaven's callous cruelty, desperate not to get Job's children killed, willing to go along with Crowley's tricks to save them somehow, tempted by Crowley to do the fucknasty with their angel bits eat some food and decide that he likes it. As mentioned, the whole thing about God being silent this season is a major thematic choice. The only time we see/hear God is Her communing with Job from afar. Aziraphale enviously imagines the answers he must be getting (he's not, he's baffled and perplexed), while Crowley longs beyond words to even have the opportunity to ask the question: why? Why do this? Why is this your plan?

And of course, this absence culminates in the Metatron, the Voice of God, the person arrogantly claiming that they're speaking for God and know exactly what Heaven wants, being able to seize Aziraphale by the short hairs and absolutely fuck him over. Gabriel is gone/decommissioned/eloping with Beelzebub, so Heaven needs a Supreme Leader (God apparently is no longer a factor in the equation). And what this Supreme Leader needs to do is finally unleash the Apocalypse that Gabriel decided to pass on (the Second Coming). Aziraphale needs to be punished, taken away from Crowley's influence/love, and put back under Heaven's explicit control, so Metatron spots a great opportunity to do all three at once. It's not an accident that the exact tool he uses to get Aziraphale to agree is "now you can actually be with Crowley!" Aziraphale and Crowley have been trying so hard to hide out from their respective Head Offices, but now all at once, there's this seemingly miraculous opportunity for them not to have to do that anymore! They can be together! They can be sanctioned by Heaven! They can give up all this hiding and sneaking around and lying! Isn't that better?

... As long as, of course, they give up absolutely everything that makes them who they are. No big deal. Minor catch. Probably nothing.

Metatron doesn't let Aziraphale have time to escape, or think it over, or reflect, or anything. He pressures Aziraphale to come with him immediately, or be once more subject to Heaven's implicit wrath/destruction/judgment. Believe me, Aziraphale already KNOWS he's made a huge mistake, as soon as he hears what Metatron really wants: bringing him back to unleash the Apocalypse that Aziraphale and Crowley have given up literally everything to prevent. He doesn't need time to reflect. By the time my man is in that elevator, he's well aware of what a catastrophic misjudgment he's made, and yet --

Aziraphale needs this. He has, as noted, literally always relied on Crowley outsmarting Heaven's cruel orders in order to prevent himself from having to do them. He's relied on Crowley rescuing him ("rescuing me makes him so happy," WELL BUB, IT'S BECAUSE YOU ALWAYS NEED IT). He admits to Crowley's face that "I need you!" He hates Heaven's sadistic meanness, but he has absolutely no framework, in and of himself, to defy it. When the rubber hits the road, he will crumple and try to go along with it, and now he's been put in a position where he's going to have to stand up, defy Heaven, and make the break once and for all BY HIMSELF. He doesn't have Crowley around to do it for him, he has no support, he is going to arrive in Heaven and be shuttled straight off to the Apocalypse 2.0 War Room. The only way he gets out of this is if he actively stands up, if he chooses himself and Crowley and their life, and he has to.

The thing is:

Aziraphale has lived his entire eternal existence Looking Up. Up is the direction of Goodness and Heaven. Up is where Angels go. Up is where Aziraphale comes from and where Demons and Hell are not. But now he's going Up, in a position to take over the whole shebang, and it's the last thing he wants.

So he's going to have to come back Down.

He's going to have to Fall. He's going to have to get back Below at all costs. He's going to have to finally, once and for all, understand what led Crowley to make the choice to leave Heaven and never come back. It's only then that they can possibly be together on any kind of conscious, equal, deliberate footing, claim their own agency, reject Heaven AND Hell, and try to really earn that South Downs cottage and that happy-ever-after, and it's gonna hurt so good.

Now if you will excuse me, /screams

[doctorcurdlejr]

Niko!! what'd you think of I saw the tv glow. I finally saw it last night and noticed you posting about it so I wanted to know your thoughts :)

Levi!!! I was JUST wondering what you were thinking about the movie after I saw you posting about it as well... we are so media discussion pilled in this way, it's awesome. ANYWAYS I've had so many thoughts since I first saw it and I've been trying to turn them into something coherent for a little bit now.

Ummm okay I have written 1k+ words about this movie, the suburbs, and escapism via teen TV.... clearly I was dying for somebody to ask this I guess so thank you for indulging me <3

First and foremost, I absolutely loved it! I've seen it twice now and the first time I watched it I got to see Jane Schoenbrun talk about the film right after. I already really liked it from that first watch alone. I found it so deeply relatable to my experiences - both in terms of growing up gay and trans, but where I am now in my 20s trying to navigate adulthood. Hearing what Schoenbrun had to say really cemented my feelings and thoughts about the film.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a big influence on the movie (it's why Amber Benson makes a cameo as Johnny Link's mom). Even though I don't have the same emotional link to Buffy since I never watched it, I recognize it as the same type of warmth I experienced growing up with Riverdale. When Owen says he feels like his insides have been scooped out but that he's too afraid to look and have that wrongness everybody knows is there be confirmed, Maddy simply responds "Maybe you're like Isabel. Afraid of what's inside you." Tears forming but not falling, breathing shallowly, I grabbed the paper and pen the theater keeps at the seats for people to order food with and wrote that line down - the slip of paper is still somewhere in my car. Writing it now almost feels lame in its simplicity, but it felt like my insides were being flayed open.

During the director discussion, Schoenbrun talked a little bit about this idea of how truly fucking bizarre it is to grow up in the suburbs. Like, when we think about the pinnacle of normality in American culture, it's the image of middle-class cis-hetero-white suburbia. At the same time, despite this cultural dream of normality, everybody is hyper-aware that the suburbs are one of the least normal things ever. So, the ACTUAL cultural understanding of it is that it's where we go to, like, passively kill ourselves (*George Costanza voice* WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY YOU KNOW!). This idea isn't new, I mean there are so many films and shows about navigating that specific bizarre dissonance from Rebel Without a Cause to Heathers to Twin Peaks. Probably half the pre-teen to teen TV I watched obsessively growing up, stuff like Strange Days at Blake Holsey High, Making Fiends, Truth or Scare, and eventually Riverdale, were never shy about being weird and morbid and saying "yes, the suburbs are exactly as bizarre and lethal in the ways you can already feel in your bones at 13." I Saw the TV Glow does a really good job of keying not only into that mental dissonance but more specifically into how those of us who have felt so intrinsically weird and different and wrong fell back on these shows like they were capable of doing the emotional version of a rescue breath maneuver after being drowned.

In high school, if there were two things about me that any person who even vaguely knew me could list off it was that I watched Riverdale, and I was a lesbian - and I was mocked more for the Riverdale. At that age, I was, without a doubt, the most miserable I have ever felt in my life. I rarely left the house because my family lived in a development that made me want to scratch my skin off when I walked out our front door. Owen didn't leave the house for days, afraid Maddy could somehow force him out. I sobbed constantly and frequently to depressing indie rock on the floor of my closet while hoping my family would just once read the (honest to god) KEEP OUT poster plastered on my door since I didn't have a lock on it. Owen didn't leave his room for days, afraid of what Maddy recognized in him. I didn't go on dates and kept my chest binder shoved to the bottom of my bookbag while wearing dresses that could've come from a how-to-be the perfect 50s housewife manual. Owen didn't leave his bed for days, afraid of Maddy touching his neck and Isabel's dress. I also watched Riverdale with the kind of zeal you see in a Pentecostal who has found God and started speaking in tongues to let you know it. I own a button that says, "Don't Make Me Go Dark Betty On You," I cherish it in a way that is only achieved by knowing exactly how corny and trite it is and then moving straight past that because well actually, and most people wouldn't get this, she's holding back something deeply dark and wild and- and disgusting. something painful yet intrinsically her. but i get it, obviously. or maybe not obviously! hopefully not obviously, but- basically, I'm just saying I get it: the experience of reflection and recognition through the other and all that.

Whatever, the point is that this movie is one big glaring trans allegory about how it sucks dog shit to live in the suburbs, and even at our most repressed we find these little snow globes of actualization in the glow of a tv screen that isn't afraid to show you the world you see. I've seen some people say that, like, in this context accepting or coming into your transness is this monumental death of self, which I get, but I feel there lacks a nuance in that because either way Owen is dying. Unlike Maddy who buries herself alive only to come out renewed, Owen doesn't kill himself upon facing the reality that the world is constructed to keep him miserable and the only way out is to take back what it is that the world wants to keep scooped out of him. Instead he just passively lets it drag him to a much more permanent death. This lack of suicide sucks in the kind of way that forces you to sit in your car on the midnight drive home and think to yourself am I letting myself suffocate because at some point knowing the misery became less scary than admitting I've been capable of doing something about it the whole time?

Clearly, I’ve been enchanted by the film’s narrative and meta-textual language. If you're familiar with it, you can see how Schoenbrun built this movie like a long-form dream episode of a canceled teen show filmed in Vancouver. Lynchian? Yeah, sure. Riverdalesque? THIS we cannot possibly deny. Schoenbrun said they included Amber Benson as an act of healing the inner rage experienced at Tara’s death in Buffy. This is a Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa ending Riverdale with a bisexual polycule after his gay Archie play got ceased-and-desisted type move. There’s probably more I could say about the soundtrack and the visuals, but I’ve hit over 1k words on this, so I’ll leave it at I enjoyed this movie a lot. :)

Maddy is an out lesbian who left town to escape the misery and found it strapped to her ankles. She slinks out, an animal pressed against the gymnasium floor, and says "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Owen looks into the camera and narrates. He cuts himself open with a box cutter, fully acknowledges what's there, and the movie ends with his suffocating apology parade for the unremarkable inconvenience of his excruciating suffering. You can be gay and trans, you can know it and you can stop repressing it, but you're not going to stop suffocating until you can find a way to destroy the part of you that truly deeply does want to die, reaching for the comforting euthanasia of normalcy. Stop visiting the dream of the life you want and make it into your reality with the same kind of unrepentant conviction seen in some underfunded but wildly ambitious teen television series. In other words: you must try to survive the ego death of being weird. A weirdo, who doesn't fit in and doesn't want to fit in!

[justauthoring]

and i wonder... who? [1]

somehow, you find yourself torn between the two hottest guys at your school and you have no idea who to choose. loosely based off of operation: true love where geto is eunhyeuk and gojo is dohwa :)

a/n: so here it is! the first part! i had a lot of fun writing this and im so excited to progress with this series :)) also, i hope to have the next part of naturally posted soon!

pairing: geto suguru x f!reader, gojo satoru x f!reader

tag list: let me know if you'd like to be added!

This couldn’t be real.

There’s just no way.

“Y/N–”

The hand that’s thrust in front of your face is too late – the image has long since been burned into your mind. It hurts–a lot; a stab right in your chest and it feels as if you can physically feel your heart being pulled apart, ripped right down the middle and thrown on the ground all whilst being stomped all over.

Yet, you can’t move.

Can’t even think.

You just stand there, feeling your vision blur as the tears well and your bottom lip trembles and this overwhelming sense washes over your entire being. 

A hand is grabbing you by the arm, tugging you harshly out of the way and away from the sight in front of you. You let yourself be pulled, not a single bit of strength left in your body as the hands hold you tightly, not enough to hurt but enough to stop you from trying to go back. You laugh mentally, you have no intention of going back… you never want to see that again.

But… it won’t leave your mind either.

Your back is pressed against the wall in the next second, you barely notice it, the hands on your arms placing you there as the first sob breaks past your lips. It’s a small pathetic noise, nothing more than a whimper as you raise your hand, pressing it against your lips to muffle the noise, curling into yourself.

The hands leave you then. You don’t see him step back as much as you hear it, and before you know it, your free hand is instinctively reaching forward, grasping his wrist. Your grip is tight, nails pinching, something you hardly realize. It’s your own desperation bleeding in as the panic strikes you, welling up inside of you and making you lack coherent thought as you hold tight, hoping he doesn’t try to pull away.

Slowly, you raise your head, meeting his eyes.

“Please,” you call out, voice a hushed, broken whisper. “Don’t.”

Don’t what?

You’re not even sure.

Maybe it’s instincts, you don’t know. There’s no way you could’ve known just exactly what his plan was but as your eyes meet his and the words leave your lips, you’re surprised at the rage in his eyes, staring back at you. The rage isn’t directed at you, you can tell in the way his face softens, just briefly, as he turns to look at you. 

It’s rage at them.

Your own boyfriend… 

He shakes his head down at you, thoroughly confused.

“Y/N, don’t you–”

“Please,” you find yourself begging again, voice nothing but a mere whisper as you stare up at him imploringly.

And despite everything in his head, he listens. He listens because he can’t refuse when you stare up at him like that, so pitifully, so pathetic… with tears pouring down your face and your lips wobbling and your hand holding onto him so miserably.

Geto Suguru feels nothing but pity for you, and it’s enough to quell the rage welling deep in him towards your ass of a boyfriend in the classroom just next to him.

Enough that he stays when you ask—because you ask.

Something he wouldn’t have done for you just minutes prior.

-

“Sukuna!”

He sees it and you don’t. The way Sukuna sighs the second he hears your voice, the grin on his face fading, just for the briefest of seconds, as your footsteps come bounding into the room. You don’t see it, but Geto thinks it’s obvious enough. The smile Sukuna plasters on his face is half-assed, if even that and it’s easy to tell that he’s annoyed as you reach him, instantly wrapping yourself around his arm.

Pathetic, he thinks. Throwing yourself on him like that.

“Y/N,” Sukuna greets, voice low, a soft hiss to his tone. “What have I told you about doing that?”

You’re pulled off of him in seconds, Sukuna grabbing you roughly by the wrist and all but yanking your grip off of him. 

Two seats behind them, Geto watches with a blank expression, head resting in the palm of his hands, and it feels like he’s the only one paying attention. Everyone else is entirely in their own worlds, laughing, chatting and catching up from the weekend–yet, despite that Geto thinks he should be doing the same, he can’t. 

So, he watches.

“Sorry,” you call out bashfully, a light blush coating your cheeks as you step back, grabbing your own arm. Geto notices the way you subtly glance around to see if anyone had been watching, and you instantly freeze when you meet his eyes, turning rigid. Geto just stares blankly back, his eyes narrowed slightly as you quickly turn away.

“Sukuna,” you mumble, turning your back to Geto as you lean towards your boyfriend. You bounce back as if your own boyfriend hadn’t manhandled you off of him and berated you in front of all his friends. You bounce back like nothing’s wrong. “Would you like to eat lunch with me?”

Meeting your gaze, Sukuna pauses for a moment before shrugging; “whatever.”

And the grin that blooms on your face is the same as always–pathetic.

-

“I’m eating lunch with my friends.”

“But–”

Before you can even finish, a loud burst of laughter cuts you off. Instantly, your eyes flicker towards the group of boys sitting at the table with Sukuna. One of them, a boy with long blue hair and scars across his face from an accident as a child, looks at you, a cruel mocking expression on his face; “what? Have no other friends you can sit with, Y/N?”

Your face falls, a frown curling on your lips at Mahito’s words. But–you think, eyes sliding towards Sukuna, surely he’ll–

“Yeah,” Sukuna chuckles, head thrown back in amusement as he turns to you. “We can eat lunch some other day. Eat with your own friends.”

And to add to it, he proceeds to wave you off.

You stare at him a moment longer, trying to ignore the deep disappointment welling in your chest as he turns away from you. A minute later, you gain the courage to turn, eyes drifting across the lunchroom to try and find your friends, before you see a pair of black-eyes staring at you.

Pathetic, his eyes scream.

Geto is nothing if not clear as he stares back at you, as always it seems like he’s the only one who ever notices the moments you look the most pitiful.

And as usual, he’s the first to remind you of the fact that you are.

-

“I think he’s just using her.”

“Really?”

“I mean, why else would he keep her around? He clearly doesn’t like her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Have you seen the way he treats her? Not to mention, he’s far too good looking for Y/N.”

Geto pauses, eyes flickering across the group of girls shamelessly gossiping about you before moving his gaze to you, sitting just a seat away from them. You’re sitting alone, gaze held straight ahead. But your back is straight, tense, and just from the angle where Geto sees you and your hair isn’t covering your face, he can see the frown on your face. Can see the dejected expression you hold. Can see the way your fingers are gripping the skirt of your uniform, knuckles white with how tightly you’re clenching your fists.

And yet, you say nothing.

Do nothing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice him, eyes meeting his, before quickly averting your gaze back to your lap.

Pathetic, he scoffs, making his way into the classroom.

-

A harsh shove to your shoulder sends you tumbling to the ground.

You would’ve caught your balance had you not been shoved into the desk, the sharp shoot of pain to the side of your hip causing you to lose your footing. You hit the ground hard, rocking your entire self as a huff of pain leaves your lips, the world wobbling for a moment.

Then, slowly, you glance up, seeing Sukuna’s friend, Mahito, who’d knocked into you grinning down at you.

“Sorry,” he offers, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean it whatsoever. “It was an accident.”

Your eyes slip to the left, falling on Sukuna who’s staring down at you, expression blank.

Sure, maybe it was an accident but you thought maybe Sukuna would say something. Tell him to apologize with meaning, help you up–at the very least ask you if you’re okay. Basic human decency and more than enough of a simple request to ask of your boyfriend.

But he doesn’t do any of them.

Instead, he turns back to Mahito, laughing loudly as he shoves him.

And then, they walk off.

Flustered, embarrassed, you sit there, on your butt, uniform disheveled, watching as your boyfriend walks off, not a single care about you.

A minute later, a shadow falls over you. You blink at the sight of Geto; he’s staring down at you, pausing right in front of you and you stare back.

The truth was, Geto Suguru has always made you a little uncomfortable. He doesn’t really talk to anyone in class, despite being quite popular, and you’ve certainly never held a real conversation with him. He’s not really friends with anyone but people go up to him, laughing and chatting and Sukuna is one of them. People seem to just gravitate towards him, even if he’s quiet; girls rave on about how hot he is and all the guys like playing soccer with him. He’s quiet, but it doesn’t seem to bother anyone else.

Yet, any time you meet his eyes, he just stares at you with that look in his eyes.

That look that tells you he thinks you’re absolutely pathetic.

-

“Here.”

Your eyes widen as something is set down on your desk, a twinkle sparkling in your eyes as you register the item–it’s your favourite flavour of pocky. 

Instantly, you glance up, lips parting in surprise as you see Sukuna standing in front of you. There’s a small smile on his lips, and he’s standing directly in front of your desk, hand still hovering over the snack. He nods towards it as you meet his gaze and slowly, you reach out towards the snack, taking it in your hands and holding it in front of you like it’s the most precious gift you’ve ever been given.

“Sorry,” he offers shortly, “you forgive me, right?”

There’s the familiar sensation of eyes on your back–a harsh glare on you and even if you can’t see him, you know exactly who’s staring at you like that. And yet, despite the judgement and despite the doubt in your own mind, your heart is warming at the gift and you feel eased at the fact that Sukuna had even thought of getting you such a gift, even if it was just a snack. 

He knew what your favourite flavour was too, so that had to count for something, right?

“Yeah,” you hum softly, smiling up at him as you nod. “Thank you.”

He smirks, reaching forward to lightly flick your forehead. You let out a noise as he does, one hand coming up to hold the offended area, pouting up at him all while he laughs; “let’s go see a movie tonight, okay?”

The pout is instantly gone; “really?”

“Yeah,” he nods with suave, “meet me after class by the front doors okay?”

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, practically jumping in your seat.

He walks off with a grin, clearly satisfied and your eyes watch him, following him until he takes his seat at his desk and then your gaze drifts. It’s unconscious, you don’t mean to, but the smile fades from your face when you see Geto’s eyes on you. There’s that same stupid blank look on his face that he always has when you find him staring at you and most of all, there’s that nasty glare in his eyes that you’d felt seconds ago and that he’s always regarded you with.

Flushing, you turn away, instead opting to stare down at the box of pocky. 

Your smile returns without thought, a bundle of excitement welling up as you hold the snack to your chest.

He doesn’t care about you.

You shake your heads—but he thought of you, didn’t he?

He ditches you for his friends all the time.

You shouldn’t stop him from hanging out with his friends. You don’t want to be clingy.

He flirts with other girls right in front of you.

That–

“Who gave you that?”

Blinking, you’re pulled from your thoughts as Shoko takes a seat in front of you, pulling the chair from the desk in front of you to sit on it backwards. You raise a brow as she sits, “you were almost late.”

She shrugs, “I was smoking.” Then, she points at the pocky. “Where’d you get those?”

You send her a look, to which she pointedly ignores–she’s well aware you don’t like that she smokes, but she does it anyways despite how many times you’ve tried to get her to stop. Knowing that this won’t be any different, you let her brush it off, setting the pocky down on your desk. “Sukuna did,” you explain, smiling softly.

She scoffs; “Is that an apology for ditching you during lunch?”

You glance at her, lips parting to answer, but then she continues.

“Or an apology for ditching you on the weekend? What about when he left you to walk home by yourself last week? Oh, or–”

Her eyes catch the frown on your lips, and she pauses, letting out a sigh, gaze softening as she adds; “you shouldn’t let him get away with stuff like that just because he gives you something. Especially not when it’s just food.”

Meeting Shoko’s eyes, you shrug; “I know… but he asked me if I wanted to go to the movies tonight too!”

Shoko huffs, moving as if to say something more before her eyes widen; “wait.”

Your brows furrow, “what?”

“I was gonna ask you to cover my cleaning duties tonight because I have to meet up with my group for our project due soon,” Shoko pouts, shoulders falling with defeat. You frown, knowing what project she’s talking about and how she helped you with yours just a few days ago when your partners left all the work to you. A feeling of guilt wells up in you as you stare at your best friend who all but sulks in front of you. It’s almost as if you can see the tears she forces to well in her eyes as she continues dramatically. “My group will hate me forever and they’ll spread the worst rumours about me and about how horrible of a student I am and then the whole school will–”

“I can ask Sukuna to wait a bit,” you offer, shaking your hands wildly at her antics in a panic. “No need to go to the extreme.”

Her face brightens, reaching forward to clasp your hands in between hers, leaning towards you with stars in her eyes; “you’d do that for me?”

You nod, “of course. You’re my best friend. Besides, you helped me too.”

Sitting back down, Shoko shakes her head; “you’re far too nice of a person.”

“Hey,” you call out, “don’t complain when I’m helping you.”

“You’re right,” she nods, turning to you with a serious look. “Thank you so much, Y/N. I promise to make it up to you.” Then, she falters, glancing past your shoulder; “if Sukuna complains about waiting, I’ll beat him up for you.”

You snort, “there’s no need. I’m sure he’ll be fine, so–”

“Hey, Y/N.”

You frown at the voice, sharply cutting you off as both you and Shoko turn your attention to the right of you to where Mahito stands. He’s got one hand shoved into the pocket of his trousers and a wide, shit-eating grin plastered on his face–out of all of Sukuna’s friends, you got along with him the least (not that you get along with any of the rest of them very well either though…) Since you’d started dating Sukuna, it seemed like Mahito had made it his personal goal to be as cruel to you as possible.

He’d laugh mockingly when Sukuna brushed you aside or ditched you, he’d shoved you, pulled at your hair, skirt, anything of the sort so many times you’d lost count. He was in every possible way barbaric towards you and you tried to avoid him whenever you could but unfortunately for you, you rarely did. He was good at cornering you when unexpected, like now. 

Instantly, you tense as you meet his eyes, chest tightening in worry.

“H-Hey, Mahito.”

He steps towards you, offering Shoko nothing more than a quick glance before he’s reaching towards you. You flinch, assuming he’s going to hit you, but instead he grabs the box of pocky off your desk. You know it’s silly, but instantly your eyes widen, panic flooding as he holds it up high and out of reach.

“These are my favourite,” he grins down at you, “you don’t mind if I have them do you?”

“But…” You trail off, eyes flickering to your left towards Sukuna but he’s thoroughly invested in a conversation with two other guys, not even paying a single bit of attention towards you. Inhaling sharply, you turn back to Mahito; “actually.., Su-Sukuna gave those to me so, yes, I do mind.”

Mahito pulls the pocky in front of him, humming faintly; “you’re so easily bought, Y/N. If I gave you food, would you kiss me too?”

He smirks down at you.

Cheeks burning red, you feel your eyes water with humiliation as you squirm in your seat.

“Hey, idiot,” Shoko calls out, pushing herself to her feet as she stands, slamming her hands on the desk. “Give it back.”

“Oh?” Mahito calls, quirking a brow as he steps toward Shoko, towering over her; “and what are you gonna do about it?”

Her face narrows, a nasty glare directed at him. “I’ll beat you–”

“Hey, Mahito.”

Everyone freezes.

That’s–

Lips parting, you glance up, only for your eyes to widen in disbelief when you realize that it was in fact Geto, like you thought, who’d called out for Mahito. That, and the fact that he’s standing directly beside you, inches away from Mahito, glowering down at the boy.

“You’re pissing me off,” Geto says simply, and your lips part when you realize the entire class is watching. “Give her back the pocky, shut up and sit down, yeah?”

Mahito stares back at Geto, face blank but you see the rage in his eyes. He looks like he wants to argue, but with the whole class's attention on him and the way Geto is glaring down at him, he knows he’s at a disadvantage. So, with a chuckle, he all but slams the box of pocky down on your desk, causing you to jump before pushing his way past Geto. Your eyes follow him, meeting Sukuna’s gaze along the way as he simply frowns at you and swallowing thickly, you turn your attention back to Geto.

Shoko is grinning at Mahito’s embarrassment but all you can focus on is Geto, shocked that he’d stand up for you like that.

You were positive he hated you.

The second Mahito is gone, Geto is turning, not even bothering to glance at you as he moves toward his desk. Without thinking, you reach out towards him, clasping his wrist in yours. He freezes at the touch and you notice the way his body tenses, so with a mumbled apology, you let go, meeting his eyes. “Th-thank you,” you call out softly, quiet enough he’s the only one who hears as the rest of the class falls back into quiet chatter.

He stares at you for a moment, before slowly nodding. Then, he walks off.

A moment later, you’re turning back to face Shoko, sniffling.

“Are you okay?” Shoko calls out, worried. “God, Mahito is such a dick! I’ll beat him up the next time I see him.”

Meeting her eyes, you brush her off; “it’s okay.”

“Luckily Geto stepped in,” she agrees, “but that was weird, no?”

Briefly glancing back at Geto, who’s since put his headphones in, head turned towards the window, you nod back at Shoko. “Yeah, it was,” you whisper.

She nods again, moving to stand and make her way to her seat but not without making sure you’re really okay, thanking you once again for helping her out and making you promise to tell her if Sukuna makes any complaints. You brush her off with a light, somewhat forced laugh, only coming to the conclusion once she’s gone that you don’t remember who was also assigned to cleaning duties that night.

You move to ask but in that second the teacher walks in, forcing you to stay seated.

Shrugging, you move to open your notebook–hopefully it’s not Mahito and rather someone you get along with, and if it isn’t, well, it’s just for thirty minutes.

-

Sukuna had complained, but otherwise complied to wait for you.

Just don’t make me wait forever, he’d texted and you’d been quick to assure him you wouldn’t.

Honestly, that wasn’t even a thought in your mind at this moment–no, the only thing you could focus on was that Shoko had failed to tell you that Geto Suguru had also been assigned cleaning duty that day and that meant that for a whole half-hour you were stuck in a classroom with just him while you both cleaned.

He seemed surprised at first to see you, and with a light, awkward chuckle you’d explained that you were filling in for Shoko that day. Of course, he hadn’t said anything in response to that either and had simply continued to clean. Feeling thoroughly uncomfortable and awkward, you’d followed his lead.

You two finish cleaning earlier than expected, and Geto is quick to grab his things, eager to leave. You linger back for a moment, moving to text Sukuna to see where he wants to meet for the movie, until you hear Geto opening the classroom door and your eyes fall on him.

“Oh, um–” you call, not thinking as the words leave your lips. You freeze, eyes wide as he turns to face you, staring back at you with that similar blank look; however, there’s the lack of harshness in his eyes he usually has and that eases you enough to be able to smile softly. “Thank you again,” you call out, “for earlier I mean. With Mahito. I… I really appreciate it.”

His eyes widen, staring back at you as you send him a warm, bright smile, head tilted slightly. Instinctively, his grip on the door tightens, turning his head back ahead of himself, purposely hiding it from your view.

“You’re welcome.”

And with that, he rushes out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.

You frown at his rush to get out but shrug it off a second later. It’s not like the two of you have ever been close and before today, you’re positive you’ve never ever actually said a word to him. But, it seemed like a decent step in the right direction given all things so you take it as a win.

You let your attention fall back on texting Sukuna, laughing lightly when you see a text from Shoko once again thanking you with the next message being a collection of prayer hands.

Mentally reminding yourself to text her back later, you swipe out, clicking on Sukuna’s contact.

All done! :))) where’d you like to meet for our movie night !!

You wait a moment, shoulders falling when you still don’t get a response back two minutes later. He’s not even read it yet…

Moving to grab your back, you shrug. Maybe he was waiting by the front of the school, and just hadn’t gotten the notification. With that thought, you make your way out of the classroom, turning down the hall with the intention of heading to the stairs to make your way down to the first floor. But you pause when you see Geto standing a few feet in front of you.

He’s turned towards a classroom, and your brows furrow at his wide eyes and parted lips.

What’s got his attention?

Hands falling by your side, you move towards him; “hey, is everything okay?”

You reach him just as he moves to face you and you don’t see it in time–the panic in his eyes and the choked cry of your name as he tries to pull you away. You don’t see any of it, and even if you hear him, it’s too late because you see it before he can stop you. Maybe he tries to stop you for your sake, maybe he just didn’t want to deal with your reaction, you don’t know.

None of it matters.

Because the damage is done as you watch your boyfriend make out with another girl.

[ethereal-writes]

An Unwanted Interruption (Ft. Lucifer and GN!MC)

Warnings: Slight romantic implications? (Lucifer has a crush on the MC if you squint)

Word count: 0.7k

A/N: I've had a bunch of Christmas/winter themed stories in my drafts for a while, I figured it was about time to polish them up and post them! This will be the first of many :D This is also somehow the second Lucifer-centric fic I've ever written. This concept had me giggling the entire time I wrote it, so I hope you enjoy it!

I think I added all the right warnings, if I should add any, please let me know!

-Ethereal ^J^

Story below, please don't claim as your own!

Lucifer had agreed to take you to the human world during the holiday season.

While Christmas in the Devildom was alright, they hadn’t begun celebrating the holiday until much more recently, when Christmas became less about religion and more about spending time with those you love.

Christmas in the Devildom didn’t have the same history and tradition that the human world did.

Which is why you were so ecstatic, even if you were only going to a mall for a few hours.

“Come on, let’s go!” You said impatiently, bouncing on your heels.

“The human world is cold this time of year, is it not?” Lucifer asked, buttoning up his jacket.

You could’ve sworn he started going even slower just to spite you.

“It’s cold, but it’s not that cold,” you emphasized, gesturing to your outfit. You two were going straight inside, and you didn’t feel like lugging a ton of winter gear around. “You know there’s heating in the mall, right?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes but finished buttoning the rest of his coat quickly. He tugged on his gloves, then turned to you. “Very well, let’s get going then.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you a little closer. “So the both of us will be teleported,” he claimed.

He mumbled something you couldn’t be bothered to decipher -though it sounded vaguely Latin- and next thing you knew, the two of you were standing in an empty alleyway.

“Holy crap, we’re here!” You exclaimed, unable to look away from the snow glittering in the sunlight. Even as the cold wind whipped at you, you could still feel the faint traces of the sun’s warmth.

“Of course we’re here,” Lucifer scoffed. “Did you really think I’d fail?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, though your mock-irritation was quickly replaced by excitement once more. “Now, come on! I know where we are! The mall is this way!”

You grabbed his hand and began leading the way through the snowy streets. If Lucifer had a problem with that, he didn’t say so.

With the enthusiastic pace you’d set, the two of you had made pretty good time, and were by the front entrance no more than ten minutes later. The first set of automatic doors opened, and the two of you stepped inside.

You sighed in relief as a wave of warm air hit you, then you turned to Lucifer. “So, what did you want to do first?”

“I don’t have a preference,” He answered, tugging off his gloves and tucking them into his pocket. “I figured that I would allow you to choose what we did today, seeing as you’re more familiar with this environment than I am.”

“Oh!” You paused a second, thinking. Lucifer always took your opinions into consideration, of course, but him having none of his own was exceptionally rare. “Well, when I’m here, I usually go to-“

You noticed a woman had approached the two of you, patiently waiting for you to finish your conversation.

“Ah…can we help you?” Lucifer asked.

She smiled, pulling a book out of her bag— Oh no.

“I was wondering if you had a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior?”

You were certain you had an expression of absolute horror on your face and couldn’t form a coherent sentence if you tried.

Thankfully, Lucifer took the reins and answered. “Oh, no thank you.” He smiled at the woman politely.

“At least take this, then?” She held the book in his direction, and he recoiled.

“I’m sorry, madam, but I can’t touch that. I may literally burst into flames.”

You brought your hand up to cover your mouth. You weren’t sure if you were absolutely mortified or about to start crying from laughter.

“What, are you a Satanist?” She asked, scowling.

“Certainly not,” Lucifer said, sounding offended at the mere suggestion. “He wishes.”

That response was enough to push you over the edge, unable to contain your laughter. This prompted strange looks from literally everyone around you, but you didn’t care.

The woman stared at you a long, long moment before she finally turned around and left, which only made you laugh harder.

Lucifer looked at you a moment. Though his lips were pressed together, you could see him cracking a smile too.

“I-I’m sorry!” You exclaimed between fits. “I- I didn’t know what to do!”

He chuckled. “That wasn’t the first time, and I’m quite certain it won’t be the last time someone approaches me about my father. I’ve gotten good at responding. You, on the other hand…” He simply smirked at you, which made you start laughing all over again.

[copperbadge]

lightwit

I love your mindfulness posts. I personally hate the concept of mindfulness with a passion because to me that's just normal being human and using your effing brain properly, but as an educator I have had to accept the fact that manymany people do not in fact have much self awareness and actually do benefit from this mumbojumbo. So, I am so glad I am not the only one struggling out here. 😜

I hope it's okay if I pop this into its own post because it actually gets at something I'm contending with. So, in order to get my research lined up and my thoughts in a row for therapy I turned all this research into a powerpoint called "Doing A Stupid Powerpoint For My Stupid Mental Health". And one of the slides in it is titled "Mindfulness: Petition To Rename It".

Mindfulness, as a term, is uselessly broad; it's such a bad way to identify a category of treatment/behavior that there appears to be an entire subgenre of scientific papers that work to create a framework of what Mindfulness actually is -- I read at least three papers, all published in the last ten years, that are like "What is Mindfulness in a useful sense?" and all of them had different answers. And because Mindfulness is now a buzzword, if you're researching it then you're likely to run into everything from scholarly articles to pop journalism to clickbait, to both harmless and genuinely dangerous peddlers of quack science. And sometimes the quack scientists are also publishing scholarly articles where they've just been p-hacking.

So I'm inclined to agree that mindfulness is mostly nonsense, but that's a problem with the term, not what falls underneath it. There are therapeutic modes that call themselves mindfulness that actually are rooted in real science. I think these should probably have a new name, like Therapeutic Awareness or something, but it'd just get co-opted back into the woo, I have a feeling.

So there's a lot of nonsense, but the goal of being present in the moment and self-aware isn't an idle one; there's an increasing body of knowledge suggesting that it's a foundational skill for emotional regulation and healthy coping. The scholarship goes way beyond "mindfulness arises from Buddhist practice" which if I have to read one more time I'm gonna throw stuff. Clinical testing is looking at things like physiological responses to mindfulness behaviors that have nothing to do with what's going on in your conscious mind. There's some woo surrounding "Coherent Breathing" and I don't trust the foremost proponent of it as far as I can throw him, but he didn't invent it, and testing shows that people trained in and practicing Coherent Breathing have better focus and can, to an extent, lower the level of stress hormone in their body. "Positive affect" (happy emotions) didn't rise, but "Negative affect" (sadness, anger, stress etc) was lowered.

A lot of what's being studied on a clinical level involves us as humans somehow activating shit in our nervous system that we have no conscious control over, the same way we develop muscle memory by doing a task repeatedly. That has measurable value for the issues I'm trying to solve, but it's not universally applicable, which is another reason so much of mindfulness comes across as junk science, because it tries to tell us that it's a cure-all when it isn't.

But there's reason to believe that if you can reroute your nervous system when you're starting to become upset, you can short-circuit maladaptive reactions and prevent it from causing a spiral or an over-reaction or similar, and some practices called mindfulness can train for that. And that's my goal, so I'm willing to rummage in the garbage for the gold.

[pennylime]

been on that world trigger brainrot fr (also a theory below the art) (long post)

I have a whole au living in my brain abt if yuma lives lmao. Maybe I'll sketch or talk abt it if anyone's interested.

Also, a theory I've been keeping to myself for years bcuz it's probably wrong:

Amo is the black trigger assassin. HEAR ME OUT !! I can't be the only one who's thought abt this at least a bit, right????

1. We haven't seen Amo's black trigger yet.

For triggers being so prominent, why haven't we seen Amo's? During Afto's invasion, we could have seen Amo's trigger, but we only got to see the aftermath. We also have no idea how he came into possession of it. We know it's VERY strong and VERY destructive. Kind of like an assassin we've heard of, yes? The assassin tore Yuma apart in a second, but it was only in like, small blasts? for lack of a better term. So the two are different in that aspect, but it's also been years since then, so Amo could have the room to improve.

2. Yuma hasn't met Amo yet.

Yuma has met like, almost everyone? Or has heard or seen them in passing? We've seen most of the squads, and were seeing more in the away missions test right now, and how they fight, their motives, and their skill level. Like, Yuma knows Amo exists, I'm pretty sure Amo knows Yuma exists, and yet they haven't met. Somehow. Seems kinda sus to me.

3. Kind of stupid, but Amo's hair and the assassin's is a little similar lmao.

Self explanatory. They do look different, but there's a three year difference, so yea.

4. We know next to nothing abt Amo.

We know his age, what he looks like, that he's anti-social, and doesn't really know how to reign in his power or that he really cares to. BUT we have no idea who is parents are, or WHERE he came from, or even when he joined border (that I can remember). He could be a neighbor, but he very may well be not.

5. We don't know what the assassin looks like.

We could chalk it to Yuma's memory, having the flashback being from his perspective and only seeing the assassin for a split second, but it also leaves a TON of possibilities of who they can be.

All of these put together COULD be deliberate. There has to be a reason!!! Like, waiting for a big reveal. Amo's mysterious nature really puts him up to be anything. But it really could just be that they haven't met yet because of simple reasons, and Amo is just some normal kid with a black trigger.

Like, this theory popped into my head one day as a what if, and since then, I've been running with it lmao. A lot of it is speculation. But I know that it can fall apart pretty easily, so I won't be surprised if it turns out I'm completely wrong.

But I also won't be surprised if I turn out to be right 😎

I hope I explained it at least somewhat coherently 😭

[vaguelyapeanutbutterandjelly]

This isn't over, I hope you know.

Price x Male Reader Requested: Yes! But there were some technical issues. Pt 1 (Here! :])/ ??? Warnings: Break-up, Argument, Angsty angst angst A/N: *Drops this and scuttles away* This was intended to be longer but I'm cutting it in half to see if Tumblr will actually let me post it. If it does the 2nd-supposed-to-be-this-part will be out soon after :]

"Look, [Name], I get you need attention-" John started, following your pacing form as you quickly walked back and fourth in his office. Whipping your head to meet Johns gaze dead on. Your eyebrows raised as you stalled for a second. Jaw dropping as you quickly caught up with what he said, your blood boiling with nothing put resentment and frustration, "Attention? Atten-" Taking a deep breath you summoned all you had to just keep yourself from yelling. This was something that stayed between you, and him. "John when was the last time we slept in the same bed? Hmm?" You snarled, arms uncrossing so you could use them to accentuate your point. Anything to try and convey your anger to him, to somehow shove his own actions into his thick skull. John's eyebrows furrowed as he sat back in his seat. A calloused hand coming up to rub his beard like he did whenever a missions plan changed last minute, or a recruit did something stupid. He looked exhausted, and annoyed. Fucking. Annoyed. Like you were just a child that was having a tantrum over not getting a treat. Not like you were his boyfriend of 6 years. Like you weren't the man he'd laid in bed with, whispering honey sweet words of a distant future where you'd settle down and marry. Like you weren't justified for being upset that he'd been ignoring you for months in favor of his beloved taskforce.

"When was the last time we kissed, John?" You spat, "Do you even remember? It was a month and a half ago. 45 days ago." Throwing your hands up you began to pace again. Quickly walking back and fourth to try and do, something. You weren't even sure why you were anymore, your thoughts too muddled to make out anything coherent even if you tried. You were probably working yourself up, probably making yourself more angry then the situation called for. But at this point? You deserved to be angry. You deserved to be fucking pissed. You weren't even looking at Price, "Do you really have nothing to say, John? Do you-" John stood up, slamming his hands on his desk with a harsh slam. Making you jolt to a stop, eyes wide as you stared at him. Johns usual calm, even soft demeanor around you turning into something you didn't recognize. "[Name] for god's sake I don't have time for your shit. I have things to do and that doesn't include you having a tantrum in my office. Get your fucking act together or get out, lieutenant." John practically yelled through gritted teeth as he glared at you standing there. Probably looking like a deer in headlights. With a long exacerbated sigh he sat back down in his chair. His eyebrows knitted together as he looked down to whatever paperwork he was busying himself with. You simply stood there in shock. He looked so much different now then he did when you'd first met. Johns famous mutton chops were starting to grey and all the stress he constantly held made him look 10 years older. His soft baby blue eyes now were jaded and grey. Filled with a hardness you could only get through time. Then it just, clicked. John, your John, was always a workaholic. Against his best interest he'd work himself into burnout just to be overworked and under-appreciated the next day. Only to wake up in the morning and do it all again. But your John would always make time for you. He'd always make sure, even if it was 10, hell, 5 minutes, some part of his day was spent with you. That John would be the first to seek you out after missions and check you over for injuries. To make sure you were alright. His hand resting on your shoulder just a second longer then it should as he passed you a loving look. Grinning ever-so-slightly before going back to his normal stoic appearance. But the man in front of you wasn't your John. Your sappy lover was long replaced by Captain Price, smothering John with his overwhelming force until there was nothing left of the man.

[isiaiowin]

GOetry - Let's Rondel

Welcome to GOetry! A weekly poetry club.

Every Monday, you'll receive a new poetry prompt and have until the following Monday to submit your poetic creations. Come join the fun! Post your finished work under the #GOetry and don't forget to tag me @isiaiowin so I can see your work.

You can also add your work to the AO3 collection here.

Thank you for joining in writing sonnets last week! The incredible work you produced was amazing to read. 

This week’s prompt:

Form: Rondel

Theme: Resist

A Rondel is a French form of poetry dating back to the 14th century. It consists of 13 lines arranged in three stanzas, typically two quatrains (four-line stanzas) followed by a quintet (five-line stanza), with repeated lines throughout the poem.

The rhyme scheme is: ABba / abAB / abbaA(B), where uppercase letters represent repeated lines.

A common variant, known as a Rondel Prime, adds a 14th line, turning the final quintet into a sestet.

If you'd like to write a Rondel Prime, simply add an extra line to the end!

Example: 

Reflecting by: Lawrencealot 

When desolation grabs your heart and forces tears

Let nature speak, reminding you not all is known.

When you, so young were taken to the funeral biers

my faith was shattered; all beliefs and hopes were thrown

away. I felt no comfort thinking heaven’s spheres

could somehow recompense for earthly love we’d grown.

When desolation grabs your heart and forces tears

Let nature speak reminding you not all is known.

I went to our lagoon, our waterfall appears

today to look like you, and hope renewed is sown

into my soul.  We lived and loved! This thought coheres.

That truly shines. Remember we are just on loan.

When desolation grabs your heart and forces tears

Let nature speak reminding you not all is known.

But most of all have fun! 💚 Moon

@goodomensafterdark

[genericpuff]

Hey, found you on reddit long long ago and have since been a follower. I wanted to say thanks for all of your essays, for your advice about comics and creative work in general, and especially for the coherent thoughts on webtoon as a company... seeing you do LR and just BE outspoken about the experience of working on webcomics and being a professional artist, it gives lots of people hoping to go into the industry or do that sort of work (myself included) the courage to stand on our feet. I saw in real time that reddit post you analyzed in your last post, and I've made the (honestly pretty scary) decision to stop publishing my own comic on WT completely and abandon ship for a third party site. Still trying to decide which would be best. It sucks feeling like you're abandoning an entire audience, but the knowledge that your work will remain your own and on your own conditions... that's far more valuable at the end of the day. So thanks for the (accidental) help with that decision, and I'll do my part in spreading the word. I really enjoy lore rekindled, thank you for all your efforts and hope you're having a great day :>

Aw hey! It's always humbling to hear that people find strength in my crazy wordy essays LOL I don't particularly like saying 'you're welcome' with this sorta thing so I guess I'll say, no prob, glad I could help? 😆

I understand all too well that fear of 'abandonment'. I'm currently in the process of moving all of my work off WT as well, notifying my readers, all that fun stuff. I've considered using it just as a mirror site for the sake of trying to get audience members, but honestly, I've been using it as my primary site for nearly a decade with no luck so keeping it on the platform even just as a mirror just feels... I dunno, like I'd just be getting the same results regardless. Especially now with the site going in the direction that it is, and the fact that they're clearly moving towards AI, at best I don't want my work to be bringing in the site any more traffic (even if it's just a drop in the bucket) and at worst I don't want my work to get scraped by AI or some shit down the road LOL I often wonder why I've bothered putting up with Webtoons for so long, when I left Tapas over far less. I think it's just the fear of being a disappointment. But really the only person I should be most concerned of disappointing is myself - and I don't want to continue to disappoint myself by sticking it out with a platform that's getting worse by the day.

Something that's helped me reframe my perspective on the "loss" of Webtoons as a platform is just viewing it less as 'abandoning' and more like 'upgrading'- upgrading the environment in which I host my work, so that it can be in a place that works for my goals and stories rather than against them. It's like the golden rule of dealing with employers, if you're not getting adequate raises or proper treatment, then you leverage your skills and experience into a better position. Nothing is forever, including webcomic platforms. But change doesn't have to be a bad thing, so long as you can use it to your advantage somehow.

Take what you can of your audience with you. Encourage them to try new spaces. Turn the transition into a party, get people so excited for it that they'll feel like they're missing out if they don't hop on! Have confidence, even if you don't have everything figured out yet. The readers that truly love your work and want to read it will follow.

And worst case... send me a link to your comic sometime and I'll do what I can ;) I'll see you on the other side of wherever our work ends up (•̀ᴗ•́)و

[skazoo]

still do.

↳ choi jongho x f!reader

he couldn't stop loving you, even if he tried. and he did try for some time. it just didn't work.

length. 3.7k

genre. exes (and friends) to lovers, fluff, crack and a sprinkle of inevitable angst (i'm sorry).

warnings/tags. language, mention of death, mention of illness of a loved one, implied depression, .

networks. @kflixnet k-labels

notes. hello with another "this was supposed to be just teeth rotting fluff but somehow turned a little depressing and angsty on its own, i swear i didn't touch anything" do we see a pattern here? bc i do. i offer this lil jongho fic after sm time of absolutely nothing but i've finished my exams literally the other day, (DURING PRIDE MONTH!?!?? unacceptable) hope you like it!!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

it’s a well-known fact —to your friend group, to the employees of the cafè on the way to your apartment, to the old lady that sells flowers at the corner of the big building you work at— that choi jongho not only likes you but he’s irremediably and unequivocally in love with you.

and that is still not right because jongho doesn’t just love you, no, that would be too obvious, too easy. he still loves you. 

if he goes back enough in his memories, jongho could say he’s always loved you.

he’s never been one to believe in love at first sight so when wooyoung drunkenly introduced the two of you at his birthday party, and he found himself unable to breathe let alone speak a coherent sentence to you, he immediately panicked. was he having a heart attack? a stroke? he was healthy, an athlete! how could this be happening to him!? he even made his own doctor hate him with all the panicked questions he asked the poor man on the phone but apparently, all he needed to relatively calm down was wooyoung’s loud laugh as he told him that he simply had a crush on you.

did he have a crush on you? 

you, with your beautiful smile and melodic laugh and sparkling eyes and– okay, yeah. he did have a crush on you but who wouldn’t!?

strong argument indeed, he thought.

that fateful night was only the start of a happiness he didn’t know he was able to experience.

you became friends, then best friends, then something more and then you were kissing, sleeping, and cuddling in bed together, going on cute little dates, and showing more PDA jongho ever imagined doing. 

he thought you were happy with him. navigating life with the same confused curiosity all young adults seem to innately possess.

then something happened that he couldn’t have ever predicted. and not because he wasn’t paying attention to you or because he was slacking off with his boyfriend duties, no. it came as a complete shock to everyone —you included, in a sense— because the signs just weren’t there. 

out of the blue, without notice, you broke up with him. after a year and for reasons that are still beyond his comprehension.

questions thundered into his mind asking why you had come to the heartbreaking decision, why you had sent him a ‘we need to talk’ text at 2am in the morning, and why he’d later found you at the front door of his apartment with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, soft whimpers vaguely sounding like ‘sorry’ and ‘it’s not your fault’. 

if he thinks back to that night, jongho gets chills from how scared he was; holding your body to his chest, not knowing what to do or what to say, not knowing who hurt you or why you were hurting.

when he thinks back to that night —something he finds himself doing more often than his heart can take— jongho clearly remembers the silent promise he repeated in his head at least a thousand times after you went back to your apartment. a promise he’s set on keeping.

and it’s for that very promise that he now sits in the crowded cafe downtown, drinking an overrated caramel macchiato and hiding behind a book he has no interest in.

at least it’s what he tells himself. that he came to the same coffee shop you told him you’d be meeting your date at because that’s what friends do. he tells himself he’s wearing a mask and sunglasses inside because he can and will love you platonically if that’s what you need or want. jongho tells himself a lot of things and he hopes he’s strong enough to believe in them in a way that will make them reality sooner or later.

but it’s not like two booths away from him you’re faring any better.

are people outside your friend group really this boring and uninteresting? have men always been this arrogant and full of themselves? was your current ex-boyfriend the exception that proves the incredibly unfair rule? 

when you met jongho you knew you were lucky. hot college athlete with sarcasm to match yours and a badly concealed heart of pure gold? you knew you hit the jackpot. but you weren’t ready to realize that he really was one in a million men that actually put in the effort to go beyond the bare minimum.

why is it, though? 

the question threatens to break loose all the pent-up frustration this date is generously providing you with and you opt to ignore it and hide it in the back of your mind for another occasion. one that includes cheap wine, pizza, and an equally bewildered yunjin sitting on your couch with funny socks and mouth full.

for now, you only limit yourself to throwing a fake smile at the obnoxious man sitting in front of you who’s spent the entirety of this heinous date talking exclusively about himself and his crypto-currency business. 

he’s finishing what you think is a long rant about the stock market when he moves to get up.

you think you’re finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel but he just lets out an annoying chuckle and looks at you with his small and pig-like patronizing eyes. “don’t worry, love. i’m not leaving you i’m just going to ‘powder my nose’, how you girlies say.” he winks and you resist the urge to gag at how… slimy he looks and feels.

as soon as he’s out of sight you let yourself slump on the small table, groaning a bit as you do so.

what were you even thinking? you tell yourself that today is going to be a well-suffered lesson for your future self: no dates with people that quote elon musk as if he’s some kind of greek philosopher.

your hands reach for the phone in your bag on their own. the last message you received was a sarcastic ‘have fun’ from wooyoung in the group chat but other than that everything is quiet, seemingly wanting to punish you for going against your friends’ advice to bail on the guy as soon as you saw him treat the barista like shit.

under the group chat, jongho’s name glares at you. 

you would be lying if you said out loud that this date didn’t have the sole purpose of distracting you from the claustrophobic guilt you’re feeling lately. 

jongho had never really cried in front of you but you swear if you could you’d erase the image of his damp eyes looking at you with confusion on that ugly night. and if you have to be honest you’d erase the encouraging but strained smiles he gives you now that you’re back at being friends too, because they don’t do anything but make you feel a shittier person than you already think you are. but maybe you deserve it. maybe this is finally going to be the occasion in which you understand that your actions have consequences.

your fingers work quicker than your brain can catch up, and before you realize it, you open again the conversation with jongho that ended before you went out and start typing.

> you: wyd?

> jjong: you’re on a date

> jjong: focus

> you: what is this an exam?

> you: nevermind this was a bad idea…

> jjong: texting me or the date?

> you: shut up

> you: the date 

> jjong: aw i’m sorry i could have told you that like,, an hour ago

> jjong: oh wait 

> jjong: i did!

another groan leaves your lips, only this time laced with a small chuckle at his antics. you mark the message as seen and throw your phone back into the bag. 

you hope other people can't see how much you miss him.

while you’re too focused on burning holes in the bathroom door from how hard you’re staring at it, dreading the moment it will open to reveal your current problem, in the loud noise of the cafe you don’t hear the heavy stomps of someone approaching you from behind. 

only when you feel two warm hands plant themselves on your shoulders and you hear a familiar voice muttering to itself something that sounds like ‘found you’, you’re forced out of your angry trance state and you’re asked to quickly choose between either your fight or flight instincts. you throw a blind punch and the person creeping up on you folds into two.

but that’s on him because who creeps on someone sitting alone at a table and touches them without making themselves known? what happened to ‘hello, what a coincidence to see you here’? what happened to manners?

you snap your head to the figure behind you and you let your panic subside but your annoyance rises.

“how– what are you doing here!?” your words come out in a hiss that makes the old couple sitting in the booth behind you turn around and look at you with judgy eyes but that doesn’t affect jongho in the slightest.

“saving you? duh.”

“who asked you that?!”

“what– Y/N, you texted me even before you met the guy, may i add. and the message said: ‘please end my suffering.’ in my book that’s a cry for help!”

he’s right but you let out an affronted huff anyway. arms crossed and lips in a pout you know is childish. “whatever.”

you feel him staring at you with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk that you, oh so badly want to wipe off his face. 

“what?” you spat. your tone more embarrassed than you’d like to let on.

“what, what?”

“what the fuck are you smiling for?”

he throws his arms in the air exasperatedly. “am i not allowed to be happy now?”

“of course you are, it’s just… you being happy,” you air-quote to punctuate your suspicions on his current joyous disposition. “usually means wooyoung fell or someone got hurt.”

he laughs. “do you think so lowly of me, Y/N?”

“shut up.” the napkin you’ve been fidgeting with because of the irrational panic rising in your guts is now messily crumpled on the table and you groan at the whole situation. head in your hands and eyes closed. you’re so bad at this.

what happened to moving on? what happened to leaving jongho alone because he doesn’t deserve someone treating him like shit? you broke up with him supposedly to save him, but, not even three months in, and now that your mind is clearer you think it’s okay to want him back? to feel full again every time you talk about the things you did together and bask in the silence that follows with a warm knowing smile? you think it’s good to let your eyes wander to his face when you know he’s not looking, falling in love all over again? to feel your face involuntary stretch into a smile every time you spot him waiting for you outside work?

whatever your fucking problem is, you’re scared that you’ll come to find out its only solution is the person you fought so hard to push away. because what if you managed to scare away the last source of happiness you had? it’s selfish, you know, but it’s also the only thing you can think about as he looms over you; body so dangerously close to yours that you can catch the flowery perfume he always wears.

you think he’s speaking to you because his big hand is outstretched in your direction and his eyes are looking at you expectantly, with a veiled urgency.

“sorry, what?”

“i said get up and let’s go.”

“go where exactly?”

he rolls his eyes and you keep to yourself the striking resemblance he has with a spoiled child right at this moment.

“c’mon, we’re living this tinder nightmare here.”

“oh, are we?” you ask equal parts amused and curious of where this little skit of his is going.

when his deadpan expression doesn’t shift into one of his gummy smiles at your slightly annoying antics you know something impulsive and possibly embarrassing is about to happen and you know you will be the only person who will have any sort of unnecessary remorse out of the two of you.

your hands fly to your parted mouth and you hiss at him again. “are you serious!?”

he smiles.

“jongho, no.”

jongho yes, the mischievous look he throws you seems to proudly announce. 

he checks the toilet door one last time before gently grabbing your arm and not-so-gently yanking you out of the booth. a surprised squeal leaves your mouth but not a word of protest is heard from you.

“oh my god, i’m really doing this.”

his eyes are set on the door and he speaks without looking at you. “doing what?” 

“leaving someone like that while they’re in the bathroom! that’s so… i don’t know jjong, that’s so rude!”

you see his shoulder shake and you know if he were to face you right now you’d see one of his shit-eating grins. what you can’t imagine is the softness in his eyes as you call him with your nickname for him. he missed it. he misses you. painfully, completely, constantly.

his wide strides are followed by your frantic steps as he maneuvers the two of you out of the door and into the busy downtown street.

“so what? do you wanna go back in there and risk being bored to death by a guy that’s not even a quarter of what you deserve?”

“wha– no! i just–”

“then why should you feel sorry for that sad excuse of a date, uh? like, really, he took you to the most overrated place he could think of, Y/N. he didn’t even know you don’t like coffee!”

you chuckle at the frown of deep offense that blooms on his face. his lips in an affronted pout. “but that’s what the date is for, jjong. he couldn’t have possibly known.”

he stops in his tracks when he’s far away enough from the crowd in line waiting to be granted entrance to the place you just left. 

“i do, though.” an imperceptible strain to his voice as his eyes search yours in a way that’s almost desperate. “i know you don’t like coffee and that you like to sleep on the right side of the bed and that you just have to sing that ridiculous song to tie your shoes because otherwise, for some inexplicable reason i still have to understand, you can’t.”

has the world around you stopped? your ears are ringing from the deafening silence and you feel like everyone around you has stopped breathing and is waiting for you to say something to the boy in front of you who stares you down in determined distress.

“i know you, Y/N.”

you know he deserves an explanation. him more than anyone in your life. him more than yourself, even. jongho with his proverbial patience that let you cry and consoled you the whole night even after you’d told him you were breaking up with him. jongho that didn’t push or torment you with questions the days after. jongho who accepted —maybe in pure and raw self-preservation— to go back to being just friends, with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips because that’s what you’d told him you needed at that moment. his kindness that, more often than not, you’re convinced you don’t deserve.

“i know.” you close on yourself, your arms coming to hug you tight so that he can’t see the cracks that constantly try to spread over your skin. “i know you do.” an imperceptible whisper that threatens to drown in the buzz of the busy city around you.

“then why?” his eyes are pleading and his voice is quiet when he speaks again. 

“i know i should give you time and i know you’ll tell me one day but please–” he gulps down a lump that you know he’s had for at least three months. one of worry, confusion, and guilt. one you know you gave him.

“–please, give me something. anything.”

silence.

“Y/N, please say someth–”

“my mother was sick, jongho. she still is.” the line you’ve dreaded crossing for so long is no longer a line. the wall that’s been standing in between you and everyone else now has a hole in it. 

“i was out of my mind just from the news of her condition, i– i wasn’t well mentally and physically just from that and i saw time slip through my fingers, felt every single second like a punch to the guts. i threw away all the clocks in my mother’s house, i started sleeping on the floor outside her bedroom, i– the week i told you i was busy with deadlines, we were still together, remember?” he nods, small but it’s there.

 “i spent those days obsessing over something that was not yet real. my brother had to slip me sleeping pills to let me close my eyes for even a second.” your voice cracks because the guilt you get from just looking at jongho always has to be added to the guilt you feel when seonghwa kindly asks you how you’re doing lately.

“i-i was a mess just from that and i didn’t want you to be with me when what i was scared of was going to finally become a reality. i didn’t want you to see me like that because i didn’t think it was what you deserved. and you may be unable to understand and yell at me that it had to be your choice and not mine but i still don’t think that what i did was wrong, i’m sorry.”

the apology floats in the air between you. it’s not articulate or rich but it’s the only one you can get out at the moment.

“my psychologist says– he says i’m doing better now. we agree that the worst is over but there’s this…  unknown that hangs over my head and every second that passes i don’t know if this guillotine will cut my head off or miss me by a hair.”

he just looks at you with that unreadable expression that scares you.

“i didn’t– i don’t want to go back to when the worst wasn’t over and i’m scared that if i give myself back to you i will take you down with me one way or the other.”

you don’t know what you expect him to say or do after you just vomited everything you’re constantly trying to keep hidden, on him, but his loud silence is starting to feel too heavy, unsettling.

he doesn’t feel present, his eyes unfocused and unblinking. 

he shakes his head as if to wake up from a trance and looks at you with eyes too full of love. no pity in them and you want to thank him for it.

“ba– Y/N why didn’t you tell me?”

the simple question throws you off. 

why did you do the things you did? 

why does anyone do things?

you want to cry and tell him that not everything has an explanation. not a logical one anyways.

“i don’t know, okay! i wasn’t sure how you felt! god, i didn’t know how i felt and–”

“how could i have ever felt!? we were together for more than a year, Y/N. i loved you. i still do.”

“w-what?”

he lets out a chuckle that is not mocking or mean or condescending, not one you would’ve expected from anyone else. it’s kind and soft and a little bit amused, much to your irritation.  “do you find it surprising?” 

you open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it. 

“i am in love with you, have been since the moment i saw you at that stupid party and when you told me you had to break up with me i just– Y/N, i couldn’t let you go or stop loving you, even if i tried. and believe me, i did try for some time, but it just didn’t work.” 

with tears clouding your vision you’re surprised you manage to find the time or strength to tease him. “you tried?”

and apparently, it is those two words that make him break out of the containment chamber he’s forcing himself to be trapped in. he smashes through the protective glass in true jongho fashion. a well-placed punch and the chains that kept him away from you thinking that’s what you needed, dissolve into thin air as he closes the distance, messily rushing to you and caging you in a desperate hug that steals the air from your lungs. 

you feel his hands claw at the back of your shirt and it’s the heartbreaking and deep affection that allows you to accept that you’re not difficult and you will not be. not to him, not to the people that love you.

he buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in like he wants to absorb you forever, then everything that happens next goes naturally, smoothly, following a line that was always supposed to be the one and only.

it fits perfectly. when you kiss and it's like the universe, your friend group, the employees of the cafè on the way to your apartment, the old lady that sells flowers at the corner of the big building you work at, knew it was meant to be.

you both stand with your eyes closed, embracing each other.

he wants to be a person who deserves you and whom you deserve. jongho loves you and he wants to be there, picking up your pieces, putting you together like a puzzle, taking his time. 

you sniff, looking up at him with what you hope looks like a soft expression and not some sort of a pained smile. “hi.”

“hey.” he smiles back, thumbs caressing away stray tears.

“you know that i saw you sitting there the second i stepped foot into the coffee shop. 

“you did not.”

“you were reading the book upside-down.”

he blushes but his arms tightens around you.

“i was not.”

[shadowbriar]

Regulus Black - Supermassive Black Hole IV

Pairing : Regulus Black x (she/her) Selwyn!Reader Word Count : 4.2k Warning : Food. Height. Fluff. Synopsis : A simple arrangement turned into an everlasting one as two naïve children try to figure out their heart. Notes : I'm sorry it's taking forever for me to post this, I had a change of heart of how the plot should go and tbh I still dk how to end this story so bear with me please. If you'd like to be tagged for the next chapters, please comment or reblog so I can add you to the tag list. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕ Taglist: strikethrough means I could not tag you. @lostarc24 @hogwartshouse @milivanili99 @stelleduarte @40rimm @lilmaymayy @mischiefmanagers

↞ Part III

Regulus rolled over to the other side of the bed for the millionth time now. His eyes were staring at the clock by the bedside table, watching as its hands moved and ticks with every second passed. He knew that he had to get up, sooner or later, be it from the knock on his door or the unbearable hunger in his stomach. He barely ate last night. His head was spinning, heavy from the unpleasant memories and regret of his once again apathetic gesture towards her.

It must’ve been her worst birthday party. He spoiled it all the moment he walked in on her and Rosier. Perhaps he should have minded his own business. She has all the right to kiss Rosier if she wanted to, it’s the least bit of freedom he could give to her, but Regulus couldn’t help but feel a little bit triumphant when she seemed to be uninterested in him. That she too finds the idea of kissing Rosier to be baffling.

A loud groan escapes his lips when the next memory floods in. Regret beyond imagination is sticking to his skin like a muck. He wonders what would happen if he did what she asked him, if he would just lean in and kiss her. Would that be a great gift he could’ve given to her? Or would it’ve been a one way ticket to hell for him?

Reaching for his jumper, Regulus finally stood up and walked out of the room. He figures it would be worse to have her knocking on his door than to face her willingly. He could perhaps piece some words to meet her with a cool head than to have him caught red handed.

“Morning,” He greets her as he reaches the dining table.

She looks up to see him, her shoulders slightly tense and it makes Regulus bite his inner cheek a little harder, “Morning.”

Regulus kept his lips in a tight line. He took a seat opposite of her. His fingers locked to each other, an attempt to soothe himself as his brain tries to make some coherent explanation. It proves to be a harder task to do each day whenever she is in the equation.

“Listen, about last night—”

“You’re right,” She cuts in “I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was saying so if we could just.. Forget about what I said, I think that would be best for us all.”

Regulus opens his mouth, wanting to argue with her but finds himself nodding and turning silent, trying to ignore the loud cracking of his heart. Her words twisted a knife in his heart. Somehow he hoped that his words were lies, that she was sober and she really wanted him to kiss her. It wasn’t like he saw her drink anything, anyway. But who was he kidding? There would be no chance in this universe that she would want him to kiss her. No chance. None.

She flashes him a small smile before looking back down to her toasts.

Now what? Regulus thought. Where does it leave them at? He knew that he still owes her an explanation. About the Greengrass, about Rosier, about everything, but is right now the best time to bring it up? And what could he say about it? The truth? Would that do them better or worse?

“Do you have any plans for the day?” Regulus finds himself asking.

She pinched her brows, shaking her head, “I don’t think so, no.”

He hums in acknowledgement.

“Well actually, there’s this theme park I wanted to go to with Sirius.”

Regulus nods, finding himself to be more heartbroken, “Right.”

“But if you’d like to come—,”

“Yes.” He says, a little bit too excited for his liking.

“—I can cancel on Sirius.”

Regulus clears his throat, attempting to conceal his embarrassment as her brows rise. His excitement was surely out of character. Something the reserved, quiet, and collected Regulus never does. But then again, he could never be his usual apathetic self whenever it comes to her now, could he?

He wonders what her pinched brows and confused eyes mean. Was it really that appalling that he wanted to go to the theme park with her? Was it wrong of him to show excitement for her offer?

She blinks. Seemingly taken aback to his agreement but her smile slowly blooms. A sight that would be replayed in his head repeatedly before he sleeps tonight, “Alright.”

—-

She finds her teeth slightly chattering from the cold. The weather was playing with her. It was bright and hot when they first came out of the house, but now that the sun is slowly retreating, the wind blows stronger and colder. She was never good with coldness in the first place but she certainly didn’t think it would be this cold tonight. Her thin layer of flannel did not help to preserve warmth and she knew she was pretty much screwed for the rest of the night.

Her knuckles were turning white, body shuddering as she tried to gain some warmth. She could see Regulus glancing at her every once in a while but he never said a word. She knew that he could tell that she was freezing. Hands burrowed deep into the pocket of his coat, Regulus is warm and cosy under his thick layer of wool coat and it's surely shredding all of her dignity to say it but Regulus was right, she should’ve brought a coat.

“Quite the gentleman, you are.” She remarks between her chatter.

“One warm gentleman, indeed.” He says, snuggling into his coat as he sighs “The weather is so nice tonight.”

She glares, certainly not appreciating his sarcasm.

“I’ve told you to bring a coat,” He says as a matter of factly “I’m not going to give you mine, just because you’re cold now. Even if you’re freezing yourself to death and begging me for it.”

“Oh just how chivalrous of a man you are, Regulus.”

He shrugs, buttoning his coat and snuggling deeper to it.

“I am not cold and I most certainly will not ask for your coat.” She replies, her anger giving her the slight raise of temperature “Don’t worry your infuriating little mind about me, Reg.”

Regulus smiles jubilantly, nodding.

She turns to look away, finding herself conflicted once again with his charms. On one side she wanted to slap that enchanting little smirk off of his face but a bigger part of her wanted to take a picture of him and keep it in her pocket. 

Regulus has been smiling a lot today, so she noticed. He was beautiful. More beautiful than she remembered him. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she could stare on his face straight on instead of stealing glances like she used to or perhaps Regulus has just simply been enjoying their time, she couldn’t really tell. All she knew is that he looks beautiful this way and she hoped he would show this side more to her.

Now they’re standing in line, waiting for their turn to try on the rollercoaster. Regulus notes lazily that it wouldn’t be much worse than flying for quidditch. He’s played some of the most brutal games as a Slytherin quidditch player, but James said that rollercoasters are worse than flying and she told him exactly that. 

“You can hold my hand if it’s too scary for you.” Regulus said as they put on their seatbelt.

If he didn’t have that mocking smirk on his face she would have let herself blush and enjoy the butterflies in her stomach, but instead she rolled her eyes, “You wish.”

But boy, how right James is.

Regulus seemed to be having the time of his life through the loops of the track as she screamed her lungs and clung onto him for dear life. He was laughing, happy cheers escaping his lips. If she wasn’t fighting for her life she would’ve been hypnotised by the happy scream Regulus was shouting. Funny how the one time Regulus truly enjoys their shared moment is when she’s trying her best to not shat her pants.

When the cart stopped, Regulus turned to see how tightly she’s been holding his hand. He smiled at the sight but bit it down and turned the other way before she could see it. She was still panting from the adrenaline but a bright smile was evident on her face. She too seemed to be enjoying the ride.

“Shall we go for another round?”

“I’d love to, but I’m not a big fan of the queueing line.” She says, peeking out “It seems to be longer than before.”

“Well, that’s why we’ve got wands, isn’t it?” Regulus says as he takes out his wand from his coat pocket.

“Regulus, what are you doing?”

Before he could utter the spell, she hurriedly pushed his wand away, widening her eyes in disapproval as Regulus kept his nonchalant self, “What?”

“You can’t use magic in the presence of muggles.” She scolds “What on Earth were you thinking?”

“You said you didn’t want to queue. We could just do a little confundus charm and they wouldn’t know a thing.”

Her jaw dropped, completely horrified at his mischief.

“Just relax.”

“No,” She said before he could take out his wand again “You’re not going to use your magic here.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Why not?”

“Will you two get off? We have a long queue.”

Regulus' glare was certainly terrifying that it made the operator step back, looking intimidated. The boy didn’t look much older than them which made her feel even more sympathetic that she pulled Regulus' arm, dragging him out of the cart with angry steps.

He followed her, a small smile was still tugged on his lips as he watched her. She was evidently seething, for whatever reason he couldn’t understand. He only wanted to make her happy. She said she wanted to go for another round and didn’t want to queue, so what exactly is the issue with doing a little confundus charm? It’s not like anyone would know.

“Alright, ground rule for the rest of the night.” She says as they stopped, turning to face him “No magic. No matter how simple the spell is, or how insignificant it is in your eyes, no magic is allowed.”

“Why?”

She widens her eyes, appalled, “You know why!”

Regulus couldn’t contain his laughter now. Her reaction warms his heart. He finds it adorable how she’s so worked up over little mischief he’s sure no one would bat an eye for. It fascinates him how for once he’s finally the troublemaker instead of the voice of reason. Being in a trio with Rosier and Crouch, Regulus has always been the moral police instead of the third rascal.

“Fine,” He says, messing her hair “No magic for the rest of the night.”

She was stupefied then. His beautiful smile, the tender noise and his gentle gesture, it feels like the Regulus she’s always dreamed of is finally hers. Her cheeks were turning rosy, flustered by the enchanting side he’s showing at the moment.

“Don’t do that,” She says, slapping his hand away from her head “No messing my hair either.”

“You’re blushing.” He remarks with a satisfied smile.

“I most certainly am not.” She argues “It’s from the cold air.”

“Oh, so you admit you’re cold now?”

She glares, not saying a word.

“I’m still not giving you my coat.” He says.

“I did not say I was cold nor was I asking for it.” She spat with evident vexation “Has anyone ever told you just how much of a pain you are, Regulus?”

He shrugs, “Only on my good days.”

She rolled her eyes, taking steps away from him.

Regulus was toying with her, she knew it, and as much as she tries not to give the reaction he’s craving for, she couldn’t help but to give it. He was always right, always so perfect for her to ever be truly angry. The fact that he’s being so lovely tonight makes it impossible for her to hold a grudge longer than three seconds.

“So where to next?” He asked, matching his pace with her.

“We’ve ridden all of the rides,” She says, looking around the park “But one.”

The rogue on her cheeks turn darker as she stares at the Ferris wheel. The stories of her muggleborn friends about how romantic Ferris wheel rides are, echo in her head. She didn’t understand what was so special about the ride. They could certainly just get on their broom to go up and see the city lights but muggles seem to romanticise the ride a lot and she couldn’t help but to hope to feel such romantism with him.

“Alright, shall we go then?”

She turns to meet eyes with him, nodding.

Now they find themselves sitting in one of the cabins. She couldn’t find it in her to see his face because she knew she would be blushing hard once again. The excitement is building up, making her giddy and skittish. She could only hope that the tapping of her feet wasn’t that obvious for him to notice.

“You alright?”

She nods, not facing him, “Yes.”

“Okay.”

Regulus finds it odd how she’s suddenly looking away, not sparing a second to see him ever since they headed to this ride. Was she still angry about him taking out his wand? Was it about him messing her hair? Or was it about something else?

“It’s nice up here,” He comments, trying to break the ice.

She hums.

“Reckon we can see your house from up here?”

“Maybe.”

Regulus frowns. Her sudden coldness was something he didn’t expect to see. Everything was brilliant just a minute ago. He enjoyed their time, feeling as if it was a proper first date for them to have, and he thought that she felt it too. Now he wasn’t so sure.

His finger taps on the metal cart, biting his lower lip as he thinks of the moment things went downhill. She still had that smile when they began walking. It only disappeared when she pointed at this ride, a ride that doesn’t look half as interesting as the others. Compared to the rollercoaster, Regulus would argue that this ride is dull and dreary. Is that really the cause of her sudden change of demeanour? That she didn’t really want to go up this ride?

“Can I ask you something?” She asks, suddenly facing him.

Regulus nods.

“Do you have any muggleborn friends, Regulus?”

He frowns, shaking his head, “No, not really.”

“Right,” She nods, muttering to herself “That makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“Nothing,” She lies “I just remembered that I’ve only ever seen you with Rosier and Crouch.”

Regulus clenches his jaw. Is that it? Is that why she’s suddenly distant now? That she’s thinking of Rosier? 

And he thought she was having fun with him. Apparently not.

“Is there something you wanted to know about?” He asked, digging his grave deeper “Do you want to know about my friends?”

“If you want to talk about them, I’m listening.”

Regulus bites the inner of his cheek. It hurts to know that she wanted to know about his friends better, that she was even thinking about them, when they’re literally on a date. Well, she didn’t say it was one but it should certainly be called as. What else would you call this? This certainly goes beyond what a friendly hang out is.

At least in his dictionary.

“You gave a rule earlier, so can I give one too?”

She nods, her brows furrowing a little at his question.

“Can we not talk about anything else but ourselves for the rest of the night?” He asked “I know I owe you a lot but I really hope we could finish the night with just the two of us.”

Her expression changed. There was a hint of tenderness Regulus couldn’t really put a word on. As if she was touched over his words. Like she didn’t expect him to want to spend the rest of the night with just the two of them.

She smiles, nodding, “Alright.”

They turned silent once more. But the air is certainly different now. Tension and awkwardness no longer linger around them, only comfort and mutual understanding that they both wanted to bask in this moment while it lasts. It fills both of their hearts to know that they’re enjoying their time spent together. If only they would say it aloud, they would’ve amplified their happiness by tenfold.

But after a couple minutes of silence, as their cabin got to the peak, the wheel suddenly stopped. The sudden halt was making her panic, squealing in fear as Regulus put his arm protectively around her. The engine stopped.

“Looks like we’re stuck here,” Regulus said, looking down to see people trying to work the machine “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” She said, still clinging on his arm “How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

Regulus shrugs, “How should I know? I’ve never been to these kinds of parks before.”

She frowns but remains quiet.

Regulus closed his eyes, feeling the light breeze of the wind as he relaxed his feet. It was refreshing up here. Quiet, calming, serene. It reminds him of his night flies around the castle whenever he needed to get some peace of mind and tranquillity. Perhaps he could go and find more of these rides some time.

One of the things he loved most about this moment is how she’s still holding his arm tightly. He smiles at the thought, how much more comfortable they are with each other over this date. Perhaps he should’ve done this years ago.

“This is nice.” He comments, still with his eyes closed.

Silence.

Regulus opened his eyes, turning to see her who has her head now resting on his shoulder, “Hey, you alright?”

“Do you think it’s still gonna be long until the engine comes back on?”

“I don’t know,” He says truthfully, pulling away to see her better “Are you okay? Should we just disapparate?”

“No,” She says fast, finally looking up to him “No magic, remember?”

“Well you don’t seem to be enjoying this ride.” He points out “Surely we can make an exception.”

“It’s not the ride that’s the problem,” She says, her teeth chattering a little “I’m cold.”

Regulus bites his smile. He wanted to rub it on her face, how he’s right from the beginning and she was just too stubborn to admit it, but the tormented look on her face made him think twice. She seemed to be really bothered by the coldness that to be fair, was nothing for Regulus, but still, he wouldn’t give his coat.

Instead, Regulus unbuttoned his coat and took off one side of it, gesturing to her to come closer.

“We both can’t fit inside, Regulus.” She notes.

“Well, I told you I’m not giving you my coat, so either we squeeze in or you freeze yourself to death.” He says with a nonchalant shrug “Your choice.”

She looks at him with disbelief. As if she couldn’t believe that the man sitting in front of him, acting cheeky and playful, was Regulus Black. Everything about him today just doesn’t make sense. From the moment he volunteered to come to the theme park, to asking her to snuggle close to him to share his coat now. Whatever happened to the apathetic Regulus Arcturus Black?

But she knew better than to complain about it. She enjoys every passing moment of the day. Every bicker, every annoyed remark, every feigned anger. She wouldn’t wish for any other way to spend the day.

And so she snuggled closer to him, encircling her arms around his body like a koala to a tree. His body warmth was comforting, along with the smell of his perfume. Regulus put the other part of his coat around her, trying to cover her as best as he could.

“Is this okay?” He asks. She could hear his heartbeat from the close proximity.

“Yeah,” She whispers, not looking up cause she knew her cheeks must be as red as tomatoes “Is this okay for you?”

Regulus hums, resting his chin to the top of her head.

“This is nice,” She says “I might actually fall asleep on you.”

He smiles, “Just don’t drool on my shirt.”

“No promises.”

—-

Regulus couldn’t recall the last time he woke up with such a light heart. The memory from last night still intoxicates him. How they spent hours waiting for the wheel to finally turn, to get them to the ground, yet neither of them were complaining. Matter of fact, he hoped that it would’ve lasted longer. He wouldn’t mind spending forever stuck in that cabin with her.

When he came down to the dinning hall though, a frown bloomed on his face. She was absent. Her plate was empty, cup cleaned as if she hadn't even used it. Only Sirius was present with a stack of toasts on his plate.

“Where is she?” Regulus asked.

“Resting,” His brother said “Where the hell did you go last night? Why did you come back so late?”

Regulus sniffled, taking a seat and fixing himself a cup of tea, “We just hung out, went to the park in the city.”

“Why did you come back so late then? There’s not much of a ride there.”

“We got stuck on the Ferris wheel for hours.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “Why didn’t you just disapparate?”

“She wouldn’t let us use magic. I don’t know, ask her.” He said, defensive “Why is she still resting? Isn’t it late already for her?”

“She’s sick, that’s why.”

“Sick? What do you mean she’s sick?” Regulu asked, feeling guilt to seep in “She was just fine last night.”

“She caught a cold. Fever and all,” Sirius said as he put a toast in his mouth, standing to leave for his room “Next time you go out with her, tell her to bring a coat, will you?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, “You think I didn’t tell her that?”

Regulus’ words were met by silence as Sirius entered his room. He begins to wonder if his banter of not giving her his coat was wrong, if their play stubborn was too far that it made her fall ill. It might just be one of those light colds, sure, but Regulus has never made anyone sick nor has he ever taken care of anyone unwell.

Should he even be taking care of her? Supposedly, yeah, seeing that he is her husband and the kind gesture she did the other week when she brought him his breakfast, but such action is strange for him. Where does he even start? How does he even do it?

—-

It was noon now and Regulus sprinted out of his room the moment he heard some noises in the kitchen. He saw Sirius left for whatever business he has so the only cause of such commotion would be her. He skipped down the stairs, feeling relieved to see her that is now enveloped under layers of blankets.

“You look awful,” He comments.

“Wow, thank you,” She retorts, sniffling “What a pleasant compliment, Regulus.”

Regulus bites down a smile, taking a seat opposite her, “Have you taken any meds?”

“Yeah, not much of a help so far, though.”

“Well, at least now you’ll remember to bring a coat whenever you go out.”

She glares at him, “You’re a prick, Regulus, do you know that?”

Regulus grins.

He watches as she fixes herself a cup of tea. One and a half teaspoon of sugar, no milk. He finds himself noting the small details of hers he didn’t know before. Like how she leans more on sweet kinds of breakfast instead of savoury ones, or how her brows are more often pinched than not whenever she’s thinking, or how the scent of rose from her was not from her perfume but her hand cream— her perfume was patchouli based.

“Do you not have any plans today?”

“No,” Regulus shakes his head “I prefer to stay in and read. I don’t normally go out.”

She hums in acknowledgement.

“Did you have plans for today?” He asked in return.

“Not really,”

Regulus nods, turning silent.

The only noise between them now was her sniffling. She taps on her cup, looking as if she has something she wanted to say but is still debating to utter it. Another thing Regulus takes note of— she fidgets quite a lot.

“Will you read for me?”

“No.” Regulus answers firmly.

“Oh come on, that’s the least you could do!” She whines “You got me sick!”

“You got sick because you’re too stubborn to listen to me.”

She huffs, “I wouldn’t be sick if you had given me your coat.”

“But then I’d get sick if I did.”

“Yes, but I’ll make you soup and read you a book, so you owe it to me.”

“You will not make me soup,” Regulus snorts, mocking “I doubt you even know how to turn on the cooker.”

Her mouth agape, offended, “That is beside the point, alright!”

“You don’t look sick enough for me to owe you a reading,” Regulus remarks, standing up from his seat “Feel better soon though. You look ghastly.”

“You—,” She said, throwing him a ball of tissue “And whose fault is that?!”

“Yours.”

“Regulus!”

Regulus chuckles, turning and heading back to his room. At least her anger is still intact. He could lose the bigger weight of guilt he’s feeling over her cold from the knowledge. Another thing to note, bring her coat for her the next time they go out.

↠ Part V

[vvyvernicus]

Madam Red Regression

The title pretty much sums up the base of this post. Madam Red, otherwise known as Angelina Dalles, regressed back to a point in the past before the Phantomhive mansion burns to the ground.

Initially I wrote a post about this sort of thing, looking for fanfiction of other characters regressing back to this point as a "Time Travel Fix-It". Long story short, I couldn't find any, and here I am, sharing the base of an idea I plan to write eventually to gauge interest. Plus, writing these are fun.

There are some mild spoilers below for those who are new to this fandom. So just putting this as a warning!

On November 9th 1888, Angelina Dalles is murdered by reaper Grell Sutcliff. 

After being confronted by Ciel, her and Grell are revealed to be Jack the Ripper. Not wanting to be turned into the police for her crimes, she concludes that she has to kill her nephew. 

But...

She couldn't do it. She wasn't able to murder her sister's son. Especially not when he reminded her of Rachel.

So Grell took it as a betrayal and killed her instead in and cuts her down. Her body falls to the ground as her life flashes between her eyes. The last thing she could recall before passing on was that she hoped that Sebastian would be able to protect Ciel from her former partner in crime.

Her life had run it's course with her final decision: choosing not to harm Ciel. 

Or so it would seem...

Angelina woke up in a hospital bed, disoriented and woozy. Her head was spinning like crazy and her thoughts were a jumbled mess. Once they became coherent, she recalled the previous events. She had chosen to spare Ciel... then Grell chose to attack her.

The stab to her chest came back to her like a throbbing pain as she involuntarily groaned in discomfort. But for some reason it was her head that hurt more. Her vision was blurred and she couldn't see well, but she knew that she had winded up in the hospital. In spite of everything, a small smile found it's way to her face.

Ciel and Sebastian must have taken her to the hospital after dealing with Grell. She'd have to thank them later. Although, she was curious about Sebastian's supernatural abilities. No normal human could fight a grim reaper like that and survive. 

When she recovered enough to finally muster the strength to sit up, a doctor came over to her to give her the rundown on her current condition. The doctor made no mention of her stab wound—which she refused to look at as she kept on the blanket. But he did mention something about a carriage accident. As well as the passing of her former husband and fetus.

That was... Strange. Like she was reliving that time several years ago. It was still burned in the back of her mind. One of the many tragedies that led her down a dark path. 

February 7th, 1885. That was the day that she lost her husband, unborn child and her uterus. The little piece of happiness that the world allowed her was taken in an instant. But not all was lost. She still had Rachel. And... Vincent. 

Until they too, were taken from her in a horrific accident.

Bitterness had welled up in her heart yet again as she thought about it. How cruel the world had been to her. And now she was in the hospital, recovering but for her crimes she'd most likely be behind bars for the rest of her life. Not that she didn't deserve it after killing those women.

But those thoughts faded away when she was told she had a visitor. She had assumed Ciel, who'd most likely inform her of her future fate. But instead it was someone else. Angelina looked at her like she had seen a ghost—for the figure might as well have been one.

Rachel Phantomhive, her lovely older sister, was rushing towards her with tears in her eyes. She embraced her younger sister and cried, feeling sympathy for her sister's loss of husband and child. Angelina cried too, but not for the same reasons. She had long since mourned them. The ones she never got over, one of them was right there in front of her. 

Somehow, Angelina had been sent back into the past. She didn't care to question it at first, she was just so overjoyed to be alive back when Rachel and Vincent still breathed.

Angelina silently renounces the old her after recovering from her injuries. She's done with being "Madam Red" and everything relating to that title. It was really just a mask she had put on, hoping that wearing it enough would make her accept it. But she's done with that now and more importantly, she has bigger problems to face than maintaining an image she never cared much for in the first place.

She has a complicated history involving her hair—its length in particular. As a child it was short, but she admired her older sister's longer hair and grew it out. Insecure about her hair color, which stood out, she also grew out her bangs. Her hair was cut short again after meeting Vincent, who complimented her hair color and she no longer wanted to hide her face. When she married her late husband, she grew out her hair once again. And after his death it was then cut short once more.

Instead of following her previous choices of cutting her hair short after waking up in the hospital, she instead left it at it's current longer length. If she looked in the mirror and envisioned her short haired self, all she could see was the bitter killer. She didn't want to become that woman again. Additionally, she now wears a black rose pin in her hair.

Instead of wearing the vibrant red dresses, after her regression she now wears more muted colors—browns in particular. This has come to the surprise of several people as for many years she had made red her signature color and embraced it. Now, no longer to be confined to it, she rarely wears the color. She also wears dark colored jewelry, but still applies red lipstick as she ironically does not like the other color options.

The "new" Angelina does not go unnoticed, especially by her sister, the person she cares most about in the world. Rachel is surprised that Angelina has switched up her wardrobe, but understands that Angelina may be going through a grieving process. Others notice the shift in her personality too, but due to losing her husband and unborn child recently in this timeline, her behavior is said to be the result of grief.

After taking some time to readjust to the new timeline and accepting that both Rachel and Vincent are still alive and well, she starts to speculate on what to do. While she was a smart and strong woman who was able to get a doctor's license in a time period prejudiced against women, she was no detective. Saving the Phantomhives becomes her main goal. Even if she's still somewhat shaken up about it, she realizes that this isn't a chance she should pass up.

I don't think I've ever seen anyone else pairing these two together (understandable since Madam Red is canonically dead) but hear me out on this one. 

Who is regularly visiting the Phantomhive household to be close to the two people she loves most?

Angelina. 

Who visits the Phantomhive household, maybe not as regularly, but still often to see his best friend and engage in their more private affairs?

Diedrich. 

We may not have seen many interactions between these two, but they had to have seen each other on multiple occasions. 

In fact, here they are in episode 2 of the anime (as well as in the 3rd manga chapter). Look how close they are here.

Obviously in the main timeline, she'd have no feelings for him at all. She's still obsessed over Vincent, even almost 3 years after his death. However, her obsession has started to fade, especially with her mind preoccupied with more important matters.

In the midst of everything going on, with Angelina's main goal of preventing the Phantomhive's deaths while also trying to appear normal to those around her, she finds herself drawn to a particular person: Diedrich.

She takes some time off from her work as a physician due to her physical and mental trauma after the carriage accident. Not wanting her sister to go back to an empty home after losing her spouse, Rachel invites Angelina to stay with her at the Phantomhive residence. Angelina accepts the offer and stays with them as a guest for the time being.

There she encounters Diedrich, who she doesn't instantly recognize at first glance that she has to do a double take. Since he's changed a lot in the future she came from, it really catches her off guard and is another reminder she was sent back in the past.

The two of them initially act as polite acquaintances, but Angelina, feeling in need of someone to vent to about everything and realizing preventing future events may be too hard for her alone... She turns to Diedrich.

When she starts falling for him, it is particularly entertaining. 

Whenever her thoughts start to wander—when she recognizes that he's a very dependable and reliable man or worse... handsome, she reminds herself of what he looks like in 3 years (in her original timeline). Initially this works, but it becomes a problem when her own feelings get so strong that she'll still love him even if that's how he'll end up in the current timeline. 

As for Diedrich's feelings, it's implied that he has a light unrequited affection for Angelina—something that she failed to recognize previously due to her overwhelming infatuation with Vincent. No man could simply compare in her eyes and she failed to recognize feelings unless a person was blunt about them (like when her former husband proposed marriage to her). 

This hasn't changed, even once Angelina starts to become more of her own person rather than the idealized woman she thought she should be. In fact, his respect for her grows even more. He becomes someone she can confide in and help her during this complicated situation.

I plan to write this myself at some point (adding it to the long pile of drafts). However, if someone else wants to write a variant, I'm perfectly fine with someone using this as inspiration. The more the merrier as there are many different routes this AU idea can go. My only request is that I'm tagged or notified because I'd love to read it too!