#killer should be allowed to be his worst with color

[what-have-i-unleashed]

killer and color "enemies" phase headcanons (might be a bit too indulgent sorry)

inspired by the tags on this post

nightmare always lets killer to go off to fight color when they deal with the star sanses and/or the epic sanses, providing that killer is an obedient servant of course. whenever he's given the permission, killer just immediately takes off to fight color. his fated enemy. if there is a soulmate in this world, color would be killer's.

killer and color always fight each other with no intervention, mostly because killer doesn't like it when other interferes with their "games". this is a special right only color gets to have. if color gets help, killer will brutally and quickly take them out before resuming his usual song-and-dance with his fated enemy - that's why color always advises others to not help him, not even in the smallest ways. if any of nightmare's other minions get between killer and color, killer will make them pay. nightmare forbids killer from killing his coworkers, but that doesn't mean killer won't make their lives a living hell if they decide to butt into his business and steal away his favorite "toy".

and i think when killer fights color, he feels... happy of some sorts. he just emits some toxic variation of positivity, a cruel and deranged, but also warm and delighted, joy at playing with color. look at how they fit into each other's steps. look at how exhilarated and alive color makes killer feel. the barbs, the taunts, the comebacks - it feels good to have someone to receive what he dishes out and return it with a pretty bow on top. nightmare often stays away because of the positivity killer has during his fights with color. and killer, in some twisted way, deduces that this is his reward from nightmare for "being good" - a positive reinforcement to ensure his long-lasting loyalty to nightmare of sorts.

and this close and personal relationship with color that killer has is so different from his other relationships. with nightmare, with chara, he's always the hurt one, the one under control. but with color, it's refreshing to have something, someone, he can hold and carve his feeble feelings upon. someone to receive all his worst tendencies and still be strong enough to appear next time to oppose him and play with him again. he could almost call color a "friend", but that's not the correct word, isn't it? they're both "toys" in someone's games. and killer wishes it'll be like this forever. he wishes color would remain his "toy" so he can have this small speck of joy til the end of his time. "let me hurt you, and you can hurt me back - because that's what we're supposed to be in this grand cosmic narrative." they're enemies, so it's fine if they hurt each other, right? it's fine if killer doesn't need to bow down or accommodate another authoritarian being in his life, right? it's okay to make color suffer all his worst, and in return he wishes to crack open color's deepest darkest secrets too.

{pspsps @howlsofbloodhounds come here}

[contamination-zone]

5 times Fresh acted like an animal, and 1 time Color 'Got it'

[first chapter [here!] - next chapter]

beta read by @/calamarispider

[UTMV FIC] Contains: Straydog AU, Platonic Fresh & Color, past conditioning/abuse, misunderstandings/miscommunication, unreliable narrator, [~2,500 words]

“Nightmare-“ the word cut through its panicked thoughts, and it locked onto Color with more clarity. It- it had to listen if it was about Nightmare. Was Color returning it? Was Color angry at it for its owners actions? Did he want to start its training now, disregard what Nightmare taught it? “-Killer brought you here, and you’re not… you’re not his anymore.”

or, Fresh acts like an animal and Color gets very confused

Fic under cut! or on AO3

Color took a long sip of his coffee before letting out a sigh. Killer, in all his darling, catlike glory, had brought him a half-dead monster earlier that day. 

He’d looked so pleased with himself [or as pleased as Killer ever managed to look], dragging it along by a leash. Words spilled from his mouth of how much he knew Color loved strays, and how nice he was being by taking this rescue to Color, and wasn’t Color proud?

Narrowed but glazed eyes, wheezy breathing and the slow nearly imperceptible swaying had immediately let Color know it was sick. As soon as he got the little group of three to his home he’d tucked it into the guest room. Killer happily followed behind him, watching Color work with that empty [but definitely pleased] stare.

Killer had gone to bed at that point, Color shooing him off to get some rest, which only left Color awake. Someone needed to keep an eye on their guest, and Color didn’t know how much it would appreciate Killer being the one to loom over it.

He chugged the rest of his coffee, the scalding heat barely noticeable compared to the burn most of his body felt like on the worst days. Rubbing at his face would only make the headache worse, but that didn’t stop the instinct.

A quick glance at the clock let him know it’d been an hour since his last check in. 

The monster, Fresh as Killer had introduced it, probably didn’t need him to watch it so closely. Color just couldn’t get that first image of it out of his mind- it looked half-way to falling down, barely present even with its sharp eyes trained on him. It was… it was bad.

Of course, nothing could go easy for him. He’d walked slowly and quietly to the guest-room, not wanting to wake the sick monster, only to be greeted with a surprise.

Fresh was missing. 

The bed looked messily made, the sheets rumpled but still tucked in. The little washcloth he’d settled over its forehead was folded neatly and set on the pillow. The glass of water next to the bed lay untouched.

Anxiety filled him near instantly. The monster was way too sick to be wandering about, lost and confused in a new environment. Even if it was lucid enough to know it had been rescued, Color remembered how overwhelming freedom could be.

He hadn’t heard the door open, so hopefully it was still in the room. At least, he’d check first.

“You in here bud?” He called softly, moving further into the room. Nothing answered him.

A glance into the closet showed it empty, and similar for the bathroom. Just as he was about to give up and expand his search to the whole house, he heard a shuffle near the bed.

It could easily be a rat or some other small animal - not in the least because there shouldn’t be enough space back there for Fresh - but he had to be sure.

Color carefully creeped forward, crawling up onto the bed to glance down between the bed frame and wall. 

There it was. Fresh had wedged itself between the wall and bed frame. Its too tall frame didn’t look like it should allow the squeeze, but somehow it managed to contort itself small enough to do so.

More distressing than that was the way it clearly thought it had done something wrong, frozen stock still and staring up at him from where it hid. Eye sockets stretched open but gaze fuzzy. Its left pupil had blown wide: frightened.

Hiding from him, or uncomfortable on the bed. He felt sick, about why it would feel like that. 

Color’s irritated flames illuminated its face. He took a deep calming breath, before letting it out slowly. Staring down at its hiding place, stressed was the last thing he could be, not with the way Fresh was looking at him.

“Hey bud,” he started, trying to diffuse the tension, “rather… colorful hiding place.”

Fresh didn’t laugh. It was starting to breathe faster, wheezy and almost wet. Color cringed.

“No, no, shhh- everything’s okay dude,” He said quickly, “I like the hiding spot? It’s very creative?”

It didn’t look to be calming down, if anything it was beginning to get even more freaked out. This was, in turn, making Color freak out even more too.

He wracked his brain, trying to remember what helped him ground himself when he remembered being back in the void. 

“You’re not back there,” He stated, trying to be firm but not too commanding- what the collar around its neck implied… it probably wouldn’t like that, “You’re in my house right now, not back with Nightmare.”

The name brought more clarity to its eyes, and he hoped that was a good thing.

He continued, “right now, you’re far away from him, with me. Killer brought you here, and you’re not… you’re not his anymore.”

Fresh had stilled slightly from its shaking wheezes, but hadn’t completely calmed down. There was a calculating edge to it now, or as calculating as it could get, sick as it was. Still a better look than its blind fear, Color thought. It tilted its head, the motion reminiscent of a dog. [Color felt guilty for that thought immediately. To draw comparisons to a pet drew his eyes to the collar around its neck.]

“So,” it started, looking over at him like it thought he’d hit it for saying anything at all. Color ignored the nausea to give it an encouraging look, “So I’m… with you now, not Nightmare?”

The words were said with a certain sort of importance, like it was planning on building itself around them once it got a confirmation. Or maybe it was just having trouble getting each word out. Color honestly couldn’t tell.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “yeah, you’re with me. Not him, never again.”

It nodded a little shakily, before coughing hard. He couldn’t help the small distressed noise he made at that, and its eyes snapped to him.

“Could you come onto the bed, bud? It can’t be comfortable down there.“ He gestured vaguely to the space it had shoved itself into. It looked unnatural, the sick monster contorted into that small hide-away.

He wondered if Nightmare put it into cages that size. The thought made him feel sick and he shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He needed to get his head out of the clouds, to help the Fresh of the present.

Fresh let out a little whine, barely audible to him, “the bed…?” It seemed a bit stressed at the idea.

The words, quiet as they were, made him feel sick all over again. Did Nightmare not allow it to sleep on beds? That was… that was just absurd. Cruel.

Just as he was about to say it could stay down there, - which it very much could not - it pulled itself out from between the bed and wall. With sluggish motions, it flipped over and settled on the bed with its head in his lap.

It was fast asleep before he could tell it this wasn’t what he meant. 

He felt dirty, the way it cuddled up to him like it thought he wanted that. The way it hid from him as soon as it was conscious enough to move… he knew it wouldn’t be doing this on its own free will.

He brought a hand over his face, the other settling over its head. “What am I going to do with you…”

—Second half - POV: Fresh—

The bed Color stuck it in smelt like someone else. It turned over for what felt like the fiftieth time, trying futilely to get comfortable.

Its nose felt stuffy, and it hated the feeling of the covers underneath it, quilted and soft with age. Clearly it wasn’t new, used by someone in the past, well loved. It was in someone else’s territory, their Nest- it shouldn’t be here, stuck in a too big, too empty room that belonged to someone else.

The only times Nightmare let it in bed was if he wanted to pet and cuddle it. Or if it had been particularly good. Neither seemed like motivations Color would have. He’d seemed disquieted by it, uncomfortable with its state. Which made sense. It was sick, gross, even.

Nightmare was always complaining about Color ruining his plans, putting his conditioning of Killer at risk. Of course he would dislike Fresh all the same. Probably why he took it all, to recondition it into something better, more suited to… whatever his motivations were.

Another turn, curling into as tight a ball it could manage as another coughing fit exploded out of it. It hated this, this bed, this new owner, this stupid stupid sickness.

Maybe he had left it to the room, and not the bed. Finding out the borders of rules was always a good idea. More information equaled more safety. It would be useful to know how Color reacted to it not being where he’d left it. A logical course of action, something that calmed its racing mind.

Carefully, for it wasn’t stupid and the rule it was breaking was moving, not being obnoxiously loud, it creeped off the bed. The floor was carpeted, and the bones of its feet sank in. A soft contrast to Nightmare’s hardwood floors. 

Fresh vanished the thought, looking for a better place to get comfortable. Its legs trembled under it, and it knew it needed to lie down again soon; the limitations of this host proved very annoying.

To its right there was a window, making the room feel even more exposed. A lie of some sort, not gated or locked; a clear mockery of it. Testing the seal would be admitting it fell for the trap, losing.

However false it was, it hated how much it served to expose it further. A duel purpose in torture, mixings of what it could not have; freedom and security. Anyone could look in, see it weak and out in the open. A sick creature, easy pickings.

On the far wall, a door led to what looked like a bathroom. Secure, it could lock the door, and spacious. It would have access to water as well. Next to it, a closet; it was just big enough for Fresh to fit into, if it tried hard enough. The darkness would provide an ideal hiding place, and the door to the closet similarly added security.

Its last option served both the least secure but most enticing hiding spot. Right beside the bed, in-between it and the wall, there looked to be a crawl space just big enough for it. It missed some of the pros the other two hides had, but it was actually inside the room. The parasite was probably testing its luck less if it went beside the bed, at least compared to the other two spots.

Mind made up, it dropped to the floor and crawled in. 

Almost immediately it felt more comfortable. It was small, dry, and the carpet under felt soft, but mostly untouched. The floor probably hadn’t seen much foot traffic since the bed was placed over it. Unused territory, no one to get mad at Fresh for taking what was theirs.

It relaxed, letting its head rest on the mattress and its back press to the corner of the room. Finally safe, it allowed itself to doze- not sleeping, not yet It couldn’t. Not until it knew it was safe, that Color wouldn’t get pissed at its change in position.

It let out another harsh cough, which it felt was a bad omen. Nothing ever went its way.

A few minutes - hours - later, it heard the door creak open. Curling up tighter, it hid as far into the corner it had shoved itself into as possible. Maybe he wouldn’t see it. [It didn’t know what it was thinking. Hiding would give it nothing but seconds of reprieve and a punishment.]

Fresh was, very predictably, found. Color sat crouched on the bed, looking over him from above like a predatory bird. It could hear heavy breathing, and after a moment realized that was itself.

Color talked at - to? - it for a few minutes, words soupy as they got to Fresh. He had a determined look to his face though, so it knew it had to listen at the very least. It was hard though, the words falling through its fingers like water.

It almost whined, but kept the sound in. It was already failing so badly, it couldn’t embarrass itself too. 

“Nightmare-“ the word cut through its panicked thoughts, and it locked onto Color with more clarity. It- it had to listen if it was about Nightmare.

Was Color returning it? Was Color angry at it for its owners actions? Did he want to start its training now, disregard what Nightmare taught it?

“-Killer brought you here, and you’re not… you’re not his anymore.” 

Oh. He was establishing ownership. It could understand that. It had already Assumed that even.

“So-“ Fresh mumbled, before freezing. It hadn’t asked permission to speak. Color didn’t seem too offended though, so maybe it was being given some leeway. “So I’m with you now, not Nightmare?”

Each word felt like pulling teeth, but Color smiled, words flowing smoothly out to confirm it was right. He didn’t say much praise besides that though, and it ruthlessly pushed down the panic at that. 

Parroting back his ownership was, frankly, something that was so pathetic it could understand why Color thought it didn’t deserve praise. It needed to calm down.

More words dragged it from its thoughts, these ones clearly directions. Color didn’t like it being in its hiding spot, and it knew what it needed to do.

It couldn’t help the little whine that slipped out. It didn’t want to move, to keep awake for longer; it just wanted to stop being so scared. The hiding spot felt… safe.

Color was starting to look more and more severe though, and it knew it couldn’t dally for long. 

Maybe he really did want to cuddle like Nightmare did, whenever he’d allowed it in bed. With a shaky wheeze, it crawled back onto the bed and flipped over his lap.

It just hoped Color didn’t expect it to be an active participant. It was out like a light.

[lady-quen]

Hounds to Hamartia

"...Do you really want this, Commander? You wouldn't have gotten so far if not for your hunger." "...A hunger to succeed. To be recognized. To have power. You greedy creature, always reaching for more than you can swallow until the God of Flames finally made you choke on it. And yet, you'd return? To do it all over again? Don't you see how far you've already fallen - from a bright eyed Valiant to a wolf gripping tight the reins of all those who would dare question and oppose you? You're a killer, you know, right? You're never satisfied. And no matter what you do and how much you achieve, it will never be enough. You can drink til you're sick but never til you're satisfied. You will lose your Dream but your Hunt shall never end. Is this what you want?" "To save her. Yes. I will do anything." "Will you be anything?" "Yes."

[The Departing soft rewrite as applicable to my canon. 15k words. Tws for major character death, major character undeath, blood, gore, unreality, fantasy racism, swearing. The study of ambition as a fatal flaw, ironic destiny, as well as what it means to become a monster to stop an arrogant god. The Commander's encore.]

The arid Elonian air strained his lungs. That, and all that smoke from the Forged that insisted on barricading his path every step of the way.

The Knight ducked, deftly avoiding a blow from a massive Cannonade - deathly green magic snaking around the tip of Caladbolg as he angled it upward. With a shink! the Thorn slotted neatly between the plates of the construct's armor, severing the strands that bound the soul battery within. The flame fizzled out, and the colossus fell to its knees.

That... was the last of them. Maelmordha sighed, wiping a stray bead of sweat from silver skin. Sun-dried, his leaves and bark had practically lost all color. The sylvari took a short break in his climb, leaning against one of the rocky pillars that offered him some shade. Idly, his unaltered hand played with the settings of his communicator. He had already tried to enter the channel before, but the duststorms coming in from around Kesho had rendered the effort moot. Once again, the device returned nothing but static. Just like the buzz of sand in his ears when he braved the vast desert.

The necromancer pocketed the contraption, vinetooth arm adjusting Caladbolg's weight upon his shoulder. Not too long, now, he thought to himself. As he walked, the top of the Spire finally came into view - the meeting place he had arranged for the Dragon's Watch to pick him up. In theory, the altitude should allow for his communicator to work even despite the chaotic weather.

In practice, however, he really didn't like the dark clouds looming in the distance.

„Taimi, come in.” He stopped in the middle of the plateau. The only thing that answered him was yet more static, causing the Knight to let out an exasperated huff. The airship should have been visible by now. Did they get stuck in the storm? Worst case scenario, he could wait however long it took - he'd much rather spend a few extra rations than have the Watch crash somewhere far from civilization, thrown to the mercy of Elona's fickle weather and scorching sun. Spirits of this land only knew just how much of a scorned mistress it could really be, but he was beginning to get an idea. And that idea was that the sky was darkening much too quickly to be natural.

Something stirred in the pit of his stomach. Gold eyes narrowed, scanning the area around him. His stronger arm rested on the hilt of the Thorn, feeling the fuzz on his neck stand up as though seized by crackling static.

A sound. Like thunder.

The Commander leapt back, just narrowly avoiding the fiery meteor that crash landed in the middle of the Spire. What in the fucking Hydras..?! No, this wasn't a meteor -

„Balthazar!” His lips moved on their own. Fuck.

The God seemed to drink in the shock and fear betrayed by the necromancer's features. Grizzled features contorting in a self-satisfied smirk beneath a crown of obsidian horns. His gaze was oppressive, even when his voice seemed almost eerily playful. „Expecting someone else?”

Shit. This wasn't winnable.

The Commander forced a smile, even when he could already feel his skin shedding water at the sheer heat emanating from the God of Fire. His mask would do no good here - Balthazar knew all too well he held the upper hand. Still, if the Dragon's Watch were to come - how did the human God even know they were meeting here?!

Think, Mael, think..!

„Oh? Can't a man go sightseeing in peace?” He blurted out with a nervous laugh, Caladbolg poised and ready for combat. He could hear the rush of sap in his ears, heart pounding to the rhythm of alarm bells ringing in his skull. Gold eyes scanned the plateau. As if on cue, walls of fire, summoned with a snap of the rogue deity's fingers. Cutting off his escape route. Like a wolf smoked out of its den and ensnared in a ring of burning forest.

This was the end of the road. Knowing running was no longer an option, the sylvari's gaze focused on Balthazar, eyes wide and instinctive smirk turning into a wicked-looking grin. It wasn't a smile, anymore. He was a cornered beast, all bared teeth and feet ready to spring. The god chuckled. „Good. Just like that. I want your eyes on me, now, Commander.”

His title was a mockery, upon Balthazar's tongue. Like playing pretend with a child who wished he could be king. In the end, mortal rulers were but fleeting autumn leaves, falling soundless before eternal Gods. Not even a requiem, only the desert winds.

Fuck that. He was not going to think that way. He would not give this man the satisfaction. Maelmordha grinned, the sharpened tips of his fangs but polished wood before the hulking giant of flame and metal. So, too, was Caladbolg - but the Thorn had slain strange things before. And he laughed, a brazen sound to challenge Balthazar's own. If he were to fall, he would not go quietly.

„Bring it, then. Just us.”

No one was coming. Good. He would not suffer Balthazar to hurt his guild.

His attitude seemed to humor the God. An enormous blade of lupine decor and crackling hellfire rose at the fiery monarch's whim, carried solely by the strength of his will. Mael prepared himself to dodge - ducking swiftly under a wide swing that would have surely cleaved him in twain where he stood. Like a hot knife through butter. Still the red-hot bottom of the sword singed his foliage, adding a dusting of black to once pure-white leaves.

He sprang back to his feet, rolling deftly around the God's shin. Caladbolg struck viciously - a resounding clang as divine wood struck divine metal, repelled by the sheer force of magic clashing against magic. Shit. Balthazar was not only armored from head to toe - he was his armor, inhabited by flame like the lanterns in the Grove holding fireflies.

Unbothered, the God of War extended a palm - his war machine of a sword moving of its own accord and raking the ground where Mael had stood but moments prior. Lazy, like a cat swatting a toy mouse. Knowing its plaything won't run away. Catching a gaze of twin funeral pyres, the necromancer extended a hand of his own. There was no flesh nor blood here, but a necromancer of his caliber could make do.

„Rise!” He commanded, and the bleached bone of Elona's past answered his call. Skeletal warriors, rapidly assembling, with sand-worn equipment clutched in desiccated digits. Not like these could do much against the living embodiment of volcanic fury dressed in fortress walls, but they could be a distraction.

„Oh? What's this? Playing with toys? Feeling lonely?” Balthazar teased, a swing of his sword turning one of his minions into bone dust. Too shattered to return, a jigsaw with a million pieces. „...Have your friends abandoned you?”

He wasn't going to let Balthazar's teasing get to him. He only grinned in response, brows furrowed over sharp, golden orbs. Good, he wanted to say. Good, only I pay the price for my foolishness - no, don't think like that.

...You can salvage this. He's arrogant. An enemy so sure of their superiority won't be as ready for the tables to turn.

He ducked and weaved, striking with Caladbolg where he was able. Hissing as the fire burned his skin by mere proximity, retreating into a Shroud of shadows. Each step of this dance was a brush with death - against a predator who could crush him in a single blow.

„What do you say we take things a little more slowly this time?” The deity rumbled contentedly - reveling in his opponent's fleeting strength.

„I'm surprised a God can derive this much enjoyment from fighting one mortal.” Maelmordha quipped back. „Picking on prey your own size didn't go well, last time?”

„It seems you need a lesson in humility.”

He provoked him. Good.

Having baited Balthazar into advancing, the Commander leapt back. As soon as the God's boot touched the polished stone floor where he had stood but seconds prior, runic patterns alight with a green hue began their work.

An explosion, followed by another, and another. Sizzling poison accompanied by bitter frost, Death's own essence wrapped around the fallen God's form to sap his strength. The necromancer felt some of his burns heal from the sheer amount of magic taken through this gambit. Revitalized, a glimmer of hope surfaced within his mind that maybe, he could last long enough to devise a proper plan.

...And yet, even that amount of magic only seemed equal to plucking a single hair off the back of a rampaging boar. Balthazar didn't even seem to feel it.

He closed the gap faster than Mael could have ever anticipated such a behemoth to move. A motion of a fiery hand prompting his greatsword to thrust forward at unprecedented speed, and the Pact Commander could only respond so well.

A massive claw of pure darkness rose from the ground to intercept the blade, hardening quickly into solid shadow. But the flame only burned brighter. Parting the dark like a lantern, phasing right through his spell before he was fully ready to dodge.

He felt the blade brush against his side. It almost felt painless - before the scream caught in his throat.

He fell to his right, clutching his cleaved side. Golden blood gushed from the gruesome wound, Caladbolg clattering to the ground without fanfare. A howl of agony burst through clenched lips before he could ever choke it down. Shaking, he pushed down on crimson fabric, knowing no bandage could stem the flow of the sap that stickied his fingers.

Like a tree taking an axe to the trunk only to topple over. Even with all these years, he really was no more than a sapling.

No, no..! Get up. This isn't the end. Is it..?

He fought so hard to not let the terror show in his eyes. Even so much as meeting Balthazar's gaze was a monumental task. But he did. He blinked against the twin suns that threatened to steal his vision, and the Lord of Flames smirked. Satisfaction, mockery, faux pity, he couldn't even tell what it was, if not all of it at once.

„Feeling mortal yet?” He thundered, even the softest whisper of his voice an earthquake in its own right. „Do you recall the lesson? No? Let me repeat it for you: never defy a god.”

Through the haze of pain and building panic, the necromancer did the only thing appropriate. He laughed. His vinetooth arm reached for the fallen Thorn. Using the sword as a crutch, he pulled himself up to his feet. Even if his knees trembled. Even if the warmth spreading across his side sent waves of nausea through his guts.

And he felt it again. That magic he had absorbed previously. Except - no - this magic was.. was Balthazar directly feeding a sliver of his magic to him, right in that very moment? Was he going crazy from blood loss? And if so, why did he suddenly feel so much better?

Good enough to stand. Good enough to swing a sword - even with just one arm, and the other possibly the only barrier stopping his insides from sightseeing the outside world. He was still bleeding, but this... he had time. He had time.

Time. Time. Just... a little more time. What are you holding out for, Valiant? You know help isn't coming.

Tick, tock.

He bit back a groan of pain. I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Every second he wrestled from this dire hourglass was a testament to his resilience. Every long second that counted down towards his death was a testament to Balthazar's pride. Panting, mortal breath mixed with immortal, singing fire and the roar of a sword two times his height or more slamming against the ground like a thunder drum.

A terrible symphony, for none to behold but themselves.

Tick, tock. He dodged. Tick, tock. The Thorn glanced off of impenetrable armor. Tick, tock. He slipped on his blood. Balthazar seemed almost disappointed at the lack of banter.

He couldn't move fast enough. His right hand joined the left in gripping the hilt of Caladbolg when he prepared to parry. Blinding light strained his eyes as the telekinetic strike came his way, and he angled the Thorn to minimize damage.

A sickening crunch. He skid back several meters, fresh pain seizing control of his senses. His right arm refused his control, and the tip of Caladbolg fell heavy against the floor in a pitiful attempt to stop him from falling. His breath came in ragged gasps as he beheld what had become of his uncorrupted arm - mangled at the elbow, splinters of wood tearing through vine. Fresh sap streaming down his sleeve, dripping from unresponsive fingers. It hurt. Oh, by the Tree it hurt so much. A low whine of agony escaped heaving lungs, tears flowing freely down silver cheeks. He couldn't even find the energy to meet the God's gaze, then. And he wasn't sure he even wanted to. Reality's weight was settling in, like dull ache in the bones.

If he looked at him now, what would he find? What was this sadism? How long would this last..?

Tick.

Tock.

Another blow. There wasn't even any time for him to breathe. If he were to fall, he would not go quietly. Like a ragdoll, he was practically thrown across the arena, a new slash in his shoulder rendering his right side almost completely useless. His mangled form finally came to a halt when it crashed against a pillar, rupturing something inside. A pained hiss, then desperate roar of hatred and sheer anguish. With his sole working hand, he slowly dragged himself, yet again, towards his sword.

„Suffer a little more loudly. Cry out!” The God raved in glee. „Let everyone hear!”

...Who...? There was no one here... Was there? It was getting dark. Maybe the shadows dancing at the edges of his vision were people, after all.

So he did the only thing he felt he could still do. Eyes numb to the pain. He got... up. Up to his knees, for his body refused to climb any higher. Up, as though clawing for a shred of dignity. At this point, the liquid pooling in his mouth tasted all the sweeter when he considered it signaled his coming release. And he knew how Trahearne had felt. Yes, the darkness suddenly seemed so... appealing. Even if the quiet scared him.

He didn't want it to be so... quiet.

„I do enjoy these little get-togethers. You're proving to be quite useful.” What in the fuck was Balthazar rambling on about? He struggled to focus on the words. He let out a wheezy „what” and spat anothet mouthful of sap. M-maybe if he tried to talk, Balthazar would converse rather than slowly pull him apart. Alas, his inquiry was ignored.

But something else answered. At first, he didn't know what it was.

The God of Fire walked towards him at a leisurely pace, before finally stopping mere centimeters away from the Knight - forcing him to look practically straight up. He could no longer make out Balthazar's features, privy only to a hazy outline of horns and two burning eyes.

„Listen...” Maelmorda rasped. Even that much took an unbelievable amount of effort. A long pause, just to collect enough breath to form words. „I never... even... wanted... to kill you....”

The true threat to Tyria were the Dragons. And they could not be killed without catastrophe following. He supposed all his dreams and lofty ambitions were but delusions of a madman. In a sense, Braham was right. Who gave him the right to kill Dragons, anyway? And who made him believe he could ever stand against a God? Hubris, all the way down. His very own hamartia.

„You won't.” The deity of Fire and War answered, matter-of-factly. The clock was winding down. Sleep. Please. „...How sad for you to die so far from home.” Please. No more magic moving his strings. No more teetering on the brink of oblivion.

No more. He let out a harsh gasp and fell backwards. Balthazar seemed satisfied. He supposed he could die knowing he gave a God some exercise.

There was a light in the sky. Huh, so this is how....

He blinked. This was no star, nor an opening of the heavens. It moved. It was... blue. And he felt a tiny mind hold the hand of his own. Filling his silence with song just to keep him afloat. And he knew. And oh, he knew.

„Ah, the scion... come here to defend her Champion.”

„Aurene, no...” He cried out, sole working hand reaching out in her general direction. His mind begging her to run. Grasping at the air with twitching fingers, as though he could in any way stop the God from taking her like he took all he ever wanted. Just another conquest.

She whined like a battered pup. Tiny yelps that communicated more than language ever could. Her magic cradling his weary soul even as he felt every thread that tied him to existence snap one by one. Begging her to stop. Holding her mind's hand when she refused, for he knew all too well the pain of letting go. But Balthazar had already claimed what he came for. Played him like the fool he was. So he decided to claim one last thing, just out of spite. I want your eyes on me, now.

Aurene was whisked away from the reach of his vision, fading sight filled completely by his killer. And the sword that lingered, a stake, above his heart. „And now, you die.”

...Aurene, I'm so -

In an instant, she felt the connection sever.

What am I? Who am I?

It saw a barren sky, shorn of stars. Its eyes never blinked. It did not know what a sky was. Only that it filled its sight, the very first ephemeral memory, ever since „existence” became a concept that it knew.

But besides that, it also knew one other, much more intimate thing - an idea that existed before it did. The idea it needed to be somewhere else.

It rose. Spectral fingers digging into grass, without feeling. Chest falling and rising without breath, as though in a hazy recollection of having once carried that rhythm.

The ground was cold. What was... cold? Everything that heat wasn't. It did not know why, but it brought it comfort. The idea of being something else than cold terrified it. And so it wandered. It was the only thing it could really do. It was almost familiar, like a dreamscape that it once existed in before existence became a concept that gave it meaning.

Occasionally, it passed another spark. Heard questions, and discovered it could speak.

What is my name? Something inquired. I don't know, it answered.

What is a... name? And why does everything hurt?

In the distance, an object. It moved towards it. Beside it, stood a spark, asking questions. Inside it, stood another. Different. Almost like it did not... belong. The very moment it moved closer, it was addressed directly.

„You there! Come here. Over here. We can help each other. What is your name?”

Ah, again... that word.

„I don't even know who I am. Or where I am... Or how I got here.” It only spoke the truth. It had no concept of anything else - at least at the time. The stranger, however, seemed well versed.

„You died - it happens.” It shrugged. Seemingly unbothered at the notion of whatever death was, even though it certainly raged at the predicament of being restrained within an object. „Welcome to the Domain of the Lost. I am, of course, King Palawa Joko.”

Huh, it thought, and its mind regained a little clarity. Was „Palawa Joko” a name?

„King Joko..? I'm sorry. I don't know that name,” it gently responded. Wide, curious, trusting gold, like the eyes of a a freshly blossomed hound. Ah, yes... it missed them. Why weren't there more hounds? It felt like there were, last time. When was... last time?

Its inability to recall the name sent the stranger into a fit of anger. The spark could only tilt its head inquisitively, attempting to understand the many terms that rapidly spilled forth from chapped lips. Ah, yes... it had... a body. It was not a spark - a spirit. Like it. Why was it different?

So it asked. And received another name in response - Balthazar. It felt... familiar. But it did not feel cold, and that scared it more than anything.

It seemed this Balthazar was a liar, then. A deceiver. And it understood what it meant to lie and deceive, and some of the light left its eyes. It knew that it, too, had lied and deceived in life. But... why? Why would someone do that? A concept of a headache was something that became known right after. And yet, that gnawing, anxious sensation persisted. This was no place for it. It needed to be somewhere, but not here.

And it realized it, too, had been a he. Like Balthazar. Was he.. Balthazar? No. He can't have been, right? He had half a mind to ask Joko about it, but the amount of confusion he was already suffering was enough for the time. Such as, what the difference between „God” and „King” even was, if there was any.

He imagined that, had he really been Balthazar, King - God..? Joko would have had more to say about it. He let out a spectral sigh as he watched the other spark argue with the stranger on the proper definition of godhood. He was not sure what “Genuflect, peasant” was supposed to mean, but apparently, the Domain of the Lost was where such debates commonly took place.

„Come, gentle spirit. You must take the next steps, and I've heard enough of Joko's blasphemies.” Its - her..? voice pried him from his thoughts. She had evidently grown bored with the stranger within the object, and decided to debate him next. Oh, Mother. Wait, who was Mother? But more importantly...

„...Who is the Judge..?” He asked the fellow spark, following closely in tow. The landscape was strange and the anxiety was not going away. Even existing was difficult, like every body part was ill-fitting. Uncomfortable, like his very self was a lie. 

She turned her head, coal brown meeting gold. She had a soothing air around her, like the remnants of a gentle sun. Warm. But not... scary. Not in the sense that Balthazar was.

„He is a loyal servant of Grenth. Charged with sending all the spirits who come through here to their appointed place.”

„But I don't know who I am. I don't know where I should be.” He mused sadly, as though afraid to admit he had no frame of reference. Everything simply fell away the moment he arrived here. If he even did arrive. Or had he always been here..? And yet, if so, why did it feel so wrong?

They walked the haunted plain, passing many other sparks. Some tall, some diminutive, some with beaks and fangs and tails. So many shapes to exist in that he had never fathomed. So, he looked at his hands. Compared his silver skin to that of the spark walking beside him. Bronze, soft, kissed by the sun. His was... harsher, pale, cold like snow.

Eventually, his senses were filled with the presence of something far greater than mere sparks. She beckoned for him to step forward, coaxing him gently towards the being. He was... massive. Hooded, with a skull mask for a face. He absentmindedly touched his own.

„Come, spirit. Do not be afraid.”

„I'm not sure why I'm here, or even who I am.” He confessed, resolving not to lie. In truth, he wasn't even sure.. how to, at least not at the time, but if being wretched had condemned him to that place, then nothing good could ever come of it.

The creature seemed to recognize his turmoil, and spoke in a soothing baritone. „That's because most spirits find their own way to their fate when they die.” He explained. „But those whose deaths are too traumatic often forget who they were or how they perished.”

„These spirits, like you and me, end up here in the Domain of the Lost.” The spark beside him added. Again, that name. This place. So.. wrong. Traumatic. Perished..? Right. He died. King Joko told him that.

„But I can't be here.” He tried to reason in the only words he knew. He didn't know why, nor where else he was possibly meant to be - he just knew it wasn't there. Like... warm. Too warm. Like fire.

Walls closing in from every direction, every angle, and he needed to get out. He needed to call for help, but also... he needed it to stay away. He was not to be helped. Why? There was a shadow in here with him. One other being. The only one. He felt like it had all happened before, and was the reason everything hurt. Why his skin felt like a lie, and his gaze darted around corners.

„You will reach your rightful place in time.” The grand being reassured, standing ever tall. He had to look up just to meet his gaze, and his chest moved faster.

„First, you must recover your name to know who you were and how you lived. Then, you must learn your purpose, to understand the choices you made and why you lived as you did.” The Judge continued, his bright green orbs a familiar hue. „Once you know your name and your purpose, only then can I determine your final destination.”

„...But how do I do that?” He asked. Confusion and fear swirled in gold eyes, as though the walls were already getting closer. Soon, he may be stuck here forever. A cage. Let him out. Let him out. He needs to see her.

Who?

„Nenah has traveled the path you now face. She can assist you.” The servant of Grenth clarified, an armored hand signaling in the direction of the sunlit spark. He met her eyes, and understood her name. ”...For though they may have belonged to you in life, once your name and purpose enter this domain, they are yours no longer. And you will have to fight to reclaim your name.” The creature's next words rang out with a heavy finality. „Now, arm yourself.”

And he was gone, dissolving into the shadows from whence he had come. Though he still had more questions than answers, this... was a starting point.

„Nenah... So you discovered your name? How do I reclaim mine?” The cold spark mused, unsure where to even begin. He did not want to fight other spirits for something he wasn't even sure was his. What if he ended up with the wrong name? What if he stole someone else's only hope to leave this place? Was this a price he was willing to pay? A spectral hand massaged the bridge of his nose, as though the habit had helped him process similar predicaments in life. Not that... he really even knew what „life” was - just that it wasn't „here.”

And if it wasn't here, maybe he needed to be alive.

„I learned my name from the spirit of my old mentor. But only after besting him at a challenge of riddles.” Nenah smiled sadly in recollection, letting the words linger on her tongue. ”I discovered my purpose hidden in an old diary I had written as a child. I was a teacher.”

A mentor, then. How fitting. Guiding others in life, and now again in death. A luminary in a land of darkness. „Is it that simple?” He raised his brows, hesitant to believe things could ever go so smoothly. Somehow, he had an inkling that bad luck was destined to follow him wherever he went. Call it a hunch, but... his hunches tended to be correct.

„It's different for everyone. The judge said you must fight to recover your name, so you clearly weren't a teacher.” Nenah pondered aloud, taking in his form from head to toe. His gaze followed hers, and he found himself clad in crimson fabric. Comfortable, but form-fitting clothes, accentuating his graceful shape. His shoulders, adorned with metal pauldrons - and knees guarded in a similar manner. Chainmail beneath his vest, little interwoven loops of steel. „A soldier, perhaps?”

„I... I don't know.” Despite everything, he truly did not know. The world was bleeding back in very slowly. Who's to say he was a fighter? Maybe he was a scholar? A performer? His knuckle idly moved across his lip, but he excavated nothing else from the chasm that was his memory. 

Nenah sighed. „Well, if you are to fight, you must first arm yourself.”

„With what?” He asked, incredulous. For whatever reason, he had an instinct to pat himself over for hidden weapons. The woman raised a ghostly eyebrow.

„Spirits must abandon their possessions before they may move on.” She set off towards some distant yonder, and once again he followed.

„I'll look around. Maybe I will.. find something.” He sifted through foliage and rubble, even when the geometry of the place didn't make much sense. For weapons, he would usually go to... a blacksmith. A mystic forge, maybe. Mother?

„You know, I.. remember. I had a sword.” He recounted, searching for a familiar outline on the floor. Sliding across stone. Reaching for the hilt. He only had bits and pieces, but he instinctively looked low. „I think.. Mother gave me it.”

„Your mother?” Nenah chatted. „Was she a warrior, then? Was the sword a family heirloom?”

„I don't... think she was, no. But I think others have owned that blade before me. I think it... had seen the blood of its wielders.”

„Too much blood spilled everywhere, I tell you...” The fellow spark sighed. „I know all about it, gentle spirit. Though with your recent revelations, I suppose gentle may not be so fitting.”

„...Why do you think so?”

She did not answer.

It took them a long time to get anywhere with the search. He supposed time lost meaning in a place such as this - with no frame of reference, who's to say what was day and what was night? If death had already come, there was nothing to count down towards. Sifting through mud, he wondered whether eternity was always supposed to be so dull.

Here and there, other sparks. Shaped like many things - the best approximations of themselves in life that they could muster. And yet, there were also those formless. Like clouds, and their voices sounded like rain mixed with lightning static. Nenah warned him away from those. He supposed that was what awaited if one did not reclaim their name.

And then some who spoke in nonsense and riddles. Cryptic warnings, issued from behind trembling hands, as though covering one's face rendered them invisible. It's coming, they whispered. What, he asked.

„...The Beast. And It will get you too.”

Before he could ask any additional questions, the spark... evaporated. Pure magic in the air, and then nothing. Wherever they had gone, he hoped they had at least escaped It.

„...Is it Balthazar?”

„Who?” The teacher turned to face him as he sifted through a pile of sand.

„The Beast. It's the worst thing I have heard spoken of, here. It feels like it matches with that name.” He had no better ideas, anyway. Each step into the unknown unlocked something - not always useful, but he was determined to connect the dots. Even when he grasped at straws.

„Oh, Balthazar? No, no. He's one of the Human Gods. The Six. And he betrayed them.”

„He betrayed them? He lied and deceived them? Why?”

„No one knows. One day, he just... did. And the Beast has been here ever since.”

The sand moved with a gust of wind. A shine caught his eye, and he moved closer.

And there it was, halfway buried, as though attempting to take root. A ghostly image of his sword - slotting neatly into his hand. Like it was meant to be there. Like it had been, for a long, long time.

„Huh.” Nenah gave Caladbolg a good lookover, before coal eyes met honey gold.

„I know now. I was a soldier.” There was conviction in the spark's voice. A newfound confidence, even when facing his truths came at a cost. His words gradually turned quiet. „I... don't think I was a good man. I lied and deceived. I think I wanted something very much.”

Nenah lingered in silence. A hand of sun-kissed bronze rested upon one of the cold spark's shoulders, feeling metal. A reassurance, perhaps. Or simply an acknowledgement. Whatever it was, her smile gave him the strength to keep going.

„Look. Over here.” She suddenly yanked him, pulling him behind a cover of trees. And then, himself.

Red cloth, bronze tinted metal. Stealing fervent glances, as though afraid of every shadow. That expression of prey-animal terror did not suit his features.

„That spirit... it looks just like me.”

„We should follow. Hurry!” They ran after it, and it broke into a sprint. It weaved inbetween rocks and trees, heading for a cave shrouded in webs. A dead end. His gold eyes met their own reflection, and his mirror image screamed.

The Thorn moved like second nature, and the dagger fell out of their hand. And so, the illusion shattered - a small creature huddled, weeping, where his warped self had been. „I yield!” It screeched. „I yield. Take it! It's yours.”

He still held the Thorn - a show of power, though he did not intend to strike down the thief. „Why did you steal my name?” Gone was the mellow calm with which he arrived. The timbre of his voice changed - and so too did the look in his eyes. No longer honey, but liquid gold. „Answer me.”

And the creature wept, for it did not know any better. But he still did not remember. Why he fought, why he lied, why he killed.

„Keep looking.” The same guiding hand rested once again upon his shoulder. Though steady, her tone was filled with urgency. „If you don't reclaim your name quickly, you could lose it forever.”

And so, he fought - like the soldier he was. And as each spark begged for his mercy, doubt surfaced in his spirit.

„What if it was.. an evil name? What if finding who I am will make me worse?” He questioned, feeling the heat radiating from his bark. Pain. The sword in his hand was singed and black. It hurt. He did not remember, but the pain was growing. „What if where I am meant to go is even...”

„That's not for you to dwell on. Your task here is merely to find it. There is nothing more for ones such as we.”

„Nothing more..?”

„Your name and your purpose are all there is. And since more than one have claimed your name, it means it must be a prestigious one. Now, ask yourself. If yours were an evil name, then would they still seek to make it theirs?”

„...Do they know who I was? And if so, then why don't I..?”

„You will. All things in time. So fight, noble spirit.”

And he fought. Until the tide of shadows finally stopped coming. And the dam holding back his tears broke.

„I remember.” He lifted his clawed hand, watching his digits tremble with each new memory that surfaced in his hollowed mind. „My life... was filled with conflict.” Always war. Always killing. „Victory... and loss. I was a leader - a commander. I was...”

A Dreamer. A Valiant. A son. A Knight. A Commander. A Champion. A Dragonkiller. A Lichslayer.

„...Maelmordha. Yes. This is who I was.” A name, of his own. Something that felt right and not like a lie - even if the pain never went away.

Umber eyes lit up with the gentlest smile. „I could tell, Maelmordha. You wielded that weapon like a true fighter.”

„But I don't know why I fought... what I strove for, or against.” The sylvari spirit looked down, amber orbs filled with indescribable longing. It was all so very tiring, and he felt bad for relying on Nenah's guidance so extensively. Didn't she have a place to be..?

Didn't she, too, feel like she had to be somewhere else?

„Next is your purpose. What drove you forward... and what ultimately led to your death. The answer is here, somewhere in the Domain of the Lost.”

„...I just have to find it.” He finished her thought. She smiled, and nodded. He returned the gesture. „But how will I know it? Where will I find it?”

The words that came next were nothing but cryptic - as his guide slowly made her way onward, as though knowing exactly where to go. „If you truly desire it... your purpose will find you. I'd start with the bird.”

„A bird..?” The fallen necromancer questioned. And then he saw it: a raven of brilliant white. Its feathers alight with a sheen that reminded him of home - like Mother's petals. And he remembered Her, and each lullaby She used to sing. „Come! I need to -”

He tripped over a stray root, and realized it was moving. The ground itself shook and parted beneath his feet, tendrils slithering like snakes as a beast - a Dragon - rose in the distance. Grand, like a monument of leaf and vine, and in front of it - a pair of lights. Caithe, one of the Firstborn. And himself. Images of the eldest Knight of Thorn, Riannoc, his blade of alabaster bark glowing with the light of hope. Caladbolg itself, which now rested in his care. And on the other end, a lich, his skeletal hands commanding death like a putrid orchestra - drowning the First Knight in a sea of corpses.

Fear not this night, you will not go astray. 

The raven flew ever onward, unfurling a sea of memories. And he ran after it, hand outstretched, mouth forming a silent call.

Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way.

It weaved through the darkness like a lone bolt of lightning through blackened storm clouds. He took Nenah's hand, pulling her along - afraid to let go, but infinitely more scared to lose track of the light. And they ran. „My eyes are - they're open, Nenah!”

„Good! Let yourself feel it, and let it wash over you. He who follows his purpose will never truly lose it!”

Awaken from a quiet sleep, hear the whispering of the wind. Awaken as the silence grows in a solitude of the night.

From the dark, twisting shapes. The stench of rot and clattering of bone as a tide of Zhaitan's legions marched against the army of the Pact. Mazdak, the Accursed, fallen at last at his hand – his first Hunt fulfilled. Sieran's parting words as the gates closed. The Sunless' advance and the fall of Claw Island. The tears shed that day, and the promises made to live on in spite of them. And then, in the end, their banners, raised high upon the towers - him and Trahearne, side by side.

Darkness spreads through all the land and your weary eyes open silently

Sunsets have forsaken all, the most far off horizons.

And again, they charged. Roar of gunfire and steel. Wyld Hunts that seemed all but impossible, keeping steadfast hand in hand. And the heart of it all, cleansed and beating again, as he remembered holding him for the first time. And laughing.

Nightmares come when shadows grow. Eyes close and heartbeats slow.

The assault on Arah. The thundering of war engines and the roar of airships. Destiny's Edge standing united, and him leading the final push. Zhaitan's death throes shattering the mountain, sending the Dragon itself crashing from blighted heavens towards the shoreline. Victory, and the first kiss shared in the dim light of a study. Why was he crying? Like he was already aware what came next.

Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way.

„Mordremoth!”

It all unfolded in quick succession. Ceara's fall; Scarlet Briar. The assault on Lion's Arch. Aurene's egg and Caithe's betrayal. The disaster of Maguuma, all that death and then - past the horror of it all - holding his dear's broken, dying body as the foul magic bled out of his system in rivers of gold. The Thorn trembled in his hands, but he knew not to let it go. The day his eyes turned cold. He felt Nenah's hand squeeze his own.

And you can always be strong. Lift your voice with the first light of dawn.

His hatred. His bitterness. And Her light, which saved him.

The founding of Dragon's Watch. The awakening of Primordus and Jormag. Braham's burden and the wrath in his words as he snapped. A bridge, burned to ashes - a wound that they would no longer have the chance to mend.

And Her, coming into the world at last. Caithe's words, and her vow. To lay down her life for -

„Aurene.” He found himself repeating his own words. „Her name is Aurene.”

Dawn's just a heartbeat away. Hope's just a sunrise away.

The rise of Lazarus. A mystery of the great deceiver. Climbing the spire as everything around them began to burn, and yet they knew the only way was up. He knew the only was was up.

It had always been like that, hmm, Commander?

The raven disappeared into the smoke, and he dove after it. Coughing, as though his lungs remembered the feeling. White leaves singed black and then he lost her in the fire. „Nenah! Where are you!” He could no longer feel her hand. His fellow spark had disappeared, and only Balthazar's pyre remained. The planks behind him crackled and crumbled as burning heat cut off the way back. So he climbed. Following each white feather. Humming Mother’s lullaby.

„...Have your friends abandoned you?” He could hear the God's mockery in his ears. His oppression, his glee, the sadistic pleasure he took in prolonging his every breath. And then, Aurene. Reaching for him. Damning herself just for a chance to save him.

And still, in the end, she was taken, and he died with no one to hold him. His last words frozen in his throat. But now, he screamed. He screamed and wept and his eyes shot open only to find his fellow spirit clutching his hand tightly within hers. And he looked into coal orbs and in his tormented mind, they seemed to flash crimson, shadowed by a crown of horns.

„...Balthazaaaaar!!” He howled like an animal, thrashing. A hand pushed down on his chest, keeping him on his back, before pulling his head into her lap. „Shh. Shh. There, there. Just breathe. Like you remember. Even like this, it helps.”

Tears streamed freely down silver skin as he wept in terror, clawed hand outstretched towards the sky. But there was no Aurene. No dark clouds cutting him off from the world. No Balthazar, staring down at him like yet another broken toy, balancing his blade over his heart. So, he did the only thing he could. He cried, allowing the mentor spirit to gently pet back his leaves, quelling the sobs that shook his body.

„...I remember. I remember.” He repeated, the most quiet of whimpers. Wet, haunted gold found umber again as he spoke. „Balthazar - he wants revenge on the other gods, and he's going to use Aurene to get it. I... I have to convince the Judge to send me back.”

„Rest, silver tongue. Death is not something to outwit.”

„You don't understand.” He gathered himself enough to stand and walk, even as his knees shook with every step. „That bastard will destroy Tyria. All of it. This isn't about me and my ego, for fuck's sake!” The Commander broke into a sprint. Moving as fast as his legs would carry him, causing the Elonian spirit to struggle to keep up. „He wants the strength of the Elder Dragons for himself, and doesn't care that killing them now will doom the world!”

„I see.” Nenah responded. There was deep concern upon her face, now, as the true weight of all that had transpired took the time to fully settle and click into place. „...He has ravaged this place. Stolen spirits and used them to bolster his army. He has let something horrible into this place, something beyond even Grenth's jurisdiction.”

Maelmordha paused, stern gold meeting her gaze. „The Beast. Come. We need to move!”

As soon as they arrived in the Judging Ground, the grand spirit rose again from the shadows, a visage of skull and green fire ready to welcome them both. Recognizing Nenah and sensing the distress within her companion, he turned his full attention to Maelmordha.

„Grenth welcomes all, noble spirit. Step forward, and I will send you to your appointed place.”

But the necromancer had other ideas. He took exactly one step in the Judge's direction, setting his boot down with absolute conviction. „You must let me go back.”

For a moment, there was absolute silence. If the Judge could produce an expression, he would surely have frowned. A spectral sigh laced his words when he next spoke, weighting them carefully. „...I see you clearly now, Commander. Balthazar killed you, but you would face him again?

„Yes.” The sylvari replied immediately, filled with fervent - perhaps even crazed - determination. Yes, a thousand times yes. Even when it hurt. He couldn't just let her... He grit his teeth, releasing a quivering breath.

„Balthazar has done great harm here.” Grenth's right hand confirmed what Nenah had already told him. „The magic he uses to hijack spirits shakes the foundation of the Domain of the Lost. But I... cannot help you.”

No..! No, this wasn't going to end this way. He would not let it. By the Tree, he had to bargain.

Mael took another step, lacing fingers together as though in prayer and slowly shaking his hands with every word. „If I could only get back... if I could defeat him, it might undo the damage he's done in both our worlds.” There. He was officially bargaining with Death himself. Or, rather, his right hand, but the point still stood.

The Judge sighed painfully, sending ripples through the aether. „It is too late. No life remains in your body. Unless...”

Unless? Fucking hell, he was actually getting somewhere.

„When Balthazar left, a fearsome beast, the Eater of Souls, rose to prey on the waning life energy of the spirits here....”

Nenah moved closer. „That's got to be the screams I heard in the distance. So, it is true, after all.”

„...If you were to defeat the beast and claim its power, that life energy might be strong enough to reanimate your body.” The Judge continued. „Allowing you to go back. But, if you were to fail, the beast would consume your entirety. I could grant you no final reward or punishment. Your spirit would simply cease to be. Do you.. really want this, Commander? You will be changed. There is no other way. As a necromancer, you know what this entails.”

He did. Oh, he did. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound froze in his throat.

Riannoc...! He tried to shake the memory from the Dream. Lose the ghost of the man whose Wyld Hunt he once bore. No, this was bigger than him. Bigger than all of them. That bastard had Aurene, and if she...

Maelmordha clenched his fists. Gaze downturned, shrouded in white leaves. His shoulders shook with the weight of the choice placed in front of him. With the phantom of his people's very first nightmare. Did he... have the right? To do this? And if so, who gave him it? Who allowed this man to play God in his own right?

He supposed the answer was standing right in front of him. Gazing with green orbs, waiting patiently for his reply. „Grenth does not take kindly to those who defy his domain. But he is willing to forgive this one transgression, in the name of both our worlds. You will become something different, and if you ever go astray, you will no longer be entitled to your final reward.”

„Diabolistic magic...” He muttered under his breath. His fellow spark looked on with worry. Softly, her hand once again found his shoulder, resting upon it with comforting weight. „Whatever you decide, I will help you see it through til the end. So, think - for what does your purpose call?”

Did it call for him to fall this low? And yet... if it was the only way to save Aurene - to save Tyria, then did he ever really have a choice at all? He took a breath, and his golden gaze rose anew, finding ghastly green.

„...I accept that risk. I have to go back to finish what I started.”

Clawed gauntlets rose into the air, the Judge's mask angled towards the jade-hued skies. „Then in Grenth's name, o blessed sinner, conquer the Eater of Souls and live again! Remind Balthazar that none escape judgement.”

With a snap of the servant's fingers, crimson fabric set on viridian fire, and in an instant, his body was framed in darksteel. A long, black cape extended from beneath the upturned spikes of his new pauldrons, ornate gauntlets wrapping around his forearms and tall, metal greaves fitting upon his legs. A disc of magic flared to life over his sternum, like an eye of Death itself.

He took a moment to inspect his new armor, finding it a perfect fit. „...Thank you.” He gasped, unsure at first what to make of the gift. And yet he could feel no ill magics from it - nothing meant to limit or control him, only accentuate his existing power.

„Let this be proof of Grenth's favor. An exceptional honor, in exchange for your willing sacrifice. Go, blessed sinner, and may your soul remain your own through this dire tribulation.”

„It will. You have my word.” And he turned around, features dark and the Thorn on his back ready.

After all, he who bore Caladbolg would not fall, so long as his desire was pure. Funny how that turned out. Did the sword's apparent curse carry on in death? He'd have to find out.

„Allow me to lead you, Maelmordha. The Beast stalks the deepest shadows of this land. Those spirits we've met earlier...”

„...It may already be too late for them.” He finished the teacher's thought. „I'm sorry, Nenah. But I cannot allow you to go with me, this time.” If he were to be devoured... ah, would it not simply be due payment for his hubris...? But her? She had done nothing but help him. „This is a journey I must take alone.”

„Even when dying alone was your greatest fear?” She retorted, causing the necromancer to seize up. He did not look at her, simply continuing to walk forth into the darkness. „...Thank you, Nenah. But I will take this from here.”

„As you wish, blessed sinner.” And just like that, her footsteps no longer accompanied his.

And in the deepest depths where even the raven did not delve, he found it. A hideous demon of blue fire, contorting into whatever fears his mind held to finally settle on the form of a Mouth of Zhaitan. Towering, with rows of fangs ready to snatch him up where he stood. How did one fight hunger incarnate..? He drew the Thorn, and charged.

The same rules did not apply here as in the waking world. This was not only a fight of tooth against thorn, but a dance of nightmare. Like every worst part of him, reflected right back in his face. The shadows had been nothing, compared to this. They only wanted his name, after all.

Oh, the Beast? It wanted everything. To strip his soul, down to the marrow. And in the end, it had been decided all along. To conquer the Mouth was to embrace its hunger. To take for himself another name. Even if he had to become a worse version of himself, he would do it in every life. His right hand's fingers traced a symbol on his heart. Chanting an ancient curse, the same forbidden verse he spent his first five years researching. The Commander's spirit ignited in black smoke, Caladbolg a Reaper's scythe.

...Do you really want this, Commander?

You wouldn't have gotten so far if not for your hunger.

...A hunger to succeed. To be recognized. To have power. You greedy creature, always reaching for more than you can swallow until the God of Flames finally made you choke on it. And yet, you'd return? To do it all over again? Don't you see how far you've already fallen - from a bright eyed Valiant to a wolf gripping tight the reins of all those who would dare question and oppose you? You're a killer, you know, right? You're never satisfied. And no matter what you do and how much you achieve, it will never be enough.

You can drink til you're sick but never til you're satisfied. You will lose your Dream but your Hunt shall never end. Is this what you want?

To save her. Yes. I will do anything.

Will you be anything?

Yes.

Waken then, Fell Wolf, and hunt.

Kill Balthazar, and devour.

The monstrous body before him fell, dissolving into shadow. His scythe still lodged in its burning core, he felt the cold flicker climb up his weapon and touch ground with his skin.

The demon's magic flooded his senses. The world swirled in front of his eyes, a gaze of spectral gold darting around in terror. He saw the lost sparks return, freed from the beast's belly, as they all moved in unison towards Judgement. The Domain breathed a sight of relief - and then he felt his chest rip open.

And he screamed. By the Pale Tree he fucking screamed. Feeling every second of the blade digging into and parting his flesh, crushing organs and searing his insides. Except now, the blackness offered no relief. There was no merciful veil of Death to take the pain away, to ease his body's last gasp as embers took his lungs. And the flames did not burn his throat and steal his voice. At some point, the agonal screech turned into a howl, and his eyes wept spectral light.

Seizing, he fell to his knees. His armor glowed a deep cerulean - and more metal enveloped the Commander's form. He scarcely registered it, even when links of chain snaked round his heaving chest and hooked into the gaping cavity of his wound.

It was almost a mockery. Almost a voice, sneering into his ear. This is what you are. Do you regret it yet?

„Aaaargghh!” His own voice burst forth in strained cries. Calling names as though their owners could ever help him. „Pale Mother! Aurene! Grenth!”

No one will save you now, either. You chose this. Maelmordha, you poor, poor fool.

It felt like ages but the pain relented just enough to leave the fallen Knight gasping and wheezing in a ghastly approximation of life. Collecting his stolen breath, registering a familiar sensation upon his cheeks before he ever realized he was crying. Again. And only then did he get to truly, wholly gaze upon his form - the warped image of his own demise, seared forever into his soul.

Trembling fingers probed at the edges of his wound - the very one that killed him - and found fangs. Rows of umbral teeth, licked by flickering tongues of blue fire. This had to be... was this real? Absently, he reached inside, half expecting the slick wetness of entrails. Instead, he found only cold nothingness, and a pulse at the core of it all. A rhythmic thrum of magic where his heart had been, just barely out of reach, yet begging for his touch.

Focus, the magic whispered. The Alchemy bends to your whim. Death's defector, defiler of Nature. So he did. And the dark became corporeal.

Transfixed, he pulled on the object, and out emerged a sword of midnight. Blue veins running along its surface, magic pulsing to the beat of the orb that lay at its center; Connecting the hilt and the blade. And he felt his new heartbeat, bare within his hand. Bound to his maw with chain like some eldritch stem, bridging the gap between man and demon. The first fang of the bound Wolf, and then the second - Dromi and Lædingr.

They slotted into his grip as though he had never been meant to hold anything else. Extensions of his ambition and his sin. These blades, they felt nothing like Caladbolg. Where the Mother's Thorn tasted of light and grief, these weapons? They were forged of naught but gnawing hunger, pulled straight from the pit of his stomach.

„I'm...” He was almost afraid to have a witness. But he did. And slowly, he lifted his gaze again, finding his fellow spirit staring back with what could only be described as somber pity. „...Nenah, why did you come... I'm...”

What am I?

A Dreamer. A Valiant. A son. A Knight. A Commander. A Champion. A Dragonkiller. A Lichslayer. A... his sight was blurry.

„I'm... so...”

Static enveloped his mind. Ghastly blue light burned within his eyes.

„I'm... so... hurrggh....”

He was ravenous. He - it - the Soul Eater.

Someone called out. Their words but white noise in the void of his thoughts.

Slowly, he walked. Tips of his swords dragging against the ground and gouging the earth. The magic inside him pulsed like the want that moved his jaws. The desire that now held together his spirit. This unholy, aberrant, ugly spirit. Pounding in his split-open chest, the war-drum of instinct drowning out every alarm bell in his mind.

Devour. This is what you are. This is what you chose. Didn't you?

„...Remember...”

A voice. Did it matter? They all screamed at the precipice between worlds. Their words made no difference.

„...Remember who you are...! Remember why you did this..!”

Aurene? No, she was...

Who - whose name was this? What was a name?

„Blessed sinner..!”

Who?

There was the sensation of weight wrapping around his wrists. He growled, lips twitching. And in that moment, his mind surfaced - searching for something, anything, to keep itself afloat.

„Remember your name! Maelmordha..!”

And he snapped back. Blue eyes back to yellow, swords dissolving and chest stitching shut. A gasp, as though his soul yet remembered the rush of air in his lungs. And he found dark eyes, holding the gaze of his own - a lifeline for a dead man.

The eyes of a woman who never knew him. A woman who had nothing to gain from this, and everything to lose.

„...Why..?” He mouthed. Utter silence in his mind aside from that singular question. „...Why did you risk your li - your existence? I could have -” Mael scowled, bringing gloved hands before his face. His digits shook with the strain of keeping himself together.

He could have eaten her. Erased her. Even now she caused this beast's mouth to water. A soul - a light - pure magic. He knew now how Dragons felt, and if the hunger hurt so much, then were they ever truly to blame..?

There was conviction in Nenah's eyes as she once again took hold of the sylvari's wrists, pulling them down as to force the fallen Commander to meet her gaze. „This isn't about... what you could have done to me. Nor what could happen to you. This world is falling apart at the seams because of Balthazar. I believe... I'm here, because Kormir wanted me to help you.”

„Kormir..?”

The Goddess of Truth who could only smile sadly as she departed. No actions taken, only words of hollow solace - as she abandoned them all. Abandoned her people. He wasn't human, but witnessing the heartbreak on Kasmeer's face? He might as well have been. „Kormir left us. Left Tyria behind. The Gods have relinquished all claim to this realm -”

„And yet you're here. And you'll live again. With Grenth's own blessing. So who's to say they really left us? Who's to say they abandoned us when they still guide us?”

Mael closed his mouth. The teacher was right. This was an angle he hadn't truly stopped to consider - and what right did he have to stomp down on the hope that still remained for the people? Living or dead, they all needed a light to lead the way. Gods and spirits for men, Dream for sylvari. Heroes and concepts to hold onto - invariably, no one ever wanted to go alone into the dark.

To trudge on, not knowing what awaits on the other side. The necromancer's voice came in a soft whisper.

„...You're right. I'm sorry. And... thank you.” Maelmordha swallowed, desperately pushing down his racing thoughts. He forced an apologetic smile, a last look at the fellow spirit who had accompanied him for so long. „So... I guess this is goodbye.”

„So it is.” She returned a smile of her own. In that moment, the humble teacher truly looked like the Goddess she so loved. And he could see that love burn bright. It would be the beacon that lit her way to her final reward, far, far away from the war that took her and those she mentored. A war he'd return to, damned as he was - to make sure it took no one else. Perhaps it was a fool's notion, but a chuckle broke through the silence nonetheless.

„Good luck wherever you're going, and... Pray for me, would you?”

„I will, Commander. Trust in Grenth. And know that everything happens for a reason.” She let go, a final nod offered his way before she turned around, heading towards the Judge.

And so, Maelmordha turned his gaze towards the precipice of worlds, knowing he now possessed the strength to bridge them. But one more voice vied for his attention - someone he unfortunately recognized. Once again demanding to be the center of the world, now with the added bonus of kissing ass. A smirk crept onto the Commander's features.

„Look who's groveling. Genuflect, Your Majesty.”

And so began the worst lich feud in Tyrian history, but that was a tale for another time.

”Gods, I... I can't even bear to look at him.” The mesmer's body shook with stifled sobs. Tears charting dark lines down pale skin - washing away the paint from her lids.

Tribune Brimstone could only frown, jaws parting to offer some form of solace just before he remembered he was never any good with words. And so, lips fell over fangs again, safekeeping solemn silence. „Yeah... yeah.”

He always did make everything worse, didn't he...? Green orbs wandered back to the proof of his failure. The haphazard veil that covered the worst of the Commander's wounds was soaked in sap. Empty eyes now resting closed, the poor bastard looked almost eerily peaceful. Almost as though he were merely resting. It didn't suit him to be so dark in the evening, though. That ruby light was gone and the soldier in Rytlock - all he had ever been - knew better than to dwell on death as humans did. It wasn't sleep. No gods to kiss it all better. And all that blood and gore couldn't be dressed in words in a way that made it pretty.

„He's done so much and I can't... I can't even look...”

Kas was still crying. Rytlock winced. Clawed hand hovered over her form, as though debating whether his touch could offer any superficial semblance of comfort. Ultimately, it retreated, and his tail flicked uncomfortably. With a deep rumble, he excavated his voice.

„...He wouldn't have wanted you to.” There was no point. He was gone anyway, so it didn't matter. At least he wasn't in pain anymore. And, well, Commander never did want anyone else to have to suffer for no reason. „Shit, how we gonna break this to Taimi...”

„That's what I'm worried about. Kid won't take this too well.” Canach sighed, raising himself up from his kneeling position. „Aren't you the Watch's second? Should I call you Commander, yet?”

„Shut it, weed.” The snarl came on its own before he ever had the chance to reel in his anger. A growl seeped past the Blood Tribune's teeth, and he pinched the bridge of his snout. „Look, just - just let me think. Or make the call yourself if you have so much yapping left in you.”

Uncharacteristically, Canach merely sat quietly away to the side, closer to the body. For a brief moment, the Secondborn's stern gaze met that of the charr, before both men promptly looked away. It was clear the former convict had no interest in petty arguments at the time - whatever words he did have locked firm behind his teeth.

„I'll do it.” A meek voice picked up from the back. Rytlock's head turned, only for green orbs to meet dim blues. Lady Meade looked positively pathetic. And yet, though her eyes were framed by streaks of runny makeup, her expression was one of tired determination. Rytlock chuffed.

„You sure? You aren't looking too-”

„I said I'd do it. So, let me.”

Silence. Kasmeer raised her hand to her ear to dial on the device, and the comms crackled to life. One last shaky breath, and a tiny voice came through.

„Yes? Hello? Guys, is everything alright?” The small prodigy chirped in a fervent tone. Her voice cracked towards the end and Kasmeer Meade could feel her heart crack in tandem. „...Please tell me everything's alright.”

„Oh, Taimi. Baby, I'm so sorry.”

„Kas? Kas - I - Kas tell me what's - No no no please don't tell me he's -”

Despite the fresh tears tugging at her waterline, the mesmer knew she had to say it. „Shhh, I'm so sorry. Mael's gone, Taimi.”

It was as though the full weight of it only really sank in at that moment. Rytlock's glare seemed to actively want to bury itself in the dirt, while Canach turned away to gaze silently off into the distance. Even Kasmeer felt a fresh knot twist within her gut only to release, all that horrible, horrible tension burning like living fire the very second she heard Taimi's voice quiver on the other end of the line.

„No.. no, no.. Kas this isn't funny...” She sniffled, and the mage of Lyssa could oh so easily visualize the little girl shaking her head over in her lab. Just like when she argued with Phlunt, or any other scientist. Always so very confident in herself, and what she believed in.

„No, this isn't FUNNY, don't LIE to me, he's FINE! He's the Commander - he's  - he's FINE - go check! Do the light test on his eyes - t-take his pulse - s-sylvari don't have easily accessible carotids b-but -”

„Taimi...”

Another click, and Canach joined the line. „Taimi, there wasn't even a need to check.”

„Canach!” Kasmeer could only gasp at the swordsman's blunt intrusion. „Canach, I swear on the Six -”

„Make that Five. He's dead, kid. That's a whole God that got him. Could tell the moment we looked.”

„Fucking burn me, have some tact!” Rytlock snapped, earning a scornful glance from the sylvari. The tension could very well be cut with a knife.

„Or what? Thorns, sometimes you have to be direct. Grow some spine, you people!”

„That's a CHILD!”

„...I'm still on the line. I-I’m not a child! I can hear you all. I'm sorry. I j-just -” Taimi's voice broke again, dissolving into a series of wheezy sobs. Kas's heart dropped. She was having an episode. The mesmer wasted no time in briefly disconnecting her communicator.

„Shut UP! Both of you!” The outburst was so out of character that both Rytlock and Canach promptly fell silent. Having achieved her immediate goal, the mesmer tapped the device again. „Talk to me, Taimi.” Walk her through this, Kasmeer, just like Mael used to. Don't let him down, now. This is the least you can do.

„I'm - I-I'm just... I'm so sorry I screamed.” The teenager sniffled, interrupting herself with a hiccup. „I-I knew the odds were bad... I just didn't want it to be true...”

Lady Meade smiled painfully, mustering up every bit of comfort in her voice. Oh, how she wished she could be there with her - lay her hand gently upon the asura's head and pet her hair. Just like he always did.

„It's alright. Everyone reacts in their own way. It isn't your fault. Shh. Shh. It's okay...”

„If I - I-if I weren't taking a break at the time I could have noticed the energy readings were shifting and he - B-Balthazar - was changing course - and we could have warned him before the storm set in and comms died -”

„...You know this isn't true. You can't always work. If you had overworked yourself, you could have missed something else, baby. We may all have been dead. You could have gotten hurt from overdoing it.” The only thing she could do now was speak and listen. Between herself and the Dawnborn, she wasn't ever really sure who was better at talking people down. „...He wouldn't have wanted this, alright? Commander - Mael - wouldn't have wanted you to aggravate your condition. None of us do.”

„H-he was the first person who really, truly took me seriously!” Taimi was spiraling. „What I do is my choice! And I could have saved him! I could have... Alchemy...”

Her tired body was giving out, too drained to argue in vain with herself. Deep down, she knew. She knew that she had been powerless to stop it. That even the Dragonslayer had no hope to kill a God, and it was a childish thought to even entertain. That deep down, Mael himself knew he was marching to his death, but his Wyld Hunt drove him onward anyway.

Just like shackles and chain. Being pulled ever towards the gallows, with no ability to run. And yet, he shouldered his fate with a smile.

Even when she watched him grow bitter and jaded he always found it in himself to smile for her.

„...You did your best. That is more than enough.” Kas' lids fell shut, forcing out the last tear that still lingered in the corner of her vision. „He's proud of you. I know.”

Wherever he was. If he was... anywhere. She didn't have the heart nor the stomach to consider the full implications of Grenth leaving. When she next opened her eyes, her vision was swimming  - and not because of the desert heat, which had long since given way to a brisk evening chill. Taimi seemed to have calmed down, and only the occasional quiet sniffle still registered on their shared frequency. The Meade sat down on a rock, fearing her own legs too feeble to keep her upright for long.

„...So, what do we do?” It was Rytlock who next broke the silence. „It's late and there may still be some Forged in the area. Wouldn't exactly want a bullet through the skull and an early ticket back to the Mists. Would hate to disappoint Commander like that.”

Again, he thought to add. He bit his tongue.

„...I'll stay here and get a breath of fresh air.” Canach sighed, the usual edge to his tone replaced by bitter, cold apathy. „If you want to go back to the ship, then go. I need to collect my thoughts.”

„I'll cloak us, just to be safe. Let Fidus know to post sentries and be on a lookout for trouble.” Exhaustion was not going to stop Kasmeer from being cautious, and this was simple magic, anyway. With a wave of her hand and reality rippling beneath her force, the top of the Spire was encased in an invisible bubble. Reflecting sight, just like a one way mirror. If anyone else wandered inside, she'd know.

In the end, none of them had it in themselves to go back - not yet. A quiet vigil for the fallen. For a leader. For a friend

It felt like several hours had passed. The night was silent and uneventful, an air of tranquility fallen over where tragedy had struck. Ash and dust long since scattered to the wind, there was scarcely a trace of the battle. Only charred foliage, cooled armor strewn about here and there, and three broken people trying to decide where to go from there. But the night, though quiet, held danger nonetheless. Teasing fate was a fool's errand in these lands.

„It's high time we move. I'll... get the body. Set a course for Amnoon.” The revenant spoke, and the airship's crew began preparations for takeoff. Kasmeer and Canach wordlessly nodded, their gazes following Rytlock as he walked up once again towards the center of the Spire.

...The very last thing Kasmeer Meade expected was to hear Rytlock holler her name with borderline panic in his voice.

„Uh, Kas?!”

„What is it?!” Both her and Canach were already running from the deck back to the plateau, weapons drawn and half prepared to find Forged come to hunt them down and finish what Balthazar started.

But Forged did not have blue eyes. Whatever stared back at them from the very center of the Spire was no soldier of Fire. A figure shrouded in shadow, darkness itself gathering where it stood to leave its features obscured and nigh unrecognizable. Stark blue eyes seemingly lost interest in gazing into Rytlock's own in favor of inspecting the sheet of gold-soaked cloth held in one hand.

„Get back!” The charr ignited Sohothin, wide arc of his sword a warning to both sides. „Where is the bo - where is he?!”

The stranger's head turned, shifting shadows offering a glimpse of white hair. Aether warped their words, like the Mists themselves speaking. „Rytlock...”

And yet, the sound of his name in their - in his lips was recognizeable beyond all doubt. „Kasmeer! What in the hells! Is this one of yours or am I going mad?!”

„What do you mean mine - you can't be - since when do I -” The mesmer was tripping over her words, staff clutched tightly. She could smell necromancy anywhere. Jory, and Mael - she's spent so long around them, but this felt familiar and different at the very same time. A darkness she knew well, but somehow wrong. A twisted image of Grenth's magic that sent alarms going off in her brain and overwhelmed her thoughts. That aura was oppressive.

„Is that...” Canach mouthed, incredulous.

„No. It's not.” Brimstone bared his fangs, tail lashing wildly against the ground. „I've been there. I know what lurks there. This isn't him. It's a demon.”

The figure's eyes seemed almost sad. He dismissed the notion.

„Grrraaaahh!!” With a mighty leap, he charged, fury burning in his eyes - challenging the reflection of the ghost fire that razed Ascalon. If this beast thought he'd let it defile the Commander's body, it was dead fucking wrong.

Split seconds before Sohothin could sink its fangs into a gap in darksteel armor, the stranger's chest opened. A jagged maw of teeth. 

„Pale Mother!” Canach gasped, and Kasmeer covered her mouth. Taimi came online and hurled a hundred questions over the comms.

Their swords met with a spectral chime. Like a rung bell, living flame against one cold and dead. That strength. How did so much power fit in such a small, feeble sylvari body? The charr grit his teeth, air hissing past his brandished fangs. A deadlock.

„Rytlock! Stand down!” The stranger repeated, forcibly. The Tribune's mind flashed back to their last fight. Pain and rage seethed in jade orbs, muscles pushing with all their might against the single sword that halted his advance. „...No. I won't let you. You don't deceive me!”

Blue eyes that gazed from where gold had once been narrowed. „I thought I had made myself clear before, Tribune. I won't take no for an answer.”

A pulse of dark magic repelled Sohothin, forcing Rytlock back. His weight shifted dangerously, hind claws struggling to find purchase. Green orbs shot wide open - he was exposed, and the dark blade was more than capable of ending him right then and there.

So he focused, a last ditch-effort; With a mighty beat, crystalline wings sprouted from his back - the Dragon Prophet's own visage bursting from the Mists to lend him her strength.

And then she just... stopped. The Commander - the stranger's free hand was outstretched, and he felt every nerve in his body refuse to listen. „What in the...” Some blasted chains - wrapped around him, wrapped around even Glint before her fleeting facet dissipated.

He felt familiar magic swallow him in rosy light and he was yanked back, appearing in a portal next to Kasmeer. Her and Canach had both stepped forward to shield him with their bodies, but made no move to advance. Hesitating? Now, of all times..?! He was about to tell them off before he noticed that very same spell binding them in place, every fibre of their bodies frozen and helpless to the fates.

„Burn me! Rrraahh!!” He raged against his restraints, soul reaching out through the Mists to call for aid. Any aid. What was a charr to do to get some fucking reinforcements around these parts?! Glint, Jalis, even the blasted Shiro Tagachi or Mallyx, it made no difference. The voices in his head fell silent, unwilling or unable to manifest his magic. He was stuck, and this monster was going to kill them all.

Balthazar didn't even have to get his hands any dirtier and come finish the job. Some random fucking demon was all it took. I'm sorry, Commander. It seems I can't stop messing up.

But the killing blow did not come. The blade that emerged out of the portal mouth upon the bastard's chest simply went right back in like his body was some twisted scabbard. Split open by a God's wrath and this demon was hell-bent on making a mockery of even the Commander's death. What a joke.

„...Rytlock...”

„Stop it. Just, get it over with. I've some dignity to keep.” His fur stood on end, hearing that voice when he knew it wasn't real.

„If I wanted to, I would have done so already. Pale fucking Mother, Rytlock.”

The Shroud relented, and the shadows fell away. And so, they got a chance to see him, really see him, for themselves. No anger nor malice contorted his features. Only sadness. A deep, profound sadness in haunted eyes that extinguished the blue flame within to once again welcome gold. Those eyes that had once fallen dim and unseeing weren't fully dead. There was no light inside, not anymore, but... there was a spark, nonetheless. A sliver of cerulean that danced inside his pupils - just like the color of his glow, a stark contrast against the crimson they had come to know. And above all, he just looked so... tired.

„What's going on?!” Taimi was almost going into hysteria on the channel.

The chain magic dissolved, sending Rytlock stumbling a few steps forward. Some animalistic side begged him to charge again, but the desolate look within the Commander's eyes gave him pause. Similarly, Kasmeer and Canach made no move, staring with fear and worry at the scene unfolding before them. Mael - no, he couldn't let it deceive - was he..? - opened his arms, palms facing the starlit sky. Exposing his chest. Clad in some strange, new armor, seemingly spawned from the Mists just like the one worn by the Blood Tribune. A circle of magic spun slowly upon his sternum, remnants of blue fire easing into necromantic green.

„ ...That's Grenth's regalia. Like those given to the Seven Reapers.” Kas observed.

„It's Grenth who let me go back.” Maelmordha nodded at the mesmer, gratitude in amber orbs. His voice somber, but so unmistakably his. „Even in this state.”

The asura finally managed to shove herself back into the center of attention. Her words shot forth like machine gun fire inbetween panicked breaths. „Wait, w-wait wait wait - I DEMAND an explanation right now! If this is some sick prank I- I...”

Mael reached for his own device. Luckily, it was still in one piece. His tired smile was evident in his tone. „Hi, Taimi.”

„...Hi, Taimi? You almost DIE and „hi, Taimi” is all I get?! What's going on! You all said the Commander was dead! I flipping told you! I told you to check you - you -”

„I... I was dead, Taimi. But now I'm back.”

„Yeah, but that's not how „dead” works.”

„She makes a good point. You don't just go back to being alive like you go back to being your usual cranky self after a night of drinking. Kind of defeats the definition of „dead”, if anyone wants my opinion.” Canach interjected, sword lowered but not holstered. Skepticism in a gaze of violet framed by thorns. But also hope, try as he might to hide it. „...We checked, Commander, and you were very much no longer with us.”

„Here's the catch. I'm not alive.” The Commander let out a forlorn sigh, arms crossed over his back as he turned back around and slowly walked over to where his veil lay. He bent, once again taking it in a gloved hand - feeling the weight of his lifeblood.

„You're not?” The Secondborn raised a ridged brow. „I'm getting confused here. Is this some sort of last visitation to collect the money I owe you? ...Do you still need the money?”

„You're not?” Taimi repeated. „B-but... but.. buh...”

„Oh no...” Kasmeer seemed to realize the implications first.

„Listen.” The necromancer was back to doing what he did best. The party fell silent and focused on his words. „...I'm... still me. I've got this. I'm still the Commander. Still -”

That's right. Remember your name. It may well be the last thing that remains of you. He shivered.

„...Still Maelmordha.” The sylvari finally discarded the bloodied cloth from his grasp.

„Those damn teeth dare to disagree.” Rytlock growled, frustration bleeding through his words. Had he no fur to hide them, his knuckles would have been white with how tightly he gripped Sohothin. And yet, despite the anger, all the chaos within him, he silently prayed to legends and gods he did not believe in. „...What are you, really?”

„A lich.” With revulsion in his tone, the Commander answered. Even now, he felt the true weight of it all was lost on him. Too much to process all at once, too little time - this was a wound which would open later.

He stepped forward, eyes trained on Rytlock with such intensity the charr seemed to shrink back, uncertain. With one finger, the sylvari lifted the very tip of Sohothin. Angling its blazing spikes to face his sternum, as though knowing it would not strike him. „Which means killing me isn't going to stick. And the fire that took my life? Don't plan to let it burn me twice.”

„A lich..? Like Palawa Joko...? That makes no sense.” Kasmeer spoke up, hesitant and afraid. Had Maelmordha still a heart of his own, it would have shattered against the terror in her words. „Grenth doesn't approve of breaking the balance of Death. He wouldn't have -”

„There's one thing Grenth approves of even less than me breaking his and my own moral code, and that is Balthazar ravaging the Mists and ripping the souls of the dead right out to fill his Forged quota.” The Commander's voice was laced with venom. Before the Watch could blather on in circles for even longer, the fallen necromancer growled. „Listen! The bastard has Aurene.”

„We know...” Kasmeer replied, gaze somber. „He was taking her south toward Kralkatorrik when we arrived. We tried to stop him, but there were too many Forged.” The sheer wall of steel and fire cordoning off passage into the Desolation prevented the slightest notion of following the fallen God. Otherwise, they would have already done so.

„And I hate being the bearer of bad news, but it appears that Balthazar has managed to build up quite a formidable army.” Canach added, swordwhip crackling as though on cue at his side. So eager for violence, but its owner was not as hasty to a grave of his own.

„He does seem to make 'em faster than we can break 'em.” Rytlock bared his fangs, fist hitting the palm of his opposite paw.

„That's why we need an army of our own.” His trademark smirk was back, a devilish spark already dancing in his eyes. „I met someone in the Domain of the Lost who told me where I can borrow one.”

„Borrow”... an army?”

„Domain of the Lost?” The elder sylvari questioned, knowing he would likely not get an answer. „My, my, Commander, back from the dead and already scheming. It really is you.”

The occasional sniffling on the channel gave way to a happy giggle. „Yay, we have a plan!”

„Kas, have you got anything that can change our appearances?” Mael continued casually, as though he hadn't just suggested the most ridiculous idea known to Tyria.

„Yes, but nothing that can make the four of us look like an army.” Naturally, she was skeptical, and yet only waiting to hear just what kind of deranged plot they were pulling off next.

„It doesn't have to.” The Commander gave the verbal equivalent of a shrug. „It just needs to disguise us as someone else... after I secure our cover story.”

„Okay. I'll be standing by.” Setting her doubts aside, Lady Meade took a breath - getting ready to place her trust in this new version of her guildmaster. She wiped off her makeup-stained face, making room for a small smile. Blue orbs met gold, and she could feel his relief and gratitude. The necromancer offered a nod, and the mesmer returned it. Finally, things were going somewhere.

„And I'll be at the casino in Amnoon. If you can come back from the dead, I want to double my wager on you.” Canach smirked, that same sly look on his face he so often shared with his Commander. Mael simply nodded again, and the elder headed for the airship.

„Fine. I'll get word to you all when the time is right. For now, let's get the ship moving somewhere safe.” A brief scowl shadowed his features when he considered having a repeat of the prior conversation with Fidus and his crew. A man was scarcely allowed to come back without being asked questions, after all.

For the last time, he went back to where he had fallen - collecting the singed Thorn. Its bark was charred, leaves burnt - but even now, the Mother's holy magic was regenerating it steadily. He felt it recoil at his touch. The last vestige of the Dream inside his thoughts, all because the sword had simply become a part of him in its own, strange way. I'm so sorry, Caladbolg. How dirty he felt, but he forced himself to focus on Aurene. Visualize. Think. Remember. Even now, Nenah's words were fresh inside his mind. Remember why you did this. For whom.

Blue flickered in his gaze, and a single covert tear fell upon the Thorn's cracked surface. He rose from his knees, greatsword in hand.

A gravelly grumble finally pried him from his thoughts. Rytlock cast a side glance in his direction - meeting his gaze - before groaning and looking away in an almost sheepish manner. If not for the circumstances, he might have considered it cute.

„Oh, hey, Commander...” The charr mumbled, scratching the back of his mane. „Good to have you back.”

Maelmordha only smiled in response. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but his comrade wasn't paying heed.

[wolfertinger]

tw: a graphic depiction of a historical lynching, for context purposes, and because I need people to realize how horrifically racist it is for Wis to use that word in that manner. "Trans women are allowed to rape and abuse with impunity because they're marginalized" is not a logical proposition I would ever think to hear outside of the most insane type of right wing 'satire', yet here is Wis... Saying it out loud like it's profound, left wing, and trans friendly, when it in fact is one of the most damaging statements someone could ever make vis-à-vis trans identity.

You're unironically saying that rape doesn't matter if the perpetrator is trans fem because the victim was an "evil theyfab" That it doesn't matter that Mari tried to babytrap Sawyer because Sawyer "abused" Salem and you. (No proof of this has ever been shown except for Salem's constant suicide baiting, so, lol.)

You're proving that no one, even other trans women because you could decide they were lying too, can trust you and people who agree with you about sexual assault. How does this make the lgbt community safer? How does this keep trans women safe?

You say that Sawyer raped Mari. Why should we care if that's true or not, when you scream and insist that one rape is the worst crime against all trans people and call the other a "dumb fucking story full of holes," and the victim a "evil bitch." Wis is one of the most evil people I've come across on tumblr that wasn't an active sexual predator or rapist themselves. She has a pathological hatred of all TMEs, and is willing to lie and fabricate anything to excuse violent assault against them because she identifies more with the rapist than the victim. Maybe she should reflect on why that is.

Also, as an aside: Using the lynching of primarily black men that were falsely accused of rape against white women to defend your rapist buddies, who you have ADMITTED that you know sexually assaulted someone? Genuinely so racist I cannot even believe it, and we know Salem sees and quietly supports it because Sawyer hurt Salem's feelings. {TW and note, obviously I do not support violent threats against Wis or Salem. The graphic description below is only to reflect the historical reality of lynching, especially as was done to black people in the American South, and to contrast it with what Wis is saying is happening to her and Mari. } Until someone is being lit on fire, beaten, drug in the town square, drawn and quartered, and then hung as they slowly suffocate in front of a crowd of cheering people who keep their charred body parts as souvenirs: keep lynching out of your white fucking mouth, you racist ghoul. You are being confronted on the internet for the heinous things you have said and done, same as Mari: you could log the fuck off and all this would go away. To compare that to being murdered in one of the most horrific and dehumanizing ways possible is beyond the pale levels of self centered white woman victimization and crybully racism. You are not being lynched, you are not the victim, fuck you and your rape apologist boyfriend who stands by and watches as you slander a victim and spew bile and racism in his name. Black nationalist my ass, Salem can't even get his white girlfriend to stop implying she's being lynched over fucking anon hate.

i am just saying. the historical case of emmett till, was a young black boy being falsely accused by a white woman, then being violently killed by two adult men, said woman emotionally manipulated the court into freeing his killers, while knowing full well the boy was innocent. she admitted to it years later, long after it was too late.

"white woman tears" is used as a joke. but unironically. it is manipulation of the highest degree. it has caused MANY people of color, to be harassed, victimized, or killed, because a white person simply did not like them being there. i am sick of wis co opting terms specific to black suffering, to refer to a WHITE woman's consequences, to her own actions.

[multiversewatchpost]

Okay, so magical girl au questions

First obvious question is, who's the madoka and homura here?

I'll take a wild guess and asssume that Nightmare and is an Incubator and his team are the magical girls

What were their wishes?

And what are their weapons?

Yay magical girl au ask :D

I have a pretty bad headache rn and the painkillers haven't kicked in yet so I'm sorry if I make some mistakes here- (update: continuing with writing this a day later so it might seem a bit disjointed)

Okay so first of- while it's definitely inspired by pmmm it isn't meant to be an au of it or anything like that. The setting and story aren't the exact same-

So, while there isn't exactly a madoka and a homura, considering the story isn't the same, I guess the closest equivalent would be killer(as madoka) and color(as homura)? But, that's very loosely and obviously more based on their role in the story than on their personalities-and I don't really think it's a very fitting analogy at all. So basically. The answer to this is nobody

Nightmare is indeed the 'incubator' in this au. Tho it is worth mentioning that this au has multiple 'sources' for magical girls to originate from. Nightmare is just one of them(and arguably the worst).

Nightmare's team consists out of dust, killer, horror and formerly cross.(Though these aren't the names these variants actually go by)

The process for becoming a magical girl isn't the same as in pmmm. No wishes for these guys..the only thing they get from this is the ability to actually utilise their magic properly.(Which isn't the standard for...reasons that aren't even close to natural) and sometimes if nightmare reallyyyy wants a specific person for some reason he offers up single request or something they get to ask nightmare, which is negotiated before the contract is formed. Usually power is either enough of an incentive or he doesn't particularly care if they agree or not

Which. I guess you could argue is similar to a wish. Tho a lot more limited.

I should also mention that a lot of his contracts were made under duress.

For example horror agreed only under threat of his brother getting murdered.

Making a contract with nightmare also means giving up everything you are, he does his best to strip you of your very identity. He doesn't even allow his people to go by their original names. He has some very specific ideas of what boxes every of his underlings need to fall into and doesn't appreciate his plans being derailed.

As for their weapons-

Nightmare doesn't usually fight himself

Pluto/Killer has knives

Cross usually has a spear but his weapon can change forms

Dust gets a wand

Horror I haven't really decided on yet. It's probably gonna be something big tho.

[pearlsephoni]

At the End of the Sun, Ch 23: The Last Leg

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: Chapter: M; Whole Work: E

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Kagehina (Kageyama/Hinata)

Characters: Shoyo Hinata, Issei Matsukawa, Yuutaro Kindaichi, Takahiro Hanamaki

Word Count: Chapter: 5k; Whole Work: 160k

Summary: With his destination finally within reach, Shoyo comes to terms with the reality of what his next step is.

A/N: Originally published on AO3 on July 21st, and beta'd by @/r0mantic-era. Further author's note can be found on AO3.

☾

Fear was a fickle thing. Sometimes it welled up when he’d expect it, like nearly losing his life while battling his worst fear. Sometimes it left him alone after an initial spike, allowing him to focus on dealing with the threat facing him, like with the ushi-oni and dragon the previous day. Sometimes it abandoned him when he really should’ve been a little scared, like when it took him eleven months to feel unsettled by the fact he didn’t know the shadow’s face.

And then sometimes it hit him when he wouldn’t expect it. Like that night, the night before he would finally see Oikawa again and plead for Tobio’s freedom. There was no point in being nervous just yet. He still had enough time to think over what he would say. The real nerves should have arrived in the morning, when he would be facing the castle head-on.

But no. Anxiety pressed against his throat, making him pick at the mouth-watering roasted meat Hajime had prepared.

“Hey.” He jolted, his attention jerking from the meat to Hajime. “Don’t get sick. I don’t have enough meat to give you a second serving.”

Hajime’s blunt concern brought a smile to Shoyo’s lips. “I won’t. I’m just…nervous. Really nervous.”

“Nervous to meet with Oikawa?”

Shoyo nodded. He had only faced the sorcerer for a handful of minutes, but that was all he needed to know that changing Oikawa’s mind about anything, much less the fate of his lover’s killer, would be nearly impossible.

But failure meant a life without Tobio. It had only been a year, and Shoyo already couldn't fathom it. "How…how do I convince him to let Tobio go?"

"He's not easily manipulated, and he suffers no fools," Hajime sighed. His grin was somewhere between fond and resigned. "But no matter how powerful he is, he's still human. Appeal to that. Remind him of his humanity, and of your own. You'd be surprised how far a bit of honesty and vulnerability can get you."

Shoyo nodded, eyes tracing Hajime’s handsome, rugged features. Unlike Tobio’s wolf form, Hajime’s didn’t take on the color of his black hair. His rich brown fur spoke more of his tan skin and the sun-brightened tips of his hair that shone brown in the light.

One thing he did have in common with Tobio were his eyes, and the way they kept their color in both forms. Even when he was a wolf, his eyes were a pretty hazel, with flecks of brown and gold that seemed to glitter when he smiled or wagged his tail.

How was he a wolf? Was he also cursed by Oikawa? Is that why he was helping Shoyo? And how could Shoyo ask?

“Hajime-san?”

“Yeah?”

“Were you also cursed to be a wolf?”

Oh. That worked.

A strangled sound broke out of Hajime, and for a moment, Shoyo was worried that he’d deeply upset him with the question. But then the other man looked up, and revealed watering eyes and lips pressed thin against laughter. “…Hajime-san?”

“Sorry!” Hajime gasped, a laugh escaping him. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, that’s a fair question! You just reminded me of a joke To— uh, a friend used to make. No, I wasn’t cursed. Not by a person. Just cursed by my family.”

“Your family?!”

“Yeah. My father’s lineage are shifters, of any animal. But I’m the only one who shifts.”

Shoyo blinked. “…Oh. Why doesn’t the rest of your family shift?”

Bitterness sharpened Hajime’s features. “…Had you ever heard of magic being real? Before Kageyama found you?”

“I…I heard rumors, but I thought they were just stories. I could maybe believe in magical creatures, but not a human sorcerer like Oikawa-san, y’know?”

Hajime nodded, his bitterness leaning towards anger. “There’s a reason for that. Magic played an important part in the feudal wars, but once they ended, sorcerers were forbidden from using magic. Something about the risk of them using their own magic to turn on the new emperor. He cared enough about optics to not actively hunt them down, but a simple rumor would be enough for him to justify arresting someone and eventually executing them.”

As he spoke, he began massaging his hand, thumb pressing over the toughest callouses. “The old sorcerers stopped using their powers, and their descendants mysteriously didn’t inherit any magic. People assumed that meant letting magic go stagnant would be enough to eradicate it. Stupid, honestly. Magic is still around, and so are magical creatures. People just can’t see them, and anyone with any sort of powers try not to use them.”

“And…that includes shifters.”

“Exactly.”

“But you still use your powers.”

A small smile softened Hajime’s gaze. “I do. Blame it on the bad influence of a friend. Anyway, I…I imagine Oikawa has a…similar story.”

Something told Shoyo that Hajime knew a little more than he was letting on, but he was more curious about something else. “Is that why you care about him letting Tobio go?”

Hajime blinked in surprise, before smiling again, impressed. “Yeah…yeah, you could say that. Oikawa has…probably had an unfortunate life, but he has a good one now, even…even now, without…”

“Without the man he loves?”

“…Right.”

The pleasant crackling of their small fire filled the silence that fell between them as Shoyo turned Hajime’s words over. A good life without the man he loved. He supposed he could have had something similar, if he hadn’t been so determined to save Tobio. He had his mother and sister, his friends, good work and a comfortable home…everything he had before the past year. And he had been happy, content, even.

But now the lack of Tobio would be tangible and bitter. He didn’t know what their life together would look like, if Tobio would go back to being hidden away and trained to take over as daimyo. Shoyo didn’t care, as long as Tobio was safe and happy and somewhere they could sneak some time together. It was almost scary, how empty his life would be without Tobio. And he’d had a good life, practically paradise compared to what Oikawa had been through. Now, the sorcerer didn’t have the one person who had made everything bearable.

Guilt churned in Shoyo’s stomach. “…I’ll do my best, Hajime-san.”

“Hm?”

“To help Oikawa-san. I’ll do my best.”

“Hey, no, don’t say that,” Hajime said with a shake of his head. “You came all this way to save the man you love, not to make his kidnapper come to his senses. At the end of the day, that’s a choice only Oikawa can make for himself. Don’t focus on him.”

Shoyo’s stomach still churned, but he nodded his head. “…What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Will you…do anything? To help him? Maybe you could…come with me?”

This time, Hajime shook his head with a sad smile. “No. I shouldn’t. If push comes to shove, I’ll…see what I can do. Otherwise I think I might do more harm than good.”

Shoyo had known that already, but a part of him had still hoped to have someone at his side while he was in Oikawa’s home. “You’ll be okay,” Hajime insisted. “You…probably don’t want to hear this, but…you and Oikawa aren’t so different. At the end of the day, you both want to save the person you love. You just have an actual chance to do so.”

Nerves crawled up Shoyo’s spine and burned in his throat as he nodded. Hajime watched him for a silent beat, before sighing, “Well…it’s getting late. You finish eating and get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Shoyo opened his mouth to protest and ask to take first watch for once, but all that left him was a deep yawn. “…Alright,” he huffed. “Good night, Hajime-san.”

☾

His dreams were riddled with whispers and shadows, chasing Shoyo down the familiar paths of his childhood woods, and further still into the forests of the mountains. He jolted awake before sunrise and couldn’t fall back asleep.

“Sorry,” he murmured when Hajime turned to him with a questioning frown. “Bad dream.”

Hajime hummed. “Do you want to get some more sleep?”

“Not…not really.”

“Alright.” The curve of his lips was kind and understanding. “Then let’s go. There’s not far left.”

He was technically right. The last leg of their journey was the shortest, but it also saw them climbing higher than before. It was like they left breathable air behind with the river, forcing Shoyo to slow his pace until his lungs adjusted to the thinner air.

Hajime was somehow unaffected, though Shoyo supposed that made sense, if he lived on the island. That didn’t ease his embarrassment as the other swordsman paused for a third time to wait for him to scramble up a rock. “You good?”

“M’fine,” Shoyo grunted. “How is this so easy for you?”

Hajime crooked a brow, once again looking like he was in on a joke Shoyo didn’t understand. “I’ve lived here for a while.”

“Did you rock climb the whole time?!”

This time he earned a proper laugh. “If you need help, you can just ask,” Hajime chuckled.

Shoyo finally found his footing, straightened up, and met Hajime’s eyes with a stubborn frown. “…Yeah, okay,” he sighed, letting his stubborn gaze fall away. “I’ll let you know.”

“Good. Come on, just a little higher and we’ll be there.”

Shoyo had lost count of how many times he’d said that, yet he still let himself believe him. What was the alternative? To continue dreading every part of the climb? Better to keep deluding himself.

Except this time, when Hajime pulled him up from another rock scramble, Shoyo was met with a path that passed through flatter, barren land. More confusing was Hajime’s declaration of, “We’re here.”

“W-what?” Shoyo stammered. He looked around, trying desperately to understand how on earth this could be Oikawa’s land.

“Ah, right. Here.”

Without the distraction of an oni, Shoyo was treated to a proper view of Hajime stripping away the top of his robes. His eyes instinctively skittered away from the chiseled, tan expanse of his torso, only to get caught on a splash of teal than he hadn’t noticed before.

“Put this on under your robes,” Hajime instructed as he untied the ribbon from across his chest. When he handed it over, Shoyo could see a talisman woven into the ribbon. “This’ll help you see and pass.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not the one who needs to meet with Oikawa.”

Shoyo’s mouth went dry as he stared at the offered talisman. This was real. This was happening. He was finally crossing into Oikawa’s lands, and he’d be doing it all alone.

“Hey.” His eyes drifted from the talisman to Hajime, who watched him with a small frown. “You’ll be okay. I swear. Worse comes to worst, I can be your trump card, alright?”

“Really? Can you really change his mind if I fail?”

That frown tilted into a grin, though there was still a distinct tinge of sadness to it. “Yeah. I’m sure. Now go ahead, put that on.”

Part of Shoyo wanted to stall, wanted to take his time peeling away his hanten and robes and tying the talisman underneath. But Hajime was watching him with knowing eyes, silently urging Shoyo to properly see this last leg of his journey through.

So he moved quickly, and when he looked up from resecuring his robes, his mouth dropped open.

Where there had been a flat path and barren land now stood the tall stone walls of a fortress looming over the path. It wove through the wider palace grounds, eventually disappearing behind the bend. Shoyo could just barely see the edges of some of the small buildings and homes along the way.

But all of that paled when he looked further up and saw the daunting castle looming above. Maybe he should’ve been used to the grandeur of palaces already, as a samurai, but the position of this one at the top of a mountain made it look all the more intimidating.

“Woah…”

“Yeah,” Hajime laughed softly. “Oikawa chose his place well.” When Shoyo looked back at him, he found him watching him with a small smile. Having that hazel gaze fixed on him flustered him, until he remembered that Hajime couldn’t see the palace grounds anymore, not without the talisman.

“Um…” Shoyo’s throat clicked around his gulp. “I guess I should go.”

“Yeah, you should.” Hajime stared at him for an extra beat, before suddenly reaching out and readjusting his hanten around his shoulders. “Remember why you’re here. See this through for him.”

Shoyo’s voice caught in his throat, reducing him to silently nodding. But a sudden urge washed over him, and before he could think better of it, he surged forward to wrap Hajime in a hug. “Thank you,” he mumbled into his shoulder, “for everything.”

“Don’t talk like this is over,” Hajime murmured, rubbing soothing hands down Shoyo’s back. “You better come back and tell me how everything goes. I’ll set up camp at the bottom of the mountain, alright?”

Shoyo nodded again. Then he pulled away, shared one last smile with Hajime, and began making his way up the path.

He hadn’t felt so alone in months, and he hadn’t missed it. But he forced himself to take the first step up, then another, and another. When he chanced a look over his shoulder, his heart sank to see Hajime already turned away and heading back down the mountain. He really couldn’t see through the shroud without his talisman.

If Shoyo kept his head down and focused only on the path beneath him, he could almost pretend he was back at the Kageyama clan’s palace. Sure, the grounds were much emptier and the air was thinner, but he could still pretend a little.

Then he’d look up, see the castle up above, and be abruptly reminded of what he was actually doing.

It didn’t help that the grounds were so barren. The few buildings that remained were empty and starting to break down, without any sign of fire or fighting that could explain the damage. It was just…time. Time had worn the buildings down.

It didn’t make sense to Shoyo. Hajime told him that Oikawa and Iwaizumi had made a home with a small community. So where was that community? Was Shoyo heading into some sort of ghost town of a palace? Had Oikawa driven away the rest of what circle of friends he’d built in the six years of stubborn grief? What did that mean for Shoyo, and the reception he would receive on his arrival?

Tobio…think of Tobio, remember Tobio.

For once, Shoyo welcomed the sweet pressure in his throat at the thought of his love.

“I’m not worth it, Sho.”

He was, he was, he was worth everything and more. Shoyo remembered his broken voice and desperate kisses, and thought about Tobio all alone in that castle, and just like that, his resolve chased away his nerves.

He would remind him of his worth, remind him how loved he was, if it was the last thing he did.

“Halt!”

The sudden shout brought Shoyo to a stumbling stop. He hadn’t quite reached the walls surrounding the inner grounds, but he could see a man with pink hair and sleepy eyes aiming an arrow at him. “Who are you and how are you on these grounds?”

Shoyo’s hands shot up in a gesture of peace. “M-my name is Shoyo Hinata,” he called back, voice trembling, “and I’m here to request an audience with Oikawa-sama.”

The man’s eyes widened, but his arrow stayed steadily fixed on Shoyo. “Mattsun!” he suddenly called.

“I’m going, I’m going,” came another voice from the wall. Barely a minute had passed when a small door at the base of the wall opened, revealing a man with wavy black hair and thick brows. Instead of a bow, this man—Mattsun?—had two daggers attached to his obi, which was a dark slash across his pale blue robes. As he approached, Shoyo was disgruntled by how tall he was—about the same height as Oikawa, if memory served. Was he doomed to only meet tall people on this journey?

“You shouldn’t be here,” the dark-haired man said once he came to a stop a few paces from Shoyo. “Oikawa doesn’t welcome strangers, and you shouldn’t have been able to cross onto these grounds in the first place.”

“I’m not a stranger,” Shoyo murmured, voice a bit steadier. “Oikawa-sama knows me.” He deliberately avoided answering the implied question of how he’d passed the shroud, and from the frown his answer earned him, the other man had noticed that.

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, his dark eyes flickered to Shoyo’s hair, before he suddenly turned back towards the wall and stared up at the pink-haired man. Not a word was exchanged, at least none that Shoyo could hear, but the pink-haired man’s eyes widened again as he vehemently shook his head, as though in refusal to silent request. Stranger still, the black-haired man responded with a silent shrug, spreading his hands out in front of him, to which the other man sighed and slowly nodded.

“Alright,” the man in front of Shoyo declared, turning back to him with a smug, victorious grin. “Follow me. Stay right behind me, do not wander, understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Shoyo immediately agreed. “Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” the man scoffed. “And don’t call me ‘sir.’ My name’s Matsukawa, and that’s Hanamaki.” He gestured up at the pink-haired man, who threw up his hands in clear frustration over his name being revealed. “Don’t mind him. C’mon, stay close.”

Shoyo hurried to obey, a chill running up his spine when the gates of the second wall opened to the sound of a low horn. There was a strange ripple in the air when Shoyo crossed through the gates behind Matsukawa, as though they were walking through a barrier of heat. He blinked instinctively to protect his eyes, and when they opened again, he was startled to see the complete opposite of the empty grounds he had just walked through.

The buildings he saw now looked freshly rebuilt, though not very lived-in. While it all looked prettier than the area before the second wall, it was also somewhat eerie, as though there used to be a community that suddenly vanished. “What…what is this place?”

“Hm?” Matsukawa looked over his shoulder at him, then followed his eyeline to the empty houses. “Oh, we just repaired these houses in case more people came. There’s only a handful of us, and we all live further inside.”

“Oh. And are you all…happy here?”

“Happier than we were before.”

Matsukawa didn’t elaborate beyond that, and for the first time in a while, Shoyo wasn’t sure how to continue the conversation. So he didn’t, choosing to occupy himself by looking around at the scenery. Beyond the houses, the forest continued, and his heart ached when he recognized the pine trees that had surrounded his and Tobio’s home at the foot of the mountain. He didn’t know if the familiar trees were more reassuring or foreboding. He didn’t have a chance to decide before they reached the next set of gates, and his attention was pulled away by Matsukawa calling, “Yahaba! It’s me! Open up!”

A man with dusty brown hair and an impressive frown peered over the wall. “Just go through.”

“Can’t. I’ve got the fabled samurai with me.”

Yahaba’s eyes found Shoyo and, much like Hanamaki’s, grew almost comically round. “Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Yahaba did something with his fingers, and before Shoyo’s very eyes, the gates wavered like a mirage before vanishing completely. “Alright, he should be good to go through.”

“Thank you!” Shoyo called with a quick bow. He could only hope he was successfully hiding how bewildering this entire journey through the palace grounds was.

The road beyond the gate was lined with more houses, but Shoyo was surprised by the signs of life they all held: flowers sprouted around tidy engawas, laundry hung from clotheslines and fluttered in the breeze, and smoke billowed from roofs with the scent of cooking meals.

Strangely, though, there were no people. None that made themselves known to Shoyo, at least. The most he saw were eyes and faces peering around the edges of windows or peeking through cracked-open doors. After the fifth or sixth glimpse of a face, Shoyo could resist asking, “Are they okay?”

“Hm?” Matsukawa followed his eyeline to a window, where yet another face was ducking out of view. A laugh burst from him. “Oh, sure! We’re just not used to guests around here. The horn announcing guests sounds more like a warning these days.”

“Oh…”

Matsukawa glanced over his shoulder to raise his eyebrows at Shoyo. “You’re not technically a guest, are you? You weren’t invited, after all.”

It was a fair enough observation, but Shoyo still scowled. “I told Oikawa-san I’d be here,” he muttered. “If he’s surprised, that’s his fault!”

Embarrassment flashed hot over him when Matsukawa let out a soft laugh, but then the taller man shot him a small smile. “Lots of people have threatened to show up unannounced, and none of them have succeeded. His surprise is flattering, trust me.”

“Oh.” Shoyo scuffed his feet against the ground for a few steps. “Does he remember me?”

“Oh, yes. He’s told all of us about you, Shoyo Hinata.”

Shoyo froze, breath catching in his chest and lips parting around a noiseless gasp. Matsukawa didn’t seem at all surprised by his reaction, easily coming to a stop and turning to face him properly. “Are you surprised? You shouldn’t be. You’re the reason Kageyama nearly broke the curse, and the reason he failed. Of course we know who you are.”

“Then…” Shoyo’s voice cracked, forcing him to clear his throat before continuing. “Then…you know why I’m here?”

“I do. We all do. Honestly, that’s the only reason Makki and I have been on guard duty,” Matsukawa scoffed with a disdain Shoyo knew wasn’t meant for him. “Oikawa sensed someone with magic breaching the storm around the island and approaching the palace. He wanted to make sure his strongest allies would be the first people you’d meet.”

“Strongest?!”

“That’s right.” Matsukawa smirked. “Told you. It’s flattering.”

Shoyo was quiet for a moment, before hesitantly asking, “If he has other guards…have they been fighting the oni that are on the island?”

Matsukawa betrayed no reaction, even made Shoyo unsure if he’d heard him at all, until he said in a strained voice, “Some of them, yeah.”

“If…If Oikawa has people he wants to protect here, then why is he letting oni on the island at all?”

This time, Matsukawa let out a slow breath before responding. “That…is a question only Oikawa can answer.”

“You don’t know?”

“I know part of the reason, but it’s ultimately up to him to decide who gets to know.”

“Even if I had to fight one?”

A small smirk and an impressed glint in his eye adorned Matsukawa’s expression when he glanced over his shoulder. “Did you? I guess that katana’s not just for decoration, huh?”

Shoyo’s hand automatically wrapped around his hilt. “It never was,” he declared. “I earned it, and so did my fellow samurai.”

“I’m sure.” His voice was casual, but uninterested, telling Shoyo that continuing to argue would be pointless.

So he clenched his jaw against the arguments burning on his tongue, and tried to distract himself by changing the subject. “Are…are all of these people magic users?”

“Yeah, for the most part. There’s the occasional person without magic who came here with their magic-using partner, but they’ve been able to enjoy their new lives here.”

“So he’s really not alone.”

The words escaped Shoyo a bit thoughtlessly, but he didn’t shy away from Matsukawa’s sharp stare. “What was that?”

“Oikawa. He isn’t alone. I…I thought part of his grief came from loneliness, but he has a community here.”

In the few minutes he’d known Matsukawa, he could already tell his face was usually the picture of perfect apathy. That just made the newly-thinned line of his lips all the more obvious. “All the people in the world won’t make up for his loss, no matter how hard we try.” The slightest tremble of regret and grief lined his flat words.

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

“With all due respect, Hinata-kun…you’re not the one who should apologize, and I’m not the one who should be apologized to.”

With that, they stepped into the shadow of the final walls to the main compound, within which loomed the central keep. Before Matsukawa approached the gates, he turned to Shoyo and pinned him under the full weight of his dark, heavy-lidded gaze. “Listen carefully,” he muttered, with a sternness Shoyo hadn’t heard on the entire walk up to the castle. “When we step into the main keep, you will follow me until I tell you to stop, and not a step further. I will be told to either lead you to a room to wait, or to bring you directly to the great hall. If you’re allowed to wait, then do what you can to…clean up, somehow. If not, then…well. Nothing to do, then, but hope for the best. Either way, good luck with trying to convince him to let Kageyama go. You’ll need it.”

Shoyo tried to swallow around the lump of fear rising in him, and just ended up with a sore throat. “Geez, Matsukawa-san,” he said with a weak laugh, “you really know how to cheer a guy up.”

Matsukawa’s stern expression softened just a bit around his eyes. “Figured you’d rather go in prepared than falsely optimistic.”

Fair enough. “Okay.”

After another moment of steady eye contact, Matsukawa asked, “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Follow me.”

There was one more, final shroud that shifted around them as they stepped into a hidden staircase leading up and through the final stone walls. They emerged directly into the tenshu, a startling difference from the open courtyard leading up to the Kageyama domain’s castle. The architecture of this castle seemed more like a fort, easily defended and with only hidden pathways that the rest of the grounds’ residents could use to reach the more secure central keep. Even if Shoyo hadn’t known about the dangers of Oikawa’s life, he would have been able to tell that he had chosen to rebuild this castle for protection, not to be a home.

There was still beauty to be found, though. As he tried his best to keep up with Matsukawa, he looked around at the smooth, dark wood hallway and the pristine shoji screens lining it. Some of them served as the canva for simple, yet beautiful, paintings of landscapes, simple brushstrokes that formed mountains and rivers. The further they walked, the more ornate the paintings became, with delicate dashes of animals, and then humans. Soft murmurs filtered out from behind some of them, but they didn’t see anyone else until Matsukawa led him further in. There, they ran into a young man around Shoyo’s age, with coarse black hair that stood straight up like a turnip.

“Matsukawa-san! Kyotani-san told us someone arrived!” His words balanced delicately between anxiety and urgency, only to stumble to a halt when his dark eyes landed on Shoyo. “O-oh. Is this…him?”

“Yes, this is. Have you received any instructions regarding his arrival?”

“Um…Oikawa-sama wants him to be brought straight in once any dangers have been, uh…neutralized.”

A soft huff of laughter escaped Matsukawa at the clear apprehension on the other man’s face. “Thank you, Kindaichi. May I bring him in?”

“Ah…yes? If you’re sure…I’d be perfectly capable of taking him from here.”

“Nah, that’s alright. I think we’ve bonded a bit on the walk up here, wouldn’t you say so, Hinata?”

Shoyo jolted at being so abruptly addressed and gave a jerking nod. “Yes, yeah, I…I would say so?”

“Perfect. Shall we?”

Kindaichi frowned at Shoyo for a beat, before turning and leading the rest of the way without another word. The shoji screened rooms eventually gave way to more open rooms along the hall. Where Shoyo expected to see finery displayed, he instead saw old, clearly-cherished trinkets, weapons, glazed pottery, and paintings. Some of the paintings depicted small groups of young men, while others were more like stylized portraits, set over small altars.

They were just outside of the great hall, which was sequestered away behind the only wood walls Shoyo had seen in the whole place, when he noticed it: a large, beautiful butsudan containing an ornate altar. There were candles, food offerings, and some small trinkets adorning it, but what made Shoyo freeze were the displayed dagger and the portrait that hung over it.

The dagger was held in a scabbard that was almost black, with knicks along it that exposed a lighter wood beneath the paint, and a dark teal hilt that looked unnervingly familiar to Shoyo. The portrait over it was stylized, but was still clearly of a young man with messy black hair, tan skin, and pretty hazel eyes set under slim, furrowed brows. He wore simple dark robes, and was looking somewhere outside of the canvas that made his lips curve into a secretive smile.

It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t have been possible. But there was no doubt in Shoyo’s mind that he was looking at a portrait of Hajime…a portrait hanging as the centerpiece of an altar to the dead.

“Hinata?” His eyes jerked away from the butsudan to land on Matsukawa, who watched him with something that Shoyo couldn’t identify in the midst of his shock. “Are you ready to go in?”

Panic clamored in his chest, tightening until he couldn’t take in enough air. Was Hajime…dead? How had he been helping Shoyo? Why had he been helping? Who was he, what did he mean to these people? And…and was he the man that Tobio had accidentally killed? The implications made Shoyo’s heart freefall through his body and take all the blood with it, leaving him lightheaded.

No. No. He couldn’t get distracted by all that now. He was here, finally, steps away from Oikawa and, with any luck, moments away from seeing Tobio again. Nothing else mattered than freeing Tobio and finding the words that would make that possible.

Shoyo was sweaty, grimy, wearing stained robes and a creaking pack, but with a raised chin and a final roll of Tobio’s blue stone between his fingers, he met Matsukawa’s gaze and murmured, “Yes. I’m ready.”

[random-movie-ideas]

Batman Villain Movie Ideas, Part XXII: The Penguin

Oswald Cobblepot AKA The Penguin is the first of our final four, four villains who have been done and done and done again, all being mostly strong adaptations of said character. Oswald is normally portrayed as a portly funny-looking man with a bird fetish who runs the Iceberg lounge, a front for his criminal activities and a regular hangout for other villains throughout the series. I . . . don't know what Tim Burton was doing with the character. I think he combined him with Killer Croc's backstory maybe. Either way, if it weren't for Danny DeVito's stellar performance, I'd have more of an issue with his portrayal there.

Origin Movie: I think Gotham did it about right. Having him be loosely connected to the more regular mob bosses, allowing Bruce to start out taking out the crime families and such that have infested Gotham, while still having a more colorful and iconic villain rise to the top in the end.

Sequel Movie: Honestly, the origin fits him a little better, unless you're going the old Burton series of just working down through the villains by level of iconography: Joker first, Penguin or Catwoman second, yada yada. He could still work, especially if the first movie had Batman take out the bigger crime families which created a power vacuum that Penguin filled.

Finale Movie: Unless it's like a run on the Iceberg Lounge as a stronghold for all the villains, this seems like the worst spot for him.

Supporting Villain: This is basically what he's best at, and is literally what his setup with the Iceberg Lounge practically exists to do, and its likely the biggest reason for his remaining as prolific as he has. He is a great supporting villain.

Overall, here are my rankings of them:

Supporting Villain: He's really good at it.

Origin Movie: The best way to do a grounded "take on crime" origin while still having an iconic villain.

Sequel Movie: Not as great, but it's there.

Finale Movie: If he is anything, he is not a finale villain.

What do you think? Who should I cover next?

[withahappyrefrain]

https://withahappyrefrain.tumblr.com/post/681614607965683712/yall-got-any-more-blondepeter-or-dilfpeter

…who says dilf peter can’t be blonde….

Anon, you are absolutely right. We shouldn't limit ourselves.

Summary: Peter brings back an old hairstyle you haven't seen in years. It brings back a lot of uh, urges.

Warnings: blonde DILF teacher!Peter (proceed w/ caution folks), afab!reader, Peter being an amazing girl!Dad, Daddy kink, breeding kink, and oral (f receiving)

"So there's something you should know." You looked up at your husband from the array of goat soaps you were looking at. The four of you were in the midst of your weekly farmer's market visit. You adjusted Sophie so she was resting on your hip.

"What did you say your students could do?"

Over the years, the details had changed, though the message remained the same. Back when you first met Peter, it would have been "What did you say your fraternity could do?" Post college, it changed to "What did you tell Miles he could do?"

Now that things had settled down (as much as they could with a four year old and two year old), you knew when Peter prefaced with that sentence, it usually had something to do with his high schoolers.

"So I told them how back in the day, I had blonde hair for most of college," He started.

"Daddy had blonde hair?" Sophie asked, resting her head against your chest.

"He did! And I take it that they wanted to see pictures," You said, looking at Peter.

"They did. So I showed them some old pictures and...." Peter paused, "And we made a bet."

"Dadda bet," Olivia babbled. Your two year old was perched on Peter's shoulders, playing with his hair. Peter said he kept it long because he looked good with it, but you knew it was because he loved having the girls play with it.

"What's a bet?" Sophie asked, not looking up from observing the necklace you had on.

"A bet is when you say you'll do something if another thing happens. If that thing doesn't happen, you don't have to do what you said you'll do," You explained to your preschooler.

You looked back at your husband, "So what did you bet with your students? Please tell me it doesn't involve me making dessert for them again." You winced at the memory of having to make over one hundred sugar cookies.

"I told them if over eighty percent of them got a B plus or higher on their chemistry exam, I'd let them dye my hair." It wasn't the worst bet Peter had agreed to (you still had trauma from when he shaved his head senior year of college).

"Well, your chemistry exams are known for being killer. So your hair should be safe," you went back to looking at the soaps, knowing Peter would assure you that you were right.

Except he didn't.

You looked up to find him making that 'please don't be mad at me I'm so cute' smile he always tried to use to soften you up.

"Peter......" You said in a warning tone. It was one word, but it screamed 'You better reassure me right now'. He continued to stare at you with those big brown puppy dog eyes. Despite years of being together, it still made your heart flutter.

"....When are they dying your hair?" You finally asked.

"Tomorrow during class." He put his hands on Ollie's hips, lifting her off his shoulders and resting her against his chest. Your toddler looked so small against his broad chest.

"Aren't you supposed to be....teaching?"

"Dying hair is all about chemicals and reactions! It's totally educational!" He paused, "Besides if my principal comes in, I'll just tell her I'm building relationships with my students. It is one of my strong suits."

You rolled your eyes, "Yes because you allow them to dye your hair!"

"Is Daddy gonna have new hair?" Sophie asked, "What color is it?"

"Yes, Daddy," you gritted the name, "What color will it be?"

Peter smirked, "It's a surprise!"

"Surprise surprise," Ollie babbled, playing with the strings of Peter's hoodie.

Well, at least you couldn't say life was boring in the Parker household.

✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓

The next morning, you rested your head on Peter's chest, savoring the few moments of quietness the two of you would get before your alarm would go off, waking up your two energetic children in the process.

"I'm going to miss you," you said longingly, staring at the brown lock you had twisted around your finger.

"I'm dying my hair, not going off to war," Peter remarked, rolling his eyes.

"Just promise me you won't shave it off. You'll just let it grow out, okay?"

"Wow, I see someone is still traumatized from when I shaved my head senior year," Peter rolled his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you closer to his chest.

"Maybe if someone had given me a heads up that they were shaving their head, I wouldn't be so traumatized." You still remembered the horror that ran through your body when you came in that day to find Peter sitting in a chair, half of his hair gone, and Miles on the counter with an electric razor in hand.

"I told you I was getting a haircut."

"A haircut and shaving off your head are two different things, Parker," Peter wiggled his eyebrows at your old nickname for him.

"I promise, I won't shave it off….only if you promise that you'll trim my hair while it grows out."

"Deal." You eyed your alarm clock, which was due to go off any second.

"Today's your day of meetings, right?" Peter asked. As much as you joked about how scatterbrained he could be sometimes, he did a better job at keeping track of important dates than you.

"Yup, so you'll have to pick the girls up from daycare."

He smiled, "They'll get to see the new hair before you." Peter pressed a kiss into your temple.

"I'm sure they'll be very excited," you giggled, "Now c'mon Dad, it's time to get up."

✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓

As you fished for the keys to your apartment, you could hear the sound of your daughters' laughter coming from inside. Based on the muffled noises you could hear, you assumed they were playing 'Spider-girls' and Peter was playing the villain.

When you found out your second child was another girl, Peter joked it was karma for his fraternity days. It was clear as day that he loved Sophie and Ollie with all his heart and then some. When you were pregnant with Sophie, you knew he was nervous about whether he would be a good father.

"Peter, if I had any doubts about that, do you think I would have allowed you to get me pregnant?" You told him at the time. It wasn't until he held Sophie for the first time that his doubts faded away. Within three months of her birth, Peter was asking if you two could "have another Sophie".

While Ollie was way more outgoing and loud than Sophie, you wouldn't have your family be any other way. You found your keys and began unlocking the door, embracing whatever chaos was inside.

Sophie and Ollie were on one side of the couch. Both were giggling despite having a finger up to their mouths to tell the other one to be quiet. You could see Peter was on all fours, only his long legs visible as they were sticking out of the couch.

"Bring me the Spider girls!" You heard Peter say, his voice deep and cartoonist. You quietly put your bag down, not wanting to interrupt the game. Your daughters couldn't contain their laughter.

Spider Girls was their current favorite game. It always involved Sophie and Ollie being "Spider-Girl" and saving the city, just like "How Daddy used to do with Uncle Miles!" Sometimes you played the citizen who needed help. Almost always, Peter was the big bad villain.

Sophie and Ollie quietly (their version of quiet) backed away from the couch. Peter's legs disappeared, you could hear the sound of his hands slamming against the carpet, alerting the girls that the "big bad man" was getting closer.

"I got you two now!" Your eyes widened when a blonde Peter popped out from the couch.

Fuck.

He was blonde again. His students dyed his hair blonde.

It was a strange sight. You felt like you were looking at a different Peter, the one you met in college. Except instead of smoking a blunt and trying to crudely flirt with you, he was now pretending to be under a hug attack from Sophie and Ollie.

Memories started flooding back. Memories of when you first met him, when the two of you were paired for a chemistry project, when he pushed you up against the wall and made out with you after watching you dance, memories of how he threw you on your bed and-

"Mommy!" Sophie's voice broke you out of your less than pure thoughts. You smiled, kneeling down so you were at eye level with your girls, who were running towards you.

"Did you girls beat the big scary man?" You asked excitedly. They nodded their heads. You looked over at Peter, who was running a hand through his now blonde hair. You couldn't get over the sight.

"I don't know…..I don't think we have him beat yet," you whispered loudly.

"What we do?" Ollie asked.

"Looks like you need," you took your hair out of your ponytail, doing a dramatic hairflip that caused your girls to erupt into giggles, "Spider-Woman! Let's get him!"

You herd your daughters over to Peter, who didn't even try to pretend to put up a fight. He let his three favorite girls gently pin him down to the floor (he still retained his super strength, despite hanging up the red and blue costume after Ollie's birth).

"Not a triple hug attack! I'm doomed!" Peter said in-between laughs.

"We did it! We saved the city!" Sophie said. She was the first one to get up. Ollie quickly followed, running after Sophie who was now heading towards their shared room.

You, on the other hand, continued to lay on top of your husband, resting your forehead against his.

"Hi," He whispered, unable to contain his smile.

"Hi," you replied. You tilted your head back, your eyes trailing up to take in the hair. You were impressed with the quality of a dye job his students had done. Far better than Miles' work back in college (not that you'd ever tell him that).

"Do you like the hair?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

You reached out a hand, running it through his now much lighter locks.

"I feel like I've been transported back in time," you paused, "Though I can't see college you playing Spider-Girls willingly."

Peter laughed, "Brings back a lot of memories, huh?"

You rolled off of him, allowing him to sit up. You leaned back against the couch, taking in the sight.

"It does. Like when I found out for my big Chem 201 project, I had gotten paired with the douchey frat bro who sat five seats down from me," you smirked.

Peter shook his head, getting on his hands and knees so he could crawl over to you. You couldn't say it felt like a predator stalking it's prey. After all, what kind of prey opens their legs to let the predator in?

"Really? That's what you thought of?" He asked. You knew the answer he wanted to hear. But despite ten years of being with Peter and two children with him, you still weren't going to give in easily.

“That’s a core memory for me, I was so pissed off!” You paused, grinning, “It also…officially introduced me to my future husband and father of my children, I guess.”

“I guess,” Peter repeated, rolling his eyes. You leaned in, decreasing the distance of your lips but not closing the gap all the way.

“What memories were you hoping I would recall?” You asked slyly.

“Oh….I don’t know,” He paused, pretending to be deep in thought, “Maybe that time you and I finished the keg at the spring mixer….or maybe that time I made out with you in front of that rando who wouldn’t stop flirting.”

Peter leaned in, his lips ghosting over your’s, “Or maybe that time I fucked you senselessly in a coat closet.”

Your breathing had become heavy. Peter’s lips brushed over your’s. You leaned forward to close the gap. Whether it was his “Spidey-sense” or his need to tease you, he leaned back.

“Aww, is someone now horny?” The hair combined with that infamous smirk and teasing tone made you feel like you were at some frat house again, with Peter cornering you so you couldn’t escape his grasp.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sure, you two were married and you could have just easily told him yes, that you wanted him to fuck you up against a wall. But where was the fun in that?

“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten sweetheart, but I know when you’re turned on. I can smell it,” He leaned in to begin sucking on the spot right below your ear.

Fuck if that nickname didn’t bring back a whole lot of hot memories.

Your actions from reminscenting of those specific, spicy memories were cut short by the sounds of Sophie and Ollie arguing.

“You know, sometimes I miss the days where the reason we got interrupted was because someone had to use the bathroom,” Peter muttered as he got up. He stuck out a hand to help you get up.

“Let’s hurry before they start fighting on the ceiling again,” You said, picking up the pace of your walk. Having three people in your house with Spider-like abilities was….interesting to say the least. Luckily, Peter was there to crawl up and grab the girls if needed.

✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓

After breaking up the fight your children were having on the ceiling, things calmed down enough in the Parker household for you and Peter to make dinner.

It didn't stop Peter's hand from lingering on your body. You shot him a knowing look.

"What?" He gave that fake innocent look, "I can't admire my beautiful wife and mother of my children?"

"You need to be good and help me cook dinner, Daddy." Based on the sharp exhale, the way you whispered the name did exactly what you wanted.

Peter placed his hands on your hips. He pressed your hips against his. You could feel his growing erection against your ass.

"I'm always a good Daddy for you," Peter whispered, his breath hot in your ear.

"Then tell me what this sauce is missing," You held up a spoon to him. Peter took the spoon up to his mouth. He wasn't giving up on you yet.

"Paprika."

He was just going to wait.

"How did I forget that?" You asked yourself out loud, grabbing the spice and giving it a couple of shakes over the pot.

"Should we tell them there are veggies in this sauce?" Peter whispered. You shook your head.

"Let's wait until Ollie is four. I think by then they'll still eat it after we tell them the recipe."

"Yeah, but then would Ben still eat it?" Peter asked, concern written all over his face, assuming you knew exactly who he was talking about.

"Ben? Who's Ben?"

"Either the name of our only son or of the male dog I'm getting after the birth of Annie Grace Parker so I'm not the only man in the house," he said before taking a sip of his wine.

You laughed as you stirred the pasta sauce, "I just want to remind you that it was you who asked for another daughter after Sophie was born." With Ollie getting closer to turning three, the idea of trying for a third child was getting brought up more and more often.

"Yes, and I'm quite thankful that happened," he pressed a kiss to your temple, "and now I'd love to have a son."

"I'll tell that to my uterus during my monthly meeting with them," you retorted.

"What's a uterus?" Sophie asked as she walked into the kitchen, Ollie quickly behind her.

"It's a body part that you don't have to worry about for many years," you explained to your eldest.

You and Peter got your daughters situated at the table and began serving dinner. Throughout, your eyes kept looking up to Peter’s hair. It was….odd. He hadn’t been blonde in years. And yet, the hairstyle brought back so many memories.

“Do you like Daddy’s new hair?” Sophie asked. Peter raised his eyebrows at you before taking another bite of his food.

“I do,” You smiled at your oldest, as your eyes met Peter's. He wiggled his eyebrows, a gleam in his eyes nothing short of mischievous.

"You know, Daddy looked like this when he met Mommy," Peter explained. Sophie giggled.

"Did you think Daddy was pretty?" She asked you. You smiled at the question, looking at your husband.

"I did….amongst other things." You winked at Peter. Your daughters didn't need to know about the disdain you had for Peter when you two first officially met.

Or that you wanted to fuck the smirk right off his face.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, saved for the ass grab from Peter while doing the dishes. The two of you helped Sophie and Ollie get ready for bed.

You smiled at the sight of Peter playing with Ollie's hair as he tucked her into bed. Your toddler stuck a hand out, motioning to Peter's hair. He leaned down, allowing Ollie to attempt to imitate his motions.

After a few bedtime stories and many forehead kisses, the girls were finally asleep. You closed their bedroom door quietly.

You turned around, about to make a comment to Peter when the next thing you knew, your feet were off the ground. It took you a few seconds to realize Peter had picked you up and slung you over his shoulder.

"What are-" your sentence was cut off by a firm smack on your ass.

"We just put them to sleep, you really want to wake them up?" Peter growled, "Or would you rather I fuck you?"

You nodded your head.

"What was that sweetheart? Couldn't hear ya?" Peter smirked as he walked down the hall with you, getting further away from your children's bedroom and closer to yours.

You mumbled an answer, hoping it would be enough.

The second smack across your ass told you it wasn't.

It also told you it was going to be one of those nights.

"Gotta answer me sweetheart," Peter reminded you, his tone mocking. He was standing right outside your bedroom, his hand on the doorknob.

“I want you to fuck me, Daddy,” You whispered, loud enough so he could hear it.

The sharp exhale through Peter's nose told you that was exactly what he wanted to hear. He opened your bedroom door and quickly closed it.

He gently put you down on the bed (while you liked being manhandled, Peter knew you didn't like feeling like a ragdoll).

“Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you?” He sat down next to you, leaning over. You reached up to run a hand through his newly colored hair.

“Since this morning?” You asked, a smirk appearing on your face.

“The hair brought back a lot of memories,” Peter hooked his fingers onto the waistband of your sweats, “Memories of me fucking you, specifically.”

“Gee, couldn’t,” You held back a gasp when you felt the cool air hit your core, “tell.”

“Oh please, like you haven’t been thinking about it. That cunt’s been soaked for the last two hours,” Your eyes widened at his words. The fact he was saying this while taking off your sweats and underwear so casually drove you wild.

“I….I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter spread your legs apart. He leaned over, his lips hovering over your’s.

“You know Daddy wins this game every time, right?” He whispered, “Just admit you’re a slut already.”

You raised an eyebrow at Peter’s word. “I’ve said way worse.” He defended.

“You’re not wrong, considering the things you said when we were trying to conceive,” You tried to ignore Peter’s fingers that were trailing down your stomach. It wasn’t really working but you were caring less and less as time went on.

“I just really like the idea of fucking a baby into you, can you blame me?” Peter’s fingers slipped into your cunt easily. You bit your bottom lip, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

You couldn’t think of a response. Instead, you focused on how sinful it looked to see Peter adjust himself so that his head was in between your legs.

You didn’t get to enjoy the sight for very long, as he angled his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside of you, causing you to throw your head back. Peter’s mouth latched onto your clit, eliciting a whine out of you. You quickly turned your head so your mouth was covered by the pillow.

“I thought you were going to fuck me,” You whined.

Peter looked up, the lower half of his mouth wet, “We’ve been together for over ten years. You know the rules: Daddy eats that pretty little cunt of yours first, and then you get fucked.”

You knew the rules. You just liked hearing Peter say them.

As he pushed you closer and closer to the edge with his mouth and fingers, the grip you had on his hair tightened. A particularly strong tug earned a deep, guttural moan from Peter.

You buried your face with a nearby pillow as you came, doing your best to conceal your moans. You could feel Peter's hands move up to pin down your thrashing hips, his tongue still trying to get every last drop.

"Fuck me. Please. Please fuck me Daddy," You whined. He was right, you had been horny all day as well. In the back of your mind, you also knew time was of the essence as a parent and you wanted to get fucked before getting interrupted.

Peter reached over to the draw in your nightstand, fishing around for a condom.

"Don't." He looked at you, his eyes wide.

"Are…..you sure?" He asked. It was clear as day that he was trying to contain his excitement.

You nodded, a smile forming, "Ollie will be three years old in two months and she's about as potty trained as an almost three year old can get."

"She was telling me yesterday that she wants to be a big sister like Soph," Peter grinned as he closed the draw.

"You sure you weren't just projecting there Parker?" You teased.

"You gonna let me put a baby in ya?" He whispered.

"Can't guarantee it'll be a son but-"

"You know I don't fucking care," Peter crashed his lips onto yours. Without breaking away, he awkwardly pushed down his sweats.

You titled your head back at the sensation of the tip of his cock pushing into you, beginning to stretch you out and-

"Daddy? Mommy?"

You two froze, looking at each other, hoping you both just simultaneously imagined hearing Ollie's voice.

That hope was dashed when you heard a little knock on the door.

"Where did our kids get their impeccable timing because it sure as hell wasn't from me," Peter whispered.

"Daddy! Mommy!" You heard Ollie's voice again, this time more urgent.

"What is it baby?" You asked, trying your best not to sound annoyed. Peter regretfully pulled out and pulled up his pants.

"Can't sleep."

"I'll get her," Peter said, trying to adjust his sweatpants so his erection wasn't as obvious.

"Daddy's coming, okay bug?" Peter said.

"Okay Daddy." You heard Ollie say on the other side of the door.

Peter leaned over, his mouth on your ear, "You're going to wait right here and when I get back, I'm going to fill you up over and over again until there's a baby inside that belly, alright?"

You nodded your head eagerly.

[daydream-cement]

Organs in the Wash Ch. 3

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

Reader and Miranda are back on the case. Things turn a little dangerous for dear, little reader.

TW: Intruder/Break-In (No one is harmed)

As you walked through the halls of the police station, you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose at the behavior of most of the men working there. The amount of vulgarity and horseplay you saw in your ten minutes following Miranda from the car to the morgue was enough to make you question how Miranda kept such a positive attitude about her work.

Miranda didn’t seem to have many positive work relationships as even Robin seemed to keep the blonde at an arm's length. Even as you analyzed all the negative components of her workplace, Miranda chattered excitedly about the police station. She pointed out her desk from afar, told you about the locker rooms in the back, and explained that even though she had been working there for three years, she had been learning lots from being Robin’s partner. 

Robin led the way down to the morgue and Miranda lingered back to walk at your side, “I didn’t start  viewing bodies in the morgue until Robin came.”

“Oh… I’m not going in there.” You stopped short of the doors to the coroner’s lab, glancing up to Miranda who looked down at you with a confused expression. Through the windows you could see the body lying on the metal table. Looking at a dead body through a phone was much different than standing next to one. 

“What did you think you came down here for? You have to look at the body.” Robin Griffin narrowed her gaze at you, folding her arms over her chest. You didn’t take Robin’s behavior to heart. She didn’t seem to like anyone, treating Miranda with the same shortness. 

“We could just take a picture like last time. She can use my computer to research what it means.” Miranda’s solution was more of a command as she didn’t appreciate the way Robin spoke to you. The women went back and forth with their argument, neither wanting to give in. Rather than speaking up, you allowed Miranda to argue for you. 

Robin grew tired of arguing with Miranda, finally giving in to her partner’s desires, “Fine. Take her upstairs.”

“I can show you my desk!“ Miranda grabbed you by your arm and pulled you along behind her, back the way you came from. One thing you truly appreciated about her was the fact she didn’t indulge in the awkwardness of a budding relationship, rather she treated you like a friend she has known since childhood.

Miranda had been so excited to show you her desk, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell if she hadn’t told you it belonged to her. She pulled her desk chair out for you, motioning for you to sit, “It isn’t much, but I like it.”

“It’s lov-”

A coworker of Miranda cut you off, beginning to tease her mercilessly. Your lip curled into a snarl at his prodding of Miranda’s appearance and sexuality, “Way to be a gentleman, Hilmarson. We were wondering when you would begin to show your true colors.” 

“You owe me lunch. I told you this was her type, not Griffin.” Another man chimed in, shoving the first coworker towards his desk in the back corner. 

From the desk chair, you gazed up at Miranda who began faking a smile as soon as she noticed you staring. She was quick to come up with an excuse for their unforgivable behavior, “They just like to joke around… It’s okay.”

“It’s really not. Miranda, you should-” You felt a sense of righteous justice for Miranda. She was too kind and forgiving to these worst sorts of men. There was a part of you that was tempted to rise up from her desk chair and give those two officers a piece of your mind, but Miranda cutting you off kept you seated. 

“Robin texted me the picture!” Miranda exclaimed, offering up her phone for you to view the picture. You took her phone from your hands and propped it against her computer screen. Instead of the Deseret sentence being carved into the young woman’s chest, the killer had written the sentence across her back. Maya’s body had been cut so deliberately, but this seemed to have been a rushed job. 

𐐊𐑌𐐻𐐮𐑊 𐐌 𐑀𐐯𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐐻 𐐌 𐐶𐐪𐑌𐐻, 𐑋𐐬𐑉 𐐸𐐬𐑉𐑆 𐐶𐐮𐑊 𐐿𐐲𐑌𐐻𐐮𐑌𐐷𐐭 𐐻𐐭 𐐼𐐨. -𐐞𐐨

“Well, Mir, I think we are looking at the same code. I don’t know if we are dealing with the most creative of individuals.”’ On one side of the monitor you had a copy of the Deseret alphabet and the other was a word document so you could take notes on the syllables. Miranda had a hand on either side of you, leaning down to watch your work from over your shoulder. You attempted to focus on your work, but her proximity was distracting. 

“What do you think, bug? What does it say?” Miranda’s voice was filled with excitement. She loved watching you at work a few days ago, and the thought of working with you once more made her giddy. Typically Robin wouldn’t involve Miranda as much as you while researching, so your willingness to involve her made her fondness for you deepen. 

You brush aside the sweet nickname, trying to maintain a bit of professionalism instead of teasing or flirting with her. Studying the words for a moment, you sigh in frustration, “None of the words are repeated. We will have to go through it all syllable by syllable again.”

You began working as a team, going back and forth to identify each of the symbols. Miranda began identifying the symbols for you as you typed them out. As you moved closer to decoding the sentence, Miranda seemed to get closer and closer to you, her sternum pressed to the back of your head as she watched the sentence grow. Her eyes narrowed in on the monitor, thoughts swirling as her brain worked through the manner in which the syllables fell together. 

Once each of the symbols was decoded, you both began mumbling the syllables altogether to determine the content of the clue. Your minds almost seemed to connect when you both came to the solution simultaneously. 

Until I get what I want, more whores will continue to die. -Z

“But what does he want?” You crane your neck to look up at Miranda. She looked vexed with her brow furrowed and eyes lingering on the computer monitor. Whoever was killing these women didn’t seem inclined on stopping anytime soon. 

—--

“Be careful, will you?” Miranda hovered near your door, her fingers reaching to grasp yours. You stood with a foot or so of distance between you, hands meeting in the middle, fingers tangled up together. With a gentle sway of her arm, Miranda began swinging your arms back and forth. 

“Be careful? What do you mean?” You couldn’t hide how smitten you were with her, your head rolling back to stare at her lovingly. 

All evening you had found her to be so charming. She came over to make you ‘breakfast for dinner’ which consisted of you sitting on the kitchen counter while she handed you hot pancakes straight from the griddle. Once you finished one, Mir would kiss your palm before handing you another. She was a hopeless romantic and to this, you were not opposed. 

“With… everything going on... I worry…” Miranda wasn’t intending on scaring you, but she would rather have you be diligent than ignorant. Both of her hands came to grasp your one, trying to convey her concern for you. 

“Why would I worry about that when I have you?” You try to ease her mind with harmless flirting which seemed to have worked when Miranda smiled down at you. 

She raised your hand to her lips, pressing the most gentle of kisses to the back of it before relinquishing you from her grasp, “Goodnight, bug.”

“Goodnight, Mir.” You were hesitant on closing the door, but it was getting late and you’d rather not have Miranda tired for work nor have her driving so late. Miranda tilted her head as you closed the door, lengthening the time she could look at you before you shut the door. 

Once alone, you began to straighten up your apartment whilst daydreaming about Miranda. You found her to be so dreamy, in a dorky kind of way. She spoke endlessly about her career, star trek, and a summer volleyball league she created with friends. And while she tended to ramble, she never forgot something once you told it to her. She remembered the beer you liked from the bar, bringing you a case before she came over. Her questions about your work were so in depth and well thought out. From all of the wonderful things you had experienced while with Miranda, it was hard to understand how she could be single. 

Your phone pinged every few minutes with a new text from Miranda, so you kept the device at arms length to respond as soon as you received a text. Three consecutive texts came through. She was too cute. 

M: I had SOOOO much fun tonight!!! ✨:))

M: Next time I’m thinkin Chinese food 👀

M: Buttttt! we get take out because I know a great restaurant that will make it better than I ever could 😭

You lock the front door and turn off the kitchen lights as you read and then re-read the text messages. Her excitement for pursuing a relationship with you made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Eyes glued to your phone, you wander into your bedroom, closing and locking the door behind yourself. You sprawl across your bed, delaying getting ready for the night for the opportunity to flirt with Miranda via text. It was when Miranda began teasing you about not being ready for bed that you finally stripped yourself of your day clothes. 

You toss your dirty clothes in the hamper and pull on your sleep clothes. With each piece of clothing you put on, you lingered over your phone that lay on the bed to continue reading the messages from Miranda. She was having a beer with Robin before she was planning on heading to bed. You finally tuck yourself back into bed, phone cemented to your hand. In the moments between messages from Miranda, you closed your eyes, learning into the pillow and daydreamed about spending more time with sweet little Miranda. 

You were drawn from your daydreams when you heard the unmistakable creaking of your front door. Your heart stopped in your chest and your blood turned cold. Holding your breath, you attempted to listen closely, hoping your mind was playing tricks on you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes when you heard the noise: someone was softly whistling to themselves as they wandered about your apartment. 

Your phone buzzed on the bed next to you. You debated looking at the message from Miranda, worried the intruder would be able to hear the silent tapping of your fingers against your phone screen. WIth a shaky hand, you reach to grab your phone, careful not to rustle any blankets. 

M: Are you finally headed to bed? 😗

M: We should find a show that can be “our show” :))

M: OO! Maybe maybe we can find something on Netflix? What streaming platforms do you have? 🤔

You ignore the messages, choosing to tell her what was going on instead

There is someone in my apartment. 

Call the police. 

You aren’t able to see if Miranda responded as you dropped your phone to the bed beside you. The whistling grew closer to your bedroom door. Whoever was out there wanted to play mind games with you as they knocked on your door three times before attempting to turn the doorknob. A man’s voice rang out from the otherside, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. It seems like someone is trying to hide from me…”

The man began to laugh as you heard his footfalls move away from your bedroom door. You could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You needed to hide. Silently, you grabbed your phone and slipped from bed, shifting to the floor. There was space beneath your bed among the bins of cool weather clothes you kept tucked away. You wedge your way under the bed and position the two bins on either side of you, hoping it can create enough coverage to hide yourself if he were to enter. 

Finally, you take the time to look at your messages, your ears on high alert for the intruder. After his earlier statement, he wasn’t going to leave until he found you. There was one message and five missed calls from Miranda. 

M: I have officers headed there. I’m on my way. 

Miranda called again, but you declined the call, not wanting to make any noise or draw any attention to yourself. You texted her you were safe and needed to be quiet before silencing your phone so you could turn your attention back to listening for the intruder. 

The apartment was achingly silent. You felt a panic attack rising in your chest, but you attempted to tamp down the feeling, knowing the heavy breathing would reveal your location. The tears once pricking at your eyes now spilled over to your cheeks. Worst case scenarios were swirling in your head and all of them ended with you ending up like the two women that have been found this week. 

Scraping against your bedroom window caused you to jump. After many achingly long minutes, a sound finally alluded to the man's location: he was now on your fire escape. You cover your mouth with your hand, gently rocking yourself back and forth as a form of self soothing, but it really wasn’t working. The scraping sound turned so sharp and harsh it made your ears ring. It was the sound of a hunter's knife being drug across the outer surface of your window. 

You sobbed silently, mourning for your own impending death. If Miranda wasn’t here by now, it would be very likely there would be no saving you. 

The man struggled with your window, shoving the tip of his knife into the window lock in an attempt to break it. You took a deep breath and held it, knowing any second the window would be lifted and the determined intruder would roam freely about your room. 

There was a harsh cracking noise. The lock was broken. 

He lifted the window slowly, attempting to increase the fear coursing through your body. You held your breath, positive he could hear your inhales and exhales. The window was open a few inches when he spoke to you once more, “I know you’re in here. Why don’t you come on out? You can translate the Deseret alphabet as I carve it into your skin…”

You were so focused on the sounds from your bedroom window, you hadn’t heard the opening of your front door. Now a force slammed against your bedroom door, breaking the lock, Miranda’s voice rang clear, “Get him.”

From your position under the bed, you couldn’t see Miranda grab her coworker by the vest and shove him towards the window where the intruder had been. The perpetrator now was scrambling down the stairs of the fire escape with two police officers trying their best to keep up with them. You could hear the officers struggling to get through the window due to their gear. One of the men was able to squeeze through and you heard three rounds discharge from his weapon before hearing a breathy, “Fuck…”

The room went quiet as the two police officers tramped down the fire escape in pursuit of the potentially wounded intruder. Miranda’s voice came quietly, “Y/n? Where are you? It’s safe to come out…”

You waste no time pushing the bin of clothes out of the way, leaning towards her boots. At the first movement of the bin, Miranda sank to her hands and knees. She lifted the bedskirt and made eye contact with you. Her outfit was disheveled from her manic way of dressing herself so she could come to your aid. Miranda extended a hand to you, her voice filled with guilt, “I’m sorry… I never should have left you alone.”

You didn’t speak. Your whole body was trembling and you couldn’t get the sound of the man’s voice from your head, you can translate the Deseret alphabet as I carve it into your skin. You allowed Miranda to guide you from under the bed, immediately pulling you into her arms when she was able. Once in the safety of her arms, the sobs began wracking your body and you allowed yourself to cry openly. 

Miranda held you in her lap, rocking you back and forth and talking to you quietly, “I’m here now… No one is going to hurt you while I’m here…” 

—--

Miranda took you down to the station, keeping you near her at all times. Her protective hand was splayed across your back, guiding you through the front doors and back to her desk. She pushed you down into the desk chair and leaned in close, her hands rubbing your arms, “I’m going to be right there in my boss’s office. We are going to find you a place to stay…”

You only heard half of what Miranda was telling you. The scene from your room replayed over and over in your mind, distracting you from the world around you. Miranda leaves you in her desk chair. She stands a few feet away in Adrian’s doorway, watching you from the corner of her eye as she speaks to him. They talk in hushed tones, leaving you out of the conversation, but Miranda’s furrowed brow and clenched fists told you the conversation wasn’t going her way. 

Minutes more passed and finally Miranda was back at your side. Her hand pulled you up from the chair and her face dipped low by your ear, “You are coming home with me.”

—----

Miranda seemed to have an entire plan for your next few days. You would remain at her home where she could watch over you and she kept repeating the phrase, ‘I’ll find him and I’ll kill him.’ Maybe it was comforting to Miranda to hear, but you were trying not to think of the man who wanted you dead. 

Now as her ward, Miranda seemed to have left your romantic relationship in the past. She was attempting to maintain an air of professionalism between caring gestures. Miranda fixed you a bed on her couch and showed you multiple times her doors were locked. She puttered around the kitchen, offering you tea, snacks, or a beer. In actuality, Miranda was hoping you would fall asleep on the couch in the time she was awake so she knew you were sleeping peacefully. Slumber never came for you. 

Miranda awkwardly wished you goodnight and headed off to bed, leaving her bedroom door cracked. You stared awake at the ceiling, listening to the movements in the apartment above, each gust of wind against the windows, and natural shifting of the building. Each moment you expected to hear the twisting of the front door handle or the sliding of the living room window. The anxiety from the anticipation caused tears to well in your eyes once more. 

You weren’t sure what to do. On one hand you could just go into Miranda’s room and tell her you couldn’t sleep, but you didn’t want to be a burden more than you already were. You glance over to Miranda’s room and a dim light from a bedside lamp flooded from the crack in the door, perhaps you could just go in to chat for a little bit. The feeling of guilt weighed heavily as you moved from the couch towards Miranda’s bedroom with one of her blankets wrapped around your shoulders. 

You knock twice and push the door open. A wide grin spreads across Miranda’s face once she lays eyes on you, “Hiya, bug. Can’t sleep, huh?”

Her greeting brings a pained smile to your face. Was it that obvious? You glance up at the ceiling, not wanting to be looking at her if you begin to cry again, “I- Well, I was just- You have already done so much for me and- I wanted to ask you-”

“Would you like to sleep with me tonight?” Miranda cocked her head, her hand reaching out to draw back the covers on the open side of the bed. You only nod in response and allow yourself to approach the bed. Slipping into bed next to her, your eyes feel heavy just being surrounded by her presence and scent. Her bed smelled faintly of men’s deodorant and freshly laundered sheets. You remembered how she raved about how well men’s deodorant worked 

You move the pillow so you can hug it close while you lay your head on it. Miranda smiles down at you, brushing a few stray hairs from your face, “Try and sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Thank you, Andy.” You reach up, pulling her hand from your face. You lift your head and place it under your cheek, holding her close. Miranda bit her lip, smiling widely at the affection, but you couldn’t see her adoring gaze as your eyes were now shut. With slow deep breaths, you focused in on Miranda’s protective presence, knowing she would keep her promise of keeping you safe. 

[theplanetprince]

Some more dash and a-lister posts that technically aren't canon but I feel like should be.

-Sam before her goth phase used to actually have playdates with Dash and Paulina because of parental obligation things. They all have a mutual understanding to never bring this up.

-they were the kids that had elaborate/cursed pretend barbie soap operas.

-dash stopped hanging around the girls in like the 5th grade, and this kick started Sam's joker phase bc of this "betrayal."

-Paulina's family bought a bunch of possibly haunted furniture from Ghostwriter's estate sale -- it has the side effect of giving her weird dreams and chronic head aches, but damn that chaise lounge looks killer.

-i full hearted believe that Dash if given enough time would have become the phantom's team medic. And when asked why he was such a jackass freshman year he would say "its because it's infinitely easier to hurt people than to fix them."

-on top of the cutesy band aids and teddy bear collection, Dash has a pink DS as well as other stuff like this. Its genuinely his favorite color, mostly because it's practical-- you can see it really easily, he knows no one else on the football team would have pink stuff-- ten percent because it looks good on him.

-Dash is Sidney Poindexter's Nephew. Sidney Poindexter was Dash's Father's brother.

-Same thread I think it would be funny if Star was distantly related to Young Blood- explaining her childish traits.

-Kwan's family owns a liquor store or some other small business in town. I say liquor store because it would be really funny to have a store called "Amity Park Spirits."

-Kwan's dad I feel like would be friends with Jack. Or at the very least Kwan's dad is friendly with Jack.

-Kwan is extremely different around strangers versus his real friends. Kwan is formal and courteous with strangers whereas his friendship Dash allows them both to indulge in their worst traits.

-Kwan and Val are Exs but are still really good friends, because no one can resist Kwan's charms. No one.

-Paulina and Dash love horror movies, Kwan can't stand them.

-Kwan is actually just a big of a coward as Dash maybe bigger but his fear response is to freeze, instead of run.

-Paulina, Dash, and Star try to keep up with the Phantom and ghost stuff-- while Kwan and Wes sound like those guys who can't tell celebrities apart.

-Kwan and Wes-- underrated dynamic I feel. Absolute Sunshine Child with the crustiest little guy.

-Wes only looks short in comparison to the others but being the basketball dork he still towers over the phantom trio. Though Paulina and Star don't let him get a big head about it-- they wear heels to dwarf him.

-Wes and Tucker are on the school paper together. Half because Wes is stalking them, half because he wants to perfect the craft of writing the perfect roast. Tucker despite thinking Wes is a total clown show often works with him on assignments.

[siriusanotherside]

Right nnow, some people in a Discord group really hate SDRA2 and prefer DRA much more, because they find SDRA2's writing (Both in characters and in cases) much, much worse (Like, finding Kokoro and Kanade's intelligence more like a informed attribute, and finding Yuki annoying and whiny and preferring "Yuuki" much more bc they felt his breakdown was better written), and pretty much saying they LINUJ unlearned everything he learned when he did the first game (Bc in the first game, the characters questioned the others' testimonies, and feeling that Kokoro and Kanade's clues in the first two cases on SDRA2 came too out of nowhere)

EDIT: HELLO ASK THAT HAS BEEN IN ASK HELL FOR A LONG LONG TIME. IT IS FINISHED FINALLY! First, It is valid to have preferences for whatever reason between games. And even disliking other games for A/B/C/D, as taste is taste and everybody has their preference. I also feel that the structure (and cast) of Another1 and Another2 is different enough that it can happen of one hating one and liking the other. You can also dislike a character for not-deep reasons (there are characters I dislike just because their voices make my ears hurt or because I dislike the color palette).

Idk how Discord works well, but given the intensity of this, by what I am reading in the ask, I would say to try to either block them (or something similar to filtering them) depending on how frequently they do so (like say if they are flooding the chat with it non-stop). That said given that you said it is a Discord group then… It might be easier to filter it out of your feed? like a channel thing?.

I do greatly disagree with their criticisms though.

Addressing the criticism regarding Yuki VS Yuuki.

I would disagree because while they may share the same name and near same appearance they have very different: resources, connections/friends, structure of the killing game and pressures. All of those points snowball into very different breakdowns.

Yuuki/Utsuro Killing Game (calling KG) didn’t aim at him, specifically, and he had Divine Luck protecting him against most of the worst parts of it (People he cares about always survive, never betray him; No motive targets him, specifically). All participants, as far as he knows, have sympathetic motivations for killing and are being manipulated by Monokuma. As far as Yuuki knows, this is all caused by one evil person and should they find this person, everything would be over.

Yuki KG, on the other hand, is specifically targeting him in order to cause as much suffering on him as possible. As far as He knows, the game is caused by 5 murderers who are waiting to kill them, and twice shown to be willing to betray their friends (Hajime -> Shinji / Enma -> Kokoro).

The mastermind repeatedly shows that he is invincible and can bend reality and so no one can do anything about it. Not only that, but Kanade serves to skyrock the paranoia in everyone since her trial shows that even if one person is not a Void and seems to be a meek, shy, calm, softspoken, civilian, they could still be secretly a serial killer with a very different evil agenda.

All of this creates very different mindsets.

Adding to that, Yuuki is waking his memories, and while he is horrified of it, he still has the choice on what to do regarding them. Yuki is, basically, getting another person shoved inside his head while having his personality artificially (Mikado’s AI creation thing) fluctuate between both without any input of his, continually feeling powerless.

It is notable, that at the end, Yuuki’s Horror is discovering his memories. Yuki’s horror is being replaced by someone else while discovering his body doesn’t exist anymore and he is only a brain.

Yuuki doesn’t have to deal with people he specifically bonded with, canon-wise in scenes through the story, (Akane and Tsurugi), dying. Yuki loses his best friend / big brother figure / leader figure in a horrifying way.

Monokuma allows for Yuuki group to……regroup and have moments of lightness and closure, meanwhile Yuki group doesn’t have this type of closure and are in increasingly tense and anxiety inducing sequences.(Think of Chapter 4)  

Also, Yuki has to deal with, since Chapter 3, extreme moodswings and jarring changes in his personalities as if he is disappearing. Yuuki has to deal with odd dreams, once an angry outburst he quickly assumed was due to the KG and only truly has the illusion shatter in Chapter 6.

(Ohhh nice parallel it came to me, but Yuki gets executed in spite being and knowing he is innocent of Teruya’s murder. Yuuki dodges execution despite unknowingly having a connection to Yamato’s murder.)

All of this creates two very different breakdowns and ways of dealing with it. Yuki, due to the circumstances above, gets an on-going increasing-through-chapters breakdown. Yuuki’s proper breakdown happens in chapter 6.

Yuki reacts to the constant pressure of his killing game that barely allows him to breath, by crying, by snapping, by breaking under it. Yuuki has enough moments of levity to rest and truly snaps in chapter 4, in which both him and Akane have time to address it and apologize, and 5, in which he grabs and scares Mikako due to suspicion.

One breakdown is just more openly helpless due to Yuki’s lack of agency, of hope spots between despair, and lack of resources to fight. The other is a built up for the reveal of the mastermind, which Yuuki gets agency in what to do with the information, and has Divine Luck subtlety protecting him from the worst of the killing game.

Yuuki gets to decide what he can do to what happens to him. Yuki can mostly watch in horror unable to prevent, affect or deal with what happens to him.

So, in conclusion, both breakdowns have different aims and constructions that suit each character specific arc and foreshadowing and are both greatly written. Yuki’s is just more painful to watch due to it being a reaction to his lack of agency VERSUS Yuuki’s being a build up to find out a mystery that, in the end, he is still able to have agency in it.

Addressing Kokoro’s intelligence as an informed trait

I do believe Kokoro’s intelligence shows up enough during her screentime to be shown to be a consistent trait. She identifies something is odd with Sora, she is able to read the emotions/thoughts of other people with a good deal of frequency and point out so and she tries to come up with the best choice in a sea of bad ones to deal with her problems.

Looking beyond the trial, in chapter 2, this is a constant. Her main goal is to live, which means not to anger and become a threat to the Voids and to non-Voids, so she immediately glues herself on the one person who is confirmed not to be a Void, has aversion towards killing, wants to save them, and is committed to protect them (Teruya). She tries her best to stay neutral and not interact with anyone as to not anger the Voids or show any inclination on who they are.

The clue in trial one is brought up while being consistent with Kokoro’s character presented in Chapter 1 and in chapter 2. Notably, if you do all of Hajime’s free time events, it is also consistent with that, since in them, Hajime spends a good deal of time grappling with the realization he is going to have to kill someone, and so does show a window for Kokoro to be able to be able to read his doubt and then realize that he was the killer.

Also, ultimately the clue was not just a clue thrown there and forgotten. Kokoro’s clue gave her credibility and role through the trial gave credibility to her as a very unexpected threat to the Voids that could snitch on them at any moment and would be believed by the others due to said credibility.

On why Kokoro doesn’t make the optimal choices everytime

The vibe I get / my interpretation upon seeing Kokoro arc is that Kokoro is extremely smart in the book / deductive way but lacks in terms of how to apply it. Using a metaphor, Kokoro is a doctor that can identify what you have with precision, and can suggest a treatment but flounders when it comes to applying said treatment.

Kokoro is smart in technical terms and in able identifying what other people feel to the point of being able to almost read their thoughts. But. Notably, repeatedly, she seems to lack the ability to engage with the emotions she identifies in someone else, as well as, being overwhelmed by her own emotions due to the abnormal situation she is in (Killing Game).

She can identify who the Voids are and that they want her dead, and so she scrambles to try to make herself less of a threat. Kokoro can connect the dots that if she hints or outright tells on a Void, another will kill her. She clings to Teruya due to him being the only person neutral that she can hope to protect her. 

There are different kinds of intelligence. Example: Shinji is not booksmart, but he is emotionally smart in that he can rally, motivate and comfort people. Kokoro can point out what the person is feeling and nearly thinking, but she sees it in a clinical way without engaging with said person emotions, be it by feeling them or by addressing them. As such, she can’t comfort, motivate, rally or de-escalate successfully the group.

Chapter 2 showcases this, in which Kokoro has to navigate being a threat to the voids, not wanting to die, and trying to parse her own feelings on the situation, and how to try to deescalate the situation. She fails sometimes and increases the paranoia and distress with the group both Voids and not-voids.

One moment I also think showcases this is when we look at the first trial in a Watsonian way. Kokoro is able to identify the killer, but she lacks a way to bring it up that wouldn’t derail the trial and possibly make people dubious. So she lets Sora take the reins of said trial, so that Sora can “build the road” to the conclusion.

In Enma’s case, Kokoro seemed to be overwhelmed by the situation. Kokoro knew Enma was a Void. She knew Enma was observing her. She was also shocked by the way Enma interacted with her, as if genuinely wanting to be friends and Kokoro……also started to want to trust and be friends with Enma.

Kokoro strikes me as a very lonely person who was never really approached this strongly by someone that committed to being her friend (even if with dubious reasons), and so, I think it did touch her and made her want to trust Enma.

Notably, it is during the hopeful moment, when Hibiki who previously was freaking out over the Voids, commits to try for friendship with the show, that Kokoro tries to reach out back to Enma and feels confident doing so.

However, due to the her lack of… way with her words, bluntness and generally not really great empathy, as well as the nervous-ness of the situation it went as it went. I imagine that due to Enma never really hinting at her trauma to Kokoro, Kokoro ended up underestimating the intensity of the trigger that talking about it was, and so was caught out out of guard.

In conclusion, I would say that Kokoro is smart, but that she lacks in emotional intelligence to use what she sees to propel others towards her own goals.

Addressing Kanade’s intelligence

Much like Kokoro, Kanade intelligence is a consistent trait. Is it used for evil? Yeah, but Kanade and her actions do showcase it.

Kanade creates a persona that immediately hides most of her intentions and makes people underestimate her. The facade she shows into the world is of a meek, follower, crybaby with no confidence, who is bullied by her sister. Hibiki follows it up by being loud, yelling insults at her, and seeming (and believing) to be the one taking charge of them. This makes it so people are less willing to scrutinize or pay much attention to her, seeing her with either pity or looking away.

All hints she herself gives that she may be more than she shows are fairly neutral, after all, who is going to call her out for liking horror genre? Or for staying calm while Hibiki panics upon the bodies and say she is trying to calm her?

Notably too, the person who most gives away both Kanade’s plan and abilities are not she herself, but Hibiki who talks about it in a setting where Kanade can’t stop her without throwing away her mask. (Nikei interview right in front of everyone where Hibiki talked about their synch, Hibiki complimenting Kanade skills in front of Sora).

I would also say her behavior in the first trial is consistent and that she, much like Kokoro, watches out while Sora leads them towards the right answers. And then, she doesn’t step up due to Kokoro doing so.

Third trial also does give credence to Kanade’s intelligence. Her plan may be convoluted as hell, but the crux of it, that is two people murdered someone at the same time, was intelligent and impossible to guess. The viewer might be genre aware due to knowledge of the canon-verse third trial, and guess what Kanade was aiming for, but a bunch of people who were used to the structure of 1 murderer 1 victim were very stuck on it. Even too, the clues that do point to the right conclusion are given previously by Hibiki and not Kanade.

Syobai, the person who had the most knowledge on murder also dismissed at first glance the possibility due to the perceived impossibility of that level of synchronization being possible. Mikado has to insert a fail-safe on Sora so that she refuses to end the trial with the wrong conclusion before the time arrives, and Divine Luck has to act, in order for Kanade’s plan to fail.

Kanade does starts to panic and snap more, alerting people something is off, when they start to get said clues but considering the high stakes situation, it did made sense. Her arrogance is also a clue in itself that something is off with the conclusion they were arriving, but that’s a character flaw that doesn’t negate that the plan was smart in shrouding what the true murder was.

And so, yes Kanade is smart and it is displayed consistently through the game for it to be a trait.

As for the second trial clue, given Kanade’s experience with murder, her clue seemingly comes from nowhere but serves as foreshadowing of Kanade character, as a cunning and smart person. It is the first time that Kanade blatantly breaks her facade of a meek person, by acting arrogant, insulting people and cleverly pointing out the murder’s twist, and getting rid of the roadblock of the trial. Notably, a lot of people were unsure of Kanade suggestion, but they did went with it due to finding themselves going into circles when trying to find an answer to the murder.

So yeah, due to the way it acts as a foreshadowing for chapter 3 + set up for Kanade character + people were already stuck might as well hear her out, I do think it is a valid clue.

(The thing in the trial that makes me go “my dude what” is the icicle whole deal tho.)

About Linuj.

*waves hands in a way to try to say what I mean* It is…. Hm. Eh.

TL;DR: 1 was the first fangame and so he was still getting used to doing a fangame and getting confident as he went, but still acting inside the constraints of the setting. 2 was Linuj’s more ambitious project (I mean this in a neutral observation) that diverted a lot from the common tropes and standard plot structure of a killing game.

Due to this, the games have very different vibes. It is not that he unlearned anything, but that he got more confident to tell the story he wanted to tell and the plots he had ideas for. (END TL;DR)

When I see Another1 and 2, it gives me the gut instinct that Another 1 was Linuj first dipping his toes in fangame and DR -

(Chapter 1 in particular is…feels… very safe in the sense that he followed the very very standard DR formula to the point where it feels it is DR/1 with the twist that it is played straight in that ass who murdered is an ass and saint victim is a saint. Sports guy murders girl but she wasn’t the intended victim, ball was a key point of the murder, confusion due to location etc etc)

--- And as such, even as Linuj started to get comfortable and experimenting with his writing (the following chapters) due to the set up, he still went with the common structure of the plot, that is: Despair VS Hope; standard killing order; 1 (2ish) mastermind; mastermind reveal at 6; Murders are caused by motives set up by Monokuma or blew out due to confrontation; everybody had been Hope’s Peak students and Ultimates before and had known each other.

(I mean the observation above in a neutral way (not negative or positive). I think the writing of the first game is incredibly good, a joy to watch, the twists original and gripping by their set up, but he goes with the usual structure)

In 2, Linuj gives the vibe of feeling more confident and had gotten more practice with the creation of the killing game, and so went with the vision he had and experimented with his ideas.

This caused a very different plot structure: Despair VS Hope is barely there and is a light curtain due to Mikado/Voids motive having nothing to do with it and the theming focusing more heavily on Outcomes VS Process; Murders are (mostly) pre-determined beforehand by chosen murderers; everybody are strangers actually; already revealed mastermind in 1 and technically near every chapter having one adjacent reveal.

About specifically the clue and testimonies writing

I think the clue that Kanade gives in within the story in that it serves very well its purpose of both setting up Kanade’s true character and threat and in introducing a new way to look around the murder.

Kokoro’s clue felt very in accordance with her character and her goal as well.

About testimonies…. I will be real with you chief, it has been a hot second since I saw all of the trials. I generally think that they were done ok, with shout outs to chapter 1 and 4 when it comes to it. Due to the structure of 2 (Somewhat everyone accounted for plus looking in reverse order) and 5 (3 people were all together leaving the options as: suicide, Alt Yuki possesses Yuki, Mikado did it or Iroha did it), I do understand why the testimonies were structured that way.

I think that the testimonies due to the structure of the murders between games as well as different motivations. I don’t know, they felt very natural to the trials of their respective games. Notably, I would point out that Mikako also does a testimony, not unlike Kokoro, in Chap 4, in which she sees Satsuki running away in tears out of the room and is taken as truthful.

The clues comes as character establishing moments for Kokoro and Kanade, which either impacted them in the future (Kokoro’s credibility3) or foreshadowed important points that were to come (Kanade’s true personality and threat as a clever cunning person).

So yeah.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 305: Worst Intervention Ever

Previously on BnHA: Shinomori, whose name took me an entire week to memorize, was all, “nice to meet you Deku, I’m ten feet tall, do you want to know how I died?” and without waiting for an answer explained that he kicked it from old age at forty thanks to good ol’ OFA. Deku was all “wait a minute, then how come All Might, who’s fifty-five and is definitely dyeing his gray hair, is still alive?” First and Shino were all, “we really have no fucking clue but we think it’s cuz he’s quirkless, JUST LIKE YOU!” So basically, since quirkless people don’t exactly grow on trees these days, Deku is probably going to be the last user of OFA. The chapter ended with Nana being all, “psst, Deku, about my grandson. Uh, can you kill him?” which is sure to lead to a very interesting conversation this week.

Today on BnHA: Nana And The Gang are all “so, Deku, how can we put this delicately. The thing is, we’re pretty sure that AFO really fucked my grandson up, so on the off chance you can’t save him, how would you feel about, you know... [throat slitting gesture].” Deku is all “idk you guys, I kinda feel like he’s really just a traumatized child at heart and he’s in a lot of pain and stuff and so I should try to help him.” The Vestiges are all “BUT WHAT IF YOU CAN’T” and Deku is all “BUT I WANT TO TRY, DAMMIT” and the Vestiges are all “well when you put it that way, we, uh, were just testing you, so congrats, you passed!” The chapter ends with First being all, “ANYWAY SO WHY DON’T YOU TWO SHY BOYS STANDING OVER THERE IN THE SHADOWS COME SAY HELLO” before we CUT AWAY FOR ANOTHER WEEK, goddammit.

seriously, Nana

just... have you met Deku?? look, if you really want Tomura dead, just sic him on the U.A. first years and tell Shouto and Honenuki that it’s a training exercise

oh my god lmao

we’re too far away to see Nana’s face here so I will just assume that she turned and is staring DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA for this one line lmao. “I just wanted to clarify in case anyone felt inclined to take my dialogue out of context and spend an entire week complaining about it”

oh my god?! are you all purposely trying to make me sad??

someone stop me before I launch into an impromptu rant about all my Tomura feels. WHY IS NOBODY STOPPING ME. oh my god but yes, exactly. he’s just in pain all the time. this is exactly why I think Tomura has such high redemption potential even though so far he seems to lack so many of the redemption arc essentials such as feeling remorse, wanting to change, and taking responsibility for his actions. the reason why I’m willing to overlook all that in his case is because Tomura has essentially had zero agency his entire life. AFO molded him into a killer by making sure he was in constant mental agony, and making it so that the only thing that even slightly relieved that agony was killing peeps. like, please don’t think I’m making excuses for him or anything, but if you take a child and manipulate their existence to make it virtually impossible for that child to grow up as anything other than a killer, and basically never give him the chance to be anything else, then no shit he’s gonna be a killer?? he’s basically never had the choice not to be. it’s never been an option for him. anyways I feel like I am EXPLAINING MYSELF SO BADLY but nonetheless I am prepared to die on this hill

anyway so now Nana is all “that’s a rhetorical question btw because Our Hearts And Minds Are One so we can feel everything you feel bro.” so yeah, that’s interesting

now Banjou is getting started on the “let’s try and talk Deku out of wanting to save Tomura because it’s insane” part of their OFA Mystical Space Void Reunion agenda

look, Banjou, I feel you, I really do. you guys don’t think it’s realistic that Deku can defeat Tomura without killing him. so if it’s a choice between killing Tomura vs letting Deku and everyone else in the entire world die, then duh, you think Deku should kill him. I get it! and if this were a real life mass murderer I’d totally agree with you. but the problem is that this isn’t real life, this is a sympathetic shounen villain with a tragic past who might as well have FUTURE REDEMPTION ARC RECEIPIENT stamped on his forehead at this point

so First is all “look, there’s absolutely no doubt my brother has fucked this kid up good and proper by now”, which, again, fair

though, that’s kind of exactly my point though. everything that Tomura is, everything he’s done, he’s done because of AFO. AFO has so effectively shaped his personality and his worldview by this point that it’s all but impossible to penetrate that. he’s AFO’s puppet. but the problem is that rather than treating him like a victim, you all are treating him like a casualty. like he’s already a lost cause. but good luck trying to convince Deku of that

WHOA WHAT, RANDOM SUPER-IMPORTANT AND BIZARRELY UNRELATED EXPOSITION DROPPED IN JUST LIKE THAT??

way to still not reveal Sixth’s name, btw. THE PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW, DAMMIT. but also so this confirms something we basically already knew already, which is that not even AFO can steal OFA. it literally can’t be taken away by anyone unless the owner wills it. SO SUCK ON THAT AFO YOU EGG

(ETA: so I have no idea why this was omitted from this translation, but apparently the Sixth’s name was revealed as “En”, which is obviously not his full name but at least it’s something. also he most likely has a fire or smoke-related quirk based on the kanji used, 煙.)

so Banjou is saying that Deku’s “lack of an iron will” could be a disadvantage against AFO. hahaha what?? Midoriya “I’ll break all of my bones without blinking an eye just to protect someone” Izuku lacks an iron will? do tell

he says this is going to be a test of Deku’s determination. well yeah, no shit. but just not in the way you guys think

OH HELLO AGAIN

darker hair again here! but I don’t trust the contrast in these scans at all after last week. his coveralls are way darker than they looked before too, and you can clearly see he’s standing in the shadows now

(ETA: yep, once again the raw shows that his hair is considerably lighter than what’s shown in these scans here. although there’s no mistaking now that his hair is consistently being colored in this slightly darker shade, and it’s not just the lighting.)

anyways lol First was saying something about how AFO can’t steal OFA, and they’ve spent all this time cultivating it as the ultimate weapon against AFO, and blah blah blah. go on then, keep lecturing

NANA GODDAMMIT NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT

girl what?? you did everything in your power to protect your family, and AFO, fucked up man that he is, targeted them anyway. there is one person and one person only to blame for what’s happened to Tomura, and that potato-faced asshole needs a good kick in the balls

NANA GODDAMMIT DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE

SO HELP ME GOD!! I WILL GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST HUG YOU’VE EVER HAD!! THAT IS A THREAT

so now Nana is all “I’m just going to call my grandson a Thing to ensure that fandom has only the freshest, grass-fed no-hormones-added discourse this week”

I don’t even need to drop into the tags to know exactly which specific people are going to respond to this, and what kind of posts they are going to write lmao. everyone’s all caught up in the “that thing”, and meanwhile I’m over here completely hung up on this “nay” that’s appeared out of NOWHERE you guys. look at that. she really said “NAY”

Nana, my love, my dearest, I feel you girl I really do. but he’s not an unforgivable manifestation of pure evil, Deku is exactly right actually, he’s a boy in pain. you guys need to stop questioning Deku’s shounen protagonist instincts here and just let him work his sparkly magic. “let’s try and convince Midoriya Fucking Izuku that he can’t save someone” is a plan that is NEVER going to turn out well you guys

“DEKU GODDAMMIT WHAT IF WE CAN’T SAVE HIM” lmao it’s like an intervention

“DAMMIT DEKU JUST ADMIT YOU HAVE A SAVING PEOPLE PROBLEM!”

RED ALERT IT’S ANOTHER CLOSE-UP OF THE BACK OF MISTER TWO BON CLAY’S HEAD OMG

(ETA: I was too distracted with freaking out about Two and Three to really appreciate how ridiculously handsome First looks in this panel. but on my second readthrough it stood out so much that I had to go back and add an extra bullet point just to talk about how hot he is. look at him. wtf.)

THAT IS DEFINITELY AN UNDERCUT. THE PLOT THICKENSSSS. also those are fucking exhaust vents on Mister Three’s neck. MISTER THREE COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE RELATED TO THE IIDAS, PLEASE TELL ME YOUR SECRETS I’M DYING OVER HERE

so now Deku is launching into what will undoubtedly be a “saving people problems require SAVING PEOPLE SOLUTIONS” heroic counter-speech!

I mean, they can already feel the “lol nah I’m gonna try and save him” feelings running through him lol. ~OuR hEaRtS aNd MiNdS aRe CoNnEcTeD~ and all that. this is just a formality, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love a good shounen protag speech

oh wait hold up, do you mean to tell me that the whole “hearts and minds are connected” thing I was just mocking just a paragraph ago actually allowed Deku to feel what Tomura was feeling?? like literally feel it??

YET AGAIN these Tomura feels are pounding on my front door you guys?? they just will not quit?? people my house is already full of feels, does it look like I need you to sell me any more of them?? -- what do you mean, they’re free??

AW YISS THAT’S IT DEKU. THAT’S SOME GOOD SPEECH RIGHT THERE

I appreciate the contrast here between the Douchebag Triumvirate of Overhaul, Muscular, and Stain versus the Misguided Twosome of Gentle and La Brava. never let it be said that Deku doesn’t know the difference between a redeemable villain and an unredeemable one

OH NO -- OH MY GOD

someone please help me I need directions to the OFA Spooky Galactic Nebula Realm in this fictional Japanese manga land. it’s not on google maps. I need to give these two babies a big hug and wrap them up in a blanket and treat them to some McDonalds Happy Meals please help

other things: (1) ENDEAVOR CHILLING OUT IN DEKU’S “PEOPLE I HOLD DEAR” PANEL LMAO NEON DISCOURSE EXTRAVAGANZA, (2) “ONE FOR ALL IS A POWER TO SAVE, NOT TO KILL” I’M ABOUT TO CRY DEKU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH HOW IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO FEEL ALL THIS LOVE, (3) [SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE] THERE’S YOUR MOTHERFUCKING IRON WILL!!!!!!!! -- I’m sorry, please don’t call security, I’ll be good

I just randomly remembered that Deku is still saying all of this in his muffled “FMMPHHMMPHMM” voice and I’m somehow cracking up lol. so actually it’s a very good thing Their Hearts And Minds Are Connected, otherwise they’d no doubt be all, “...what?”

(ETA: so I completely missed this on account of it literally not being visible in the scan at all, but in the raw you can clearly see Baby Kacchan and Baby Shouto fanboying over All Might in two of these panels, and excuse me, ma’am??

thank you very much Deku for including them in your montage, particularly since you’ve never seen Baby Shouto before lol. amazingly accurate image you managed to conjure up, all things considered.)

SDKFJLSKHG -- AS IF ON CUE???

HE’S SO ADORABLE HELP?? Trippy Space All Might looks like he’s about to cry, and First is all “don’t crack a smile... you have to be Firm and Serious here... dammit, don’t smile” omg

anyways! YOU GO DEKU. “MY QUIRK MY RULES, BITCHES” damn, son

KLJLKKHLG TRIPPY SPACE ALL MIGHT LITERALLY ACTUALLY IS CRYING ALL MIGHT HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

“I JUST... [CLENCHES FIST] REALLY LOVE SAVING PEOPLE” FUCKING HELL LMAO THIS IS THE WORST INTERVENTION OF ALL TIME

Deku is literally all “sure, maybe I’ll have to kill him, but have you guys also considered, MAYBE NOT??” it’s no use Nana he’s too powerful

LMAO FIRST

“like I’ve been saying this whole time, you should definitely try saving Shigaraki Tomura.” “but, uh... First, didn’t you just -- ” “shut up”

(ETA: clearly it’s not just his brother who inherited those smooth-talking genes.)

so now Deku has turned back into a sixteen year old and his clothes have gone missing again. just OFA things

dskljdlsklgk

yes... sure... “testing” you...

HEY

FIRST OF ALL, DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI YOU MADE NANA CRY. even if I’m pretty sure they’re actually tears of happiness/relief. and SECOND OF ALL, “TELL MY BOYFRIEND I SAID HI” DJSKDLKJJL ANYWAY MAYBE GRAN, NANA, AND MR. SHIMURA WERE IN A THROUPLE

[SCREAMS]

WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE?? WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE!!!!!

(ETA: and two-to-one odds that we cut away to some other scene once they finally start to turn around next week. I’M CALLING IT NOW. giving myself a week to brace myself for the rage.)

fucking hell. well if anyone needs me I will be adding Horikoshi fucking Kouhei to the list of irredeemable villains, peace

[antonymphdraws]

Introducing: Selene Wicked!, beauty queen of the Wicked Wax Museum. 

Selene Wicked

Daughter of the Sybil Wicked

Parent

Sybil Wicked

Age

16

Killer Style

Dark and elegant, a nice spider web or two refines the look tremendously.

Freaky Flaw

Appearance means everything to me, a single smudge on my face, or a stain on my clothes and I feel obliged to fix the mistake post haste. I will not settle for anything less than perfection.

Pet

I'm afraid pets aren't allowed in the museum, I suppose you could consider the animal exhibits pets...but alas, they aren't alive. At least...as far as I know.

Favorite Activity

I have grown fond of researching all matter of topics based on the exhibits in the museum. For instance, I suppose you didn't know Alexander the Great was accidentally buried alive. He a disorder where the immune system attacks the nerves, hence the false declaration of his death. Now you know.

Pet Peeve

Look but don't touch! My face is a spectacle to behold, but I do NOT wish to have it ruined by anything shape or form!

Favorite Subject

History, as I live in a museum, I am quite knowledgeable about past events. Mad Science too, it's interesting to think what science can do for your looks.

Least Favorite Subject

Volcanology, fire does not bode well for my wax-made body...

Favorite Colors

Black, purple, and red

Favorite Food

While I have no need to consume food, I do have an inclination towards caramel and cheese cubes, as they resemble the wax melts used for the exhibits.

Friends

Frankie Stein

Hoodude Voodoo

Robecca Steam

Personality

Selene is sophisticated and polite, as well as pretty intelligent. Educated in a wide range of history topics due to living in the wax museum. There are times when she switches from rather quiet to talkative when said history subjects are brought up.

Selene is very protective or her face, and will do anything to keep it protected from harm or blemishes. As such, she will sharply stop any advances to touch or otherwise mess with her face.

She obsessed over her looks and thus is a perfectionist when it comes to her appearance. Should her outfit or face be stained or disfigured, she will drop whatever she is doing and rush to the bathroom to fix the mistake or change (hence why she has multiple copies over her outfits in her locker and closet.).

At worst, she is prone to jealousy and spite when she perceives someone as more "beautiful" than her.

Trivia/Additional Information

Selene's name means "Moon", specifically this is referencing the "Waxing Gibbous Phase" of the moon, which is when the moon goes from it's first quarter phase to the full moon phase.

She does not like messy food (such as Ribs or Powdered Donuts), and will often either eat them very carefully or with cloth around her neck.

Selene's birthday is December 9th. The month of her birthday is based on the month "Welcome to The Wicked Wax Museum" (Sybil Wicked's debut book) was published. While the day was based on the release of the third issue of the comic "Download and Die" (May 9th), Sybil's most recent appearance. This also makes her a Sagittarius.

Her favorite season is Winter, while her least favorite is Summer. The latter due to the threat of melting by the suns heat during the season.

Her headcanon voice is Erica Luttrell, who voiced Sapphire on Steven Universe. Erica is also Canadian-born and has played roles for the Goosebumps tv series (as Kim in "Piano Lessons Can Be Murder" and Drew Brockman in "Attack of The Jack-O'-Lanterns").

Her internet username is Candle_Queen, which is a reference to the song by GHOST

[hobiscloset]

@punkrockbrokemy--heart submitted a request for us to roast these looks. Thanks for the visually induced trauma bestie! Guest-starring the amazing @textsfrombangtan (marked as L)

E - Let's go from left to right on the top picture. A - it's just all so bad! im having a mild breakdown about this whole picture

Jimin E - so you know theater kids? A - Yeah, you and me E - Hey! but it's true. this is theater kid but in the early 80s late 70s. paint-splattered jeans and a flannel layered A - oh you are correct. it's not tech week though E - yeah this is during set building

Jhope N - Jorts is just going to a highlighter party A - he's a village people stan. before the word stan existed. so a village people groupie L - i'm not entirely convinced he isn't a village person A - its not a coherent enough theme to be a village person in this fit L - fair enough. this man has never seen a coherent theme in his life E - some kind of like burning man neon party

Jin N - my dad in Paris in the 70s A - I was gonna say the flashback dads in mama mia. so like same dif E - he's just one of the guys in Mama Mia 2 A - Bill E - you are absolutely correct and should say it L - strong agree. bill because he's definitely thinking "why did it have to be me" throughout L - i feel like he got off the lightest here but it might just be me looking at that damn face N - No he definitely made out the best E - i feel like overall they always take the least risks on Jin. like idk what it is but 8/10 times im like "eh" to his clothes A - they're like 'people just want to look at his face, put him in a button up and be done with it' N - Because if they go too hard with it he will wear it to music bank again L - this or jin just goes "no." and there's absolutely nothing they can do about it. jinhitent Jungkook A - baby is a 17 year old who decided yesterday that he was now into black smithing L - baby again with the butt flap this time in the most unfortunate colour A - look at my cool leather apron its so authentic N - Baby is my brother in high school before he asked me how colors work A - he doesnt care about colours he just wants to make knives. ive known this exact child. four of them actually E - yeah i was gonna say like kid with odd hobbies and no anxiety. his goal is to get on Forged in Fire and make a knife in 2 hours that gets thrown at a wall A - Precisely

RM A - Quite literally one of the bullies from the power rangers E - i know the exact guy L - ash ketchum on steroids E - ash ketchum if pokemon had been made live action when they did that horrible dragon ball z movie. like he's got a punk/grunge phase L - precisely and the jeans... they're so long N - A toddler allowed to choose all his own clothes

Suga E - he just looks like every bisexual i know after going to the thrift store like "youll never guess what i found", pulls out yet another bowling shirt A - its true but hey! L - this is a wham! fit. like club tropicana vibes. beach club promoter but the club is dogshit and he knows it N - Mamoru from the original sailor moon anime (pause while E looked it up)

E - oh god you are absolutely right ! A - A VERY SOLID CALL L - aksjdbsbajzjs accuracy 100 N - I know my sailor moon bad fashion

V L - *sharp inhale * A - I get Napolean dynamite character vibes in the most (derogatory) way N - An art student who is very aware how pretentious everyone around him is and put on the worst outfit he could find to see how people would twist themselves up trying to call it Art E - oh i love that. troll art student. also whose fucking face is that and why am i convinced its like a serial killer? L - the face on his shirt is the face i made when i saw this A - have you ever seen a three year old that insists they dress themselves without any help E - i want my ballet tights and my fire fighter uniform and my dinosaur top A - its just 100 percent this Final Thoughts N - The argument could be made that all of them are toddlers who insisted on dressing themselves E - all together its very much like, kindergarten class vibes L - idk it just feels like they hit the random sim generator seven times and they got all the worst traits E -you know that computer program Cher has in Clueless? with all her clothes. this is what happens when you press random and shuffle at the same time L - yes and they only allow the fit when a big fat X comes up on the screen and cher goes "ugh as if" E - cher's outfit software, wrong answers only L - i think this whole thing can be distilled down to "wrong answers only"

[nothing-but-dreamy]

DEADLINE PT. 2

A/N: Here's the unplanned second part of DEADLINE. You wanna know how it started? -> here I hope you like it guys. Feedback is always welcomed Wanna read more? Masterlist

Pairing: DBH!Connor x Human!Reader

Words: 1.305

Warnings: cursing

Pain could be caused by different things. It was either physical or emotional. For me, it was both. The physical pain told me I was still alive. Alive enough to deal with my emotional pain. I couldn't remember how I got into the hospital. I just awoke there. I was a mess. Wincing in distress whenever I moved. I was covered in bandages and filled up with pain killers. The world behind the window was asleep. I had no idea what day or time it was. How the revolution had ended. If CyberLife had been successful. If Connor was still alive. Being somewhere out there.

"You are the reason why I failed my mission."

I froze, unable to move. My body recognized the dark, ice cold voice before my brain could. Adrenaline trembled my bones. As I turned my head to the right, a tall figure leant against the wall next to the window. The slim frame stood in the shadow. The arms were crossed in front of the chest but even through the darkness, I knew who it was. The slow blue spinning LED betrayed its owner.

"And now- what? You want to take revenge? You want to end me?", I asked weakly. My own voice was strange to myself. My ribs were hurting with each word. There was no answer coming from the shadow. But the LED turned yellow.

"How did you even find me?", I asked strained to fill the silence while my heart tried to burst out of my ribcage. Just to hear his voice made me nervous. I never had expected to hear it ever again in my life.

"I called the ambulance.", he said matter of factly.

He had saved me from the roof...

But there was something...else. A small spark of hope kindled inside of me. I swallowed it down. Hope wasn't something I should allow to myself. "Oh bloody hell, and what next? Now, I even have to thank you, huh?", I asked bitterly, with a dry laugh. I gasped violently. Laughing was something I shouldn't do right now.

There was still no answer. The shadow stayed silent but his LED was spinning red. Maybe a reaction to my condition. “What do you want, Connor?", I asked annoyed. I was in a bad mood because of... well...everything. I just wanted to sleep. To sleep to forget what had happened during the fight of Detroit.

"If I go back I will be deactivated because I failed.", Connor said low, not giving away any emotion that might be held by him.

"So you're still under their control, huh? Good luck, then.", I answered. Why wasn't I surprised that he was still taking orders? Listening to CyberLife like a goddamn puppet.

Finally, he moved. Connor stepped out of the shadow. The blue and green neon lights of the city illuminated his angelic, perfect face which could hold so much ruthlessness.

"I said 'if' I go back.", his voice softer than before.

I frowned, looking up into his direction. "So, what? You're not obeying them anymore? You turn your back to the one who let you do all these horrible things?"

Connor stepped slowly closer. "Maybe... If I find a good reason to stay away from CyberLife.", he explained, keeping his eyes glued on me.

I felt the glance of his brown eyes burning on my skin. These eyes had made me fall in love with him. These goddamn, fucking soft eyes. He made me angry with his emotionless glance. "Don't expect anything from me. Two of my ribs are broken. I was almost frozen to death. You have killed my team. You have killed my Captain. Hell, you almost killed me!", I screamed, wheezing in pain. I regretted it instantly.

Once again, Connor stepped closer to my bed. His LED never changed its color. It stayed constantly red. "But, after all, you said you love me."

"To wake you up! To stop you from being a fucking machine! I wanted to provoke a reaction!", I called out furious.

"Coming back to you is my reaction."

I stayed silent. Nothing seemed to be a suitable answer and could summarize what I thought or felt. But there was a change in his voice. There was softness vibrating but maybe it was just a trick of my mind because I still hoped too much...

"I couldn't kill the deviant leader.", Connor said and pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Why not?", I asked puzzled.

"He...asked the right question."

I was sure, I had heard it! Connor had called the leader 'he' instead of 'it'... I noticed that. He never did that before. All the time, he acted clinical, mechanic...like a machine. "What kind of question might be breaking a fucking machine like you?"

"If I ever have loved.", Connor answered my question and stepped forward. Just a bunch of steps were separating us.

"And?", my voice was nothing more than a whisper. My heart jumped into my throat as I waited for his answer.

"I do. I do love someone.", he said calmly and stopped next to my bed. Looking down on me with concern in his eyes. Taking in all the injuries, wounds and bruises I got from him.

With two of his slender fingers, he took a strand of my hair and stroked it out of my face. He had done that before. One time. During one of our sparring training sessions. It was the moment I thought he could break free. As his fingers were brushing over my cheek, electricity shot through me. I had to close my eyes, otherwise he would have seen everything written in them. "Connor, please... don't..."

Ignoring my pleading, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed. He cupped my face softly with his hand. "I have blood on my hands. Blue and red. Many lives got destroyed by me. But the worst for me is that I... almost killed you."

The deep pain in his voice let me shudder. It was the first real emotion I got from him. "Y-you just want to obtain pardon from me. I can't give you that.", I said shaky. I tried to sound serious but I failed.

Connor leant down to me. His eyes flickering back and forth between mine. "No. What I want is just you."

My heart skipped a beat. His eyes were sparkling in the dim light. Suddenly, they were holding so much warmth. The former coldness was gone. My breath hitched in my throat and I could barely speak. "But I... After everything... I can't..."

Inch by inch, Connor was coming closer. "Tell me that you don't want me."

"I... I-", I wanted to say he should leave but I couldn't. It didn't feel... right.

"Tell me you don't love me anymore and I will go. I'll leave you alone if that is what you really want.", he demanded whispering.

I closed my eyes because of my blurred vision. Hot tears were running down my cheeks. I couldn't say what Connor demanded because it would be just a lie to him...and to myself. Emotions couldn’t get switched off like a lamp. I opened my eyes, determination in them. I knew what I wanted. "I can't tell you that.", I answered breathy against his lips.

My answer was enough for Connor to understand. Without a second thought, he closed the small gap and pressed his soft but cold lips on mine to seal the unspoken promise he gave me. It was a desperate and passionate kiss, dosed with everything he wanted to tell me.

He wasn't taking orders anymore.

He wouldn't kill anymore.

He regretted what he had done...to me… and to everyone else.

Connor had crossed CyberLife’s deadline and wouldn't look back because...

… he loved me.

[the-piece-of-spadille]

Eustass Kid | Sorrow

Pairing: Eustass Kid x female reader

Notes: Mentions of death, and injuries.

Word Count: 2k

Killer was the first to hear the dreadful news, he was making his way down the street to the local bar where he was to meet back up with Kid. He heard a hushed conversation between two gentlemen and at first, he thought it was just another made up rumor. There’s simply no way that the Raven Pirates were dead. Their captain, (Y/n), is apart of the Worst Generation and has proven many times over, that she’s worthy of that title not only to the government but especially to Eustass and his crew.

It wasn’t until one of the men spoke about a fight that involved two Admirals that made the Killer’s blood run cold. He remained hidden and waited for any possible truth in the conversation. The names Aokiji and Kizaru came up a few times and that was enough for Killer to grab both men and drag them to his Captain. He knew, in the pit of his stomach he knew that something happened. If any part of the rumor turns out to be true, his captain is going to want blood and so will the rest of the crew. One simply doesn’t harm Kid’s beloved. 

The Kid Pirates soon found themselves sailing off to a winter island in the New World. Kid and Killer were able to get more information from the two men at the market before Kid destroyed the town in a furious rage. There was suspicion about an informant that tipped off the location of the Raven’s to the Government. A fight had already broken out between Pirates and Marines before the Admirals made it to the island. It was an easy win for the pirates until the Admirals showed. They don’t have the details, but the fight took a gruesome turn and many pirates lost their lives. No report has been made yet by the Government, at least not publicly. Which in turn means no record of who’s alive or dead.

Kid always said that he would be the one to kill them someday. (Y/n), the captain, got under his skin like no other. They both live bold and fearless lives and often they came into contact on the seas as enemies. That was before the incident with the Red Hair Pirates. 

It was (Y/n) who managed to keep Kid alive after losing his arm. She allowed him and his crew to recover on a winter island that the Raven’s use as a second home. It was then the relationship between the two captains began to shift. She would often check on the man, get him anything he needed, and most importantly, told him not to stop chasing after what he wants most.

It became evident that previous and new threats held no real weight to them. They still fought like cats and dogs, but it was different. The crewmates on either side saw what was forming between them and knew it was going to be a long road ahead before either side could truly rest. It turned into a long and agonizing game of who would fall victim to their feelings first. 

Ultimately (Y/n) was the first to fall, she grew tired of all the pent-up emotions and grabbed Kid by his signature coat and pulled him down to her height and kissed him. It stroked Kid’s ever-growing ego that he did not give in first and he paraded around the island as if he found the One Piece for weeks. With the warm memory in thought, he breaths a heavy sigh as he watches the passing sea. “You’re fine… you have to be.”

Starring out at the vast number of graves of the fallen crewmember, (Y/n) stood in the middle of a snowstorm. It’s been a total of three days since the lost of her crew. All but two members perished by the hands of the Admirals. It took two days to make it to their island and another to bury and lay them to rest, but she promised them she’d bring them back home.  “Please Captain (Y/n.) You need to warm up and rest. It won’t do you any good if you freeze to death out there” the voice yelled across the field of snow. Instantly whipping her head around, glaring at the last remaining crewmate.  

The words “freeze to death” played over and over in the captain’s head. That’s exactly what Aokiji did. He froze them to death while Kizaru pinned (Y/n) to the ground and made her watch as the other shattered her crewmates into pieces. Tears roll down her redden checks as she looks over at the graves for the last time tonight and whispers a “goodnight.” 

(Y/n) makes the slow tread back towards the warmth of the building. The injuries and cold catching up to her. “Sorry about the choice of words Captain, you need to rest. You’re heavily injured and you shouldn’t be out in that storm in your condition.” Avisa, the youngest and newest member of the crew being only eighteen, covers her captain with her own coat and holds the door open. Avisa was incredibly lucky to be mostly unharmed after what they went through. “We should probably change your bandages and disinfect them again… has your eyesight changed?”

(Y/n) groans from shifting the coat open and revealing the endless bandages wrapped around her body. “It’s… it’s as good as it’s going to get, I’m afraid. I lost about half the sight in my left eye.” The young girl shifts around, grabbing more bandages and disinfectant before settling in front of the captain and unpeeling the dirty bandages from the wounds earning a whimper of pain.

“Wait, before you start with the disinfecting, I could use a drink.” 

“Sure thing Captain, I’ll go fetch you some water.” Just as the girl began to move a loud boisterous laughter bounces around the walls of the otherwise quiet room. The two women jump from their seated positions at the voice of a man. “She means booze girlie” the voice snickers. (Y/n) pushes the girl behind her and does her best to seem threating but it’s proving to be hard in her state. This nearly makes the man laugh again but he gets a glance at the wounds scattered across her body. 

The outside lighting does little to show who’s at the door and it wasn’t until the man spoke again that (Y/n) recognized who was there. “Take it easy doll” Kid spoke, hand in the air stepping inside. “Kid” her voice wavers. Taking a few steps towards him but stops and clutches her side in pain. His smile falters as he crosses the room to grab her and keep her upright. 

He’s familiar with the layout and takes her to a bed in the closest bedroom. “Sit before you bleed all over the floor.” He walks out the room to motions for the rest of his crew to come inside. Killer follows his captain back into the bedroom to inspect (Y/n’s) wounds. Avisa, with a bottle of opened booze sitting on the table, had already unwrapped her wounds and had proceeded to disinfect her wounds.

There’s deep bruising along her ribs on the right, followed by three holes no doubt left by Kizaru, scatter over her torso. The worse being on her left shoulder. Kid grabs the bottle on the table and takes a generous swing before offering her more. “I did my best to stitch the wounds with what we had, I’m pretty sure her ribs are broken. She was…” the young girl had to stop keep herself from crying. Killer, as gentle as he could muster, touched the swollen and bruised area earning a sharp intake of air followed by a cry of pain. 

“I’d say three are broken and the rest are just bruised. What did you use for stitches? I see a few places that need to be touched up.” The masked man turns away from (Y/n) to talk to Avisa. “Horsehair. There’s a small ranch not too far from here.” He nods in thought, “we’re going to need more.” The pair leave the room to go retrieve more supplies and to fill in the rest of Kid’s crew on her condition.

Kid looks around for something to cover her body and he spots (Y/n’s) coat, or rather what’s left of it. It was a beautiful thick, long coat, jet black in color, and made of raven feathers, now it’s barely recognizable. It’s a lot smaller in length now from being ripped. More feathers decorate the floor than the actual fabric. It also mirrors the holes littered in (Y/n). It was a gift to her from him. “Say something please.” 

Kid looks over with an unreadable expression and shrugs off his coat and walks over. His hand traces over the new scars and wounds that littered across her. He pays extra care to the open wounds before his amber eyes meet hers. He brushes the hair out of her face to get a better look. Half of her left eye is clouded over with a faint scar to go with it. He knows now isn’t the time to get angry, but all he wants to do is tear the bastards heads off for hurting her. He can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like to lose her crew on top of everything. 

He takes a deep breath, something she has told him numerous times to do, and thinks back to what she said to him when he was in a similar situation. “It uh… adds character.” (Y/n) laughs until she feels the pain in her ribs. Kid scowls at her before dropping himself on the bed and his coat on her to cover her up. “Thank you for trying to cheer me up.” He makes a “tsk” sound before telling her to shut up. She grabs his hand and plays with his fingers to calm her nerves. “It was planned.” 

“What?” 

“It was Scratchmen Apoo who told the Admirals where we were headed. Had to be. He was trailing us for a couple days and when the Marines spotted us, they let him go.” A stray tear falls down her cheek before she can wipe it away. “We we’re cornered into an island, so we abandoned ship for the time being and fought. We were fine until those bastards showed. They started to take us down one by one. Kizaru trapped me underneath him and held me in place. Made me watch.” Kid wiped away her flowing tears and placed a long kiss to her hair. He’s never wanted to hurt someone so bad in his entire life. Forcing her to watch. “It was Avisa who saved me. And to think I almost didn’t let her join… she shot them with sea stone bullets.”

The anger rolling from Eustass can probably be felt in the next room. He recently formed an alliance with Apoo and was already having his own issues with the man. This is the final piece straw that broke the camels back. Kid knows he can’t be trusted, and he need to be brought to an end. “I’ll make them all pay!” 

Kid jumps up ready to storm out and take his frustrations out on whatever he can get ahold of but (Y/n) speaks up just as he’s at the door frame. “I want to be apart of taking them down. I need to. For the sake of my crew.” Kid turns around and stomps into your direction and places a heated kiss on your lips. 

“Hurry up and get better, because your sailing with me.”