#including in the series where she was the only returning companion

[zombieweek-g]

aint no fucking way this show is about to try and get me to buy a romantic subplot between two characters who’ve barely fucking had interactions between one another now

[yazthebookish]

Maybe I'll spoil you guys and talk about Gwynriel and ACOTAR5 and anything related to it overall. I recently finished my HOFAS reread and have some fresh thoughts. I'll let my thoughts guide me and some of these points I've already addressed in my insta stories yesterday. I just rather share a lengthy post here since I'll only tag under #gwynriel.

I often see arguments about how Gwyn and Azriel can't move the plot forward because the series is centered on the Archeron sisters.

First, that's not true because Sarah is following what she called "a traditional romance route". She's following the same patterns of Nalini Singh, Kresley Cole, and Lisa Kleypas where they publish multiple books in the same series following different couples.

This is fitting for a series like ACOTAR because it's romance-centered. And Sarah have already said that each couple is getting one book and there will likely be more books beyond ACOTAR6.

Saying that doesn't dismiss the importance of the sisters to the story, Feyre already has a trilogy centered on her. The spin-off just follows different characters including the sisters.

I won't try hard to convince people on this because I've already posted almost everything Sarah said about the spin-off series and what's it's about. So if the next book is not centered on an Archeron sister, that's for Sarah to bamboozle the fandom with.

One thing that stuck out to me is when I compared the ending of ACOSF with the scene of Bryce giving Nesta Gwydion and seeming like she left Nesta with a new quest.

First, this is what the text says, and this is Chapter 80, the very last chapter in ACOSF:

Succeeding in the Blood Rite didn't mean the training stopped. No, after she and her friends told Cassian and Azriel most of the details of their ordeal, the two commanders had compiled a long list of mistakes that the three of them had made that needed to be corrected, and the others wanted to learn from them, too. So they would keep training, until they were all well and truly Valkyries. Gwyn, despite the Rite, had returned to living in the library.

1. The Valkyries are not yet a unit.

2. SJM only and specifically highlighted that Gwyn, despite the Rite, returned to living in the library. It was like "hey, remember all the talk Gwyn did about wanting to leave the library after two years? Yeah that's on hold a bit but keep that in mind". She didnt even add Emerie or the other priestesses to that sentence.

With Nesta being left with Gwydion to find out why the 8-pointed star was tattooed on her, I don't think the next book will start with "hey Elain take this sword and deal with it". Who are Nesta's main companions now? Gwyn and Emerie.

I'll be back to the Valkyries but let's just talk about Azriel for a bit.

It is so painfully obvious to me that Azriel is being handed the Illyrian plot on a golden platter. How big or small of a plot it is depends on SJM, but it's important based on the fact that she fleshed out the Illyrian's origins and tied them to the crossover AND making Truth-teller the knife of Enalius.

That is a big deal for an Illyrian like Azriel.

And I quote my friend Lacie on this, it is very poetic for Azriel to be the owner of the knife that originally belonged to the person who freed his own people from the Daglan's clutches, perhaps because he saw his people are more than just slaves to the Daglan—how powerful would it be for Azriel, who loathes his own people, to parallel Enalius.

And for years some people were against Azriel dealing with this plot because he shouldn't make peace with his "abusers", its true his own family and some Illyrians failed him but he is condemning an entire population. Good people like Emerie and Balthazar. Even Rhys's mother, who had valid reasons to hate her people especially as a female, still made sure to make Rhysand connect with his Illyrian heritage and he even goes on to say that his mother didn't forget what they did to her but still loved her people.

If both Cassian and Rhysand (and by extension the author) continue to flag Azriel's hatred of the Illyrians as an issue—then it is a damn big issue for it to be addressed repeatedly.

Okay so to address my final point about Gwyn and Azriel and how they can move the plot forward.

Now I didn't detail out much about what the next book will deal with because that's another post (and I already have a post on that).

All of our theories and predictions are based on information that is available to us. Saying Azriel and Gwyn cannot move the plot forward does not make any sense because the central plot is tied to multiple characters, Archeron or not.

If SJM wants to make a character move the next book's plot forward, she can do it because she's in control of the story. She's in control of the narrative. She's in control of the characters.

The characters are puppets and this is an unfinished story. If some characters would add more value and make for a more interesting story before the others, she can decide on that. If she wants to make Eris the protagonist of the next book, she can easily do that whether the fandom wants it or not.

Let me give you an example of minor characters that pushed the plot forward and became main characters: Yrene Towers and the Hind. These kind of arguments could've been used for them in HOEAB or HOSAB and Pre-TOD. Before HOSAB/HOFAS and TOD, could we have predicted that they would have played a crucial role before those books? Not likely because they had minimal appearances and were not part of the main cast. This is what I'm talking about.

You can't know how a character will contribute to a story until you see how it all unfolds. We can make guesses on the information we have which is why I believe three characters are likely to join the main cast: Gwyn, Emerie, and Eris.

Why is it so easy to accept that Emerie might be sharing a book with an original character like Mor but it's hard to comprehend the fact that Gwyn could also share a book with Azriel? Because Emerie showed up in ACOFAS? To me that's not really a strong argument based on Sarah's writing and what we have in the books, she doesn't really pick based on who showed up the earliest. Here's a good example: Hypaxia, who showed up earlier, didn't even get her own chapters but the Hind did.

And there's one argument I recall about how I need to rely on Nesta to have a plot focused on Gwyn or the Valkyries in the next book. Nesta's arc is clearly not over based on HOFAS, but does that mean she's getting a POV? Not necessarily. I don't think she is. Gwyn is the perfect candidate for us to see what's going on with Nesta post-HOFAS and how they all deal with the Valkyries and whatever Sarah will set up with them.

There is this whole Valkyrie/Illyrian conflict that could be triggered as a result of the Blood Rite, with Ramiel definitely being an important location to explore in the next book, we also have the Pegasi and the Prison and the implications of the crossover. It makes sense to have an Illyrian and a Valkyrie POV to deal with some plots in the next book.

"Gwyn contributes to nothing" we can't know until the book is out. How sure are we that maybe SJM won't connect her to the crossover by making her mysterious father a Worldwalker? Or Prince of Hel? Or an Asteri? Maybe I'm right maybe I'm wrong.

"But Koschei! And the Human Queens!" Koschei will always be a background player pulling on the strings until the final book as it's obvious he is the big bad in the series, unless someone even worse is revealed. But no one is dismissing Koschei or the Human Queens messing around.

Literally what's the point of the story or the fun elements of surprises or plot twists if you need Sarah to list down everything that the next books will deal with. That's not how a story develops to me. I don't need to know everything in advance to just know how it will go. That's like knowing spoilers early on and checking off with each book what happened and what didn't happen. I feel like it's close to how a lot of readers were disappointed with not having enough ACOTAR in HOFAS, because Sarah implied half of the book would be set in Prythian. So by the time the book came out and it wasn't that, people were vocal about it.

In my opinion, SJM set a good foundation for Gwyn's arc to build up on in ACOSF and her arc is not over. We won't get mentions of her still carrying the guilt of her sister's death or not leaving the library after she said she's sick of being there for two years without us seeing resolution for that. She wouldn't be in Azriel's bonus chapter if she is not involved with him.

To conclude, my reread still affirms to me that the next book with an Azriel/Gwyn book. Azriel is clearly being set in the forefront.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 2: Tiger's Eye]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.7k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus, more in comments 🥰

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The taxidermied tiger head hangs above the fireplace in the sitting room, its jaws agape in a perpetual roar and its eyes polished spheres of metamorphic rock the color of dusk. Daemon shot it in Burma years ago—valleys of saturated green earth, mountain ranges like a crooked spine—shortly after opening his third black opal mine in Australia. You stare at the disembodied creature and she stares back, a silent scream, a doomed eternal terror in her tiger’s eye gaze: Help! A man is killing me. A man is taking me from where I belong. A man is nailing me to a wall so all the world knows he is the one whose bullet severed my aorta, filled me with hemorrhaging blood until I sank down, down, down.

You say, still looking at the slayed beast: “Did we really have to bring that with us?”

Daemon glances over as he fastens his cufflinks, onyx with red beryl in the shape of a three-headed dragon, the Targaryen family crest. “I’m sure you’d prefer a finger painting from that Italian tosspot you’re so enamored with. What’s his name, Pizarro?”

“Picasso. And he’s Spanish.”

“Even worse.”

You turn to Daemon, and you can feel yourself wilting, becoming pitiful, vulnerable, needy. “Where are you going?”

He smirks as he stalks past you. “Wherever I want.” Then he passes through the doorway and out into the hall, flanked by the ever-grim Edward Rushton, black suits and polished leather shoes.

It’s midday on April 12th, and you and Fern are now alone in the Targaryen staterooms. Laenor is down on F-Deck enjoying the Squash Racquet Court with his new Parisian companions, Rhaenyra is in the Reading and Writing Room with a group of ladies led by the Countess of Rothes, and Dagmar has taken Draco…somewhere. Meanwhile, your sweet-tempered maid is flitting around making beds and collecting empty cups and soiled linens. “Fern?” you call.

She peeks out of Draco’s bedroom. “Yes, ma’am? Do you need something?”

To leap overboard and swim back to Ireland. “Would you like to take a stroll around the Promenade Deck with me? Breathe some fresh air, look for dolphins and whales, have lunch at the Verandah Cafe?”

Fern is apologetic in that soft, skittish way that she has. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I have to finish cleaning the rooms before Dagmar comes back.”

She doesn’t say why—that would be insubordinate—but you know. Just like on the family crest, the dragon has three heads: Daemon, Draco, Dagmar. All must be appeased lest their fire turn you to ash. And Fern lives in terror of the gaunt Scandinavian tyrant. “Right. I understand.”

“I should be done in an hour or two. When you return from your walk, I’ll make you tea.”

“You’re too kind.”

She is confused. “It’s my job, ma’am.”

“Still, I’m glad you’re the one doing it.”

Fern smiles, small and hesitant. “Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy your walk.”

Outside on the Promenade Deck, the sun is bright and the wind brisk, just warm enough to forego a coat, black mink or white ermine or grey rabbit or reddish fox, pelts harvested, creatures butchered. Your dress is a cheerful yellow, as if attempting to conjure the golden-haired magic of the Targaryens, their willfulness, their invincibility, their habit of bending the world’s truth in their hands until it snaps. Yet none of them are here with you; you are alone, you are unnecessary. As you walk, you pass women reading novels on teak deckchairs, children playing with spinning tops and dominoes under the watchful eyes of fathers and governesses, men smoking cigars as they debate business and politics and which gemstones they should purchase for their sweethearts. You have to get away from them.

You take the Grand Staircase up to the Boat Deck, the highest level of the ship, and to distract yourself you count the covered lifeboats that are stowed there. This does not assuage your anxiety; you see only twenty, and while you have made a practice of avoiding sailing and therefore are no expert on the issue, this does not seem like enough. You go to the railing—about as tall as your waist—and lean over it as you stare, thoughts troubled and brow furrowed, into the wild, uninterrupted blue of the North Atlantic, five hundred miles from the coast of Ireland. To your left is a man painting a sheet of paper clipped to an easel, a palette held in his hand, viscous globs of color from small silvery tubes. Seventy feet below where you stand is the sea, thrashing against Titanic, a wood-and-steel intruder. You lean a little farther over the side of the ship. The water is cold, you imagine; cold, deep, dark, silent.

If I fell in, this would all be over, you think. No more Daemon. No more anyone. The only people who would miss me are my parents, and they’ll never see me again anyway.

But no; you cannot abandon Draco. He’s a piece of you, even if he doesn’t know it. You cannot allow him to become a monster.

The viola player peeks out from behind his easel. “Not thinking about jumping, are you?”

You gasp, startled, and then cover your face as you groan. “Why are you always out here?!”

“Aw, fancy rock lady needs a member of the perpetual underclass to malign,” he says as he adds brushstrokes to his painting. He has procured a suit somehow—black, slightly too big for him, likely stolen—to better masquerade as a first-class passenger. “What’s the matter, rock lady? Did your servants not put enough sugar in your tea this morning? Did they tug a little too hard as they brushed your hair?”

“You’re not well mentally. You need a straightjacket.”

“I’m not the one about to throw myself into the Atlantic Ocean.”

You glare at him, bitter, defensive. “I wasn’t going to jump.”

“Then what were you doing?”

You can’t answer; you wring your hands and press your lips together so tightly they ache, watch dark smoke billow from the nearest funnel, coal shoveled into blazing furnaces, treasures of the earth extracted like teeth and consumed.

“Hey, I didn’t, um…” The viola player lowers his paintbrush, repentant. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you.”

You ask to change the subject: “What are you painting?”

“People,” he says, grinning, then turns his easel to show you. It’s a father holding his daughter so she can look over the railing and pointing to show her something out in the waves, dolphins, perhaps. His work is excellent, you are surprised to see: wispy curls of hair, irises alight with emotion, shadows and wrinkles and cheeks ruddy from gusts of wind, imperfections of reality.

“It’s good,” you manage once you’ve gotten your bearings.

“And of course you’re shocked.” He points to a scuffed brown leather portfolio resting against one leg of the easel. “I have plenty more, if you’re interested.”

You open the portfolio. There are men worriedly counting coins, women waiting on park benches, children beaming as they feed ducks or tend to their dolls, people giggling and scowling and burning up with clandestine longing, people sipping drinks in smoky pubs. In the bottom right corner of each painting is a moniker for the subject: Crystal, Big Red, Sunshine, Baron, Carnation, Tiny, Mars, Archer, Harpist, Pennies, Henry VIII, Belfast Belle. Unwittingly, you smile to yourself. “You give them names.”

“I watch people, but I don’t usually talk to them,” the viola player explains as he dabs thick oil paint on the paper clipped to the easel, treated to resemble the texture of linen. “I like to catch them unawares. Keeps the moment genuine, truthful. Otherwise they start acting for me.”

“Why paper instead of canvas?”

“Easier to travel with. Lighter and less bulky.”

You recall what he told Daemon at O’Connell’s Bar back in Galway: Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact. You gingerly slide his paintings back into the portfolio and tease: “Who do you think you are, Picasso?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. His sand-colored hair trashes in the wind that blows off the ocean, salt and mist. “I am under no such delusion. I’ve met him, though.”

You gawk at the viola player. “You’ve…you’ve met Pablo Picasso?”

“Yeah,” he says casually. “In Barcelona. I love his Blue and Rose Period stuff. Now he’s doing some weird cubism bullshit.” The viola player shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s his art, he can paint what he wants. But I prefer something a little more…real.”

“I do too,” you confess. “I went to Paris once with my parents. I saw some of Picasso’s work in a gallery, but he wasn’t there at the time. I bought a few paintings.”

“Which ones?”

“Mother and Child from 1905. Flowers from 1901.” You hesitate. It’s a bit scandalous. “Blue Nude.”

But the viola player neither cringes nor makes a joke. “I remember that one,” he says softly, watching you. After a moment he asks: “Are they hanging in your rooms?”

“They’re in a trunk. Daemon doesn’t like them.” And the animosity in your voice is an act of treason, however small. You glance around for Daemon, Rush, Dagmar, Rhaenyra, Laenor, and thankfully find none of them. You avert your eyes, ashamed. A husband you hate, and fear, and obey, and lie awake at night conspiring how to please.

There is something that ripples across the viola player’s face—sympathy, distress—and then he resumes putting the final touches on his portrait of two unnamed passengers. “Do you paint?”

You laugh. “Very badly.”

He offers you the paintbrush, saturated with a reddish-gold color like dusk. “You can help me fill in the man’s scarf. That’s hard to fuck up.”

Your jaw falls open.

“That’s hard to mess up,” he amends.

Smiling shyly, you take the paintbrush and add a few tentative strokes to the scarf. The viola player accepts the paintbrush when you forfeit it.

“So besides making awful paintings, how did you spend your time back in Galway?”

Reminding my father who he is. Taking long walks through the fields with my mother. Sitting in the garden wondering how my life went so wrong. Trying to stop my only child from becoming a demon like his father. “I read a lot. Mostly Edgar Allan Poe, Jane Austen, and Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare?” he echoes, amused. “Recite some for me.”

You take a moment to decide on a passage.

“Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own,

And I as rich in having such a jewel

As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,

The water nectar and the rocks pure gold.”

“The Two Gentlemen of Verona,” the viola player says, much to your amazement. He’s a thief holding a third-class ticket, and yet he’s learned. This is rare outside the blue-blooded aristocrats and the titans of industry. Fern can barely read and write.

“Where were you educated?”

“The world,” he replies, grinning.

“And the world included lessons on Shakespeare?”

“Sure, sometimes.”

“Alright then, let’s hear an excerpt.”

He considers this, tapping the handle of his paintbrush against his lips. Then he says:

“My crown is in my heart, not on my head;

Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,

Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:

A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.”

“King Henry VI,” you say, admittedly impressed. “I didn’t know poor people read Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare’s plays were written for everyone, fancy rock lady. Standing tickets at the Globe cost pennies.”

You study the viola player as he paints, feeling a bewildering combination of curiosity, amusement, fondness. “What’s your name?”

He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say, then gives you a sly, crooked grin as he replies: “Picasso.”

Now a steward is approaching, and the viola player is alarmed, perhaps anticipating being revealed as a fraud and dragged back to the third-class accommodations; but the steward is only passing by with a tray full of champagne flutes, offering them to illustrious passengers as they stroll the decks. You take two glasses and he continues on his way. You down one flute in just a few gulps and offer the other to the viola player. He smiles politely but does not reach for it.

“Thank you, but I don’t drink.”

“Really?” Have you ever met a man who doesn’t? You can’t think of one. And you are suddenly aware of how quickly you finished your champagne—unladylike, improper, but surely no great disgrace in front of this audience—and how yearningly you’re already glancing at the second glass, carbonated amber, fool’s gold.

“I’m not someone who can stop at just one or two,” the viola player says. “I’ve learned that about myself. Tried to fight it for a while, turns out acceptance is easier. I hardly even miss booze anymore.”

“How long did you fight it?”

“Ten years.”

You are caught off-guard. “What? How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

Since he was thirteen? Can that be right? “We’re about the same age,” you say instead, taking a distracted swig from the glass that would have been his.

“Yeah,” the viola player agrees thoughtfully.

You finish the champagne and hand both glasses to a passing steward. “I should go,” you tell the viola player. “I don’t know where Daemon is on the ship, and…” I don’t want him to see us. I don’t want him to hurt me.

“Sure. I get it.”

“Good luck with your painting.”

“I’ll make one of you next,” he promises, and you’re certain he’s joking.

You smile and turn to leave. “Whatever you say, Picasso.”

You walk towards the Grand Staircase that leads back down to the Promenade Deck. As you pass the Gymnasium, you steal a glimpse through one of the windows and see them inside: Draco giggling as he rides the electric horse and yanks gleefully on the reins, Dagmar beaming as her gnarled, arthritic hands hold him by the waist so he doesn’t slide off.

You lay your palm against the cold glass, separated by a few steps that might as well be miles, wreckage peering up through the darkness from the bottom of the sea.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fern helps you dress for dinner: a glittering gold gown, a tiger’s eye amulet from Burma. Laenor has brought a companion, one of the Parisians he’s become so well-acquainted with, a count’s son named Hugo. As Laenor is preoccupied, Daemon escorts Rhaenyra to the First-Class Dining Saloon down in D-Deck. They meander together, her arm linked through his, murmuring gossip about the other passengers and snickering contemptuously. You trail behind them, feeling invisible, a sun that casts no warmth.

All around you are other first-class passengers descending the Grand Staircase: Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress two decades his junior, John Jacob Astor and his pregnant eighteen-year-old wife, railroad tycoons Charles M. Hays and John B. Thayer, steel industrialist George Dennick Wick, the glamorous Countess of Rothes, the newly-wealthy Margaret Brown, the eminent journalist W.T. Stead, the White Star Line’s managing director J. Bruce Ismay. But your gaze keeps drifting to Macy’s department store owner Isidor Straus and his wife Ida, neither young, neither beautiful, and yet so evidently devoted to each other. You wonder how that feels; surely nothing like a bruise, a reproach, a back turned to you in the marriage bed.

On the A-Deck landing of the Grand Staircase is the viola player, his horsehair bow gliding over four thick strings to loose an energetic, jubilant song, standing there in his suit that no one else notices is too big for him because they don’t really see him at all. He is less than a fixture of the ship; the first-class passengers marvel at the glass-and-wrought-iron dome overhead and the Neoclassical clock on the wall and even the bronze cherub statue at the base of the steps, but the flesh-and-blood machinery of Titanic wears a sort of camouflage, unremarkable and interchangeable, uncomfortably human. The viola player gives you a wink and a quick, subtle smile as you pass by him, and you smile back. And for a moment, it is like you have a friend aboard the ship, a groundswell of fleeting joy, gratefulness, peace.

Dinner is oysters, salmon with hollandaise, corned ox tongue, chateau potatoes, asparagus soup, Waldorf pudding, other things that you pick at without much interest. You miss Lough Cutra Castle, you miss your parents, you miss Ireland, you miss your life before Daemon Targaryen stalked into it with his ever-glinting green eyes and his talent for making you so desperate to satisfy him. Instead of eating, you mostly drink champagne, draining glasses of it until your cheeks are warm and your thoughts hazy. You look around for the viola player, but he never appears in the First-Class Dining Saloon. Instead, the five-piece string ensemble that welcomed you aboard Titanic yesterday is playing Alexander’s Ragtime Band.

Daemon has invited a guest to share your table, chief designer of the ship Mr. Thomas Andrews. He is gracious and even-tempered, exactly the sort of man Daemon likes to entrap and enchant and have his way with. As you drown in champagne, Daemon tells Mr. Andrews about surviving a hurricane while mining Larimar in the Dominican Republic, domesticating a ring-tailed lemur in Madagascar (Daemon had named it Aegon and kept it on a leash), getting lost for three days in the Australian Outback and resorting to eating snakes and dingoes, bludgeoned to death with rocks and roasted over campfires. Rhaenyra observes all of this with a proud, radiant smile, encouraging Daemon with nods and oddly girlish giggles. Laenor, meanwhile, is chatting with Hugo and paying little attention to anything else. He and Rhaenyra have three young sons back in England, though they resemble Laenor Velaryon far less than they do Harwin Strong, Viserys the Duke of Beaufort’s former Master of the Horse and Rhaenyra’s rumored lover. The virile, dark-haired Harwin Strong was killed last year in an unfortunate riding accident, whereupon Daemon rekindled his previously strained relationship with Rhaenyra in the interests of helping her cope with the loss. As it turned out, Daemon’s niece had grown up to be much the same as he is—daring, sarcastic, charismatic, incorrigible—and as if you didn’t have enough difficulty winning his affection before, now you must compete with his kindred spirit, a golden-haired wildfire only a few years older than you and who Daemon can delightedly torment his estranged brother with by capturing her in his orbit.

Daemon is saying, his elbows on the table and miming clutching a massive gemstone in his palm: “As a famed French fashion critic once wrote, The jewel, which is so well adapted to a woman’s adornment, is a combination of the riches of nature and art.”

“Not just any fashion critic,” you say without thinking, the champagne parting your lips before you can reconsider. “Charles Blanc. And I’m the one who gave you his book, remember? It was one of my wedding presents to you.”

Everyone turns to stare at you, as if abruptly being made aware of your existence. Laenor and Hugo appear puzzled. Rhaenyra is frowning with disapproval. Mr. Andrews nods politely. Daemon, after a moment, chuckles in that low, rolling, sardonic way that he does.

“Yes, dear, you certainly did. Clearly it made an impression.” He looks to Mr. Andrews. “You’ll have to forgive my wife, good sir. I’m afraid she has a weakness for champagne.”

“Don’t we all?” Mr. Andrews replies diplomatically.

“The truth is,” Dameon says as if he’s confiding in the shipbuilder; and yet there’s an exhilaration he can’t entirely disguise, a malicious triumph, proof of the power he has over you. “She’s petrified of sailing, has been for years. And this journey…well…it’s been quite an ordeal for her. But under no uncertain terms was I leaving Ireland without my family. Where I go, we all go.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about your rattled nerves, Lady Targaryen.” Mr. Andrews’ eyes are soft with pity for you, a neurotic and illogical woman, tortured by her own nature. “Is there anything I can say to alleviate your fears? Have you been on a ship that’s run into trouble before?”

“No, no sir, I just…” You push through the warm, amber-gold fog of the champagne to explain. “I’ve never been able to stop thinking of all the water beneath us, and a ship…even one as large and luxurious as Titanic…it seems too vulnerable to me. One puncture and we all go straight to the seafloor.”

“That’s why I built Titanic with watertight bulkheads that go up to E-Deck,” Mr. Andrews says, smiling reassuringly. “There are sixteen total, and the ship can stay afloat with several of them flooded. This is meant to contain any possible breach in the hull.”

“Oh, how ingenious!” Laenor exclaims. “Hugo, isn’t that extraordinary?”

Mr. Andrews continues: “Truly, Lady Targaryen, I have built you an unsinkable ship. You have nothing to worry about here on Titanic.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Daemon agrees.

“And there are lifeboats, I suppose,” you say. “Although…I didn’t see very many up on the Boat Deck. What is their total capacity, I wonder…?”

“Over 1,000 souls, ma’am,” Mr. Andrews replies.

You are horrified. “That’s half the people onboard.”

“Yes,” he concedes. “But as I said, Titanic cannot sink.” Again, he smiles blithely. “Besides, in the event of an evacuation—engine failure or damaged propellers or some such thing—the lifeboats would only be needed to ferry passengers from Titanic to the vessel we’d hail to rescue us with the wireless telegraph machine. The lifeboats were never intended to be able to hold all the passengers at once, that would be absurd.”

“Impossible,” Daemon concurs. “What on earth would necessitate a swift and total evacuation?”

“What about an iceberg?” Hugo says as he eats a heaping spoonful of Waldorf pudding, vanilla custard mixed with nutmeg, apples, walnuts, and raisins.

Mr. Andrews titters patiently, as if this is the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. “No iceberg could damage Titanic enough to flood more than three bulkheads. And we have lookouts employed to spot them and sound the alarm so we can turn in time. Icebergs are not a concern whatsoever.”

“Très bien!” Hugo declares, redirecting his full attention back to his Waldorf pudding.

Mr. Andrews looks to you, his voice kind but patronizing. “Do you feel better now, Lady Targaryen?”

“Much better,” you lie.

“Good. Then no more worrying. And no need to drink yourself under the table either.”

Daemon says with a derisive snort: “Well, she is Irish.”

Everyone laughs; everyone but you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the Targaryen staterooms, Rush is waiting by the door to take your coats. Laenor and Hugo bid everyone goodnight, then depart; Rhaenyra, seemingly reluctantly, takes her leave as well. She and Laenor have separate accommodations as they always do while travelling, not unheard of among first-class passengers but also not helping to dispel the rumors concerning her sons’ parentage.

Dagmar is perched on one of the sofas like a falcon on a branch, her talonlike fingers knitting a forest green blanket for Draco. Your son, meanwhile, is sprawled on the sitting room floor and at war with Fern, who is trying to coax him out of his shoes and day clothes and into his pajamas.

“Draco, please, my love, it’s time to get ready for bed now—”

“I want to go back to the Gymnasium!” he screeches, wriggling out of her grasp. From the sofa, Dagmar chuckles as if this is charming behavior, a portent of superb athletic fitness, perhaps. “I want to ride the horsey!”

Fern is exasperated. “Darling, the Gymnasium is closed, no one is allowed to use it any more tonight. But I promise you’ll be able to go back tomorrow—”

“No!” Draco shrieks. “Now! Right now!”

Fern finally manages to slip off one of his shoes, and faster than anyone can stop him, Draco draws back his hand and slaps her across the face, open palm, a sharp crack in the air, and of course he’s too young and too weak to do anything but stun her, but he won’t be four years old forever.

One day he’ll be able to hurt people. He’ll be able to break them, bruise them, ruin their lives.

“No!” you shout, then bolt to Draco and drop to the floor to hold him by his frail little shoulders, firm yet careful not to harm him, no scratches, no bruises, no pools of trapped blood that will ache with violent memory. “You never do that! You don’t hurt people! You don’t hit women!”

“Mam?” Draco whimpers, his lips quivering and tears shimmering in his eyes; and he almost never calls you that, he almost never acknowledges you as his mother at all. But he knows, he must, this proves it. “I’m sorry…I won’t do it again…please don’t yell at me…”

Immediately remorseful, you embrace him, and Draco clings to you as he sobs. Fern is watching you with huge, frightened eyes; then they flick to someone standing behind you.

Rush grabs you by both arms and wrenches you away. You yelp in shock and pain; Dagmar swoops in to take Draco and vanishes into his bedroom, glaring at you over her shoulder, frigid lethal fury. Fern is covering her mouth with her hands so she won’t scream.

Rush hurls you to the carpet and backs away. When you look up, Daemon is standing in the doorway of your bedroom, orange dusk-like light spilling out from behind him.

“Come here,” Daemon says, beckoning you with his right hand.

You are terrified; you are shaking. “No.”

“The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

“No,” you say again. You glance at Fern, but she can’t help you; she turns away, stifling a cry with her palms. The room is spinning, your thoughts are slow, your skull aches with rhythmic pulses like blows from a hammer. You peer up at Rush, blinking blearily. “Do you like working for a man who beats his wife?”

Rush doesn’t reply; his face is grave but otherwise unreadable. Fern curls up on the floor, shaking her head. The taxidermied tiger head roars silently from above the crackling fireplace.

Daemon says from the doorway: “Dear, I’m losing my patience.”

There’s nowhere else to go. You crawl towards him, then at the halfway point stagger to your feet. Daemons steps aside so you can cross through the threshold. He closes the door and locks it. You stare at him, swaying a bit, your hands hovering in front of you. You’re trying to figure out where he’s going to hit you, but he’s good at not letting on, and you’re drunk. You guess stomach, but it’s your face, just like Draco struck Fern; his open palm sets your cheek on fire and rocks your head back. You lunge for him, fingers clawing and knuckles jabbing at his ribs. Sometimes you fight back and sometimes you don’t—occasionally he finds it endearing and leaves you alone, more often it exacerbates the situation—but tonight you are overwhelmed with wrath for this man who has taken everything from you, your home, your parents, your son, your future.

You shove Daemon into his writing desk, then he pins you to the wall, slides open a drawer of the desk with his free hand, pulls out his gemstone-studded dagger and lays the blade against your windpipe. And you scream, because for all his roughness and his threats Daemon has never done this before. No one appears to rescue you; no one would dare.

“You will not correct Draco,” Daemon says. “He is my son, and I will deal with him.”

You seethe, teeth bared: “I don’t want him to be like you.”

“Think about it, dear,” Daemon hisses, the blade cold against your throat. You can feel it stinging, a thin slice like a papercut you’ll have to cover with makeup tomorrow. “We’re on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. If you were to take a tumble over the railing, who could say if it was an accident or a suicide or a crime of opportunity committed by some third-class scoundrel? There would be nothing to investigate. You would be gone, and that would be the end of it. Draco is past the fragile years of infancy, he is healthy and he is fierce. Your father’s quarry is already under the control of my managers. What do I need you for now? Why the fuck would I tolerate any further obstinance from you? Your usefulness has come and gone. You stand on the thinnest of ice. One wrong step, and you’ll find it splintering beneath your feet.”

He lifts the dagger away and strides out of the bedroom. You stand there in the tawny lamplight like a sunset, trembling all over, gasping for air, your hands flying up to your neck. When you check your fingers, they are sticky and copper-smelling with a small amount of blood.

He could have killed me. I think he wanted to.

There is a tall oval mirror by the bed, its frame gilded and glowing in the ochre lamplight. You stare at yourself, tears flooding down your cheeks, a gold dress worth more than you are. Everything you own is Daemon’s. That will be true for as long as he lives.

You flee out onto the small private deck attached to your rooms, through the back exit, and into the labyrinthian hallways of B-Deck. You run towards the stern of the ship, dodging stewards who ask if you need assistance and men sauntering back from the First-Class Smoking Room after dinner, puffing on their pipes and their cigars, nursing stout glasses of brandy to keep them warm. When you break out into the open air, it is bitterly cold. The ocean is a vast lightless void; you could mistake it for nothingness if it wasn’t for the thunderous rumble and salt spray of the waves. Your gleaming gold dress billows around you as you sprint to the metal railing that encloses the stern, grip the top rung with shaking hands, stare down into the roiling depths churned by the propellers.

Where can I go? There’s nowhere to go. There’s nowhere else to run to.

“Hey,” the viola player says; you recognize his voice immediately.

You turn away, not wanting him to see the swelling on your face, the traces of blood at your throat. You are heartbroken, you are humiliated. You agreed to marry a man and now he’s ruined your life. You wrap your bare arms around yourself and sniffle, shivering, swiping tears from your eyes.

After a while, the viola player says cautiously, realizing you aren’t in the mood for disclosures: “It’s cold tonight.”

“Obviously.”

He takes off his black wool coat, presumably stolen like the suit he wears underneath, and offers it to you. “I have more layers on.”

“I don’t want you to be cold.”

“Please shut up and take the coat, okay?” You accept it and put it on, and instantly you begin to feel better. The viola player asks gently: “Does he hit you?”

You shrug, petulant like a child. “Sometimes I hit him back.”

The viola player sighs, but he’s not just disappointed; he’s saddened, he’s pained. “Look, I know what it’s like to get knocked around. That’s why I left home.”

You remember what he told you when you first realized he’d followed you onto Titanic: I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit. “Why would you ever want to see them again?”

“Things are different now. I’m older, I’m not afraid to walk out and be on my own, I’m confident that I can advocate for myself better than before. And they aren’t all bad. I have…” He hesitates. “I have two brothers and a sister in New York, and I miss them.”

“What are their names?”

“Um,” he stops to think. Clearly he’s making them up. “Arnold, Henrietta, and Dean.”

“Do you actually have siblings or is this some sort of metaphor?”

He laughs. “No, they’re real. The names might not be, but the people are. Want to see your painting?”

“You were serious?”

He carefully pulls it out of the brown leather portfolio he’s carrying under one arm. And if it’s supposed to be you, he’s failed, but still the image is mesmerizing: a young woman—too beautiful, far too beautiful—glancing over at him from where she was pondering the waves under a clear midday sky, her hair in disarray from the wind and her eyes fearful, an oil-paint snapshot of desperation, defenselessness, wonder, hope.

“It’s very nice,” you say at last. “But I don’t look like that.”

“Yeah you do.”

You examine the bottom right corner of the painting to see what he’s named you. You skim your thumbprint feather-lightly over black cursive letters, drawn with the smallest of brushes. “Petra,” you murmur.

The viola player says self-consciously, as if hoping you’ll approve: “It’s Greek for rock.”

You smile faintly. “I know what it means.”

“Oh, fancy rock lady took Greek lessons in school.”

“Of course I did.”Greek, Latin, French, Irish Gaelic. You muse softly, still studying the painting: “Petra and Picasso.”

You don’t have to look at him; you can hear the grin in his voice. “Guess we’re friends now, huh?”

“I’ve never had a poor friend before.”

“Well, firstly, you can’t call me your poor friend. That’s offensive.”

With great unwillingness, you surrender the painting and give it back to the viola player. “I can’t keep this. I’m sorry, I want to. But Daemon might find it.” And then he’ll push me overboard and I’ll be dinner for the sharks.

He tucks the painting safely into his portfolio. “I’ll hold onto it for now.”

“Forever, you mean.”

“You might not always have to worry about Daemon.”

You share a dark, horrible truth: “I’ll never be free of him.”

“We’ll see,” the viola player replies, undaunted.

We’ll see.

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter fifteen

Summary: After the sudden deaths of her mother and grandmother, y/n is forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke her heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, she vows to get to the bottom of her former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what she’s expecting.

a/n: Will I remain posting regularly? That remains to be seen by everyone, myself included....Because every single time I say something, I end up accidentally not posting for weeks. Anyways, enjoy!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.7k

Two nights later, all Bruce could think about was that Alfred had been right. 

He should have told y/n the truth while he had the chance.

“Where are you going?” 

A full day had passed since y/n found the picture in the elevator, and she half-expected Bruce’s voice to be a dream when she turned around. She hadn’t slept much, except for a brief few hours where her body literally had shut down and forced her into unconsciousness. Fear was her constant companion, but now, when she turned to see Bruce standing behind her with his arms crossed, anger cut through the fog of fear like a spear of flame. 

She mirrored his stance and crossed her own arms. “I’m going to let it slide since we’re all stressed, but try to boss me around again and see what happens.” 

Both of their jaws were clenched tightly shut. 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. She could practically hear the words come out of his mouth, That’s not an answer. 

“I asked Gordon to come up,” she finally said, caving, though the anger still simmered below the surface. The nerve that Bruce Wayne had to barely be home, to barely care about her, and still try to boss her around all the same. She was this close to punching him in the face or pushing him down the stairs. Or maybe she would pour ice cubes in his bed next time he was asleep. “And if you’re going to bother me every single time I’m next to the fucking elevator, think again.”

Bruce relaxed marginally, completely ignoring her barbed comment–which was probably for the best. She had no energy left to really fight, anyways. 

Most of that energy had gone towards a preliminary article she had just submitted about the Gallo family. She hadn’t released any details about her involvement with them, merely reporting the fact that they were trying to make a move on Gotham. 

She had debated doing the article at all. Was it better to pretend like nothing was happening? Was it better to keep her head down and wait for it to resolve itself, whether because of Gordon and the Batman or through the Gallos finally getting to her? 

But then she realized that the people of Gotham deserved the truth, or at least as much of it she could get away with. She was already a target, but she didn’t need everyone else knowing that. 

So she had simply decided to send an article to print that Gotham was on the brink of another mob takeover, just like all of the business with Falcone and Maroni and everyone else who had corrupted their city. 

If only half of the city shared her views, y/n knew that they wouldn’t be happy with someone else trying to worm their way into their city. Gotham might be a shithole, but it was their shithole. 

The moment she had hit send, it had hit her. 

She didn’t want to be a sitting duck. She wanted to do something about it. She wanted those bastards gone. She wanted the work Bella Real and the Batman and cops like Gordon had done in the last year to stick–or at least have the chance of doing so. 

She had called Gordon, told him she wanted to talk over some things, that she needed company anyways. 

And now there she was, staring down the man who had broken her heart, waiting on Gordon to arrive on the elevator behind her. 

“Gordon and I are going to have a private conversation,” she said pointedly as the elevator doors slid open behind her. 

“Y/n,” Gordon said in greeting, but she still didn’t turn around. She and Bruce were still in the middle of their standoff. “Mr. Wayne. Good to see you again, at least under more…normal circumstances than last time.” 

She raised an eyebrow at Bruce. She could tell he wanted to argue, wanted to stick around and stick his nose even further into her business. But after a long silence, he inclined his head and said, “Detective,” before turning and disappearing back the way he had come. 

Once Bruce was safely out of earshot, she gave Gordon her full attention and said what had been on her mind the past couple of hours. Or, if she was being completely honest, the past several days.

“I want you to use me as bait, and I don’t want you to argue about it. I want you to help me actually figure out how to get rid of these motherfuckers.” She crossed her arms again for good measure.  

Gordon sighed, long and loud. She expected an argument or a lecture or a combination of the two. But instead, all he said was, “We better bring our other friend into this discussion.” 

–

“Absolutely not,” was the very first thing the Batman said when she laid out her plan. 

“Yeah, well, as I like to point out to certain other people in my life, you’re not the boss of me. I’m going to do something stupid with or without your help, because I am fucking sick of this. Alright? I can’t live like this.” She shivered as a particularly brutal gust of wind cut through her. 

They were on top of the signal tower. She and Gordon had decided together that it was easier to smuggle her out than it would be to smuggle Batman in. Besides, she didn’t want those two parts of her life mixing. God forbid Bruce find out what she was up to. She was arguing with him enough already. 

Not to mention the fact that she didn’t want to disappoint Alfred, or cause him any more stress than she already had. 

The smuggling had taken a willing female detective–a nice woman in her late thirties name Lori Ayers–trading places with y/n. They were relatively the same height and build luckily enough, and Detective Ayers was already assigned to the security on Wayne Tower. An outfit switch, a fake detective badge, and lots of praying later, and there they were. Y/n had asked Gordon and Ayers if she could have a gun, but both of them had practically shouted no in her face. 

Gordon held up his hands, ever the peacekeeper. “Listen, man, I’m not saying we should put her in any unnecessary danger, but–” 

“The whole idea is unnecessary danger!” The Batman cut in. His voice echoed in the darkness of the night around them. 

Gordon continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “–but all I’m saying is that we aren’t any closer to catching these guys. None of us are. So if we can do something we know will draw them out…why not do it?” Gordon gave her a wry look. “And, like she said, it’s probably better to have us for backup before she does anything stupid on her own.” 

Y/n gave Batman a triumphant look as if to say See? I’m right. 

She studied him while he worked his jaw in annoyance. Was he sick of looking out for her? Because she was certainly sick of needing to be looked out for. She wanted to end it. 

“Fine,” he said, the word a growl he spat out. She tried to resist pumping her fist in the air, she really did. He gave her a Look with a capital L that had her lowering it immediately. “But let me just–let me follow this last lead, alright? If it doesn’t pan out, we’ll make a plan. Give me tonight before you do anything stupid.” 

She nodded eagerly. “Great, fine. I needed to get out of the house anyway.” Gordon was also giving her a Look. “What?” she said a bit defensively. 

“You’re awfully upbeat for someone who wants to offer herself up for bait to the mob.” He raised one dark eyebrow above the frames of his glasses. 

She shrugged. “Well, I have cabin fever, so this helped my mood immensely. Plus, the end is in sight. It’s about to be over, one way or another.” 

Later, when she thought back to that moment, she would wonder if she had jinxed it. Or maybe she was simply jinxed all along, one thing leading to another, leading to its inevitable end. Leading to the only possible way it could play out. Her luck, ever since stepping foot back in Gotham–and even before then, ever since Alfred had knocked on her apartment door–had been nonexistent. 

“One last lead,” Batman repeated, holding her gaze steadily for once. Something ran through her like an electric current at that look. Like he was trying to tell her something. 

“One last lead,” she said, crossing her heart for good measure. “I promise I’ll be good.” 

Gordon chuckled like he didn’t quite believe her. “Alright, let’s get back.” 

“I’ll follow you,” Batman said, interrupting her thoughts of how she was going to get Gordon to sneak her past Bruce and Alfred both. She hadn’t told either of them she was leaving, and she didn’t want to think about what they would say to her if they found out. It would only make her life that much harder. 

Her ride back with Gordon was mostly quiet. 

“Where did you get this fake badge anyways?” she asked when Wayne Tower’s doors finally came into view. She toyed with it, noting all the ways it looked like the real deal. Maybe she could hold onto it…just in case. 

“Confiscated it from a kid caught forging all kinds of stuff, including badges she used to get classified materials.” 

She. Interesting. Sounded like somebody y/n would like to hang out with. 

She didn’t say any of that out loud, however. All she did was hum and put the badge back on her belt. 

“And no, I won’t give you her name,” Gordon said. Their eyes met and they both laughed in tandem. 

“Fine, fine. I might be able to find it on my own anyway.” She winked. 

They parked in an alley where Gordon or the other detectives on stakeout duty usually parked. As they stepped out into the cold air, Gordon’s phone rang. 

“Just a second,” he said, stepping further towards the mouth of the alley. “I have to take this. Don’t move.” He pointed at threatening finger at her. She held up both hands in surrender. 

He needn’t have worried–the sound of an approaching motorcycle reached her ears as Batman pulled into the alley behind them. The noise reverberated off of the building walls for a moment before abruptly shutting off. Gordon locked eyes with him, inclined his head, and then answered the phone while striding towards the street ahead. 

“So,” she said casually to Batman as he stood broodily in the shadows. “Think I could have been a detective in another life?” She struck a little pose in her smart, borrowed business suit and trench coat, imagining the fake badge glinting in the low light. 

Batman made a noise that could have been a scoff or a laugh. “Sure, except you would have been fired for repeatedly breaking the rules. And laws.” 

She laughed delightedly. “You’re probably right.” She definitely had chosen the only profession that suited her nosiness and penchant for getting into trouble, something Bruce had pointed out years ago. 

“I’m definitely right.” 

They were closer together than she expected, the toes of their shoes almost touching. She wasn’t sure how that had happened. It was if they had both been drawn in by the other’s gravity, invisible and inevitable. He stared down at her for a moment before, of course, turning his face away. 

“There you go again,” she murmured as she memorized the line of his jaw. “Scared to look me in the eyes.” She reached out and poked his stubbled cheek gently. He froze, but didn’t make a move to step away. 

“I’m scared for you,” he said in an equally soft voice that sent shivers over her skin. “I don’t want you to have to offer yourself up. I don’t like thinking that I might not be able to keep you safe.” 

Y/n felt each of his words sink into her like rocks in a deep lake, sinking down and down and down until they settled at the bottom, heavy in her stomach. She was staring up at him now, their breath mingling, and he was finally, finally looking back. 

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. 

Instead, she did the next best thing. 

She stretched up onto her toes and kissed him. 

He went so still she immediately knew she had overstepped–and had overstepped badly. She quickly pulled away, face on fire, eyes straining to find anything to look at other than the rejection in his eyes. Stupid, that was so stupid. Just because he wanted her safe didn’t mean that he wanted her to kiss him. 

But before she got too far, his gloved hand caught her arm and tugged her closer. And then he was kissing her.

She inhaled deeply, her stomach doing somersaults in a way it had never done before. She was flying above Wayne Tower yet still somehow firmly rooted to the ground. It was like she could finally breathe again and yet somehow she was gasping for breath. His lips were gentle. One of his hands cupped her elbow while the other splayed across her upper back. She wished he had his gloves off, like that moment in another alley on another night. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. 

Then he was gone, a full step away. 

She couldn’t help it–her fingers traced her lips in a daze. 

They were staring at each other, both breathing slightly heavier than they had been before. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Gordon called from behind her somewhere. She couldn’t bring it within herself to care if he had seen or not. Her and the Batman were still staring at each other, in their own world, a seismic shift between them. 

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice low and raspy with want. 

“Be safe,” was all the Batman said as he watched her go. 

Gordon didn’t look at her like he had just seen them kissing, but she felt as if it were written all over her face. 

“Crime never sleeps,” he said to her as they walked the short distance to the doors. His head was constantly swiveling, searching for danger, and she knew a certain vigilante was watching from the shadows as well. 

Her entire body was electric, every nerve ending on fire, heat settling in her face and chest and lower, too. 

For once, she wasn’t wondering about who the Batman was. Her mind had been rendered totally blank by one kiss. She wasn’t even thinking about how he wasn’t Bruce Wayne, like every other kiss of her life. 

Instead it simply felt…right. 

She blinked and they were somehow inside. 

“Blake, can you escort Detective Ayers upstairs? I have to go to a crime scene.” Gordon gave Blake a long, searching look. Y/n knew that the moment the security guard looked up, he would recognize her. 

Sure enough, he did. His face did something complicated before he realized what Gordon said and stammered out, “S-sure. This way, Detective, um, Ayers.” He hit something on the computer keyboard, scrambling, having to hit whatever button it was a second time. 

“See you later,” Gordon said to her, the words full of meaning. 

She turned towards him and nodded. “Goodnight.” 

It felt stupid, pretending to be someone else in the lobby of her home, but they still didn’t know who had breached security two nights earlier. She knew it was better to be safe than sorry, but Blake knew who she was. What was to stop whoever worked for the Gallos from recognizing her as well? She imagined their pub, Maverick’s, covered in hundreds of stalkery photos of her. 

Gordon waved over his shoulder as she and Blake stepped into the elevator. As soon as the doors slid closed, y/n relaxed a bit. Everything was almost over. 

And she had kissed the Batman.

A smile grew on her face before she could stop it. 

When she glanced up, Blake was watching her. 

His upper lip and his hairline were beaded with sweat and he was much paler than normal. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, wondering if maybe he was sick. Something in her gut shivered with warning. 

“I’m so sorry–” he said, the words choked. “I’m so sorry. They have my sister.” 

That’s when she saw the glint of a needle in his hand.

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[thelightsandtheroses]

eight: don't let this darkness fool you

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader.

Chapter summary: after the reappearance of the junction, you try and find a way back to some form of normal Chapter warnings: Reader is a single parent to a teenager, mentions of breakups, discussions of cults/religious movements and violence within these, threat of a gun, tension, lightly implied panic attack/anxiety, 18+ blog mdni, Notes: Chapter title is from Call Your Mom by Noah Kahan (and the song that I personally credit with helping me through a rough patch last year) Thanks for all of your patience with this chapter - my life irl has been hectic but I'm good! Word Count: 3.9k

Previous | Series | Next

You can’t even remember how you got home, but you’re in kitchen and somewhere in Jackson right now Sean is talking to your son, trying to explain it all to him and Beau and Joel are … they’ll have killed Ethan by now.

The loss of power, of agency in your own past’s return to Jackson makes you feel sick. You should be the one talking to Gabe, it should be your final blow to Ethan. This is your mess, this is your life, not theirs. Having others involved feels intrinsically wrong and yet, you’re grateful to have them to share this burden. So grateful.

Maria makes you tea in your kitchen without speaking. She’s told you that you can stay, that’s something. You wonder if she’ll ever truly trust you again though.

You open your mouth but you can’t find the words, you don’t know where to start. You selfishly don’t want to talk about it. You feel tired in your bones, in every single part of your body. It’s a weight pulling you down.

What if Jackson is at risk though?

“Will they come after him here?” Maria finally asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply.

“And you don’t recognise anyone here?”

“I’ve been out of that group for almost seventeen years, Maria, I - I don’t think I would know if they were here. Hell, you could be one of them for all I know.” You laugh bitterly and take a sip of your tea. “I don’t know how much he would have told them, he’s secretive. They could be … I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Maria pauses. If this was a film then this would be the moment where you confess everything, where you bare your soul over tea and cry together. Maria would hug you and tell you everything would be okay, or perhaps say it’s too much, that she was wrong, you do need to leave.

You just have to say something. There are so many conversations you owe people now, Maria included, but in the immediate aftermath you don’t have any words.

Eventually it’s just you in the kitchen with a cold cup of tea and silence as your companion.

You’re alter when Gabriel comes home with Sean and you inwardly count your blessings that he even returned. You wondered if he would.

The silence is protracted and stilted in the kitchen around the three of you. You’re not sure what to expect: anger, upset, hurt, a combination of everything?

Sean has taken his hand of Gabe’s shoulder, has moved to leaning against a counter exactly halfway between you and your son who loiters in the doorway, illuminated by the hallway light.

“We should talk, Gabriel,” you say finally, rising from your chair and placing your cold tea mug down.

“Yeah, I reckon so.” You wonder when he grew up, when he changed from a little boy - your little boy - who believed in myths and legends to the almost man before you. Gabriel folds his arms and looks at the ground. “Was he really -”

“We’re your -” We’re your family you want to say, it’s us and it doesn’t matter about Ethan. He’s irrelevant.

It’s not what he’s asking though and it’s not what you owe him. You are all too aware that one wrong word will send him running like a skittish animal, that every syllable matters right now.

“Yes.”

“I look like him,” he says quietly. “When I looked at him, I could see … I could see it.”

“You look like you,” you say gently, “You’re you and only you, you’re not me and you’re not him.”

Gabriel swallows. “Did - am I-”

“No,” you reply vehemently before he can even finish the sentence.

“So, you don’t regret me?”

You pause, taken aback that your son would ask you this. “You saved my life, Gabriel, I would never regret you. Never.”

“How did I save you?” your son asks, curiosity flashing across his face.

“I knew I was pregnant and I didn’t want that life for you, that’s what gave me the courage to talk to Sean, to find a way out, for something better.” You think maybe with everything that’s happened today, the fact that leaving led to a difficult journey where you gave birth in a bombed-out warehouse and then a more than decade long misadventure in the Kansas QZ can be glossed over. You’re in Jackson, you’re here, right?

“That’s … I didn’t know that.”

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Gabe.”

“But if you had a time machine, if you could erase being with him”

“Then there wouldn’t be you and that’s not a decision I want to erase, that’s not a life I want. Would I have wanted you, just you, in a different world without infected or any of that? Sure, but I’d still want it to be you and without all this around us - maybe you wouldn’t be you and that’s not okay with me. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I - I don’t know what to make of all this. Sean told me … he told me some of it, a lot of it I think, but he said I’d need to talk to you and I want to. I do. I’m just …” Your son looks exhausted, eyes red from crying, his posture more crumpled than you’ve seen it before. “I didn’t know what it was like, I didn’t know why or what or … it’s a lot to take in. There are years, years that you’ve told me different things and it’s all muddled in my head. I’m angry about that, really angry, but I - we can get through it, right? I want us to be honest now, please?”

“Yes. We can talk about it whenever you’re ready,” you say, “I’ll do my best to tell you what I can, Gabe, is that okay? I’m sorry, I’m sorry for all of this.”

He nods.

“I don’t think I can talk about it all any more tonight,” he admits and you exhale slowly. “There’s too much for one night.”

“Today’s been a lot, it’s been … I can’t even imagine how you feel, but I love you so much. Sean and Beau love you and none of that has changed, could ever change in fact. I’m sorry I kept this from you, I wanted to protect you. I never thought something like this, like today would happen.”

“Sean said you all thought this group - you thought that they were around here recently.” Gabriel pauses, “Is that why you broke up with Joel?”

“We needed to be able to prepare, to run if needed. I need you safe.” It’s easier to just stick with that to admit than that being so close to Joel, to this kind and solid man had been too overwhelming throughout it all. That losing him was a suitable sacrifice if you could bargain your family’s safety. That the pain was the appropriate punishment.

“You liked him though,” Gabe says, “you haven’t been like that with a guy for a while. I mean … he’s okay, you were good together or whatever.” From Gabe, this is the highest endorsement any man you have ever dated has received.

“I thought you were at the age where the idea of your parents dating repulsed you?”

“Oh, I am and this conversation is something that’ll I never admit it. I just, I do want you to be happy.”

“You too.” You move closer, wrapping him into a close hug. “You too, kiddo. I was so scared,” you whisper, “I was so scared I’d lost you.”

Relief floods through you, you haven’t lost him, you haven’t.

Maybe there’s a way through this.

Maybe there is a way to stay.

You’re avoiding Joel. You’re avoiding as much of the town as you can actually. In the wake of the Junction’s reappearance to your life, you bunker down in your home like a hurricane is still to come.

It’s been over a week now and your creativity in avoiding the town surely deserves recognition. You’re immune to Gabe’s frowns now, to the whispered conversations between Beau and Sean.

You can’t face it yet.

This isn’t permanent. You know you should speak to Maria and Tommy, to offer some sort of guidance on how to tell if the cult is entrenched in Jackson, rotting your home away from the inside, but Sean seems to be handling that for you now. Everyone around you is treating like a wounded animal, afraid of you either self-destructing or lashing out.

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do now, you’re not sure what comes next.

The bench calls to you.

You find yourself walking there without thought. You need peace, you need to be in a place where the buzzing in your mind can quieten down and where you can avoid prying eyes that mean well. If Sean looks at you one more time with those giant sympathetic eyes of his, you might scream.

You didn’t expect the bench would be occupied.

“It’s okay,” Joel says as soon as he sees you, “I can go if you want to be alone.”

“No, no,” you say quietly, “I want you to stay, Joel.”

You did that to him.

Guilt courses through your body and you look away from his careful gaze immediately.

It’s quiet at this time of night. So quiet. Even the wind is still tonight and while this serene silence would usually bring you peace, tonight is different. You can feel the weight of all the words you should say, and can’t say, and want to say in your stomach.

You sit down next to him, not meeting his gaze and instead remaining transfixed to the night sky ahead.

“I’m sorry you had to do this,” you finally say, pointing at his hand, “does it - does it hurt?” It’s not the question Joel expected, or even you for that matter.

“Hey,” Joel carefully reaches to touch your arm and then hesitantly withdraws, clasping his hands in his lap instead. “It’s not on you.”

“You can’t mean that,” you protest, “if I had said something to Maria, if I had stopped him before-”

“You can’t do this to yourself,” Joel says firmly, “Trust me, you did - you made the best choices you could then, right? Not just for you, but for your kid and that’s got to be enough. It has to be.” There’s something desperate in his expression, something you can’t understand because his reaction feels too vehement, too firm for the occasion. “You did what you did for your kid and I can’t argue with that, no one can.“

“But I could have changed things. We might still be in danger because of me.”

“We can’t live like that, can’t punish ourselves for things we’d never have known. None of us can. Not now, and certainly not before. It won’t help you. Trust me.” Joel exhales. “I spent years agonising over decisions, over every single move I made the night that - that Sarah - I went through everything I did, what I should have done. If I’d just bought the damn cake, if I hadn’t picked up Tommy, if I hadn’t worked a double. Maybe I could have made a different turning, or I coulda said something else to the soldier and then it would be different. I spent years on that.” Joel exhales. “I tore myself up every way I could over it.”

“It was an accident. It was a tragedy,” you say, “it wasn’t joining a damned cult, or dragging your best friend into it too.”

“And how’d you have known that then?”

“I know, I know all this. Logically it makes sense but it just can’t - I can’t make it fit in my head.” You sigh. “I have blood on my hands.”

Joel looks at his own hands before he speaks, “I don’t think anyone who’s alive now doesn’t.”

“You and Beau shouldn’t have had to -”

“I don’t want a man like that near Ellie, near my town, near the people I lo - care about,” Joel says simply. “Beau was of a similar view.”

“What - no, I - is it wrong I don’t want to know?”

Joel looks at you seriously and shakes his head. “Not at all, not at all.”

“Still, I’m sorry you got dragged into this. I mean, we’re not - not anymore. You shouldn’t have been obligated or anything.”

“Beau let something slip earlier,” Joel says carefully, “That you’ve suspected that group was nearby for weeks.”

“I know, I should have told Maria.”

“Right about the time you told we couldn’t - well, you remember what you said.”

You feel your cheeks heating up. Joel’s a smart enough man, if Gabe had worked it out, of course Joel would have.

You want to say it was because of the Junction, that you still want him. That you haven’t stopped thinking about him since then. Only it’s not entirely true, is it?

You’ve spent weeks in fight or flight, your only thought has been survival. Now people are telling you the worst is over, that you can start to heal again but you don’t know that. Even if it’s true, your body doesn’t know, it certainly can’t feel yet.

You feel on edge, nervous and unsure.

You want to jump onto Joel right now, feel his embrace and touch once more as you pretend the last weeks were just a bad dream. You also don’t want him near you, you’re scared it’s you, that you made Ethan’s worst side come out. He wasn’t a cult leader when you met him after all.

You want Joel, but you’re not sure if you’re ready to jump back in yet. You can’t go from planning an emergency exit, to confronting the man you thought was dead, and then straight back into some sort of mythical romance just like that. Joel might have slayed Ethan, but unlike a fairytale, there are marks on you that won’t immediately heal.

“I am not going pressure you into anything, I just want to say that if - oh hell, I don’t even know what I’m saying.” Joel swallows.

“You can just blame it on being moondrunk.”

“Moondrunk?” Joel asks with a chuckle.

“Yeah, look at that view. Moondrunk.”

“Moondrunk,” he repeats gently. “I mean it though, I- I’m terrible at this, but when you’re ready, if you’re ready …”

“Thanks, Joel.” You wring your hands together. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Live?”

“That simple, huh?”

He smiles wryly, “That simple.”

“So, you’re back at the bench, huh? Haven’t seen you here in a while,” you comment, keen to change the subject.

“I thought you were there first, figured it should be yours. But I - tonight I needed to come here, clear my head. I didn’t know if you’d be here.”

“Are you okay I am?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

You shut your eyes for a moment. For a second you allow yourself to pretend it’s weeks ago, that you and Joel are still together, the Junction a distant memory. For a moment you thought this would be your life now.

Can it still be?

Joel’s still here, he’s patient and kind and good. “When I’m ready,” you begin softly, “when I’m ready, you’ll know.”

You don’t open your eyes but you swear you can feel Joel’s smile. “Okay, that’s okay with me,” he says.

The two of you stay there until sunrise.

It’s the library that finally makes you leave your home. Sean lets slip that it’s been closed since you started your retreat from the town and it pulls at your heart. There are people who rely on the library - it’s an escape for them, or a chance to learn. It feels wrong to keep the place closed, another failing.

The library, like the bench, is a sanctuary for you. Only, unlike the bench it’s for the whole town. It’s a safe and comforting place. You’ve built something there.

“You should go back,” Gabe says one night as he picks at his dinner.

“I should?”

“To the library.”

“Oh.”

“You loved it there and it - it’s your place,” he says simply, “I think you should open it again.” It’s a truly polite way to challenge your new hermit state. You notice Sean and Beau raising eyebrows at each other from the table.

“I- I will.”

“When?”

You raise an eyebrow at your son. “When I’m ready.”

“I think it would be good for you,” he says.

“I will listen to that, Gabe, okay? I just -”

Sean says your name softly and the way everyone in this house suddenly infuriates you. You don’t want their kid gloves or quiet observation, the continued sense that you’re staying inside too long, that you’re becoming someone that they don’t recognise. It’s overwhelming.

“I’ll open it tomorrow,” you say, desperate to make them change the subject, to see that you are okay.

Beau looks over at you with surprise in his eyes. “You don’t have to. I’m sure that Maria can get someone to cover -”

“They’ll shelve things wrong, Beau, we all know that. I’ll - I’ve got this,” you say as decisively as you can muster, before stabbing a potato with your fork. You’re fine, you can do this.

For Gabe, you can do this.

The following morning, you find yourself nervously standing in the empty library. It smells fustier; the tension hangs in the air as you notice the books you were partway through shelving before you left it for the last time.

You curl your arms tightly around yourself and open your thermos of tea with shaking hands. It’s been too long hiding away, you’ve built up nightmares in your head of the Junction running into the library, or Jackson residents turning against you.

No one even glanced at you as you walked to the library this morning.

There’s no one here though. Perhaps word hasn’t got out that you’ve reopened the library yet, or perhaps Maria has told people to give you space when you eventually emerged from your hiding places. You appreciate it and throw yourself into rearranging a display, in picking out books for the school class who usually come by on Fridays.

“Hi,” a voice says from behind you.

You spin around to see Ellie standing ahead of you. Her hands are shoved into her jeans pockets awkwardly and she looks nervous as she meets your eyes.

“Ellie,” you say gently.

“Joel said I should give you space.”

“Did he now?”

“So did Maria in fairness.”

“Right. Of course they did.”

“Do you need space?” she asks as you pull yourself to standing from the floor you were kneeling on.

“Not from you, Ellie.”

“Good, because it’s been a while, man. How much space can you need?”

“You sound like Gabe.”

“Can’t all be wrong, huh?”

“Absolutely, so did you finish that space book?”

“Mmhmm and I’m going to be honest that I may have swapped it for another book while you were out.”

“The library was locked, Ellie.”

“There was a window and I got Ca- a friend to give me a booster. Joel and I had to do it a lot in um, when we were travelling.”

“So you learnt your break in skills from Joel?” You ask, fighting the smile on your face as you make a show of crossing your arms.

“Technically, I was breaking into places with my friend Riley … well, one time anyway. ” Ellie shrugs. “At least I owned up, right?”

“Sure. I feel you’ve pretty much exhausted our collection of books on space though. We could move you on to fiction though - sci-fi, lots of space.”

“That could work.” Ellie purses her lips together, clearly battling against saying something. You wonder what she really came here to say; is she angry that Joel got involved, that you endangered her and the town? Does she want you to leave?

You wouldn’t blame her.

“I’m sorry about what happened with that guy,” Ellie says.

“I should apologise to you, Ellie, you got caught in the middle and you shouldn’t have. None of you should have.”

“It’s not your - it’s nothing, honest,” Ellie says and her sincerity somehow makes you feel worse.

“I appreciate that, Ellie, thank you.”

“I wanted to talk to you, because - because before we came to Jackson, there were these people we came across.”

Your blood runs cold. What does Ellie mean? Did she and Joel come across the Junction, or something worse? Why would she say this? You look at the young girl and wonder what her and Joel’s story really is, the chemical burn, the vehemence at you not being involved that. What happened to Ellie?

“Ellie, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to tell you. Do you not want me to?”

“No, it’s fine, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to share something you may not want to.”

“Noted. I’m good though. So this group, they were these … I don’t know, cannibals? but this guy, he was like religious, or so he said and it was -”

“I’m sorry, you ran into a cannibal cult?” you ask incredulously.

“Kinda.”

“Fuck, Ellie.”

“I mean, it wasn’t a cult centred around cannibalism, that was more incidental.”

“Oh, well, that makes all the difference.”

“Right? Anyway, we got away. I - I got away. Joel was hurt before and so I was on my own and I know he feels bad about that.”

“Elie”, you whisper quietly.

“For a long time, I tried to figure out why this guy, Da- he was so … respected and so …. I don’t know. He was dangerous but quiet about it. I always thought the threat would be like a clicker or bloater, something visible. You look at it and you know that’s bad; you know what you’re up against. Plus on our way here I saw so much. Hunters, well at least they don’t hide it. This guy did. I - I almost bought it.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie.”

“It’s fine. It was almost a year ago now. It’s the past.” Ellie pauses and looks up at you. “I just wanted to tell you that.”

“I appreciate that, Ellie.” You take a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, the understanding the guy thing? It’s not like it starts off dangerous, it’s just normal at first, maybe a little different but within respectability. It … appeals to you, this sense of belonging, I suppose.”

“Belonging?”

“I’d never felt like I fitted in anywhere and then the world ended. My parents were …. all I had left was Sean and I didn’t want him to think I was clingy and end up with no-one. So there was this group and it seemed normal. It was normal at first. It was a slow change and then really fast and I don’t want to, I’m not sure if I should - you’re a kid, Ellie.”

“I’m-”

“A great and cool one, and one who’s seen a hell of a lot and is very brave, but you’re Joel’s kid, Ellie.”

“He’s not my - ” Ellie breaks off. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

You scan through the pile of books you were shelving and pass one to Ellie. “Try this one next, I think you’ll love it.”

“Thanks,” Ellie says, saying your name kindly, “I’ll read it next.”

“Well, let me know what you think. I’ll be here.”

Ellie smiles. “Good, I’d hate to have keep breaking in to steal books.”

Tag List

YHIM: @orcasoul@pedropascalsbbg @yoursoulsunbreakable @iamskyereads @genetics4life

@everyth1ngfan @frickatives @perennialdoll247 @joelsgreys @pedrobaby

@missladym1981 @noisynightmarepoetry @picketniffler @titlee78

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[heyyallitsbeth]

Could Estrogen Have Saved Her (and Her Series?)

The series Sword Art Online is often seen in a negative light by a large internet community. Due to issues with the anime adaptation as well as internet personalities backing hate bandwagons, the series as well as the characters are often flanderized and seen in a way that to fans of the series would seem more like parody than reality. However, there is also a large and vocal group of fans that adore the series, and within that group, a devoted sect that discusses the possibility that Kazuto “Kirito” Kirigaya is a transgender female. 

While this essay is not an attempt to claim that Kirito is infact textually transgender, various comments made on posts referencing this idea have had a similar sentiment: “If Kirito was transgender, it would have fixed the series for me”. If you look at a variety of comments and reposts on tumblr posts by niche vtuber HeyGuysItsBeth, this is a common opinion. So, would Kirito being transgender make a noticeable and positive impact on the story of Sword Art Online? 

Now there are various moments in the series that support the concept of Kirito being transfem, such as their appearance and the role they play within the Phantom Bullet arc, but the pieces are laid out immediately in the first drafts of the web novel, where Kirito is described as seeing no masculinity in their own face. But let us begin with volume 2 of the manga, in which we meet the character Silica. Silica is a young girl in the world of Sword Art Online, a loner trapped with nothing but her animal companion Pina, but upon our first meeting of her, Pina tragically is struck down by enemies saving Silica, before Kirito can help her escape from the attackers. Kirito provides Silica with new armor and promises to help her revive Pina, asking nothing in return, as in their words “[Silica] reminds them of their little sister Suguha.” Already, this adds in a lot of interesting information. Firstly, despite supposedly being a male player, Kirito already has female equipment, armor, and clothing ready to give out to Silica, with the light novel referring to them as Kirito’s “leftovers” implying that Kirito has already used them, and is passing them on. Then when it comes to the likeness of Silica and Suguha, we later discover that according to Kirito, them and Suguha used to be mistaken for twin girls, despite the fact Kirito is older and not a blood sibling to Suguha. From this, we can gather that Kirito when looking at Silica and saying she reminds them of Suguha, they are saying that Silica reminds them of themself. From Kirito’s perspective, they have just seen a loner, someone by themselves in a world foreign to them, lose the thing they hold dearest, and ready to give up on themselves before someone else comes in to save them. This is what happened only a few days prior to Kirito, as they were too a loner in this world, before being taken into a guild called the Moonlit Black Cats, and they had lost each and every one of them, including the one they held dearest, Sachi. And they were inconsolable and wanted nothing more than to fall as well, until Klein came to beg them to stay alive. Kirito had lost Sachi, their Moonlit Black Cat, and Silica had lost Pina, named for her real world cat. 

Silica and Kirito are clearly narrative parallels through this story, as they talk to eachother and bond during their journey to revive Pina. Kirito had lost their birth parents, and then felt alone and isolated again upon the discovery that they were adopted. Silica was an only child, whose parents were always busy with work, and they were left alone with just their cat. Both Silica and Kirito had no friends in the outside world, and in-game, people just wanted them for their looks and for their unique skills, not their genuine friendship. Kirito saw themself in Silica, and gave them their old armor, and did everything they could to help her revive her fallen friend, the thing Kirito was unable to do for Sachi. Silica ends up being Kirito’s hope during their trip, where they had previously been pessimistic on their relationship with Suguha, Silica is there to comfort them, and insist that Suguha must truly love and care for Kirito, and that they must care for her a lot too. Kirito insists that even though they helped Silica revive Pina, Silica helped them more, as they gave them hope, both in game and in the real world. To them, Silica is what they would be if the world was simply a bit kinder to them, which reveals the depressing core, that even in their greatest fantasy, Kirito cannot imagine their own life without tragedy.

When examining this story through the lens of a transgender Kirito seeing Silica as a version of themself, quite literally in their armor, the story goes from what many would write off as a fanservice harem-bait to one that reveals more of the inner struggles and pain of the characters, but also the hope that still exists, that they still have a future to look forward to where things do get better.

Kirito and Asuna, a ginger haired front-line fighter, eventually get married and settle in a cottage by a lake during their time stuck in Aincrad. It is there that they find and adopt a small girl named Yui, raising her as a daughter. Despite her being fully AI, they love her with all their hearts and truly become family with her. Within the Gameverse series of games, Kirito and Asuna elaborate on Yui further, noting that despite her not being their offspring, Yui notably takes a lot of the features of both Kirito and Asuna, but Asuna claims that she resembles Kirito more. And this is true, if you look at how Kirito looks with long hair in GunGale Online, as well as in real life, there is a strong resemblance there. Yui in the gameverse games also claims that Kirito is the one who cuts her hair and styles it every morning, which is a cute detail. However, it also comes with some questions. Kirito, according to themself, simply cuts their hair so that it is out of their face and not bothersome for fighting. This implies that Kirito doesn’t care for hair, so why would they know how to properly maintain it in others. Kirito’s adoptive parents were not home very frequently, as both worked heavily, and Kirito was often left with the responsibility of their younger sister, Suguha. We can infer that Kirito knows how to do hair because of taking care of Suguha’s. But Suguha also has her hair cut short, why? For kendo, as she practices it in real life as well. Given that both Kirito and Sugu practiced kendo, it could be inferred that Kirito and Sugu both used to have long hair, but upon starting kendo, they had it cut short. After all, they were near identical when they were younger. Within the light novel for the Phantom Bullet Arc, it is written that Kirito acts as if they have already had long hair, knowing how to take care of it, fight with it, and the proper ways to handle it when it is in your way. 

In this scenario, it is shown that Kirito is a loving and caring parent, helping their daughter like they used to help their sister and themself. Without taking this angle into account, many viewers may brush off Yui’s addition in SAO as mere trauma-bait, being as soon as she is introduced, she is killed. However, with the addition of Kirito’s past with long hair, and the implication that Kirito is almost living vicariously through Yui’s appearance, it adds to the story of both of them.

Speaking of Kirito’s long hair and girly features, let’s talk crossdressing. While the appearance of Kirito in GunGale Online is often seen as a trap trope, we need to further examine what exactly happens within GunGale, as well as outside of it. In GunGale Online, Kirito is presented with a rare male avatar that is incredibly feminine in nature, to the point that everyone assumes they are female. And thus, Kirito acts accordingly, pretending to be female to everyone, including flirting with men at the bar during the preshow for the Battle of Bullets. They don’t need to do this, they just do for fun. Infact, they seem to have more fun with their feminine appearance and attire, as they are more emotive, bubbly, and even have a distinct shine in their eyes that isn’t present anywhere else. But that is solely Sword Art Online II, in Sword Art Offline II, things escalate even further. Sword Art Offline II is an official mini-series in the blu ray and dvd releases of SAO II that is written by the original author, taking the form of a news / talk show discussing the events of the show. Within it, Kirito is referred to as “a cute girl named Kiriko” frequently. Very very frequently. Sinon alleges that Kirito may be secretly crossdressing in the real world, and that if they have a sister, they very well may be stealing her clothes to dress up in, a statement that Kirito is notably flustered by. Asuna also states that it seems like Kirito is enjoying themselves more as a girl than as a guy, and that she would love to dress her up in a bunch of cute clothes and “make her a proper woman”. 

By including all of this information, the appearance of GGO Kirito goes from a borderline problematic trap trope, to just an egg of a trans woman learning they are comfortable and enjoy having a female appearance, and just having a fun time with it. 

Within Sword Art Online Alicization, Kirito meets a boy named Eugeo and is struck with an unnerving revelation. Outside of the realization that Kirito may also like men, Kirito also realizes that they have been playing a role for most of their life. Kirito was forced into roleplaying a character in Sword Art Online, needing to assume the “beater” persona in order to help all other beta-testers escape the wrath of other players. They were forced into a hero role by the game’s creator, being chosen to help lead the fight against him, and be the one to ultimately face him at the game’s finale. Kirito had to play the role of hero again, saving those who were trapped in Alfheim after SAO shut down. Then, they needed to play hero again, saving people from DeathGun, while also needing to pretend to be a girl to everyone around them. But then they met Eugeo, and saw an actual hero. To Kirito, Eugeo was a hero, with a set goal of making the world better, and truly had the ambition and strength to make it reality. Kirito had been forced into strength, Eugeo was made for it. But Eugeo died in Kirito’s arms, leaving them broken. Someone so much stronger, so much better than them. They couldn’t live. How could Kirito, someone who was simply playing a role, manage to live when Eugeo couldn’t? But it was Eugeo who taught them how to be a real hero, not just a roleplay. And not just a copy of Eugeo, but a hero in their own way. Kirito took up Eugeo’s sword and helped save the Underworld, and brought peace between the realms. They had learned to stop playing a role for the world around them, and to fight as themself instead, and that is what gave them their strength.

In the end, is Kirito transgender? Well based upon the fact Sword Art Offline affirms that Kirito has a chosen female name with Kiriko, enjoys dressing as a girl, and enjoys acting like a girl, yes. But does it matter? Also yes. By examining the narratives present within Sword Art Online, the added characterization and motivations do genuinely provide more impact than just adding in representation. They add more heart and reasoning behind each small story. So yes, transition could have saved her.

[greetingfromthedead]

Wedding Bells (Vash x Bride!Reader)

Plot: You didn't really think too hard about your wedding day, planning to perhaps sign a paper and then go celebrate with drinks, but both you and Vash had made a promise to Lena and Granny to include them and once Meryl and Milly found out, the event took on a life of its own.

Series: [prequel - Wedding Bells], [Part 1 - Little Feet], [Part 2 - Pitter-Patter]

Pairing: Vash x Bride!Reader

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: post-Trimax (no major spoiler), fluff, happy ending, wedding, found family, love of your life

Word count: 3k

Author's Note: I went with a slightly "nontraditional" approach, mixing different wedding customs together as that's partially how I imagine things on No Man's Land to be (a blend of different Western (sorry) traditions), but I did lean more pagan and Celtic since I am self indulgent.

This has gotten a bit out of hand. You think to yourself as you look out the window at Kasted City. You can't believe how much the city has changed since you were last here. Repairs have been made, and everything looks as good as new. The last scars left by the bandit infestation have been wiped away completely. The city is thriving once again. You stand in the middle of the room on a chair, and the narrow window only reveals a small glimpse of the landscape. You lean forward, trying to see more, but immediately get pricked by a sharp needle.

"Ow!" you complain before settling back.

"I have told you time and time again to stand still! Stop fidgeting so much!" Granny scolds you as she makes the last alterations to your dress. "I'm almost done with the hem."

This was supposed to be just a little homecoming to fulfill your promise to Lena and Granny. Vash had sworn that when the time came for the two of you to finally tie the knot, they would be included. In your mind, it meant that you return to the toma farm, perhaps sign a piece of paper, and go to have a drink, but it turns out that word travels fast. Especially when it comes to the Humanoid Typhoon and his companion, who have touched many people's lives. Meryl made quite a fuss when she found out about your plan, and Milly was close to tears when she got the impression that they weren't welcome. So you assured them it would be nothing fancy, but if they wanted, they were more than welcome to join. You get the feeling that's where the cat got out of the bag.

When you got to the city this morning, you were greeted with a buzz of excitement and anticipation. You brushed it off as just something unrelated to your arrival, but as you made your way to Granny's ranch, it had been decorated with streamers and bows. Lena and Meryl were hanging up a giant sign adorned with both your and Vash's names, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You knew this was going to be a day to remember. While a hint of tread creeped into your soul, you turned your head to see your beloved fiance's face light up at the sight before him. A smile crossed his face, and you knew that whatever happened next, you would face it together. That's when Granny appeared, and after a warm welcome, you were separated from your dearest.

Granny and Lena had been working on a dress for you. It's simple but elegant and made with love. There are no extravagant embellishments, but you could see the care and effort put into every stitch. They also showed you the tiny pocket on the inside of your dress at the back of your neck that had a 5 cent piece in it. They did not, however, elaborate further.

From Granny's care, you move on to Meryl's, who makes you sit by the window to do your makeup. She chatters about all the preparations for the wedding as she carefully applies your lipstick. The others come and go, busy with preparations yet desperate to catch a glimpse of you.

"Done!" Meryl proudly proclaims, but she tilts her head and looks at you thoughtfully. "Something's missing…"

Her piercing gaze makes you nervous as you try to figure out what she is talking about. Suddenly, her eyes light up, and she reaches to remove her earrings.

"Here! These will work well! But I want them back!" She grins as she hands you the long golden earrings. You take them hesitantly as you look at them.

"Thank you, Meryl!" You smile up at her as you turn to the mirror and put them on.

"I see you have something borrowed. How about something blue?" A new voice speaks up from the door behind you, and you whip around in your chair.

"Luida!" you exclaim in surprise. She smiles her signature calming smile at you.

"It's good to see you again," she says and comes closer. "My, you look gorgeous!"

A slight blush colors your cheeks as you thank her for the compliment. Your eyes trail downward slightly, and you see something in her hand. Before you can ask, she lifts it up and removes some paper from around a brilliant blue bouquet made from the flowers she grows on Home.

"I meddled a bit with them; they should be preserved in time as they are, and hopefully they will never wither," Luida says softly as she hands you the beautiful flowers and you take a whiff. The scent is sweet and fresh, filling you with a sense of calm and happiness.

"I too have something for you," Milly says, coming closer with a slightly nervous look. "Or rather, Livio sent it with his apologies since he couldn't make it today."

"Oh, that's okay. Someone had to stay with the kids and birds." You smile, but then look at the little box Milly puts in your hand. "What's this?"

"Something old. Livio wanted you to have this since you and Mr. Priest were so close. He said he had this since the orphanage; apparently, it's the only thing he had from his birth parents. After he passed, Livio held on to it but always intended to give it to you." You hear the tears threaten to roll down her cheeks in Milly's voice. She has always been the emotional kind. You open the box, and inside you find a small cross pendant with no chain.

"Thank you, Milly! And give my gratitude to your dear husband too!" You smile at her reddening face as she tries to keep it together. You pick up a safety pin from the vanity and carefully fasten the cross to the inside of your dress's neckline, close to your heart.

"So, we have something old, something blue, something borrowed, and a 5 cent piece! We're only missing something new!" Granny said with glee, and before you could start to protest against any more gifts, Lena appears with a giant box.

"Lucky, we received a parcel a few days ago, and it's addressed to you!" She announces happily as she holds the box towards you. You hesitate for a moment, your fingers hovering at the edge of the box, before you remove the lid. The inside still doesn't give you a clue as to what this could be, as the item is carefully wrapped in paper, on top of which lays a small card. You pick it up to read it.

My dear!

The wonderful news has reached us here at Misdon! We are all so happy to hear that our two biggest heroes are getting married! You saved our lives and our livelihood! The whole town will forever remain in your debt, even if you didn't save the rest of the world too! We wish we could attend, but times have been busy, so we send you this gift. I hope you like it. Everyone pitched in and did a little bit!

Your friend,

Adeliene

You are reminded of your adventures in the mining town of Misdon, where bandits tried to take over the crystal mine. You and Vash had your hands full driving them out, and you had to personally protect Adeliene, the daughter of the mine owner. You even took a bullet for her. You carefully remove the paper to be greeted by a blinding shimmer. The sunlight from the window hits the content of the box and sends dots of light dancing all throughout the room. Everyone gasps at the sight. You touch the delicate translucent fabric and let your fingers run over the hundreds, if not thousands, of small crystals sown onto it. They look like constellations.

"This is gorgeous!" you whisper in awe as you continue to admire the intricate design.

"Alright! I can't wait to see it on you!" Lena seemingly shakes with excitement. "But first, we need to fix your hair!"

The young girl puts aside the box before quickly moving on to grab the hairbrush.

"We should get back! Let's make sure everything is perfect for the big day." Meryl announces and drags Milly away by the elbow, Luida quietly following them. You remain in the room with Granny and Lena, who fill your head with hairpins and finally fasten the veil to your hair.

"You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen in my long life. We are truly blessed to call you part of the family, my love!" Granny squeezes your shoulders as you sit in your chair and gives you a kiss on the cheek. Gratitude swells in your chest as you thank Granny for her kind words and embrace her tightly.

"The big goofball is wholly your responsibility now!" Lena chuckles, giving you a playful nudge with her elbow.

As you are left alone in the room, you stand up and take a long look in the mirror. You can't help but feel a rush of excitement for what the future holds. Your face is covered by the light fabric, and as you let your fingers run over the delicate lace, the room is filled with sparkling lights dancing on every surface. This is not how you imagined the day going—to be surrounded by your friends and family, turning this day into possibly the most magical one of your entire life.

It doesn't take long for the music to start sounding from the parlor, signaling for you to make your entrance. So you head out through the backdoor as instructed and walk around the building to the large saloon style doors at the front of the house. The music sounds more clearly now and you can hear the chatter of the guests inside. You're not sure if Granny saw you from where she sits behind the piano or if someone else spotted you and signaled her, but the music changes. The beautiful melody has a different rhythm, and everyone knows to quiet down.

You take a deep breath and clutch the bouquet of flowers tightly. Two men push the sides of the doors and keep the doorway open for your entrance. All eyes turn to you, and gasps of adoration fill the space. The people standing on either side of the aisle are all people you've left a mark on. You have saved them in one way or another, and today they are here to pay their respects and celebrate with you. If you looked at them, you would see people from Kasted City and the neighboring villages, people from far and wide, but your eyes are on the dark haired man waiting for you at the end of the red carpet.

Vash's eyes are wide, and you can see the moment his lips part for a gasp. His gaze is so filled with love and adoration that you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You can't believe this is happening to you. You have found such a wonderful man, and you're about to vow your everlasting devotion to each other in front of all these witnesses. And as you look into his eyes, you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful journey together, despite everything you've been through already.

He wears a dark burgundy suit jacket, and you are sure Granny had a hand in his attire. From the chest pocket, poke out a few crystal flowers and small silver stars, catching the light and sparkling at you, mixed together with the blooms of red geraniums. He looks magnificent and handsome, and you can't help but smile at the thought of Granny and the others conspiring to make him look his best for this special occasion. You see the tears well in his eyes as he looks at your approach, and he takes half a step forward as if wanting to run towards you and lose the distance as soon as possible. However, he holds back, his emotions overwhelming him, and he lets out a small sob before brushing the tears away.

The tall windows on either side of the parlor cast light on you, and the warmth stroking your skin makes everything else fall away. In your mind, there is only you and him. Together, as always. As you reach him, a smile is painted on your face, so wide it almost hurts. He reaches out his hand, and you gently take it, feeling the electricity between your fingertips.

"My beautiful Stardust! You make the night sky jealous!" he says as the two of you stand there, basking in each other's presence, knowing that you are each other's forever.

Meryl, who has taken in her position as officiant, lets out a small cough to wake the two of you from your trance. You take another step forward without letting go of the man you love, ready to start the next chapter of your lives together.

Meryl begins the ceremony, speaking with a warm and calming voice that fills you with joy and excitement. She thanks the guests and begins to share heartfelt words about the love and dedication you both have shown towards each other. But you can barely hear her as you steal glances of the man standing beside you. His handsome silhouette and glimmering eyes as they meet yours fill you with butterflies. You can feel your heart racing with anticipation as he gently squeezes your hand.

"My dear friends, the bride and groom, I ask you to look into each other's eyes," Meryl speaks, and you turn to face your soon-to-be husband. The love and adoration in his eyes overwhelms you, confirming that you are about to marry the person of your dreams. He still holds your hand, but lifts it up a bit as he faces you. "Will you honor and respect one another and seek to never break that honor?"

"We will," you both say devotedly.

"Will you share each other's pain and seek to ease it?"

"We will."

"Will you share the burdens with each other so that your spirits may grow in this union?"

"We will."

"Will you share each other's laughter and look for the brightness in life and the positive in each other?"

"We will."

"Dear bride and groom, as you bind your souls together here, in front of people who adore you, may your spirits be joined in a union of love and trust. Above you are the stars, and below you is the earth. Like the stars, your love should be a constant source of light, and like the earth, it should be a firm foundation from which to grow. Let your love guide you through the darkest of times, and may it always be a beacon of hope in the storm. Do you have vows of your own you would like to share?"

"Yes," Vash speaks as his eyes stay on yours. "My love, you are the one person with whom I can share all that I am. I promise to trust you and to be honest with you. I promise to listen to you, respect you, and support you. I promise to laugh and play with you and grow and bend with you. I promise to cherish every day we have together. I promise to do all of this through whatever life brings us—richness or poverty, health or illness, through good times and bad—until the end of my days. And beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and the next."

Lena steps forward with a small pillow, and Vash takes a golden ring from it. He releases your right hand, and you take your flowers into it so he can gently slide the ring onto the ring finger of your left hand. He bows down and places a small kiss on the band. You have Lena take your bouquet so you can tightly hold onto both of Vash's hands, feeling overwhelmed with love and joy.

"My love, I choose you. We shall walk side by side, through sunshine and storms, health and sickness, good times and bad. We will meet whatever comes together. Under the starry night sky and in the scorching desert heat. I promise to love you forever and a day. My love, I choose you to be my partner in life and always. Our love endures, forever and a day." You make your promises while looking into his tear filled eyes, your own vision blurring from the emotions too. You pick up the golden ring and slide it on his prosthetic hand. You whisper, "I will never leave your side, no matter what challenges come our way."

"And with that, I pronounce you husband and wife!" Meryl's cheerful voice sounds over the room. "You may kiss the bride!"

Vash carefully takes the edge of the veil between his fingers before he lifts it up, revealing your face completely. He lets the veil fall over your head and gently takes your face into his hands, planting a soft kiss on your lips to seal your marriage. You feel overwhelmed with love and happiness as you realize that this is just the beginning of your life together. The whole room erupts into cheers and applause, celebrating your love and new journey as a married couple.

As he pulls away, you look into his tender face, and he mouths a silent I love you. Lena hands back your bouquet, and hand-in-hand, you walk through the room again, now with Vash by your side. Feeling like the luckiest person in the world, you head out of the parlor as the people gathered throw colorful confetti at you. Further away, from the city's chapel, you hear bells echoing over the desert.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

[satoshi-mochida]

Atelier Yumia: The Alchemist of Memories & the Envisioned Land launches March 21, 2025 - Gematsu

Atelier Yumia: The Alchemist of Memories & the Envisioned Land will launch for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, Switch, and PC via Steam on March 21, 2025 worldwide, publisher Koei Tecmo and developer Gust announced.

In Japan, the PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, and PC versions will cost 9,680 yen, while the PlayStation 4, Xbox One, and Switch versions will cost 8,580 yen. The Xbox Series, Xbox One, and PC versions are digital-only. The “Premium Box” special edition will cost 13,500 yen for PlayStation 5 and PC, and 12,400 yen for PlayStation 4 and Switch. The “Special Collection Box” will cost 23,700 yen for PlayStation 5 and PC, and 22,600 yen for PlayStation 4 and Switch.

Get the first details below.

■ About

In a world where alchemy has become taboo and is considered evil, Atelier Yumia: The Alchemist of Memories & the Envisioned Land follows the adventures of Yumia Liessfeldt and her companions as they seek to uncover the truth behind the fall of the Aladissian Empire—which once thrived with alchemy—and the memories of its lost history. Yumia’s quest will take her across a ruined continent, and despite the uncertainties of confronting her past, she will need to create her own path if she hopes to unravel the mysteries behind the cataclysm that destroyed Aladiss. Atelier Yumia: The Alchemist of Memories & the Envisioned Land takes players on a journey exploring the theme of memory. Playing as Yumia Liessfeldt, a young alchemist who lost her mother in an accident when she was young, players set out to uncover the forbidden art of alchemy while also learning the true intentions of Yumia’s mother who hid her identity as an alchemist. Along the way, Yumia joins the Aladiss Research Team where she meets Vikto von Duerer and his younger sister, Isla von Duerer. There, they are also joined by an assorted cast of characters including a mysterious woman, a timid demi-human, and a former adventurer with spectacular experiences. Together, Yumia and her companions will travel across the vast continent that was once the Aladissian Empire, where all civilization has perished. Players will have a wide range of actions and items at their disposal throughout the adventure, allowing them to explore a vast open world made up of different biomes as they make their way through these unknown lands gathering materials that can be used to synthesize and craft new items for use in their quest—both during exploration and combat. Not only will fans be able to craft items without having to return to their base thanks to the “Simple Synthesis” feature, but for the first time in the series, fans will be also able to build, furnish, and decorate their own base with the all-new “Building” feature! To help make Atelier Yumia: The Alchemist of Memories & the Envisioned Land come alive, Koei Tecmo and developer Gust have teamed up with the brilliant artist Benitama to create the main visual and all of the character designs. Specializing in creating illustrations and character designs for various fantasy game titles, Benitama incorporates references to paintings and reliefs in his work while striving to balance both persuasive depth and cuteness. His design, characterized by a monochrome based style, give a cool impression while bringing out the charm of the Atelier series.

■ Story

Weaving memories and tracing emotions. For the truth that lies ahead. The Aladissian Empire. It once thrived on a certain continent, having achieved remarkable development through alchemy that kept other nations at bay. However, it met its end due to a sudden and mysterious cataclysm. Time progressed, and several centuries later—. Alchemy became known as a “dangerous art that brings destruction,” and considered “evil” and “taboo” in this new era. In this now forbidden and perilous land, a lone alchemist sets foot. Her name is Yumia Liessfeldt. After losing her mother in an accident three years ago, Yumia discovered that she was from a family of alchemists and began to question many things. Why did Aladiss fall? Why did alchemy become “taboo”?… Is alchemy truly “evil”? Believing that all truths lie within the continent, Yumia embarks on a journey to uncover its lost history.

■ Characters

Yumia Liessfeldt (voiced by Wakana Kuramochi)

“I want to push forward. Push forward because I beleive every memory is part of alchemy.”

On a journey to trace memories and uncover lost truths. Due to an accident in her childhood, she lost her mother and learned that she was an alchemist. To uncover the truth behind her mother’s intentions and the forbidden art of alchemy, she joins the Aladiss Research Team. She cherishes her mother’s words: “Learn how to judge what is right by yourself.

Viktor von Duerer (voiced by Makoto Furukawa)

“I won’t waver either. I decided that the moment I saw the chief rush in that day, and I’m sticking to it.”

With his iron stake, he upholds justice. A member of the Aladiss Research Team, he joined the investigation as Yumia’s supervisor. He comes from the influential Duerer family and is also a member of the Order of Eustella. Although he has a strong sense of justice and an honest personality, he can be inflexible. Three years ago, his family fell into ruin due to a massive mana disaster in his family’s domain.

Isla von Duerer (voiced by Kaori Maeda)

“I’ve had enough with losing friends.”

Uncompromising feelings for both fashion and revenge. A member of the Aladiss Research Team and Viktor’s younger sister. She is bright, with high energy and communication skills, and is stylish at heart, never forgetting to be fashionable even during investigations. Her thoughtful nature helps her support her brother with things he can’t handle.

Nina Friede (voiced by Mikako Komatsu)

“Hehe, hehehe… Well then, don’t mind if I do…”

Unquestionable skill and a unique sense. A member of the Aladiss Research Team with a mysterious aura. She always seems to be relaxed, but sometimes it’s unclear what she’s thinking. She has mercenary experience and possesses the skill to conduct investigations alone.

Lenja (voiced by Yoshino Aoyama)

“I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to show that I can be useful.”

The greatest enemy is her own timid self. The only Welleks demihuman in the investigation team. She possesses high physical abilities and mana aptitude. However, she is timid with low self-confidence and frequently apologizes for everything. Welleks live in Aladiss in large numbers, having contributed to its development by producing many alchemists.

Rutger Arendt (voiced by Jun Fukuyama)

“It’s easier for me to act on my own. I’m gettin’ plenty results, so what’s the problem?”

An adventurer who laughs at adversity and forges his own path. A member of the Aladiss Research Team and a seasoned adventurer who loves valuable items. An orphan with no family, he survived by taking on shady jobs in the slums. Having experienced intense hardships, he is not bound to others but lives according to his own aesthetics.

■ World

Embark on a dramatic adventure across a vast land of endless fun and scenery.

■ System

Collect, combat, create—the journey with your companions will be filled with various “experiences.”

Synthesis: Create Items Interwoven with “Mana“

Manipulate the “mana” residing in materials to create new items based on recipes. The items you craft will exhibit powerful effects in various situations, such as exploration and combat. The strength of an item’s power depends on the materials used in synthesis, so select your materials carefully while assessing the power of the embedded mana.

Battle: A Captivating Variety of Actions with “Range” and “Items”

In real-time combat, you’ll be tested on your ability to make split-second decisions. Utilize two types of attack ranges (“range”) and switch between skills to fight strategically. Additionally, synthesized items can transform into shapes such as swords or spears, which can be used to attack. Since these items are reusable, don’t hesitate to deploy them and drive away enemies that stand in your way.

Watch the trailer and 10 minutes of gameplay below. View a new set of screenshots at the gallery.

First Trailer

English

Japanese

Gameplay First Look

English

Atelier Yumia: The Alchemist of Memories & the Envisioned Land Announcement Special Program

[palaxy27]

Everything will be fine...

Penn Zero Part-Time Hero comic

Warning: Contains violent scenes, blood and angst.

(Note: English is not my first language so there may be grammatical errors).

Okay... so originally I had only planned to publish the first drawing, but while I was sketching two things came to my mind, what would happen if the heroes would face some enemies in His dimension? and what would happen... if sashi would be defeated in a fight? And that's how a fanart became a comic ;)

Now putting us in the context of the story, Phyllips came back 1 or 2 years after the end of the series and recruits again the dream team for phase 2 returning to his adventures but with a bigger responsibility and facing different villains in each mission in different dimensions (It wouldn't be like facing Rippen always) but nothing so different for our heroes... until now...

One normal day after completing a mission, the tired guys were leaving but Penn had to go back to the theater because he forgot his wallet (don't ask why it wasn't in his backpack, even he doesn't know 😑) only to find two guys taking a tube with blue energy out of the portal, one who seemed to be a person from earth and the other of a bigger, more atamorizing build... he didn't even seem to be human, but an alien (Not of the same species as Rippen). Before Penn could analyze the situation, one of them pushed him away, knocking him to the ground suffering a strong blow with one hand without much difficulty for the two to flee the place.

Boone and Sahi run back to the theater to see the guys running away seeing a confused and panicked Penn about what had just happened. They inform Phyllips about what happened and he informs them that the energy tube is actually the energy core of the portal, but the core was so unstable that it was contained by the portal itself, not much was known about the two guys, only that they were from this dimension, somehow they both knew about the existence of the multiverses and therefore the power of the core, They were able to somehow evade the security system, including Karen (they didn't even seem to care about her presence), so they must recover the core soon and Phyllips warns them that they shouldn't underestimate it since they are much more dangerous since they have knowledge of the multiverse and belong to the same dimension.

They manage to locate them not far from the theater, so they start going after them discreetly but the guys realize this, so they decide to separate them.

The corpulent one interposes himself between the heroes and his companion inciting them to confront him to "delay them", penn ole asks Sashi to confront him, since he hoped that she would come out victorious, preventing him from intervening in his plan to recover the nucleus; Boone had planned to confront him too but his appearance would make him go with Penn to get the nucleus, leaving Sashi alone (something he would regret).

Penn and Boone would find him but he would use the power of the core to his advantage during the confrontation, something that neither of them had in mind, hindering their plan to recover the core, even putting Boone's life at risk by throwing himself at the man in a desperate attempt to retrieve the core, receiving both he and the man a they received a charge from the nuclear force, but they barely managed to defeat it.

The two boys with some victorious scratches and blows would call Sashi to inform her about their victory, but she does not answer, so they return to the place where they had left her expecting to see the guy easily defeated by the assistant and affectionately that's how they found him, in an alley Remote and dark on the unconscious floor with some blood stains... but it wasn't his. Sashi was found against the wall seriously injured, destroyed, breathing heavily, with her tired eyes half open (Seeing the bandages you can get an idea of ​​the severity of the wounds) while her visor was on the destroyed floor. Both boys were shocked by the scene, seeing how their friend, girlfriend and companion, one of the strongest people they knew, were in a worse state than their opponent.

The two boys took her to the theater, being greeted not only by Phyllips, but also by Penn and Boone's parents. They were all shocked to see the girl's condition. Phyllips quickly attended to her requests while her parents calmly asked them what happened, something that did not help them at all. Once Phyllips finished with Sashi, she sent the three of them home, feeling sorry for them and that they only take the weekend off, feeling sympathy for the boys. However, Sashi's parents and brother were not in town so Penn asked her parents that she stay with them until they returned and tell them what happened (spoilers: they found out before and they did not take it very well, especially their brother), they accepted without hesitation, Boone also stayed with them with the permission of his parents, since he was worried about his friend's condition and felt guilty

And that's how we get to this scene, with Penn and Sashi alone changing Sashi's bandages, even giving her his shirt as spare clothes when he has his clothes stained with blood, feeling scared and guilty for leaving her alone and the decisions he makes that lead to her. led to them getting hurt, but she tries to comfort him by telling him that it was not his fault, since they were able to recover the core and find her in time, saving her life (since she even subdued her opponent), however she was also scared, not because of him. encounter in itself, if not by realizing that she was not strong enough and that luckily she was able to defeat him and come out alive, making her feel weak and useless, apart from if she had not faced him and it had been Penn or Boone. Did they even Would they be here? However, she keeps it to herself, she has to be strong, for her own good and don't worry about her.

I don't plan to "go deeper" into the two characters but I plan to do some comivs in the future exploring different points of view on the incident, their reactions, feelings and healings. But if anyone wants to go deeper into this, they are free to do so (I would like to see it)

[lady0ctavia]

As We Ponder Belief

(2p!Prussia x Reader) - Chapter 20

Note: This story is based vaguely during the mid 1200s in Eastern Europe where the Teutonic Knights fought the Northern Crusades to try and convert the native pagan population to Christianity. As a result, this story will have heavy religious themes all throughout. It should also be noted that, while referencing real-life events and locations, I am not striving for full historical accuracy. This is for the sake of the story I am telling.

Once again, this series will have heavy religious themes throughout, including discussions of bible stories, doctrine, and scripture verses, as well as critical analysis of Christian doctrine and beliefs. So, if you don't like that, you will want to skip out on this.

Also, note that we are now going into a pagan village. I wasn't able to find much good information on how they function and are laid out, so much of this is going to be derived from what little information I could find combined with my own ideas.

(y/n) didn't know how long she was crying, nor did she care. The only thing consuming her was that Adeline, her dearest friend, was alive. At the moment she lay curled up in the woman's lap as she weakly clung to her waist, sobbing into her skirt as Adeline knelt on the ground. (y/n) could feel Adeline's fingers gently combing through her hair, softly undoing whatever matted tangles she encountered. Months of stress, worry, and mourning poured from her eyes as she cried. Even Adeline was in tears, sobbing as she held her dear, albeit traumatized friend close to her, attempting to to reassure (y/n) that everything would be alright.

Adeline's torch now sat to the side, having completely burned out. But the two women managed to see fine without it as their eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"I thought you had perished!" (y/n) cried as she tried to steady her breathing and get herself together.

"And I, you," Adeline admitted. "But, (y/n)," The blonde gently took her friend's face in her hands, prompting her to look upward through her now messy, unkempt hair. "Where have you been? How did you survive?"

Sniffling, (y/n) rose to her knees, now kneeling before Adeline. After rubbing some of the dirt from her face, she answered.

"It's... Honestly quite the story, really. During the attack on our village, I was indeed injured and eventually passed out. I woke up with a stab wound to the abdomen and a broken ankle. Thankfully, I was rescued by the Teutonic Knights currently manning Malbork Fortress. There, they had a doctor who nursed me back to health. I was actually beginning an apprenticeship there as a nurse myself until the captain saw fit for me to go live elsewhere. It was on our way to another village that we were attacked and I was brought here."

As she spoke, the memories of the past few months flew by in her mind. The attack, waking up in the fortress, meeting Captain Nikolaus and the Belischmidt twins, befriending Gilbert and, of course, Gillen. The very thought of him caused her cheeks to blush a rosy pink, and (y/n) found herself thanking the Lord that it was too dark in this tiny room to tell.

"Goodness, that is quite the story," Adeline sounded breathless as if she were still processing the fact that (y/n) was indeed alive. "And, if I may ask, what of your traveling companions? You were the only captive the warriors returned with, so I assume they all...?" She trailed off, wary of setting off any unwanted memories.

"All but one were slain," (y/n) sighed, remembering the swift and brutal nature of the ambush. "The one that survived told me he would be back before retreating. Though if I am honest, I have no idea how he'll know where to look for me."

"Well, here's hoping," Adeline sighed in response.

"But that's enough about me," (y/n) shook her head before looking Adeline dead in the eye. "How on God's green earth did you end up here?"

"Well, that is quite the story as well. When the-"

The two young women were interrupted by someone entering the small hut. Still on edge, (y/n) almost immediately began to cower. But this reaction was nullified by Adeline resting a hand on hers. A figure stood at the cell and unlocked the wooden door before stepping in. (y/n) couldn't make out any features, other than the fact that they seemed to be a man of about average height. She was then shocked to hear Adeline and this man conversing with each other calmly in another language. A language she assumed to be that of the tribe. She was flabbergasted.

How can she be so calm? (y/n) thought to herself. When did she learn their language? Who is this man? Is he a guard? Or someone else?

Through her confusion, she barely noticed Adeline getting up and holding her hand out to (y/n). After getting her bearings, (y/n) took her hand and stood up, albeit cautiously, being quite wary of the unknown man in her presence.

"You can stay with me in my home for the time being. But first things first, let us get you cleaned up," Adeline gave her a reassuring smile.

"H-Home?" (y/n) didn't even try to hide the confusion in her voice. How could this place be home?!

Adeline gave a small, amused chuckle. "As I said, it is quite the story," She then grabbed (y/n)'s hand with both of hers. "And I promise you, I will tell you everything as we get you washed up," It was then that Adeline turned to the man and, once again, spoke to him in the pagan language.

The man responded by speaking a few words to Adeline in the same tongue. And, much to (y/n)'s shock and astonishment, he ended the response by giving Adeline a brief and chaste kiss on the lips. One she seemed to reciprocate.

(y/n) was floored. What is going on here?! As the man left the room, (y/n) focused all of her attention on Adeline.

"Uhh, A-Adeline? What was that?" (y/n) stumbled and fumbled all over her words, unable to process what she just witnessed.

Adeline responded with giggles. As if the kiss itself lifted her spirits straight to heaven above. "Like, I said I'll tell you everything. Now let's get you a bath. My husband said that he is already preparing one. Though it was initially for me," She gave (y/n) a smirk, one that (y/n) couldn't help but return with a smile. That is, before the reality of her friend's words hit her like a brick.

"Wait a second, husband?" (y/n)'s jaw just about hit the floor. Meanwhile, Adeline gave her a cheeky grin. "Alright, you know what? Take me to the bath right now so you can tell me everything, because I am so confused my head is about to split!"

Laughing, Adeline pulled her along. After exiting the hut, (y/n) looked around to see that it was still hardly morning. A very dim, grayish-blue filled the sky. While sunrise was certainly on the way, the sun had yet to crest over the mountainside. All around (y/n) was vibrant green grass and tall trees, with a thin, dirt trail bordered by wooden logs leading towards a clearing. Looking to the sides, (y/n) saw guards standing at either side of the entrance. Adeline continued to pull her along.

"Don't worry about them," She reassured. "They're just doing their job."

"Mhm," (y/n) only hummed, thinking about the harsh treatment she received before. Some job.

The two young women made it to a clearing surrounded by multiple homes. Large huts constructed out of wood. In the center of the clearing appeared to be a massive, unlit firepit. As she was pulled along, Adeline wove in and out between different huts, walking along wider, hardened dirt paths. The huts began to looks smaller, some even appeared like tends. The two women arrived at a small, admittedly cute, hut. One with wildflowers gathered around the front. It was there that a man was seen tending to the blooms.

He looked up at Adeline and, just like before, spoke to her in the pagan language. She spoke back, to which he nodded in response and gave (y/n) a kindly, welcoming grin.

His skin was pale, like Adeline's. But unlike Adeline, his eyes were bright, emerald green, and his shoulder-length hair a soft brown. He seemed very demure, certainly not one of the brutes who attacked her the day before. (y/n) offered a small smile in return, unsure of what to say or what to do.

"(y/n), this man is my husband, Tolys," Adeline informed, smiling upon saying her beloved's name.

(y/n) nodded, offering a small wave to the man, who waved back. Tolys stepped forward to open the door, allowing Adeline to lead (y/n) the home before closing the door behind them.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Yeah Adeline, what the heck is going on? As always, let me know your thoughts!

[denimbex1986]

'The moment Jodie Whittaker’s Doctor regenerated will go down history as one of the great rug-pulls of modern Who.

There she was, standing on a rocky outcrop, ready to hand over the mantle to the next in line. But this time there was an extra twist for those watching. Instead of regenerating into Ncuti Gatwa, who was announced as the next Doctor in 2022 after rising to fame in Netflix's Sex Education, people instead saw David Tennant standing in his place, ready to reprise the role he’d last held thirteen years ago.

To quote the Doctor, as he reacted to this change of plans: what?!

With that catchphrase (can a word be a catchphrase? With Tennant, anything is possible), he was back in the TARDIS, and I was immediately reinvested – catapulted back in time to a version of my teenage self where long scarves were sacred and Converse magically looked good when paired with pinstripe suits.

I wasn’t around for original Who, but watched from behind the sofa as my father (a lifelong fan) turned on the telly for the reboot in 2005. Terrifying as the Daleks may be, this show is catnip for kids: the monsters; the prospect of entering a magic box and going for adventures in time and space; and above everything else, the knowledge the Doctor will ultimately save the day.

Heading up the first rebooted series, Christopher Eccleston came and went, with a brooding kind of mystique to him – a bit too dour for my nine-year-old self, but the baddies kept me hooked: the gas-mask zombies, the Slitheen, even (shudder) the return of the Daleks. And just as I was getting properly into the show, along came David Tennant.

For millions of fans like me, Tennant wasn’t just a version of the Doctor: he was the definitive Doctor. Taking the reins from Eccleston after the show’s excellent but troubled first season (Eccleston has talked about how leaving the show put him on a BBC blacklist and almost destroyed his career), he immediately breathed fresh life into the character.

Alongside the showrunner Russell T Davies (who himself has an impressive list of credits to his name, including It's A Sin and Queer as Folk) Tennant helped launch Who into the stratosphere: suddenly, watching the show was (wait for it) cool, something that both kids and adults would tune in for. In its prime, Doctor Who under Tennant pulled in as many as 13m viewers - a world away from Jodie Whittaker's swansong, which only pulled in four.

Davies’ combination of grounded characters – he always took the time to flesh out the companion’s families and make their lives feel meaningful – and tightly plotted episodes was a winning combination. Think The Parting of the Ways, where the Doctor and Rose tearfully bid farewell on a bleak beach in Norway; or the haunting Midnight, which must be among his bleakest.

Of course, a great script is one thing, but selling it is another. As the face of the show, Tennant could switch from cheeky chappie to ultra-serious blaster of baddies in a nanosecond; yes, Eccleston had the gravitas, but Tennant had that, plus sass. And clearly, he loved playing the Doctor: a lifelong fan himself, he once told GWR FM, "Who wouldn't want to be the Doctor? I've even got my own TARDIS!" It’s a fair point.

Needless to say, I lapped it up; even more so when Catherine Tate came on board as the permanently furious Donna. It was a golden era, but alas, all good things must come to an end. When both Davies and Tennant left in 2010, the show struggled. Matt Smith was charismatic and chirpy, yes, but the writing, under Steven Moffat’s tenure, was blander, the plots more slapdash. Where were the classics: the Blinks, the Empty Children?

As the years progressed, I stopped watching entirely – as did many others. Doctor Who was no longer cool; it was once again the domain of nerds and dedicated fans who were invested enough in the show's lore that the fiendishly complicated scripts made sense (or indeed the show's revolving catalogue of rebooted monsters from the original series). For some, the bad patches were worth toughing out. Which is fine, of course; I’m a nerd myself.

Something was missing; a spark, perhaps. Both Jodie Whittaker and Peter Capaldi’s tenures suffered as a result of poor scriptwriting; the plots were shoddy. The Doctor suddenly started sprouting mysterious incarnations. Why were the Weeping Angels suddenly everywhere? I would read the series reviews and roll my eyes at the screen, longing for the good old days.

I was just about ready to hang up my sonic screwdriver for good - at least until I heard that Russell T Davies was coming back as the series’ showrunner once more, along with Tennant and Catherine Tate as his companion Donna. The classic gang, back together again, and returning for one more bite at the apple before passing on the mantle to Gatwa.

Bringing Tennant back was a masterstroke from Davies. If my ears pricked up, so too did the ears of thousands of ex-Whovians, hungry for some sweet nostalgia. And we’ve been amply rewarded: that first sight of Tennant strolling around London in his revamped Tardis made me squeal like a child. As did the first mention of “Allons-y!”, his old catchphrase.

Watching him bounce around the universe with old companion Donna has been a joy; even better, this is a Doctor brought firmly into the modern-day universe. He’s still recognisably himself, but this time around he has crushes on Nathaniel Curtis’ Isaac Newton (“He was so hot... oh! Is that who I am now?”) and lets Donna and her daughter Rose (Yasmin Finney) school him on pronoun usage. You can sense the mischief in Davies’ pen, as well as the clear love he still has for the series, peppering his scripts with Easter eggs galore.

So as the third and final special approaches, I’m not ready to let Tennant go yet. How could I be? We've only just gotten him back, but wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey rolls on, and it's been a joy to see the show looking more invigorated than it has in years.

Job done? With Davies in charge, I'm optimistic that the soft reboot he and Tennant have kick-started will continue in style. Gatwa has big shoes to fill, but one thing's for certain about Doctor Who: it's all about change. Roll on the future... but if Tennant ever decides to make another guest appearance, I'll be there in the blink of a Weeping Angel's eye.'

[paulrobinsonshotel]

OK so I've been thinking, if RTD absolutely didn't want to go down the root of having a multi-Doctor/multi-companion extravaganza for the 60th, and wanted to go down a more subtle route using old villains and obscure comics to celebrate the show's history, imagine if instead of making the only real "anniversary" elements of the story be his Doctor and his companion, RTD had done the unthinkable, and asked Jodie and Mandip to stay on.

Obviously, there are multiple reasons why that didn't happen. Ultimately Thirteen and Yaz are Chris Chibnall's characters, and RTD may not have wanted to add to Chibnall's story. I'm also aware that Jodie and Mandip thought Chibnall's departure was the right time for them to go, so this ultimately wasn't down to RTD. But I do think (with Chibnall's blessing) he could've convinced them to come back with a good story.

I'm also aware that Jodie had a baby after filming POTD, and needed time away. However, since returning to acting, she has filmed other shows, including Time, which aired before the 60th specials. So there's no reason filming couldn't have been delayed to accommodate Jodie while still having the episodes ready for November/December 2023.

Imagine the end of Power of the Doctor, the Thirteenth Doctor has her farewell with Yaz, goes to the clifftop and starts regenerating... only to end up with the same face by the end of it? Might not have the same impact on the general public as the Tennant return, but certainly enough to keep fans speculating for a year.

Then at the start of The Star Beast, the TARDIS brings her straight to 2023, where she just happens to bump into Yaz as soon as she steps out, who is still hurting after a year without the Doctor, and shocked she doesn't have a different face.

And imagine hearing Akinola's themes for Thirteen and Yaz in Murray Gold's style when they are reunited!

While I do think Donna's exit was more heartbreaking than Yaz's, I'd argue she got closure of a sort, marrying someone who genuinely loves her for who she is, and getting a winning lottery ticket. It certainly didn't need a fanfiction fix-it of being sorted by "just letting go" ("something a male-presenting Time Lord wouldn't understand" way to shit on your own progressivism Russell)

While the ending Chibnall gave Yaz was an appropriate and bittersweet one for her character, it was written in a way that permitted closure or another writer picking up the character in the future.

I criticise RTD frequently on here, but one thing he absolutely excels at is realistic family drama (the scene where Sylvia isn't sure she's saying the right thing to Rose was probably the best writing in those specials), and integrating that family drama with the magic and silliness of Doctor Who. Not saying Chibnall was bad at this, but it was never really the story he wanted to tell. RTD could've done some great stuff with the Khan family in the 60th specials, with her parents and Sonya supporting her in adjusting to life without the Doctor, and probably delivering some uncomfortable truths to Thirteen(.5) about all the time she froze Yaz out or pushed her away.

I'm not sure how the specials could've played out, but imagine if instead of Fourteen regenerating into Ten's face because he "needed to come home" to Donna (and not every other found family the Doctor had ever had?), we linked it back to Power of the Doctor, and revealed that Thirteen wanting more time (with Yaz), and Yaz not wanting her time with the Doctor to end triggered the Toymaker's interference. Her made her regenerate into the same face, and brought her straight back to Yaz, and to defeat him they have to let the change complete itself.

If they're going hard on marketing Ncuti's era as "Series 1" as if it's a brand new show, then I think having Thirteen and Yaz (the final Doctor and companion of the 2005-2023 Who) both accept that it's time to move on would be the perfect coda for the "NuWho" as a whole. No "bigeneration" fanfiction fuckery, but maybe Thirteen offering Yaz to stay with her for the change this time, and Yaz this time being the one to say no, not because the Doctor is regenerating, but because she's accepted that time with the Doctor has to end sometime.

And then in the closing seconds, we get to see Ncuti's Doctor, taking up the baton (and clothes) from Jodie Whittaker, just as it should be, his Doctor on his own terms, not a side character in the last guy's story.

As I said, I understand why this didn't happen, but honestly, this would've been so much better than what we got.

[moonsaver]

Good day, I just wanted to share with you some of my personal headcannons on the Care Package series (I’m too shy to post it myself). I’ll start with the first five stars we got in the Game:

Seele:

•The package is dark purple with a bright hot pink stripe, the most interesting feature is the purple butterfly clip on the side of the box.

•Seele doesn’t wait for anyone to open her box, she gladly explores on her own. She doesn’t like being held but she does love to clim on

•Beginner stage seele is rowdy and very wild, so she’s intended for extroverted and energetic caretakers. In the Beginning stage she has her [Hunt] skill which urges her to scavenge and look for things to bring back to her box, don’t be surprised if she brings back a dead mouse or cockroach. She’ll protect her treasures but with a little nudging she can, albeit reluctantly, throw away her things. She’ll also develop a little later in this stage the [Camp] skill to further improve not just her box but decorate at least a 15 cm meter area around it with any things she collects.

•Caretakers are heavily advised to strategically place small buttons or [Props] that come with the box in the Room where Seele is in to prevent her from going to far or bring any strange objects. After a week or two hunting she’ll go through her next stage

•Middle stage seele goes through her more scavenger era, she isn’t as wild anymore but is more incline to hunt with her skill evolving to [Hunt II] granting her a more stealthy approach, she’ll also develop the [Hide] skill making her more elusive. In addition she also want to train with the [Scythe Prop]. In this stage she’ll become and insist on being independent and will be more isolating than usual with her being inflicted with the [Lone Wolf] status so it’s recommended to spend time with her through make shift treasure hunts to prevent her from feeling lonely. Another advice if the caretaker is too busy is givee Seele a Bronya Companion which will not only speed up her stage advancement but will also prevent her from being afflicted with the [Lone Wolf] status. However be warned that Beginner Stage Seele amd Beginner Stage Bronya will fight and constantly bicker so its best to have both me Middle or Advanced Stage. Other companions that can achieve similar results include Silver Wolf and Trailblazer.

• If you ever have a hard time locating a hiding seele then just gently tap the butterfly on her box, this will cause the butterfly to glow signaling Seele to go back. Once Seele has return within close proximity of the box, the butterfly will stop glowing. Its best for the Caretaker to give Seele some food such as crab to increase affection levels as this moment is where Seele is at her most vulnerable.

•Once Seele enters the advanced stage her personality becomes more calm but still has that wild edge. She is more likely to stick around her shelter but will accompany her caretaker if she needed. She will also obtain her signature skills [Amidst the Sea of Butterflies] allowing her to enter stealth mode for a few seconds. In the advanced stage she can help caretakers locate and track things with her skills. In this advanced stage she can break up fights between other care packages and keep genera peace in the house. She can also be great puppy sitter as she can keep up with dogs energy. She also love’s outdoors and camping so its very helpful to bring her along during walks and camping trips as she can also set up using her [Camp II] skill.

•Overall Seele is a great companion to have but she is targeted to either to energetic kids or Outdoorsy adults. She can be a good beginner companion due to her independent nature.

Notes: What do you think? I hope I did well, your care package series has been running around my mind all week and I am eagerly anticipating the next the installment. I still have some ideas about other characters but this is my first one. I just love Seele cause she was actually my second five star DPS and carrier my butt through the mid game

Hi winter!! So sorry it took me a long time to answer this request. I love the headcannons so far!!

Seele is pretty great! I love her headstrong and rough-edged personality that doesn't pity but rather pushes people on instead. I think this care package headcannon pretty much rounds it up for her! I might aswell just tag your writing under her if i ever decide to write for belobog! Haha.

Nothing much else to say other than the writing is great! I appreciate these works in my inbox. I hope you can continue posting such works without growing shy in the future! I think it's neat!

[angelasscribbles]

The Dark Kingdom Chapter 3: Reprieve

Series: The Dark Kingdom

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Liam x Riley (so far)

Word Count: 1,324

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: none

Translations:

Stăpâni = master

Mareșal = marshal/ general (leader of military)

Soldat= soldier

Soldati= soldiers

My other stuff: Master List.

Liam Rys, the vampire king, known both inside and outside of the Dark Kingdom as the Dark Lord stood in his sanctum considering his options.

He needed to understand why she was here, and he needed to know if the humans knew where she had gone. She said they didn’t, but he needed verification of that.  

Liam lifted his eyes to his Mareșal, “You’re sure none of them followed her across the partition?”

“No, Stăpâni, she’s the only one that set off the alarms.”

Her head snapped up, “Alarms?” Panic swept through her at the thought of the King’s Guard knowing where she had gone, “I didn’t know that crossing the perimeter set off alarms! I didn’t hear anything!”

“Not those kinds of alarms sweetheart,” Drake scoffed.

“Nevertheless, we need to shore up our defenses just in case,” Liam started giving orders, “Have the packs double their patrols of the border. Send the dragons to scout from the sky. Tell Leo to take a few of the soldati and sneak over the perimeter to spy on the humans, and see what they can learn.”

“And the girl?”

“I need to understand why she’s here before I pass judgment on her transgression. Go. Deliver the orders then return.”

Drake inclined his head slightly in deference then was gone so quickly Riley didn’t see him move. One moment he was there then he just….wasn’t.

Her attention was drawn back to the Dark Lord as he spoke, “I apologize for my associate’s behavior. Drake made a blood oath to me centuries ago. He’s my protector and closest companion. He takes the job very seriously.”

“Oh,” shock ran through her at the conciliatory tone in his voice. Hope that there was some slim chance she was going to survive this encounter threaded its way through her, “You don’t have to apologize, I’m the one that broke the rules and crossed the partition.”

“Indeed…” he gestured toward the settee, “Where are my manners? Please, sit, you’ve been through an ordeal tonight it would seem.”

She was again pleasantly surprised by the tone of his voice. The more he spoke to her, the more human and less frightening he seemed. “Thank you.”

He sat down next to her, “Why would you risk certain death by coming here? What did your family do to you? Did someone…hurt you?”

She turned her head away from her as her face flamed red, “I…don’t want to talk about that.”

“I don’t understand you….most people would be on their knees begging for their life. I’m giving you the opportunity to plead your case and you don’t want to talk about it?”

She drew in a deep breath and lifted her head with that defiant tilt of her chin again as she told him, “I knew what I was risking by coming here. I’d rather face death than stay where I was!”

The Dark Lord of the Black Spire mountains was struck speechless for the first time in centuries. When he finally regained his voice, he asked, “You would rather face death than tell me why you fled from your home?”

“I….” her expression changed from defiant to shattered so quickly that he felt like a knife was twisting in his own heart.

He suddenly found himself less concerned with treaties and trespasses and more concerned with what had happened to her. The more they spoke, the more he was certain she wasn’t fleeing any wrongdoing on her part, but some wrongdoing that had been inflicted upon her.

Of course, she didn’t want to tell him anything. Someone had hurt her and since arriving in his kingdom, her safety and her very life had been threatened at every turn by everyone, including him.

It had been centuries since he had cared to earn anyone’s trust but he found himself wanting hers. “What’s your name?”

“Riley.”

“Riley,” he nodded, “That’s very pretty. You can call me Liam.”

“Really?” She stifled what she was terrified was a very inappropriate giggle.

He raised an eyebrow, “That’s amusing?”

“No! I mean sort of…. Liam just seems like such a nice, normal name not….” She glanced away, worried about offending him or saying the wrong thing and getting herself killed.

“Not the name of a dark lord that everyone is terrified of?”

Her eyes flicked back to his face with a half-smile, “Yeah.”

“Yes, well, it’s just the modern version of my original name.”

He smiled at her, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Which was ridiculous, right? She was basically his prisoner and he had literally said he was going to pass judgment on her.

He scooted closer to her and gestured to her hands again, “May I?”

Once again, she extended them to him, unable to repress the tremor that spiraled through her body at his touch.

He gave her a reassuring smile, “Don’t be afraid. I’m going to bite myself and use the blood to heal you. You don’t have to look. You can close your eyes if you wish.”

“I’m not afraid,” her eyes locked on his, refusing to turn away.

She watched with fascination as his incisors elongated into fangs. He brought his wrist to his mouth and used them to slice into his own flesh. When the blood was dripping freely from the wound, he lifted his wrist to her mouth, “Drink.”

Her eyes locked on his as she leaned forward and tentatively licked a thin trickle of blood. She was startled by the taste. It wasn’t coppery, it was salty and sweet with a hint of bourbon lacing it.

“Drink,” He pushed his arm closer to her.

She sealed her lips over the gash and sucked greedily as the flavor exploded across her taste buds; rich and thick and delicious.

Liam sucked in a hiss and his pupils dilated as pleasure rushed through his veins with each suck and audible swallow.

When she pulled away, she licked her lips and then drew a hand shakily across her mouth to wipe any lingering blood from her face. 

When she withdrew her hand, her perfectly unblemished skin caught her eye, and she brought the other one up to inspect as well.

All the cuts, scrapes, and abrasions were gone. Her skin was whole and healthy.

Her head snapped downward as she pulled the hem of her dress up. Lifting one leg then the other she inspected them. They were healed as well. Nothing hurt anymore.

Not physically anyway.

Her eyes were full of gratitude and wonder as they lifted to meet his again, “Thank you.”

For the second time that night, unexpected emotions spilled through the dark lord. Things he hadn’t felt in millennia pushed their way through the thick layers of his heart, leaving him confounded and slightly bemused.

He stood abruptly and stalked away from her. Feeling anything at all for this woman was a mistake.

“Liam?”

He was saved from answering her questions as Drake returned, “All of your orders have been delivered. The patrols have already set out for the borderlands.”

“Excellent! Show the girl to one of our best guest rooms, ensure she has hot water for a bath, have the kitchen send up something for her to eat, and find her some clean clothing.”

“Oh!” Riley felt several emotions slide through her. Relief that she was going to survive this night at least, curiosity about what was going to happen, and disappointment that she was leaving Liam’s presence.

Drake’s eyes tracked from Liam to Riley then back again, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” Liam answered before turning to Riley and offering her his hand. He pulled her off the settee then leaned down and kissed the back of her hand, “Perhaps tomorrow after a good night’s rest and some food, we can talk again?”

Riley blushed as she dipped her head, “I think I would like that.”

He squeezed then dropped her hand, “Until tomorrow then.”

[emotionaldashtoons]

Here's my poster of my official version of my version for my DisneyElseWorld's Pixar's...

INSIDE OUT 2!

I saw the new Inside Out 2 trailer, and they made Anxiety, Ennui, Embarrassment, and Envy bad by betraying the old emotions. Lots of crazy stuff is about to happen! We don't know what's going on, lots of details are there too. But what would the ElseWorld version be like?

SO!

For my idea. I have 6 new emotions, one of my OC emotions I've created like, Courage, Surprise, Pride, Trust, Frustration, and Shy.

MAIN VILLAIN

I am using on of my oc villains, Spite, to be the main villain of the AU second movie.

OTHER CHARACTERS

Characters like Nia, the assistant of Spite, she runs the business with him but she tries to avoid him to help others. Bud, Courage's blood cell buddy, he doesn't speak but he's sweet, nervous, cute and got some attitude. And Brain, the big boss of Riley's mind, and the emotions need his help to stop Spite.

What New Places Would the Emotions Go To?

In this AU, far from HQ and Long Term Memory, instead of the back of the mind being empty, there is a huge mind-filled city called Mindtopia, aka, The City of Riley, where everything in the mind has everybody for Riley's Inner Workings in her mind. That also includes Headquarters. And guess what, they're not the only company, there's also banks, council buildings, restaurants, malls, houses, apartments, and everything for Mind Workers after they work at Long Term Memory. And The Mind Councilman, Chairman, is the Mind Prime Minister.

Returning Cast like...

Amy Poehler as Joy, Lewis Black as Anger, Bill Hader as Fear (YES! I'm bringing Bill Hader back! He's so much funnier then I expected), But here comes my official recast for Disgust and Sadness.

Selena Gomez (the Hotel Transylvania films, Disney Channel's Wizards of Waverly Place, and Hulu's Only Murders In The Building) as Disgust, and Melissa McCarthy (Spy, The Boss, and The Hangover Part 3) as Sadness,

Kensington Tallman as Riley, Diane Lane as Mrs. Andersen, and Kyle MacLachlan as Mr. Andersen.

With All-Star Cast like...

Jason Segel (The Muppets, and, the Despicable Me films) as the new outside leader emotion known as Courage, Charlie Day (the LEGO Movie, and Pacific Rim films, and The Super Mario Bros Movie) as Surprise, Kate McKinnon (Ferdinand, DC League Of Super Pets, and Saturday Night Live) as Frustration,

Zach Woods (The Office, & The LEGO Ninjago Movie) as Trust, Randall Park (the Ant-Man, and Aquaman films) as Pride, Tituss Burgess (Central Park, Angry Birds Movie, and Spellbound) as Shy, Wendi McLendon Covey (Goosebumps 2: Haunted Halloween, and Elemental) as the sweet and huge, Mother Esteem, Eugene Levy (Finding Dory, and Schitt's Creek) as the mind algorithm boss of Riley Andersen's Mind/City of Riley known as Brain, Nathan Fillion (DCU's Superman, Monsters University, and Cars 3) as the very evil and hilariously charming, but pretty badly whiny, Spite,

Ilana Glazer (Netflix's Green Eggs and Ham) as Spite's sarcastic female assistant, Nia, Dan Fogler (the Fantastic Beasts films, and The Walking Dead) as Mind Councilman Chairman, Ken Jeong (Transformers: Dark of The Moon, The Hangover, and Scoob!) as Yes Man, Alan Tudyk (the Moana, Frozen, Zootopia, and Wreck-it Ralph films) as Mind Gate Guard Jimmy, Peter Sohn (Ratatouille, Monsters University, and The Good Dinosaur) as the emotions new best blood cell companion named Bud, Stephen Root (Barry, King of the Hill, and Finding Nemo) as Doc Stem,

Yvette Nicole Brown (Disenchanted, and Avengers: Endgame) as Riley's middle school P.E. coach, Mrs. Roberts, Brady Noon (Good Boys, The Mighty Ducks: Game Changers, and Tales of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) as Jordan, Haley Tju (Amphibia, and Big Hero 6: The Series) as Kelli, Raymond Ochoa (The Good Dinosaur) as Riley's bully, Francis, Josh Peck (Drake & Josh, and Drillbit Taylor) as Francis' bully friend Lars, Bruce Campbell (the Evil Dead, and Spider-Man films, and Sky High) as Dale Daley, Chris Parnell (Archer, and Saturday Night Live) as Geoff James,

Bobby Moynihan (Hoppers, and IF) and Paula Poundstone (Home Movies) as The Forgetters, Paula Pell (Sisters, and Netflix's Big Mouth) as Mom's Anger, Flea (The Wild Thornberries) as Mind Cop Jake, Carlos Alazraqui (Fairly OddParents) as Dad's Anger, Dave Goelz and Frank Oz (the Muppets films and Sesame Street) as Mind Cop Frank & Mind Cop Dave, John Ratzenberger (the Toy Story and Cars films) as Fritz, and The Lonely Island (Akiva Schaffer, Jorma Taccone, and Andy Samberg) (Hot Rod, and Chip & Dale: Rescue Rangers) as Imaginary Cupid Singers.

CREW

Written & Directed by Josh Cooley

Co-Directed by Bob Peterson

Produced by Mark Neilsen, p.g.a.

Executive Producers Pete Docter, Andrew Stanton, and Jonas Rivera

Story by Josh Cooley and Pete Docter

Edited by Kevin Nolting

Cinematography by Patrick Lin and Kim White and Adam Habib

Production Designer Jason Deamer

Story Supervisor Peter Sohn

Additional Dialouge by Dan Scanlon, Bill Hader, and Amy Poehler

Visual Effects Supervisor Bob Pauley

Supervising Animators Lou Romano and Jerome Ranft

Music Scored by Michael Giacchino and Andrea Datzman

Casting by Kevin Reher & Natalie Lyon

[justforbooks]

With her book The Return of Martin Guerre (1983), the historian Natalie Zemon Davis, who has died aged 94, attracted a wide readership and inspired future historians. It came out of working as a historical consultant on a film of the same name released the previous year, starring Gérard Depardieu and Nathalie Baye, and directed by Daniel Vigne.

Martin Guerre, a peasant farmer in the 16th-century Pyrenees, left his wife Bertrande to go on a journey, only to have his marital role usurped by an impostor who “returned” pretending to be him. After some years of cohabitation, Bertrande denounced the impostor, her testimony seemingly confirmed by the return of the real Martin Guerre. The impostor was duly tried and executed.

The film-makers’ questions about period detail and behaviour intrigued Davis. But other aspects of the movie genre troubled her, so she went back to the archives and wrote up her own compact account of 120 pages.

A gripping narrative and a lesson in method, Davis’s book raised questions about the reliability of evidence and the motives and worldviews of peasant men and women from a faraway place and time. It is an example of a microhistory, where historians turn away from the big canvas of kings, queens and battles to understand ordinary lives, often through a highly localised case study.

The Return of Martin Guerre was one of a series of works including Society and Culture in Early Modern France (1975), Fiction in the Archives (1987), Women on the Margins (1995) and The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France (2000). Davis’s trademark was the longer essay or biographical study, often focused on marginal or misunderstood personalities, all spiced with a sharp attention to issues of religion, gender, sex, class, money and power. Historical records for her were never dull: she once described them as “a magic thread that links me to people long since dead and with situations that have crumbled to dust”.

Born in Detroit, Natalie was the daughter of Helen (nee Lamport) and Julian Zemon, a textile trader, both children of east European Jewish immigrants to the US. While studying at Smith College, Massachusetts, at the age of 19 she fell in love with Chandler Davis, a brilliant mathematician and socialist activist; they married in 1948 and went on to have a son and two daughters. Her first degree, from Smith (1949), was followed by a master’s at Radcliffe College (1950).

Her life with Davis was productive and fulfilling but also complicated her early career, as his principled stances against McCarthy-era restrictions on political expression led to both him and her being barred from a number of posts, and from travelling abroad. This she needed to do for her doctorate on 16th-century France.

After finally gaining her PhD at Michigan University in 1959, Davis went on to hold positions at Toronto, moved in 1971 to the University of California, Berkeley, where she was appointed professor, and in 1978 to Princeton, retiring in 1996. She became only the second woman to serve as president of the American Historical Association (1987), and the first to serve as Eastman professor at Oxford (1994). In 2012 she was appointed Companion of the Order of Canada, and in the US was awarded a National Humanities Medal.

Davis helped establish programmes in women’s studies and taught courses on history and film. Her AHA presidential address, History’s Two Bodies (1988), summed up her thinking about gender in history. It was also the first such address to be printed with illustrations. Her book Slaves on Screen (2002) was one of the first in-depth treatments of this topic by a professional historian.

In her last two books, Davis returned to the exploration of mixed identities. Trickster Travels (2006) was about the 16th-century scholar Leo Africanus, whose complicated Jewish and Muslim roots in North Africa she expertly unpicked. Listening to the Languages of the People (2022) focused on the 19th-century scholar Lazare Sainéan, a Romanian-Jewish folklorist and lexicographer who published one of the world’s first serious studies of Yiddish, but had to abandon his Romanian homeland for Paris in 1901.

At the time of her death, Davis was completing a study of slave families in colonial Suriname: it is hoped this will appear under the announced title of Braided Histories. In this way she continued to explore unconventional topics, going against the grain of Eurocentric history and looking instead at the boundaries of identity and belonging in very different settings.

Visiting many universities and research centres in her retirement, Davis encouraged younger scholars by conveying the potential of history to inspire empathy and hope for change. While at my own institution, the University of Amsterdam, in 2016, she made it her main aim to talk to students rather than to other professors. In 2022-23 she presented her latest work in online seminars, and wrote and corresponded actively until shortly before her death from cancer.

Chandler died in 2022. Natalie is survived by her three children, Aaron, Hannah and Simone; four grandchildren; three great-grandchildren; and a brother, Stanley.

🔔 Natalie Zemon Davis, historian, born 8 November 1928; died 21 October 2023

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