#i was never given closure!

[belokhvostikova]

Most devastating thing to ever discover was seeing the Rabbit Hole Entrance YouTube channel suddenly not exist.

[zosonils]

an aspect of shadow's trauma that i've been thinking about a lot since the sa2 replay is how fucked his perspective of gerald must be after everything, especially assuming he was family to shadow just as much as maria was [which i do every day]. the man who raised you, created you from nothing but tissue samples and energy and hope, the man who could have easily decided you were a simple thing to be used and yet welcomed you into his family as easily as his own granddaughter, who treated you as a person when so many others treated you as a lab rat or a weapon or another soon-to-be-failed prototype, in a moment of unfathomable despair, decided you were to be a tool that would carry out his final plan. perhaps treating you this way was another symptom of his mental breakdown, perhaps deep down he's always seen you as nothing more than a thing to reach his goals with. you will never know, because he is dead. every comforting memory you have of him, every time he encouraged your curiosity or stayed with you during a test he could have observed from afar or told you how proud of you he was, forever tainted by the thought that it could have all been a lie. a variable in an experiment, a means to an end. how would you ever trust anyone ever again man i'm in shreds

[sleepycricket]

my final thoughts on sonic prime is:

fellas is it gay to courier your sworn rival in a bridal carry as his life force decays and you're desperately trying to get back to your home dimension, not for yourself, but for his survival and everything that he loves that you couldn't give less of a shit about?

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

I have a thought, and I've been having it since Claudia's assault by Bruce happened. Then I though it again, when Claudia mentioned how Bruce kept her under floorboards for weeks.

(Just like as an aside: Obviously, all that was horrible. I didn't particularly like it myself, but that's tied up in my own personal shit. When I was 14, someone close to me, someone my age, was a victim of SA. So I tend to just dislike SA plots in general, but Claudia is supposed to be 14, physically speaking. And like, I can't remove my own personal feelings from thinking about it. Like, there's a shit ton of posts out there arguing whether it was good or bad writing, etc. But this isn't one of those posts. And I'd really prefer if we didn't turn it into one of those posts, bc I don't like to think about it.)

This post is about Lestat. Who was kidnapped from his room by Magnus. And kept for a week. Surrounded by bodies that looked like his. And he says Magnus fed on him every night. But there's this bit here that gives me pause:

We already know from the books that a vampire biting someone without permission is akin to rape. Like Anne Rice was not subtle with that metaphor. But in the books, vampires also couldn't have sex the human way. In the show they can.

If Magnus is feeding on Lestat, why does he need to remove him from the tower? Biting him while in the tower would be no different than biting him anywhere else. It's not like the corpses bother him, or he'd have gotten rid of them.

So where is he taking him? And why? I think that maybe the show is going to go even darker and have that metaphorical rape also be a literal one.

[sysig]

Do I know you? Do I know you? Do I know you? (Patreon)

[hooved]

honestly the funniest part about the quodo kiss blooper is that kira had like no reaction to it. it just made so much sense that even she just stood there and watched it happen

[fionnaskyborn]

wish i could stop losing stuff irretrievably. some hardware error emptied out my recycle bin a couple days earlier. just to shit on a day i'd spent being genuinely happy about the art i create. i guess. i'm tired of compromises, sick of lying that "it wasn't that important anyway", and throwing up at "oh well, can't be helped".

and yet. and yet. despite every pain, both major and minor, the love is there. the love is still there. guess i've just somehow miraculously hit that point (or gone past it a long time ago) where every grievance beyond a certain amount hurts an unspeakable amount more than it should. and it stacks. probably went overboard a while back. don't know when.

still, i adore my project. still got someone in whose arms i feel safe. hope i'll get out someday. hope i'll get a win.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Hiiiii! So, a few days ago you were talking about the whole thing with Amy, Rory, and River. And when I saw those posts a thought arose in my head and I wish to share it with you.

Since River grew up with Amy and Rory as Mels. And Mels was Amy's best friend do you think that they ever talked about children? Since I know that it can come up when talking with friends, and like... do you think that Amy might've ever expressed whether or not she wanted children?

And if she didn't, that Mels would've had to listen to her mother say that she doesn't want children? The idea is so heartbreaking and sooo interesting.

What do you think about it?

no, no, see, you're so right and this drives me wild.

because, the way i see it, i don't think amy wanted children. she's somewhere on the 'hasn't thought about it' to 'vaguely negative feelings about it happening' range to me, which falls sharply into 'Not Happening Ever Again' post-s6. (specifically, in terms of having a kid herself, even if she could, i really don't think she would. i do love that she and rory end up adopting a kid later, because that does make sense, for amy pond who grew up alone in one universe with her family swallowed by cracks in time before the doctor helped her set it right again, for her to want to make sure another child won't be alone in the world like she was. getting off-track here.)

and that's so. because the first real memory river/mels has of amy is of amy shooting at her. and depending on how well the silence fucked up the rest of her memory, it might be one of the very first memories she has at all. that's how she met her mother, crying for help and getting a bullet instead. her mother tried to kill her, so of course, you have to think. she must have needed to hear that she was wanted, right? even if she was taken away, even if amy shot her, at some point, melody must have been wanted?

river is good at getting people to do what she wants, but she is very, very bad at subtlety. and mels is younger, has less practice, so when she wants to know this, she's just going to ask. blunt and quick, easy enough because amy's used to the way mels will open her mouth and you just have to be ready to roll with what comes out if you want to keep up. it's why they're such good friends (like mother, like daughter.)

they're nine, and mels asks if amy wants kids, and amy wrinkles up her nose and says she won't have time for children, obviously, once her raggedy doctor finally comes back. they're fifteen, and amy and rory dance will they-won't they in a way that makes mels twitchy to watch, and taunting amy about wanting to have rory's babies is a good way to get on her nerves. but amy calls her gross, tells her she's got more life planned than children would leave room for, and besides, imagine her, a mom? it'd be a disaster.

mels does. a lot. she looks at her mother and just sees her best friend instead. she's not even sure what she wishes was there, but. maybe amy's right. and besides. imagine her, a daughter, instead of the ticking time bomb she really is? it'd be a disaster.

they're sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and on. mels stands on the outside of a love story that births a universe. and her. how do you compete with that? not that she would know, not yet, she hasn't been there. but it doesn't make her feel any less alienated when amy and rory talk in whispers about a half-remembered world that's bled through to this life, about roman soldiers and boxes and the big bang of belief.

all these memories, they never mention children. on amy's wedding day, she's different, not like someone remembering a dream but someone who lived it. rory stands straighter, won't leave her side, and they're both so much older than they were yesterday. maybe now, right? a wedding's as good a time as any to decide you want kids.

mels not being at amy & rory's wedding is such an obvious lazy way of them trying to explain why they totally didn't just throw this plot twist together at the last minute that i'm not even going to acknowledge it. of course she was at their wedding. she's their best friend. there's too many people around the doctor, and she wasn't ready today of all days, so despite this horrible burning need under her skin to strike, she stays her hand. doesn't let him dance with her because she might just tear his throat out if he gets too close. stays with amy and rory as the maid of honor should. she must have been there for the awkward questions that always gets asked, 'so, any plans for a baby?' 'when am i getting grandkids?' 'oh, you two are going to have gorgeous children together.' standing a few feet from amy in her wedding dress and watching her mother tense and grit her teeth and brush off the questions. watching her look nervously at rory but never ask if he means it when his mom asks him if he'd prefer a son or a daughter, and rory answers 'either one, some day, not anytime soon.'

god i'm just going on and on, aren't i. but really, what's it like to know that amy never changed her mind. the next time she sees them, she's already been born and stolen. i don't like let's kill hitler for. so many reasons. but there is something compelling about how recklessly river lashes out at the world, at the doctor. even her sacrifice at the end is almost suicidal, throwing all her regenerations into this man without knowing if that will even work or if it might kill her to do it. but it makes more sense in the context of someone who has reached the end of a long, long wait for some kind of indication, any kind, that her mother wanted to have her. and finally been told, no. she didn't choose melody.

[scootersscooter]

Something beautiful about Will and Jack not getting together in the original Will & Grace. Something cowardly about them not getting together in the reboot.

[scrambledslut]

how fucking dare you insert yourself into my life and then leave without so much as a goodbye

[jvzebel-x]

"I hate how they have the power to kill my future-- kill me. They treat my black skin like a gun or a grenade or a knife that's dangerous and lethal. When, really, it's them. The guys at the top, powering everything."

x. "Ace of Spades", Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

[brazenbishop]

I think what I love/hate most about the Arcane ending is that everyone got what they needed but not what they wanted.

Jinx needed to end the cycle, she’s been wishing someone could finish the job the whole series, she just didn’t want to go out a hero.

Ekko needed to be a savior to help his people, he just thought it would be as a leader and not as a soldier.

Mel needed to prove herself as a Medarda, she just never wanted the acarne skills or the cost of her mother.

Jayce and Viktor in beautiful turn needed to be seen and understood. They found their own truths and destiny in each other, yet it destroyed them.

Vi needed family. She wanted the family she had back, instead she’s given closure for her loses and the chance to build a new one with a person she loves.

Caitlyn needed respect. She got it, but she now understands just how much it costs and just how heavy that crown is.

All of their endings satisfy exactly what they’ve wanted this whole show, just in a way none of them wanted.

[vindicta-reliquiae]

-

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Damian is de-aged to a baby and lost in Gotham. A magic user hit him with some kind of spell. His legs don’t work as well and he has trouble walking. That’s when a man appears and squats down with a tilt of his head.

“Yea, you are definitely not supposed to be out here, little guy.”

Damian glares at the man, early twenties, stubble along his jaw, ragged clothes, and dark bags under his eyes.

The man turns his head to look at the brick wall.

“Are you sure?”

And now he was talking to a wall. Curses. Of course he would be found by a crazy person.

The man suddenly hangs his head with a deep sigh. He regains himself quickly and stands. Moving closer to put his hands under Damian arms to lift him to perch on his hip.

Damian squirms to get down but refuses to make a sound. The last time he opened his mouth like this it was a pathetic baby sound. He couldn’t let this man see him like this.

“Looks like you’re coming home with me, little guy. I can tell you’ve got some spirit in you. Good, you’ll need it.”

Not ominous at all.

Damian stays with the man, mostly because he couldn’t physically drive a car, but also because he was almost always with him. The man would talk to air at the most random times. Obviously a schizophrenic. But Damian had to admit this man, Danny he comes to find out through a neighbor baby talking at him, has been genuinely trying to take care of him and take care of him well. Well, to the best of his abilities anyway. 

He feeds him organic purées that don’t taste half bad, except the carrots, that one was unacceptable. Danny cleans him regularly despite his crappy apartment and makes sure he is dressed appropriately for the weather. He makes an effort to take him out to the park to play in the sandbox or just walk around discovering ‘new’ things.

Damian doesn’t need a parent, he outgrew the concept when he was five and technically he already had one, but he could tell Danny would make an excellent father. Some mistakes can be overlooked compared to the effort he was putting in.

The only concerning thing was the talking to thin air. It took Damian an embarrassing amount of time to figure out the reason Danny was visiting all these random people and the graveyard. (Sometimes he will set Damian down to ‘play’ in the grass at the cemetery. It was quite odd.)

He was talking to ghosts. It wasn’t thin air or imaginary friends, no it was actually dead people. The reason Damian actually believes this is for two reasons.

One, Danny shows true results. Damian observes closely whenever they visit a ‘client’ and Danny always has accurate information despite never looking up or researching anything going in.

Two, he never calls himself a medium or psychic. He doesn’t boast about his ability to see ghosts. He does what he does to help the ghosts move on to the other side. Closure is what Danny always says. Closure for the family and the victim. In Gotham, there are a lot of victims.

Damian adjusts to his new life with Danny. It’s been five months and he’s getting used to being small and vulnerable. He’s allowed to be messy and whiny and childish. Danny never scolds him like Mother did. The man has never hit him or raised his voice at him and never expects anything from him. He encourages his progression to speak and walk, but doesn’t expect the best out of him.

It’s… nice. A good break if anything.

They are at the park when one of the bats spot him and pauses. Danny is blowing bubbles into the air and Damian tries to pop as many as he can. It’s a silly game with no clear rules, but Damian finds it entertaining nonetheless.

“Hi there! Is he yours?”

Dick Grayson wears a bright smile, but Damian can see the tightness around his eyes.

“Huh? Oh, yea, this is Damian,” Danny answers.

He had written it with the wooden blocks Danny had given him one week in. Danny took one look at the name on the ground, laughed loudly and ran with it.

“Do you mind if I say hi? He’s so cute.”

Danny looks puzzled by the request but ends up shrugging his shoulders, not seeing a problem with letting a stranger get close to Damian. (Damian knew Danny’s intense eyes were watching Dick’s every move. He was very protective like that.)

“Sure.”

Dick squats down to search Damian’s green eyes. Damian stares back just as intensely.

“Hey there, Damian. My name is Dick.”

Damian gives him a flat look at Dick’s terrible introduction.

“Grayson.”

Although with his little baby teeth not fully in it sounds more like ��way-shah’.

Relief flashes across Dick’s face and he gives Damian a reassuring smile. It’s not as reassuring at he thinks it is. It promises to bring him home and restore him to his original age. Damian doesn’t know if that’s what he wants anymore.

Dick stands and gives Danny some imaginary excuse to leave quickly. Damian watches him go and so does Danny.

“Funny guy, huh Dami?”

Damian doesn’t respond and Danny notices his change in mood.

“Come here, little guy.”

He knows what Danny is going to do and willingly goes. He is pulled up into the man’s lap and held between two surprisingly muscular arms. Danny’s hugs are nice and warm. They aren’t too tight like Dick’s nor are they stiff like Bruce’s. He never thought he could enjoy human contact, but Danny has been showing him things about himself he didn’t ever know. Turns out he does like hugs and playing airplane and when Danny runs his fingers through his hair when he’s really sleepy.

“Let’s go home a little early today, huh? I’ll make spaghetti and you can be as messy as you want,” Danny promises.

Damian hums. Yes, that sounds nice.

That night Batman comes in through the window. Damian is waiting.

“Damian,” Batman whispers.

“Bah-mun.”

The flat, unamused stare is what gives him away.

Batman lets out a breath silently and reaches into the crib Danny had gotten him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Batman jerks into action, twisting to face Danny who had appeared suddenly. The door behind him is still closed.

Batman stays quiet, silently studying the man before him dressed in pajama pants and a worn t-shirt.

Danny tilts his head as he does the same. Damian has never seen the man so serious. He silently worries for the man. He didn’t want him getting hurt to unnecessarily protecting him from his father.

“I’d have to break your arm if you tried to do what it looks like you’re doing.”

Danny says it so plainly. So simple.

Batman straightens.

“He isn’t yours.”

He doesn’t say Damian is his. He doesn’t claim him as his own. Just that Danny shouldn’t have him.

Damian silently agrees because technically he’s right. He doesn’t deserve Danny. He can’t keep playing house like he’s an actual baby. But Damian is also selfish and over the last few months has been taught that it’s okay to ask for things he wants even if it’s not inherently beneficial. The stuffed dog he sleeps with every night is proof of that.

So Damian says nothing.

“He is now,” Danny answers simply like there was no other answer to such a statement.

“He needs to go back to where he belongs.”

“Over my dead body,” is the immediate response.

They stare each other down until Danny scoffs.

“Don’t think I’m not petty enough to fight you, Batman. I’ll fight anyone who wants to take him from me. Damian is mine.”

When Batman tries to forcibly take him, he ends up with a concussion, a blood nose, and two broken arms. Red Robin finds him in a dumpster the next morning.

The story continues with Damian learning how to be a child his age, Danny protecting him and doting on his brilliant son, and the Batfam’s frequent failed attempts to kidnap Damian back to them.

[criminalamnesia]

Traitor part 8

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

here it is everyone :)) took me forever but it’s finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. I’ll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. thank you all for the love you’ve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.

let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3

thank you again!

after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.

it never ends, does it?

apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.

it was in each of their eyes— the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that look— not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.

you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadn’t bothered picking up what had been disturbed.

you’d be gone too soon for it to matter.

your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before you’re moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.

it’s kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“hello?” you say as you answer the call.

“it’s kate,” comes the woman’s familiar voice through the speaker. “im on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.”

you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. “you’re coming here? why?”

you hear her sigh. “we can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.” she tells you.

“can you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?” you ask.

she doesn’t answer for a moment, and then:

“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.”

you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.

why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?

your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.

laswell is coming here to do damage control.

you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.

you weren’t being reassigned. you were being discharged.

but was it at her insistence, or someone else’s?

you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to price’s office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly you’re aware that you’re still in that damned robe, but you’re on a mission.

and when you start something, you see it through.

you don’t bother knocking as you reach price’s door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.

price’s eyes widen at the sight of you, but simon’s face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.

“you motherfuckers,” you hurl the words at them, “you fucking knew. you knew.”

“love, what are you talkin’ about?” price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.

“laswell,” you say, and price’s eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.

“whatever she told you—”

“she didn’t tell me shit,” you huff. “I figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? she’s playing fucking babysitter, isn’t she?”

price doesn’t speak. your gaze flits to simon’s.

“I’m sure you were rooting for this outcome, weren’t you? couldn’t finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isn’t it? sending me back to fucking nothing.”

“this job is my life,” you turn your attention back to the captain. “and you fuckers just can’t stop ruining it, can you?” your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’re becoming hysteric.

“all because of a fucking lie!” you’re yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.

“calm down,” the sound of simon’s rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.

and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you don’t.

you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the room— hell, the world falls away— and it’s just him and you.

like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.

on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.

in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.

when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him you’re the rat and he doesn’t want to believe it.

it’s just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but it’s more than that.

it’s a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.

and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.

what they condemned you to.

what he condemned you to.

he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.

price’s eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.

“let ‘em,” he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.

“fuck you,” you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.

he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. you’d cringe if this were any other circumstance.

instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.

“ghost—” price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.

“fuck you, simon! fuck you!” you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.

and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didn’t want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.

but he still didn’t jump in. was it because of ghost’s insistence? or because your captain didn’t want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?

you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, they’ve split again. there’s no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once they’ve healed.

more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew you’d never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white lines— discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.

blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simon’s. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. good— now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.

you would’ve thrown it away anyways.

you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.

his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.

you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.

“done?”

and you don’t have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you don’t look away from what you’ve done.

it’s no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.

because it’s him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. he’d shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.

and yet he didn’t stop you.

“why?” you ask him, and it’s a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesn’t shy away.

he shrugs. “you needed it.”

he’s focusing on one aspect of the question— on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.

“least I could do,” he says.

you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?

“is it your fault, then? that I’m being discharged?” you find yourself asking, and you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.

maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.

“no,” he says, and you know he means it.

he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.

he sighs. “I didn’t want you to go.”

that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted that— because that is who he was.

and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.

“I don’t want you to.” he corrects himself.

the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.

“you’ve been an asshole,” you say, and he gives a curt nod.

“probably.” he concedes. “but I wouldn’ take anythin’ back. I told you, I meant what I said.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.

“no,” he tells you. “nothin’ I can say can do that.”

you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.

“I am never going to forgive you,” you tell him, words full of so much hurt.

he nods again. “I know. I don’ blame you. don’ expect you to, neither.”

“but I’m…” he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. “im sorry.”

you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.

“I hope so,” you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasn’t moved an inch since you’d finished your assault.

“I hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.”

you breathe in, then out. “and I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,” your voice is soft. “because I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.”

his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.

those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what could’ve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.

you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.

their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.

“i don’t care to speak to kate,” you say to price, your eyes meeting his. “fuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.”

you turn to johnny next. “you shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.”

finally, kyle. “and you,” you glare at him. “if anyone other than simon should’ve defended me, it should’ve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.”

you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. “I want you to get me temporary housing and a car because that’s the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I don’t want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.”

none of them spoke, and you didn’t give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.

a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. it’s still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.

you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadn’t bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes you’d recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.

the driver doesn’t speak— price had given him all the information he needed— and paid him— before he’d fetched you. it seems your final outburst— and beating simon to a pulp— had finally put some urgency in his movements.

none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.

(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)

the driver turned up the music— some pop song you didn’t know the name of— and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.

you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didn’t try to fight it. you’re finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.

you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, it’s peaceful.

you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.

“we’re here,” he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. “can you get out now? I gotta get home. it’s my wife’s birthday.”

you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what he’s saying. “sorry,” you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.

you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.

you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. you’ve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.

you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.

nestled between some trees, it’s beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.

your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.

how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?

you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didn’t want any of them knowing where to find you.

the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.

a new beginning, you think.

you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. it’s a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. it’s furnished, but there’s no personality to it. it clearly hasn’t been somebody’s home.

the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.

eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you don’t recognize.

who else knows you’re here?

perhaps you’ll need to leave sooner than you thought.

you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. it’s an offer, you realize. a job offer.

its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.

a new beginning indeed.

[fangswbenefits]

And yes, this is absolutely the Astarion I'm exploring in my fic. It's been quite interesting to approach him like this, because the healing process varies from person to person. It's not linear. And sometimes trauma seeps so deep that it has a firm grip on someone for too long. Their coping mechanisms might trigger as a natural self-defence response. They might indulge in rash behaviour because they think they know what they want, and think what they want is what they need.

But ultimately, you cannot walk the path of recovery for someone else. You might give them the tools they need and adequate support, but it still needs to come from within. And that is hard at times. Really, really hard...

If you choose spawn Astarion for his ending, I'm very much on board with the idea that he's not "fixed" in terms of personality. I think he's more nuanced than that, and there will be times when habits of old will resurface.

Selfishness. Fear. Sorrow.

At the end of the day, he's still cursed to live in the shadows. Away from the sun and colours of the world. A slave to his sanguine hunger. Still missing that sense of safety he longed for. You simply can't convince me that he just settles for that through the power of love and rainbows. With or without a partner.

That is why I love to explore a conflicted Astarion. As he comes to terms with his sexuality, other issues become apparent.

Even if he settles for not ascendig and realises he was saved from himself, there's always the looming "what if". Not that I think he would regret not having gone through with the ritual, but his lust for life and missing the simple pleasures that others take for granted might trigger some of these thoughts.

The game hints that you can try and help him find a way to walk in the sun again, so that just solidifies this overall idea. Astarion does not settle. He's still not completely free, and if there is a slim chance that he might achieve that freedom, he will seek it.