#not permanently dead but wishing i was because that means i would no longer be tasked with keeping you out of trouble - is extremely good

[roombagreyjoy]

Contender for my new favourite character dynamic: Creature of deathless nature who keeps dying and resuscitating over and over because they keep saving their unwittingly carefree (or rather careless) partner by bargaining with the gods in order to keep exchanging their fates. Shenanigans ensue in order to keep this a secret because nonchalant as Character B is they would absolutely be heartbroken and devastated about this happening (more than once)

[medusas-daughter]

I know it's kind of become the consensus and it's a fun theory but it makes no sense to me and I need to talk about it. Agatha was not killing witches to avoid death, she was doing it for power in the hopes that enough power coupled with the darkhold would cloak her from death because she didn't want to see Rio's face or have to forgive her she wanted to stay angry. Lilia has lived over 450 years without killing anyone. Jen has live 100 years without any magic and who know how many years before that. When Billy googled Agatha there were pages on the screen that say that witch don't die of natural causes and choose the age they want to appear as. Agatha could have stayed alive with the darkhold for a long long time. She chose to lure and kill those witches for power for her own gain.

And for Nicky, the whole "distracting Rio with bodies" is just silly. People die every day, every second, she's constantly reaping someone. She's Lady Death if she needs to take someone there's no distracting her. Either Nicky needed to feed off death because of Rio's parentage or Agatha was hoping to accumulate enough power to cloak him from Rio permanently or both. The day he refused killing and said "his mother is expecting him", either he was done feeding off the dead and wanted to join Rio's realm forever, or he was physically sick and in pain and tired so that was his way of telling both Agatha and Rio that he was ready to die and that's how Rio knew to take him, she waited until he was ready (something she never does with anyone).

The one time Rio offered Agatha a deal of one life for another is with Billy, and that's because Billy's magic is powerful enough to let him escape Rio and reincarnate indefinitely. So he has to go willingly. Rio could have had a talk with Billy about the order of things but she chose to involve Agatha. She wants Agatha to be the one to deliver Billy to her because she noticed she loves Billy. And if Agatha can deliver a boy she loves to Death, that means she will have finally understood that Death is not a punishment just the cycle of life and she will have forgiven Rio. She banked on Agatha wanting to stay alive but she was not expecting Agatha asking to never see her face. That's when Rio lashed out. Because after all those centuries she still won't forgive her for doing her job. And that's when she started tormenting her and giving her the ultimatum, either her or Billy.

I'm sure Agatha thought she was manipulating Death all this time, because she can be delulu about her power sometimes. And Rio probably thought it was funny in the beginning that this baby witch thinks she's manipulating a being as old as time. But Rio was never going to kill her, just like she never kills anyone. And if offerings of bodies were enough to stay alive, all serial killers would be immortal. Rio was just collecting her bodies and having a blast with her wife until the party ended and suddenly her job no longer seemed fun to Agatha because it went against her wishes. And suddenly this being she loved became evil in her eyes. And then Agatha acquired the Darkhold and Rio couldn't even see her anymore she could only trace her by the bodies she left.

[iamnmbr3]

I was thinking about how fun it would be to do an It's A Wonderful Life type AU where postwar Draco, consumed by guilt, wishes he had never been born and thus realizes that actually his life mattered more than he thought. And as I was thinking about how a fic like that might play out I realized just how much might change and just how central to Harry's narrative Draco really is.

Draco is so intimately connected to so many things that happen in the story. If suddenly Draco doesn't exist, potentially Harry doesn't join the Quidditch team in book 1 and doesn't catch the snitch with his mouth or almost die from Voldemort cursing his broom. He still likes flying and might join the team later though, but he's no longer the youngest Seeker in a century.

Or in book 2 without Draco Harry doesn't speak Parseltongue in front of everyone because Draco isn't there to conjure a snake and consequently the whole school doesn't conclude that Harry is the heir of Slytherin. This also means that Ginny doesn't mention Harry's ability to diary!Tom and so Tom doesn't try to use her to lure Harry into the Chamber since he has no reason to think Harry would be able to open it. Hermione possibly also doesn't figure out how the voice that Harry's been hearing connects to everything and thus the golden trio may not ever realize that a basilisk is on the loose. Tom might end up deciding that the best way to learn about Harry is to fully possess Ginny or to drain her life force and permanently come out of the diary. Potentially she ends up dying and no one ever knows. Harry doesn't get the diary and thus isn't able to surprise Lucius enough that he unthinkingly tosses a sock in Dobby's direction, meaning Dobby is never freed. Dumbledore may not ever return to the school though probably he does and probably Lucius's threats to other school governors still get exposed.

In book 3 depending on whether Harry ever ends up joining the Quidditch team, the whole plot with the Firebolt in book 3 might never happen. Harry's head also doesn't get seen in Hogsmeade which means Snape doesn't drag him into his office and force him to turn out his pockets which means Lupin doesn't find out about the map and take it from Harry. Lupin consequently doesn't follow the Golden Trio into the shrieking shack in the end of the story. Ron and Harry might also notice Pettigrew on the map but they might not. Depending on how things go down in the shack Sirius might not get a chance to tell his story and prove his innocence. Snape might even attack him and hand him over to the Dementors. Potentially Peter doesn't set out to bring Voldemort back. Lupin still probably loses his job because of the curse, but he might not end up outed as a werewolf. Peter might also have been brought back to the castle and Sirius's name might have been cleared.

In book 4 without Draco, Rita doesn't have a secret source about Harry that lays the groundwork for attacks on his character in book 5.

Assuming Voldemort eventually comes back he no longer punishes Lucius through Draco. Instead he likely directly orders Snape to kill Dumbledore. Because Dumbledore is still dying Snape probably does. Harry has no path to getting mastery of the Elder Wand (assuming we go by the canon version of wandlore and we don't believe the wand actually chose Harry). If Harry makes it to the end of book 7 he dies in the forest. Narcissa probably sees no reason not to say he's still alive. Voldemort kills him for a second time and he stays dead. Though quite possibly Harry is immediately identified and killed at the Manor since Draco is not there to lie for him. Also, Dobby may never have been freed and might not be there to help save him.

Of course, lots of the canon events could still happen and things could just play out a bit differently. But this really highlights how critical a part of Harry's narrative Draco is. From a fic POV I think the most fun would come from exploring how much worse book 7 would have played out without Draco there.

[paarthursass]

Reversing Ceremorphosis

There is an interesting debate to be had about whether mind flayers experiencing extreme partialism (the Emperor, Tav/Orpheus/Karlach depending on the ending) are truly the same person they were before ceremorphosis. According to 5e's lore, when a person undergoes full ceremorphosis they die and the tadpole takes full control. They normally experience none of the host's memories except in rare cases, where a phenomena known as "partialism" occurs.

Even in a non-magical setting "is something that experiences all your memories the same person as you" would be a tricky question, and in a setting where there are indisputably souls that depart the body upon death...that question becomes even stickier.

And that all brings me to my main point, which is: what is the best way to reverse ceremorphosis?

So we have two options in front of us:

Option 1) Though the tadpole may retain all the memories of its host, it is not them. The host (Balduran, Tav, Karlach, etc.) dies during ceremorphosis and what is left is a mind flayer tadpole experiencing their memories as their own. But their soul is gone, they are dead.

Option 2) The tadpole is experiencing the host's memories indistinguishably from its own. For all intents and purposes, it is the same person.

The game itself does not give us clear answers to this. Ansur speaks to the Emperor as if he were Balduran. Gale wishes to still marry you after ceremorphosis, indicating he at least still views you as the same person. The other characters don't seem to be of this viewpoint. The look Lae'zel gives you before she flies away with Orpheus is such a sad look that it reads, to me, like she views you as dead. Everyone talks at length about your "sacrifice," and it is clear they mean more than just your appearance. A romanced Wyll speaks about your future together like it is a lost dream, like you are already dead even though you're right there. There is no clear answer.

Which brings me to my second question...

What is the best way to reverse ceremorphosis?

Because the way I see it, there are two main options (not including Wish, which I will get to in a bit)

Option 1) True Polymorph. An illithid (or someone else of appropriate skill level) could cast this on them and polymorph them back to their original form. After an hour the effects are permanent, and they're not a mind flayer anymore! However, how "valid" this cure is depends on whether or not you consider the tadpole with the host's memories to basically be the host. Their soul has gone from their body, but they are not a mind flayer anymore and they have all their memories so...what are they? Are they Them, or are they something new?

Option 2) True Resurrection. This requires no body, nor any fragment of the body, and can be used so long as the target hasn't been dead for longer than 200 years. Especially considering Gale was able to get his hands on one scroll of True Resurrection, it doesn't seem all that unlikely (if perhaps a little difficult) that he and the others could get their hands on another.

But an illithid restored via True Resurrection would only have their memories right up until ceremorphosis killed them. They would have no recollection of defeating the Netherbrain and everything that came after (such as traversing Avernus, if they decided to go with Wyll and Karlach.)

And, more importantly (and horrifically) the mind flayer with their memories is still there, too.

Think about that for a moment. You remember dying, you remember the agony of your body becoming something else but then your friends brought you back from that, they saved you. But that thing is still there; walking around in what used to be your body, with your memories rattling around in its head.

And how does that feel for the mind flayer left behind?

You still think you are you, but then...there you are. Your friends wanted you back so badly but not you, no the other you, the you were before, the you they clearly think is the real one. You are not yourself, in spite of everything you have shared, everything you have done...

And as for the Wish spell, that is a notoriously finicky option. The spell description itself states "wishing that a villain were dead might propel you forward in time to a period when that villain is no longer alive" and "wishing for a legendary magic item or artifact might instantly transport you to the presence of the item's current owner."

So...who is to say that using Wish to restore someone from ceremorphosis would not simply bring the person back, the second before they transformed, with the mind flayer still there as well? Who is to say Wish would not simply do what a True Polymorph spell would do, and transform the mind flayer into their previous form without restoring the soul of the original owner?

I don't have any good answers for this, but I am fascinated by the implications of it all.

[artist-issues]

There's no hope in "gaining the strength to fight" if there's no hope of victory. Not even the idea of it.

Because don’t you understand, that’s not hope. Hope is not blind. It isn’t “I just really wish things were different.” It’s “I know they will be.” Or even, “I know they could be, WHEN such-and-such happens.”

The bleakest moments in all my favorite stories are when the good guy lashes out and hits the bad guy across the face, because even though he can't win, it feels good to fight back for a second—but then that lash-out becomes pathetic and sadder than ever when it's over. Because when the momentary thrill is gone, you're left with the hopelessness. The fact that that's all he'll ever have; the idea of winning. When in actuality "victory" is just some comfortable lie or mirage-like dream he indulges in every once in a while, but it'll never be real.

I mean what the heck. It would be like if, in The Shawshank Redemption, nobody ever gets out. Nobody is ever freed.

It would specifically be like if Andy just keeps building his library and occasionally listening to music, hanging onto some "idea" of a life that is no longer real, but ultimately he dies in prison, a slave, forgotten, unjustly accused, unknown. Defeated. Yeah he kept living. Till he died. And what was the point?

But no, Andy escapes. Andy gets out. Even if it took most of his life to do it, he still did it. Because it was possible. Because he was never supposed to be there. Because it's not true that "the darkness will always be with you and you'll never truly defeat it, but it's enough to keep going."

No, it's not! That sounds pretty, but it's nonsensical. Thats the kind of thinking that made Brooks hang himself. He could make life livable with a comfortable lie; until he couldn't.

If hope is the comfortable lie—if hope of defeating the darkness once and FOR ALL is a lie—then why bother? Why bother at all?

You only fight because there's something worth fighting for. You only travel to reach the destination. That “it’s the journey, not the destination” does not apply.

I refuse to believe it. I will not buy into it. I know that the darkness ends. Ends, are you reading this? Ends permanently. I'm going to be free of my anxiety and depression and sickness, and dark thoughts, and self-focus, permanently, and when it happens, it won't be because I'm dead, it'll be because I'm alive forever.

I know it beyond the shadow of a doubt. My God said so. He trumps all your comfortable-lie-is-beautiful nonsense.

[heliads]

inej ghafa x fem!reader?? I feel like things like this are missing on tumblr. kaz and reader are a duo and many consider them a couple but r likes inej and inej likes r. just something where kaz is tired of hearing his best friend talking about his other best friend and decides, in his own way, to play "cupid" so they can finally leave him alone. i really need to see kaz being "cupid's best friend" to both of them and being secretly happy for them (male-female friends exist, nobody remembers??)

male-female friends DO exist, speak on that anon

masterlist

“I think Kaz Brekker is going to kill me.”

This is not an unusual announcement to make in the Barrel. The fact that you’re saying this aloud to an empty room, although odd, is again not something that happens infrequently. Dirtyhands has a reputation for going after anyone who slights him, and he doesn’t accept apologies when he can take something a little more permanent, like a life. Many of his victims are prone to complaining via soliloquy.

The only difference between you and the dozens of Ketterdam residents currently pacing restlessly in fear of Kaz’s wrath is the response such a statement receives. When you make your pronouncement, instead of being greeted by the rustle of wind against the eaves or an ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach, you’re answered by the Wraith herself.

Inej chooses to respond to you instead of retreating back to the Slat to tell Kaz his latest fear campaign has worked, unlike how she’d treat anyone else. Although she wasn’t visible in the room, the second you speak aloud to the seeming emptiness, Inej appears in a flash of dark fabric, crouched on your window ledge, and says, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You frown at her. “I am not being ridiculous. I think he actually means it this time.”

Inej rolls her eyes, slipping into your room through the window you’re pretty sure was locked from the inside when you were last here. “That’s just his usual friendly demeanor. You’ve known him even longer than I have, Y/N, you can’t possibly think that he means you any harm.” 

You grimace. “See, that’s what I thought too. I mean, I met Kaz when we were both kids, I’ve kind of taken our friendship for granted. He’s never so much as stubbed my toe with his cane.”

Inej frowns. “So what changed?”

“It’s happened a few times now,” you admit. “He keeps saying stuff about how something with me has got to change, and if I don’t get around to it, he’ll fix the problem I’ve created. He wasn’t joking, Inej. Whatever I’ve done, he’s not inclined to back down until he gets it sorted out, and you know how Kaz likes to solve his problems.”

Inej winces. “Kaz threatens a lot of people. You can’t take it too much to heart.”

“If you were there, you would know,” you grumble. “He seemed, like, genuinely unhappy. He said that my problem was starting to cast a pall on his reputation. He said I was making it his concern. Usually, he trusts me to sort out my issues, but this– this was different.”

Inej must be able to sense your genuine concern, because her expression softens and she walks forward, placing a soft hand on your shoulder. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. Kaz has a lot on his plate. You’re his best friend, Y/N, or so Kaz would say if he would let himself rely on anyone. He doesn’t want you dead.”

You lean into her palm. Just like always, it brings comfort like nothing else. Just like always, you can’t help but chase the warmth of her touch, wishing for more that you may never receive. Not as a friend. Not just this. “You’re his best friend, too. Have you heard anything?”

Inej shakes her head. “Not a word. I can ask, though. Discreetly, of course.”

You smile. “Of course. I trust your secret ways, you know that.”

Inej laughs, and pulls away after a heartbeat, although her eyes follow the place her hand had been for a while longer. “I think I’ll talk to him now. I don’t want you worrying for no reason.”

You let out a grateful sigh. “Thank you, Inej. I mean it.”

She flashes you a grin as she heads back towards the window. “Anytime, Y/N. One more question, though,” she adds, perched halfway in your room and halfway in the open air of the Kerch streets, “How did you know I was here? When you first said you thought Kaz was going to kill you, I mean, how’d you know I would hear it? I didn’t make a sound.”

You lift a shoulder. “I just did.”

Inej frowns crossly. “I need to know so I can improve my skills. What gave it away?”

You grin. “Maybe I didn’t know. Maybe I was just talking to myself.”

Inej scoffs. “You don’t do that.”

She says it with absolute certainty, the product of enough time spent watching from the shadows. “What if I knew when you were watching so I only talked to empty rooms when I knew you weren’t around?” You ask, laughing.

“That still brings us back to the subject of how you always know when I’m there,” Inej points out.

You wave a hand vaguely around. “I don’t know. Honestly. I just feel it, I guess.”

Inej considers this, still crouched on the window ledge, her heels over empty air, her knuckles brushing the cracking paint. You walk closer so you can get a better look at her. The midnight moonlight clings to her hair, her skin; it’s not just you who doesn’t want to let her go, or so it seems. Inej smiles at you, fond, and then she’s gone, disappearing into the empty night air. You surge to the window, but even after sticking your head out and looking around, you can’t spot one flicker of movement. She has simply vanished, as if from the very country itself.

You don’t know that you could respond any better to Inej’s question even if you were ready for it. You never have been able to put a proper name to the sensation you get whenever Inej is nearby. Some could call it infatuation, others could refer to it as a good friendship, but it’s more than that. Inej is the person you look to first in a firefight. Inej is the one you want to see when you have the day off, when you’re finally safe from a dangerous job. It’s her. Always has been.

You started looking for her in earnest the day you realized that the feelings you had for her were more than just platonic. After that, it was easy. Inej is not so pedestrian as to reveal herself in a shower of loose roof tiles, nor a kicked pebble on the street, but she is still human. If you really try, you can hear her in the quiet of perfect stillness. The brush of cloth against cloth. One held breath. Even secrecy makes noise, and you’ve memorized every way to tell it’s her when a shadow lingers nearby.

You don’t get a response until the next morning. You’re idling on the cobblestoned streets, pretending to wait for a friend but really watching the flow of pigeons from the Dime Lions’ club to the Dregs’. You tuck your face into your hand to hide a yawn, and when you look back up, blinking against the crisp wind, Inej is by your side, leaning against the railing of a bridge just a step or two away. 

“‘Morning, Inej,” you greet her. “Sleep well?”

She smiles, closing her eyes so she can tilt her head back and bask in the meager few rays of morning sun that have managed to break through the dense clouds that usually block out Ketterdam sunrises. “You know,” she says absentmindedly, “I really do like that about you. Everyone else just demands information whenever I show up. You say hello.”

You feel the corners of your lips flicker up in a traitorous smile despite your best attempts not to respond to the compliment. “Is it terrible if I ask for information on your conversation with Kaz now, then?”

Inej laughs, shaking her head. “No, that's why I’m here. I think you’re right to be scared, by the way.”

You freeze slightly. “You actually think he’s going to kill me? Inej, I thought you were here to reassure me that everything was fine, not confirm my fears.”

Inej ponders this. “I don’t think he’s actually going to kill you. Just shake you up a little, maybe. I think he was more mischievous than genuinely threatening.”

This doesn’t make you feel any better. “Kaz’s idea of a fun parlor joke is stabbing someone through the hand. I’m going to need a little more evidence of his support of me before I sleep well at night again, thank you very much.”

Inej shrugs. “I think it’s very unreasonable for you to want to feel safe around Kaz Brekker, but everyone has to have their dreams, I suppose. If you want an indication of his favor, though, he’s assigned both of us to a job.”

This does grab your attention. Kaz would only trust you with Inej on a job if he really believed in you. Of course, he could be sending Inej to kill you, but you don’t think she’d do that. Inej would never hurt you. She’s pledged that before, and you made the same promise to her. 

We all come to the Barrel for terrible, terrible reasons, and sometimes those reasons make themselves known in long and awful nightmares. Sometimes, when you wake up screaming, you need a friend who will never hurt you. Someone you can trust unconditionally. Sometimes, when one girl wakes up in a haze of bad memories, tears hot on her face, she needs another girl to hold her until the shaking stops. A girl to promise that there will be someone else in the world who will watch after her, who will keep the endless fears at bay. It was you for Inej, and it was Inej for you.

So no, then– if Inej was asked to hurt a hair on your head, she would not only refuse but protect you from other would-be assassins. The only answer is to then trust that this mission of Kaz’s is not designed to hurt either of you.

“Alright,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, “What does he want from us?”

He doesn’t provide you with an awful lot of information, that Dirtyhands. Inej tells you an address, a room, an object, and a time. You both head to your destination. There isn’t much security at all, hardly any passersby, so you’re able to slip in without difficulty. Once inside the designated room, you notice that there’s not much inside, just some simple furniture and a note on the desk.

The note you read with increasing indignance. Inej, who has been scouting out the room’s perimeter, glances over at you with concern when you fling the paper back against the desk. “What is it?”

“This is a trap,” you tell her, furious, “And it’s all Kaz’s doing.”

Inej furrows her brow, then softly pads across the room to pick up the note and read it herself. You can tell from the swiftly changing expression on her face alone what she’s discovering, having practically committed the note to memory yourself.

Dear Y/N and Inej,

I have had enough. Both of you have something that you need to tell each other. I have grown tired of both of you tiptoeing around it, so you won’t be leaving until I hear you say it.

K.B.

Both you and Inej turn in unison to stare at the door, but before either of you can start towards it, you hear the door lock with an audible click. You glance towards the window, but Inej shakes her head. “Locked from the outside. He must have specifically chosen this room and secured it beforehand so none of us can get out. It’s basically a holding cell.”

You yell some choice insults at Dirtyhands in general, but you only hear a soft, low laugh from behind the door, which is incredibly frustrating. You pivot slowly back to Inej, who is swaying slightly back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Well,” you say as casually as you can, “I guess we have to say something to each other, then. That’s it, though, and then we can leave.”

“Yes,” Inej says evenly. “But what to say?”

You have a terrible feeling building in the pit of your stomach, something telling you that you know exactly what Kaz wants you to say to Inej. It might have something to do with the feelings you keep burying whenever she’s around, but the note said that both of you had to say this thing, and there’s no way that Inej could ever– she wouldn’t feel the same way, no. It must be something else, then.

“Any idea what Kaz would want from us? You’re pretty up to date on his motives,” you mention cautiously.

Inej looks studiously at the ground. “You’ve known him for longer. Maybe you would have a better guess than me.”

The floor receives your stare as well. It’s easier than looking her in the eyes. Easier than trying to make a guess as to whether or not she could possibly love you. Inej takes to prodding the door and window for possible gives, even attempting to see if the ceiling could be pushed aside to make room for escape, but no luck.

You plead weakly with her as she attempts to unscrew the hinges of the door with one of her knives. “Is whatever he wants you to say to me really that bad that you would go to all this trouble to avoid it?”

Inej stills, her hand still on the frame of the door. “You have no idea what he wants me to say.”

“But you do,” you counter, “Don’t you?”

“It’s about you,” she whispers. “It could be terrible.”

“If it’s you,” you tell her, “It could never be terrible.”

Slowly, carefully, Inej turns to look at you. Her eyes are wide and haunted. It occurs to you that maybe you were wrong, maybe she is here to kill you in some sort of way. She could hurt you without ever drawing blood. It would be easy at a time like this, with your entire body thrumming in the wild, desperate hope that the secret Inej must share is something that you have to tell her as well.

Her voice is quiet, barely even a sigh, when she speaks at last. “He knew that I love you.”

It is strange, how even with your mad hopes and prayers, you’re still absolutely consumed by the knowledge that Inej Ghafa loves you when it is finally confirmed aloud. You go completely quiet, mind racing with this incredible knowledge. Inej owes nothing to the world. She defies gravity, she defies nations. She gives nothing if she can take it, but Inej– Inej has given you her heart, free of charge, and it is the most lavish and lovely gift you could ever hope to own.

Whatever reaction Inej was hoping for, she must not find it in your awestruck face, because she abruptly turns to the door and knocks on it loudly. “I told her,” she says crossly, although you swear you detect a little bit of fear undercutting her words, “Now let me out.”

“Not yet,” you plead with her. “He can’t let you go yet. Not until I tell you that I love you, too.”

This time, Inej doesn’t turn slowly. Instead, it’s as if she’s crossed from the door to you in half a second. “Really?”

Inej never doubts herself, nor the information she gathers. Still, the look of pure joy on her face when you repeat your feelings makes her ask again, and again. You have no problem answering her. For once, you are not afraid.

The door clicks open. You glance towards it. “Footsteps on the landing.”

Inej lets out a quiet half-laugh. “Let him go. It would be sporting to give him a head start before we chase him down for pulling a stunt like this.”

You grin in response. “Still, I suppose we shouldn’t be too devastating in our wrath. Who knows how long we would have kept this a secret.”

Inej tilts her head to the side, considering this. “I don’t know. I’m rather good at finding out secrets.”

You arch a brow. “Is that so? How long do you think I’ve loved you, then?”

Inej beams. “Tell me.”

You impulsively reach out a hand, smoothing back a dark lock of hair from her face. “Since the very start.”

This is only the first of many such secrets. Inej has yet to learn just what made you love her, or where you were when you figured it out, or even perhaps how you learned to tell when she’s trying to sneak up on you. Until then, however, you have no doubt that she’ll commit herself to figuring out every intricacy that makes up the girl she loves. You. Until then, you welcome the challenge.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[yepmadness]

Yeah so. I gave into the urges. I’ve never felt the need to write fanfic. Ever. But here I am I guess.

I wrote this at midnight soooo, who knows how this is. Just wanted to write John thoughts because he’s my guy—so have this short little piece that I hope other people can enjoy too :)

Fic under the cut: 1.8k words.

The memory of Arthur’s silence will remain more prettifying than his agony, but that doesn’t mean that his pain … his terror as the light and awareness left his eyes—their eyes—is what John was hoping to hear.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping for. Relief? A gasping thank you? Pride in saving him? Would it be foolish to wish that the talisman fixed everything? That he would just be okay? Perhaps it is. He thinks it is. He was never going to have that. It would be unreasonable to think he would get any of that, but any joy of him living, of John fixing this, was ripped away when Arthur opened his mouth. All John wanted was a sound. A single noise, a response, any response to prove the talisman worked. He got that. He should be happy that he got that.

But he isn’t.

And Arthur is silent again.

And the world is dark—but not as dark as it could be.

John does not know what to consider if Arthur didn’t end up in the dark world … when he died. That place was the last thing he wanted for Arthur, and yet, it was always treated as a last resort. Of a sort. Between them, spoken only aloud by Arthur, so long ago now. A place they would end up together in—if they failed. It was not a future he ever wanted, but it was a possibility, even if it was one he despised the thought of. But now he knows that if Arthur dies he does not follow, instead he is left here to deal with the repercussions. To play the marker for lifeless remains, having to have witnessed, and experienced death without a choice. What if there is no place meant for them? Past all of this. He can’t exactly bury Arthur himself, if it came to it, he wouldn’t let him stay dead after all. Graves are a place of permanency, one they do not deserve, because they can be forgotten. Especially here. But John would never forget. He would never abandon him like that.

He would find a way, like today. They are stuck in this together. They both have to make their own path through this, together.

Except his body is no longer a weighted grave for them both, a tomb he would never dare leave, it is breathing. Arthur is alive—and so they are both alive, whatever that may entail. He is tentatively okay. Arthur, is okay. As okay as he can be, as they both can be. What matters is that he is alive—what matters now is keeping him alive.

John has almost lost Arthur more than once, twice, more than three times, and he wasn’t always there to fix it but he has tried to be. He often was. Every moment where Arthur falls, where he becomes immobile and lost to John, he feels himself succumb to a fragility accustomed to human bodies. Accustom to loss and fear. It’s horribly quiet without him. Even so, he saves him, he saves them both—because Arthur trusts him, and he trusts Arthur. He loves Arthur, and he is going to tell him that. He has to tell him that. Even if they both know it, to an extent. This can’t happen again without John making sure he knows it.

But this is never going to happen again.

Because Arthur died this time, and he almost lost everything. John felt the cold stone visage that he left in his absence. There was nothing here without Arthur, more so than just the lack of connection to their body, but the emptiness was staggering. He was alone. Completely and wholly alone in a space meant for two.

He hadn't felt terror like that since Arthur slit his throat before the King—but this was worse. They’ve grown … so much—and John wasn’t there to see the aftermath of his actions back then. This, he was aware of, in every aching moment of uncertainty. This could have been prevented, couldn’t it? They didn't need to go after the talisman, but they did, and John didn’t see her—not until it was too late. It was his words that made her kill him—an appeal made to the wrong person. Arthur wouldn’t have died if made the right decisions. But he always seems to make the wrong ones, no matter how hard he tries, that he and Arthur have in common.

But Arthur is alive again, so why does it still feel like he is grieving?

Arthur wouldn’t have gotten hurt, wouldn’t have died, if John wasn’t here. But John wouldn’t be here, who he is now, without Arthur. Perhaps that would be more demoralizing if Arthur hasn’t so vehemently stated that he doesn’t want to be rid of John, that they are in this together, until they both get what they want … no matter what that may be. Perhaps that is just happiness, in the end, no matter what it looks like. From one harrowing experience to the next, until they may finally rest. Arthur wants him here, in spite of all the pain it causes, and will continue to cause. Because Arthur is his friend, and more than that, but he is his friend.

Arthur might even be … pleased with his actions. That he has found himself, both with him, and all that he has learned for himself. That he knows who he is, in truth, after everything.

Even if he knows who he is now, who he wants to be, who he will always be—he knows he will want Arthur there too. Arthur who has been there for all his mistakes, his achievements, their joy and sorrow. Arthur deserved to be here for this too, but he wasn’t, and maybe that was the push he needed. He used to defend so much of himself to Arthur, expectation after expectation, misstep after misstep. But Arthur also gave him hope, the sanctity of trust, showed him love and sacrifice, and remained alongside him even when that trust was broken. Even if some mistakes can’t be forgiven … They let them rest. Arthur lets it rest, so they can move on, so they can grow.

Is it so wrong to become … whole without him there to witness it? Or is that how it was always meant to be. To be entirely his own, must he first be alone?

He hopes not, it is a terribly bleak thought, besides it can’t be. Not in every single world, even if Kayne said he … doesn’t change much. There must be some place where there is more joy to be held in his ownership of self. A better circumstance that does not lace his pride in one of their darkest moments. In his choosing of hope. In his choosing of Arthur. One that doesn’t extend off of a devastating fear, off of death. He doesn’t know if he would wish to change this, he would have—if Arthur was truly gone—but he isn’t, so he will just have to see how this plays out.

He is going to share everything he said—everything he did, with Arthur. Because he deserves to be a part of it. Because they do this, all of this, together. Because he wouldn’t be here without him. Because together they are whole of two, just like he said, just like he will say.

It’s not as if he will ever fit into the messy expectations of what it means to be human, per say, but he doesn’t need to. All he needs is to perceive himself as what he wants to be—and Arthur’s perception helps to, even if he doesn’t always meet that. Humanity will be whatever he wants it to be. However he defines it to be. A neutral point, in it all. For he is not a piece to be slotted away, but a piece to be shelved along the masses, every individual part given a space of its own, and it is a space he deserves. A space he had long since earned.

A space they both deserve, to play their own key.

Because Arthur is alive—and so is he, in every sense of the word.

He’d panicked, when Arthur lost consciousness again, for a second he thought he had lost him once more. John had been so ready to reach for the talisman for a second time—for he wasn’t going to allow Arthur to leave, not yet, not ever. But he was breathing, albeit raggedly, but he was. John was going to keep his promises, he had to. He was going to take care of this, of him, and they were both going to be okay. Just like the times before this, and everytime that may come after, because Arthur isn’t going to die.

They’re going to get their happy ending, despite what she said, one where Arthur does not end up as a corpse.

An ending where they both know want they want, what they deserve, who they are.

Moving Arthur to the witch’s bed was difficult, to say the least, without exasperating the wound and the subpar stitching ... even if it has improved. John won’t allow it to get any worse—and Yorrick keeps telling him it’s survivable, or that he is more likely to survive anyway. Even so, John periodically checks to make sure Arthur is still breathing, that his heart is still beating.

Arthur is alive. He will stay alive.

He should stop worrying, Yorrick keeps spouting that he is arguably fine. He should stop.

But the reality is that he can’t, and he doubts will for a long while to come.

He is intimately aware of every minuscule movement Arthur makes, of every second of awareness he gains, and he coaxes him back to the present through all of it. A melody of promises, of reaffirming how he feels, telling Arthur everything over and over and over. It doesn’t matter if he is aware of what he says, if he hears him at all, John will repeat his words for as long as they are needed.

John never lets him arrive to the dread of waking up alone, speaking as soon as he stirs and recognition strike, each and every time. They are never going to be alone again, severed or separated, and John tells him that. Because they are whole together.

And eventually, when Arthur finds his speech, a gentle—hoarse voice long since worn by constant yelling born from the suffering of the waking. He repeats back everything John has been telling him through the suffering of uncertainty, of recovery and knowing and fear.

Arthur moves, ever so slightly, before John can protest—and he brushes his hand, John’s hand. It is a little thing, but it is such a stark constant to the stillness he had before. After the pain of it all, this is a relief, a reprieve. Arthur is alive and John can tell he’s weakly smiling, even if that is not something he can see, when he speaks up for the first time in hours.

John isn’t surprised by what he hears, he already knew, after all. They’ve both said it before. But John it is nice to hear regardless, because together, they are whole. A comfort to both him and Arthur both. He does not want to live, to experience life as it was shown to him, without him. He wouldn’t have gotten here without him. Together they are whole. Both their own wills, colliding, and depending on each other. Made by each other.

Arthur is alive.

Arthur is alive and he breaks the one sided silence by saying, “I love you too.”

Perhaps that, for now, is enough.

[meamiya]

LESSON 2: TITTY FUCKING with FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

 synopsis♱ ‣ I mean the title speaks for itself. We’ve got Megumi and we’ve got tits. Put them together (lol) and what do we get? An orgasm (spoiler alert).

 cw♱ ‣ nsfw, characters are aged up (21+), afab!reader, slight alcohol use, slight handjob, tittyjob, one dick lick, mutual pining, friends to lovers. (Let me know if I missed anything)

 word count♱ ‣ 3.3k words

 author’s note♱ ‣ Megumi is a tits guy, and I will die on this hill. Also, this was way longer than I had planned to make it. Additionally, take a shot every time you see the word tits if you’re of legal drinking age (Juice is fine too I guess). Anyway, Enjoy!

 ♱ explicit content! minors do not interact ♱

 Even in your slightly inebriated state you could feel his eyes on you. Warm embers flit along the exposed skin of your arms and neck in tandem with his gaze before they lock on your chest. Goosebumps follow in their wake, and you feel a satisfied shiver run down your spine once you identify where his stare has firmly rooted.

 Megumi Fushiguro, the Megumi Fushiguro, the one who acts as if he has a permanent stick stuck up his ass and who you thought had less romantic or sexual interest in you than a damn rock, is staring at your tits.

 You owe Nobara a fat kiss on the cheek and 10 bucks because never in all your years of trying have you managed to grab his attention so relentlessly.

 The cropped camisole (read scrap of fabric) you’re wearing is courtesy of Maki, who greatly underestimated how well you’d fill it out. Between the dainty straps and low neckline, there was truly little left to the imagination. You’d usually never be caught dead wearing such an item, let alone even have such a thing in you closet, but in the comfort of Maki and Nobara’s apartment and with the help of your good friend, tequila, you were relaxed enough to let them work their magic and catch their long-awaited prey.

 Laughter brings you out of your thoughts as you take in the scene before you: Yuuji lies passed out, ever the lightweight, across the living room floor while Toge, Yuta and Panda attempt to lug his heavy body somewhere more comfortable. The initial shock of your tits greeting everyone before you could had worn off; mostly. The incessant probes from your left told a different story, though. Nobara and Maki, who had been whispering amongst themselves now direct their gaze toward you, in a way that ensures trouble will follow, before they turn to get everyone’s attention.

 “I have an idea everyone!” This is not a statement you trust coming from Nobara but you listen, nonetheless. “Let’s play Truth or Dare!”.

 A chorus of eh’s and oh no’s ensue, and you wish to be sucked into the earth as you follow her train of thought.

 Before anyone can formally protest, she exclaims, “I’ll go first!”

 Oh God.

 “Panda! Truth or Dare?”

 Thank God.

 “Dare!”

 “I dare you to down my drink and yours!”

 Panda immediately complies and the game continues peacefully quite unexpectedly. Yuta admits that his favourite teacher is Gojo, Toge swallows a tablespoon of wasabi, Maki is dared to switch outfits with Yuta and before you know it, its Megumi’s turn.

 The devious glint returns to Maki’s eyes as she appraises an apprehensive Megumi. “Megs, Truth or Dare?”

 To everyone’s surprise, he picks dare, though you fear neither choice would have worked out in his favour.

 “I dare you to take a body shot off of the hottest person in this room.”

 Megumi splutters while taking a sit of the beer he had been nursing the entire night and your stomach drops. Thoughts of him picking either of the two women to your right, or anyone in this room as a matter of fact, swirl in your head as everyone stares at Megumi expectedly. Under the harsh gaze his cheeks immediately bloom a cherry red, and his eyes scan the room before landing on you. You freeze.

 “I-” he stutters, lost for words as a light sheen of perspiration covers his face, immediately breaking eye contact.

 “You...?” Maki mocks.

 “I… I need to go to the bathroom.” He’s on his feet in the flash of an eye and leaves the room briskly, completely ignoring the boo’s that follow him. You don’t miss the way he tugs his hoodie over the front of his jeans and neither does Maki.

 “It’s now or never, Hun.” She whispers encouragingly and gives you a light shove to pull you away from the negative thoughts that render you immobile.

 You get to your feet, dawdling to the hallway that Megumi had just disappeared down while wiping your sweaty palms down the length of your jeans.

 Your decade long crush was either about to reach fruition or come crashing down with your heart as the only casualty, and all the pep talks you had received from Nobara are now mute mutterings in the background of your fear clouded mind.

 You look back hoping that someone will take pity on your poor soul only to find five pairs of thumbs up pointing back at you.

 If that wasn’t a kick in the ass, then you didn’t know what was. With newfound courage, you turn back and continue your journey towards the bathroom, towards your inevitable fate.

 A steady, deep breathe steels your nerves as you knock firmly on the door, hoping he can hear you over the sound of running water.

 No response.

 Another knock. “Megumi?” you call.

 The water turns off and your breath catches in your throat. A pause.

 “I’ll be out soon. I just need a second.” He replies, so quiet you barely catch it.

 It truly was now or never. “I have something I really need to tell you. Can I come in? Please?’

 The silence behind the door is deafening but the pounding of your heart surely resonated throughout the hallway. Your patience wears thin with every passing second and before the defeated sigh passes through your lips you hear it, ever so softly.

 “The door’s open.”

 You don’t waste a second, breaking down the final barrier standing in your way and making your way inside, closing the door behind you.

 The air in the bathroom feels different: more palpable, thick with unspoken thoughts and fears. Your back knocks against the door as you appraise him.

 His tall form is hunched over the sink to your left, held up by strong arms, and his raven hair shields his face, drenched in water as the plop of each droplet hitting the sink echoes in the still space.  

 He speaks first, voice void of emotion. “What did you want to say?”

 Although you dreaded having to make eye contact; the flush of your cheeks and nervous intertwining of your fingers being a dead giveaway for what was undoubtedly a precursor for you pouring your heart out, confessing to his back was not in the cards for tonight.

 “Turn around Megumi.” You ask, ultimately command, gently.

 “No, you’re going to make fun of me.” His head lowers even further.

 His statement renders you completely confused as this situation lacks any semblance of humour.

“Why would I make fun of you, Megumi?”

 Looking back, you failed to take note of one thing. Compared to Megumi, Yuuji was an elite drinker and the fact that he was now passed out on the living room couch spoke volumes. Megumi was a fucking lightweight. And if there was one way to know if Megumi had been drinking, it would be the fact that his lips loosened tremendously and drunk, tipsy in this scenario, minds speak sober thoughts. The one beer that he had been sipping on was the final nail in the coffin of his restraint and the words flowed freely before he could stop himself.

 “Because I couldn’t go one minute without staring at you tonight even though I’ve been able to control myself for years. And you’re so short so every time I looked your way, I could see down that sorry excuse of a top and that, combined with the fact that I could smell your perfume with every breath I took, made my dick throb like a fucking teenager.” He’s basically whining at this point, ashamed of his own thoughts and desires. “Years. Years down the drain.” He mutters to himself.

 “You thought I’d laugh at you for that?” your giggling betrays you. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, unsure if you’d walked into an alternate reality or if your long-time crush had just confessed to you being his long-time crush.

 “Why wouldn’t you? I’m such a loser.” He complains, gripping at his hair

 Your feet move a step closer on their own accord.

 “Megumi.” you whisper but he ignores you, lost in self-anguish.

 Another step forward; he’s within arms reach now.

 “Megumi.” You call again, louder this time, but to no avail.

 You take the plunge, closing the distance between yourselves, and grip his damp face firmly between your comparably smaller hands, forcing his attention to you. The blush that travels from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck surely mirrors your own.

 Your voice is quiet and nervous as you whisper, “Does that mean you like me?”

 His eyes remain downcast as he replies. “Isn’t it obvious. Now that you know just reject me once and for all.”

 Your heartbeat picks up if that was even possible. If only he could see the hearts in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

 The pout of his lips and puppy dog eyes make you want to tease him just a little more. “Why would I reject you, Megumi?”

 He scoffs, as if the answer was obvious. “Because I know that you like Yuuji.”

 Your shoulders shake as you try to keep your laughing fit at bay, but the subsequent shaking of your hands against his face finally draw his attention to you, his scowl deepening further at your amusement during his time of turmoil.

 “Yuuji? Why would you think I like Yuuji?” you ask incredulously.

 He rolls his eyes in disbelief. “Because you’re always at his place when I visit and every time he whispers something in your ear you turn bright red.”

 You can’t help but find the way he had noticed these details and completely misinterpreted their meanings endearing, deciding to finally put him and yourself out of your misery.

 “Did you ever think that he specifically invites me over on the days you visit so that he can fulfil his desire to play matchmaker and that each whisper is just to tease me about how obvious my crush on you is? Well, obvious for everyone else.” You tease.

 He’s momentarily stunned, eyes wide and mouth dropped slightly as you wait for him to process what you had just declared.  

 “You like me?” he asks in disbelief.

 Since your words had not completely punctured his thick skull, you attempt a more hands on approach. Grabbing the sides of his face more firmly, you tilt his face down and rise to the tips of your toes to accommodate for the height difference before your lips meet his. The kiss is soft and innocent but allows you to communicate years’ worth of longing and once the initial shock has worn off, he relaxes and moulds his lips against yours.

 You pull away all too soon, far too soon for his liking. “I like you too, Megumi.” You finally confess, the words once a stone in your heart now something you wish to shout from the mountain tops. “I love you.”

 The words have barely left your lips before he’s encasing them in his own once again, dragging you closer with one hand on your waist and the other entangled in your hair to deepen the kiss.

 “I love you, too.” He whispers against your lips before he deepens the kiss, making up for the years he wasn’t able to. The years of delusion he had lived in thinking that you weren’t meant to be his and he yours. He had so much time to make up for and he was going to start right now.

 His face twists to deepen the kiss even further, tongue peeking out hesitantly to lick at your bottom lip and your hand moving to pull him in at the nape is more than enough permission for him to explore the wet heat of your mouth hoping for you to reciprocate and you do. The residual dampness coating his skin transfers to your own but neither of you care. The kiss is full of passion and yearning, soft sighs and moans, and the gripping of clothing to bring the other that much closer. So close that you’re reminded of what you, and Maki, had caught a glimpse of in the living room.

 Hard and hot against your thigh lies something you had seen before in countless dreams. Dreams that left you breathless once you awoke, sweat coating your entire body and mixing with the slick that dripped from between your thighs, coupled with a needy throbbing that only relented after a moment of self-deprecation and two fingers shoved into your cunt. Megumi’s cock was pressed firmly against you, and you just had to see it in person, knowing it would be a thousand times better than the half-baked image in your head.

 You pull back once again, and Megumi’s whine worsens the wetness between your legs. “You did so well in telling me how you feel, and I know it must have been hard for you to admit all that. Well, I know that wasn’t the only hard thing for you tonight so how about I make it up to you.”

 You drag his large frame towards to toilet before you plop him down onto the seat, kneeling between his legs. From your new point of view, his bulge is mouth-wateringly large, and your insides tingle in anticipation.

 Glancing up you take note of his flushed face and the soft pants falling from his swollen lips. Your hands make their way to his thighs, rubbing soothingly in order to calm your and his nerves.

 “Is this okay?” you whisper.

 His nod is enthusiastic to say the least and doesn’t fail to make you grin up at him.

 Your hand trails higher now, finger tracing over the zipper of his jeans, and his bulge. His lidded eyes follow your movements.

 “Is this okay?” you ask, lower and more seductive.

 “Yes.” A barely audible confirmation; the gulp that follows louder.

 Your patience is wearing thin, and you know Megumi’s is too by the way his leg taps sporadically, so without wasting time, you unzip his pants, grab the material of both his jeans and boxers and pull both down his legs with his assistance.

 Mouth-watering was a more than apt description as you were practically salivating at the sight before you. Pink and pretty. And big.

 Mournfully, you tear your eyes away from his appendage to look up at him, only to find his eyes had returned to their fixation of the evening. Your camisole had fallen that much further down your chest and your pebbled nipples were begging for attention, covered only by one layer of fabric.

 “Do you want to touch them?”

 His eyes jerk up to meet yours, shining with equal parts nervousness and hunger, and he nods shyly. With extreme caution his hands make their way to your tits, pausing an inch away from direct contact, almost as if to prepare himself, until his featherlight touch makes contact with the material of your camisole.

 Unsatisfied with his hesitance and the intense need to have his hands on you, you cup your tits over his hands squeezing them firmly in his grasp.

 The moan he lets out is guttural as his palms feel the tell-tale peaks of your nipples, and the sound shoots straight to your core. “Fuck.” His hands have a mind of their own now as he moulds them into his palms with pure abandon and a small smile makes their way to his lips at the moan you release.

 The unmissable twitch of his cock brings your attention back to the task at hand. You bring your hand up to grasp his solid length in your tiny hands, stroking upwards to collect the precum that had been leaking from his tip and it mixes with your sweat-lined palms allowing you to stroke him with ease.  

 Soft pants and groans escape Megumi, and you want them to increase tenfold, want him to invade all of your senses.

 “Is it okay if I try something, Megumi?” you ask and, in his state, all he can do is nod meekly.

 Prying Megumi’s hands off of you physically pains both you and him, but you place them at his side, nevertheless. Your camisole sticks to your flushed skin as you peel the straps off of each shoulder and slide the material down your torso, shivering under Megumi’s heated gaze. He admires your tits as you had admired his cock; with an intense need to suck it into the wet heat of his mouth.

 Megumi’s imagination continues to run wild, failing to take note of you leaning closer to his crotch, cupping your chest. Its only once the pillowy softness has enclosed his dick in its warm and suffocating embrace that he is brought down to Earth, and he swears his legs turn to jelly at the slight before him.

 You’re looking up at him through dark eyelashes, watching his reactions closely before sticking your tongue out and letting your spit drip over the tip of his dick to aid the movement of your tits gliding up and down his cock.

 Megumi’s head falls back against the wall behind the cistern, eyes rolling to the back of his head and a groan so loud you pray no one outside of the bathroom can hear it leaves his open mouth.

 You squeeze your tits that much closer together, maximising the contact between your skin and his, and with every downward motion, his core tightens and his thighs twitch. You found it incredibly endearing as he tried and failed to keep the movements of his hips at bay, but before long his hips began thrusting at their own pace, a much faster one. The squelching coming from the mixture of his precum and your spit had increased in volume and frequency, and you are unable keep up with his thrusts any longer, instead remaining stationary and allowing him to chase his fast-approaching orgasm.

 His hands have found their way to his hair again, grasping the drenched locks in tight fists. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m gonna come.”

 Your eyes lock on his drowsy ones. “Don’t apologize, ‘Gumi. Come whenever you want.”

 If the upwards tilt of your seductive eyes combined with the nickname you had just called him was not enough already, the tip of your tongue that you ran sloppily over his tip on one particular upward thrust sent him over the edge and straight into a mind-numbing orgasm.

 His hips lift off of the toilet seat as you feel the warm liquid of his cum coat your chin and chest, and with a few short thrusts to ride out his orgasm, he slumps back down onto the seat, fucked out and limp from the best orgasm of his life.

 You’re quick to grab a piece of toilet paper, wiping yourself down and tossing it into the trash while Megumi’s breathing levels out and he’s become lucid enough to button up his jeans. When you’re within arm’s reach again, he pulls you down onto his lap, tucks his chin into the crook of your neck and encircles his arms around your waist.

 “I love you.” He whispers into your skin, embedding it into your flesh.

 Your arms wrap around his neck and pull him infinitely closer. “I love you too, ‘Gumi.”

 You welcome the comforting silence for a second but noise from outside of the bathroom brings you back to reality.

 “Let’s hope you still love me after we get flamed by every one of our friends once we leave this room.”

 His laughter is light-hearted despite the fact that you were dead serious.

 30 minutes was a normal amount of time to be in the bathroom, right? Right?

  Meanwhile in the living room:

 Yuta looks down the hallway for the umpteenth time in the past 30 minutes before his curiosity gets the best of him. “You don’t think they’re-”

 “They are.”

 “100%”

 “Shake.”

 “What he said.”

[animentality]

I love Baldur's Gate and the Dark Urge and all -

And the idea of the Dark Urge redeeming themselves after a lifetime of horror by literally choosing to die and go to purgatory forever is really amazing. In fact, it's why I'm so dedicated to the Dark Urge as a character.

The idea of a villain losing their memory, becoming a hero, and then realizing that they need to die not just once, but twice to truly DESERVE their redemption is honestly brilliant.

But.

But.

Withers revives you way too fucking fast.

You literally die...and then Withers instantly brings you back.

In fact, it takes him fucking longer to revive your COMPANIONS than you, and your companions dying and being revived at camp aren't even part of the story, it's just you fucking something up and not wanting to waste a revive scroll.

Withers bringing you back instantly comes across as like, oh, so dying for your morals, being a true hero in the end, a martyr, defeating the villain, which is you...it's totally negated.

You died for about twenty seconds.

I've known people who died for longer on the operating table.

Where is my lover crying and clutching my body?

Where are my friends, all looking devastated, because they're all gotten to know me and root for me and truly care about me after I've done ALL THIS for them???

So that they could be safe from me?

Where is the emotion?

He brings you back and then your companions have a single line that's essentially just, "good job buddy."

Karlach says something like, I'm proud of you and Wyll says I'll drink in your name or whatever.

And Astarion has a really obnoxious line about how this means you aren't going to attack him anymore...and it's like... okay.

Cool.

So you guys are totally unphased by the fact that you just watched me die...but I suppose death doesn't mean shit in this game, since you have Withers to constantly bring you back.

Cool.

So then what? Nothing matters?

It's just frustrating because I know it's the cut content curse. They had more planned for Orin and the Dark Urge and Bhaal...but it just feels so underwhelming.

I think BG3's primary flaw comes in the fact that they wanted to build this richly crafted narrative, while also accounting for player choice. And they did a magnificent job of adding SO MANY extra scenes and alternate interactions, to the point where I'm still finding new shit, after like 800 hours of playing...

But the tradeoff is that the character stories...fall really flat, because they want so desperately for a Tav to be the main character, and no one else.

The Dark Urge especially suffers from this, because they made them a murder hobo in one ending, and basically just a Tav in the other ending.

As soon as you are brought back by Withers, you might as well just be a Tav. It has no bearing on anything anymore.

And that's such a shame.

I just wish it had some weight. The Dark Urge has spent their entire life ending lives... it should be beautiful, that they would end their own life to atone...their last victim, would be themselves, as they always knew...but for different reasons-

oh wait, withers is here.

cool, i'm back, guys, let's go to arby's and celebrate.

i just think the game should legitimately make you think you died, at least until a long rest or two.

force the squad to go on without you, make someone else your fourth member.

THEN withers can come to you, maybe in some kind of new Jerrgal-form, so you know he's Jergal for sure, and then reveal he was secretly a retired god.

And honestly, that makes Withers a far more interesting character too. To give him this huge hero moment, and have him say, no, this will not stand. I know he HAS that moment, but it's so rushed.

Let the player breathe on it. Let them FREAK OUT. Can you imagine how much stir it would've created, if Dark Urge players LEGIT thought they were dead permanently?

That would've given their sacrifice real weight.

But Larian was scared, probably, of players being upset that their characters are dead, even though that kind of sacrifice is literally the most heroic thing you could do in the game, besides become a damn mindflayer.

So some sacrifice! You sacrificed ten seconds of your life, and your companions barely care.

Alright. Fine.

I'll just be over here writing your story for you!

[tgmsunmontue]

Life is too short to waste time matching socks... (1/5) WIP I

Hangster and Bob/Javy/Nat - set post mission with the Dagger Squad having been made a permanent squad.

                Bradley opens his locker and startles a little as something falls onto his head from where it was obviously balanced just on the door of his locker. Two pairs of socks, still in the cardboard sleeve, one with peach emojis and the other with eggplants. His first reaction is to roll his eyes, because it’s a little juvenile, butt and dick emoji socks. He knows none of the Dagger Squadron have a problem with him being gay. It would be a little hypocritical for some of them, considering at least half of them identify somewhere in the rainbow community, and they’ve had drunken rambling talks about it, about always having to strive to prove themselves and maybe that’s why they’ve all succeeded to become as good as they are.

                “Uh… are these a joke?”

                No-one says anything and he shrugs, puts the socks into his bag for home.

…            …            …

                “You’re not subtle. Well, actually, maybe you are, because he’s not figured it out yet.”

                “Maybe he’s figured it out and is just not interested in me like that so is just… pretending to not know so he doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

                Javy and Nat both snort.

                “What?”

                “Okay, for a start, when has he ever tried to spare your feelings?”

                “We’re friends now. Sort of.”

                “Yeah. Sort of. Because he wants to dick you down.”

                “Classy Trace, real classy.”

                “I’m sorry, since when have you ever cared about class? You’ve got a hardon for a guy that wears Hawaiian shirts by choice.”

…            …            …

                “Someone gave you socks and you think they’re… playing a prank? Normally the socks are covered in itching powder, or shoes with shaving foam, buckets of water above the door, laces tied together…”

                “It’s what’s on the socks. Here. Look.”

                Mav stares at them. Looks up to Bradley.

                “Farm produce?”

                Bradley winces, he really doesn’t want to have to explain the double meaning of the emojis to a man nearing sixty.

                “God your face. I’m old, I’m not dead. I know what those mean.”

                “So, do you think someone’s making fun of me?”

                “For what?”

                “Uh. Being gay? Having a, um, actually, never mind…”

                “You a bit of a shower huh?”

                “Jesus Mav…” Bradley mutters as Mav just laughs.

                “Clearly nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe someone’s paying you a compliment. Or they have a weird way of flirting? I don’t know what you kids do these days.”

                “I think we’re too old to be classified as the kids of today, considering some of my friends have kids who they’re already struggling to understand.”

                “Everyone’s a kid to me.”

                “Yeah well, you are ancient.”

                “Hey! You’re meant to respect your elders!”

                It’s Bradley’s turn to laugh and it’s good, their relationship slowly healing. Of course, Penny sitting them both down and acting as mediator; forcing Mav to tell him that it had been his mom’s wish… He no longer has moments of fleeting anger and resentment, realizing that life is too short to hold this grudge when he’d worked around it anyway, that it hadn’t actually seriously impacted his career progression, that it had simply been the lying and lack of support which had felt like the deepest of betrayals.

                When he gets back to his accommodation he picks up the socks holds them in his hands, they’re good quality, brand new and unused and while it was clearly three pairs he’s only been given the two and he wonders if the other person has kept a pair for themselves. He’s desperate to know, a building mystery. He knows it has to be a fellow aviator, because they were delivered to his locker. So definitely an aviator. Or someone close enough to ask one of them to do it for them.

                He can figure this out.

…            …            …

                “Is this getting even more painful or is it just me?”

                “If I didn’t know better I’d think they were secretly together and winding us up, but Jake can’t act to save himself, so… he’s actually gone on him.”

                “They have a very weird way of showing each other that they like each other…”

                “Well… Rooster grew up with Mav as his role model. Were we expecting him to be normal?”

                “You raise a valid point.”

                “And Jake… well. His parents are so much older than him, his older brother pretty much raised him and he isn’t exactly the most, uh, demonstrative of guys?”

                “Is that a diplomatic way of saying he’s a bag of dicks?”

                “Don’t you like dicks?”

                “I like dicks when they’re attached to guys I like, I would make a hard pass on a bag of lose dicks just jiggling around like that…”

  ��             Javy and Bob exchange slightly horrified looks.

                “Hey, what are you guys talking about?”

                “Bags of detached dicks…” Bob says, pushing his glasses up his nose and somehow maintaining a completely straight face.

                “I’m... I’m sorry I asked. I’ll leave you to it,” Rueben says, doing a sharp one-eighty and heading back out the way he came in.

                The three of them burst into laughter and it’s a nice break from their moan and groan session discussing the problem of Hangman and Rooster and their combined obliviousness. How they’re both so intelligent but so equally clueless makes the three of them despair.

                “Okay. I’m going to invite them both to dinner and then stand them up, so they have to have dinner together.”

                “Yeah, they could just get up and leave…”

                “No, they won’t, I’ll make sure of it,” Natasha states and the other two decide not to argue any further.

                “I’m going to suggest we do an escape room, and then need to take an emergency call… one of you are going to need to be my emergency call,” Bob says, looking between them, flushing a little as Javy simply looks at him and smiles.

                “I’m going for tried and true. I’m going to lock them in a room and then text them both and then let them sort it out.”

                “Looking them in a cupboard, real mature.”

                “As mature as them. The solution needs to match the problem. He gave him socks with butt and dick emojis.”

                “Yeah okay, you raise a fair point…”

                “Anyway, if the dinner and escape room ideas don’t work then I think we'll all be ready to lock them up. Or bang their heads together.”

…            …            …

PART TWO

[lovingbuckley]

Tommy didn't grow up or come out in an accepting time. He's about 40. Straight off the bat, that means two major things. That he would have been 14 when Matthew Shepard was murdered and that he was also growing up and probably realizing he wasn't like everybody else in the aftermath of the worst of the AIDS crisis. There are enough bad things said about gay men in the context of HIV and AIDS that I assume that part of self explanatory but gay men were often viewed as dirty or diseased by default.

The murder of Matthew Shepard was a big and traumatic thing for a lot of gay men because a lot of the messages during the trial were essentially you will be murdered because you are gay and they will stand up in court, try to paint you as a predator who came on to them, and say that you deserved it.

Then we have the fact that Tommy would have served under DADT, which ruined lives and even after it was repealed they made the people whose lives were ruined apply to have it changed.

And on top of that, the main thing we learned about his family is that his dad was similar to Gerrard, something he mentions the episode after Gerrard calls him a homophobic slur by way of mime. I'm closer to Buck's age than Tommy's, but I've heard from older gay men what their families said about Matthew Shepard's murder and how they used to talk about gay men.

It's deeper than Glee. It's deeper than gay being used as a casual slur and way to say things suck. It's a baked in trauma because your life is over if they find out you are gay. You are dead. Or your career is over with a permanent mark on your life that would make it nearly impossible to find employment anywhere that cared if your discharge was dishonorable.

The problem is that this isn't something the show intentionally included, but it's also something that if you're a gay or bi or queer man (or often just a queer person who's out of your 30s), it's hard not to think about. They included the assault and riots in Athena Begins and DADT in Karen's backstory so we know they can think about it. The problem is that the writers probably didn't recognize the context that they created Tommy in.

Hi, Anon!

This is a really good answer, it’s really good in the context of older gay men in real life. The last part you summed up what I was sort of saying because he’s not a character that has any backstory that we have really heard about.

While I see the relatability of his character for some people, most of this that you’ve been kind enough to answer, is an assumption of what he’s been through or and assumption of another assumption.

That’s what I was really trying to understand with people who have loved Tommy’s character. We’ve seen his character be a terrible person to Hen and Chim, and because they forgot that he did a lot of wrong in those episodes they didn’t give any context to either Hen or Chim forgiving him in any way.

Again I don’t hate Tommy! I feel like the show did a good job at making it really difficult to feel any good feelings about him. I’m also not seeing him in the same light where some people are saying they think buck should’ve been written off the show instead??!? That is an extremely weird thing to say in my opinion cause we have so much for Bucks character, in comparison to the small amount we know about Tommy.

I’m mainly hoping for some insight into the character that people have seen on screen and how he’s likable in the show. Because I will admit most of what I saw in Hen begins and Chim begins did make me wish to never see him again. They made him out to be a sort of villain in those episodes, granted I don’t think they had any plans to bring him back so they didn’t do any type of character growth for him to no longer be seen as a terrible guy.

Thank you so much for taking time to write to me about how you feel about the character! I’m open to more messages.

[dazais-guardian-angel]

I'm finding it difficult to reconcile the fact that what I've always wanted and envisioned for Nikolai and his relationship with Fyodor based on fanworks and the very very little canon information we've had to go off of so far, will very likely be very different from what we actually get.

While I understand the appeal of Fyodor taking over Nikolai's body via his blood ability, and the inherent, romantic, ironic tragedy of that — for Nikolai, the person who yearned for freedom, to meet an end by having his soul eternally trapped in the body of the person he loved the most, while Fyodor lives on in his body, never truly knowing how much he was adored by him — I would just hate the idea of that happening now? It just feels far, far too soon for Nikolai to be dead, for his character to no longer have a role or a purpose; his mind and behavior is so utterly fascinating in all its bizarre contradictions, there's so much more to explore and discover with him, he's one of BSD's most complex characters, or at least he's set up to be, and I really hope Asagiri wouldn't throw him away this soon without doing anything more with him.

I never really thought that Nikolai would be the one to end Fyodor for good, way down the line (that can only ever be Dazai's job, to me, since he's his foil), but I always imagined he'd at least have some kind of role in attempting to kill him, since that's his ultimate wish. I imagined that it would be ugly, frenzied, unhinged, desperate, Nikolai finally being forced to acknowledge the horrible truth that's always been buried within his subconscious but he's never wanted to accept: that going against all human reason and killing someone he cares so deeply for will not, in fact, simply make those feelings go away, and will instead make them unable to ignore in his despair. The realization that he'll always be chained to human emotions, to love, no matter how much he thinks he can be free of them. And then, the ensuing breakdown from that. Yes, it's extremely fanficky lmao, but that kind of drama makes sense to me for him and them. It's interesting.

There was also the angst angle of Fyodor being immortal, and Nikolai's agenda perhaps stemming from wanting to save him from that, and being able to finally free him from it in the same way he himself wants to be freed. Killing being the ultimate expression of love, not too dissimilar to Mushitarou killing Yokomizo, both putting on an act of being hateful/vengeful/hostile towards the other in order to cope with the fact that deep down they can't bear the thought of them being gone.

But then we got Fyodor's "death" here, and Nikolai's reaction to it was so unbelievably underwhelming and calm that it made me question everything I thought I knew about Asagiri's writing skills him, and what the story is going for with him. And combined with this revelation now that Fyodor is (unsurprisingly!) immortal, but specifically in the way that he can be killed but supposedly resurrects endlessly (which I really like in of itself, don't get me wrong)... it makes me question what exactly Nikolai knows, or will know, and it somewhat destroys the potential angst we could get with them in the end, or at least drastically changes it.

If Nikolai already knows Fyodor can't be killed, that means we'll never get a moment where he tries to kill him and then has to face the fact that he did the deed and it didn't make him feel freed, and he instantly regrets it. It also means we'd never get a moment where he tries to kill him and then discovers he can't truly die, and the ensuing insanity that would occur from that. It also makes me even question the legitimacy of his reaction to Fyodor's "death" here... was it so damn apathetic and lukewarm because he already knows it wasn't permanent? I mean, I'd like an explanation for it feeling so ooc, it would make me feel better about that, but I can't deny that it would be disappointing to have yet another part of this arc that was just an act and not genuine feelings....

Now, that isn't to say that it's impossible to do anything interesting with Nikolai already knowing the truth. He could be wishing to try to attain free will through the illogical pursuit of an impossible task: in this case, killing Fyodor. There's a beautiful, tragic paradox in him wishing to attempt something to gain his freedom that he and we know is impossible, especially if subconsciously he takes solace in the fact that he'd be able to kill Fyodor without actually losing him for good. If Nikolai doesn't already know, assuming he's not dead he's likely going to find out the truth soon when he next sees Fyodor alive and kicking — I can't imagine a way he wouldn't find out. In that case, we wouldn't get the aforementioned scenario where he tries to kill him and discovers it's futile, which is the most juicy to me I won't lie, but I am still fascinated by the idea of how Nikolai will respond just seeing him suddenly alive again and having to process this after having just mourned him. It's interesting to imagine how he might respond to and treat Fyodor after at last knowing how it truly felt to lose him, and realizing how much he didn't want that, and then suddenly having him back. It might cause him to finally understand that his desire for freedom is unobtainable, and cause him to spiral, and fundamentally change their relationship going forward. An eventual tragic end for him such as Fyodor taking over his body would not feel out of place to me in that case, perhaps, but still not until we've had more time to see Nikolai reflect and see his possible change in perspectives.

I don't know, I'm just rambling at this point lmao. I know very well that so much of my expectations and desires for Nikolai and Fyolai are built up from fan content over the years just because there's been nothing else to work with, and that it's unfair to judge what Asagiri decides to do with him/them based on preconceived notions. Whatever he does could still be interesting in the end, even if it's not what I initially wanted or expected, and being open to being surprised is always a good thing. At the end of the day we still know barely anything about Nikolai, so it's not completely fair for me to judge something as ooc for a character we still know so little about.

But... it's because we know so little about him and have gotten so little of him, that at the very least, I'm gonna be really upset if he does die here from being possessed by Fyodor like people are worrying about. I really don't think he will, because I'm pretty confident the helicopter pilot is the one Fyodor swapped with/resurrected in the body of as per soup's theory, and again I'm not saying it wouldn't be fitting eventually... but I really don't want it to happen now. :/ I just think Nikolai still has so much potential as a character and so much more we need to see of him before his likely inevitable and tragic demise (however it happens), so whatever Asagiri decides to do with him I just really, really hope we don't lose him so prematurely; it would honestly be such a tremendous waste imo.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for bringing the girl I loved back from the dead without really thinking about how she’d feel about it?

There’s this girl I love. More than anything. She’s… my best friend. The most important person in the whole wide world. We grew up together, and for a long time she was the only friend I had. She’s amazing, beautiful, and I’d do almost anything for her.

Which is… maybe the problem, I’m starting to think?

You see, I got her killed. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident— the worst mistake I ever made. I… I wanted to get her a gift, and so I hunted down an ancient artifact that I felt was befitting of her, I thought it would be a grand gesture.

But I didn’t understand the forces I was messing with. That thing was evil. It slowly drove her mad, destroying her from the inside out. At first it wasn’t too bad— she was just overconfident, maybe a little mean, but it got worse and worse. She started doing very, vey bad things, culminating in her ruling over our country with an iron fist. She… hurt a lot of innocent people, and she even hurt me. Eventually it got so bad we had to…

Well, me and some new friends I made had to stop her. Permanently.

It’s been a long time since then, and I’ve made a lot of new friends, but I’ve never forgotten that girl: my best friend, the only person I ever loved. I’ve never forgotten the ways that I failed her or how I wished things could have been different.

That was why I was so ecstatic when I realized there was a way for me to meet the grim reaper, recently! I vowed I’d summon it, then bargain with it to reclaim her soul. I’d bring her back, and we’d finally have the happy ending we deserved.

And I WAS able to. Maybe not as easily as I hoped, but I was. And all I had to do was… well, uh…

Sacrifice half of my life span to give it to her, meaning I’ll definitely die young?

But that was a sacrifice I was willing to make! That part I don’t regret! I agreed. Readily.

But when she came back, she was…

Troubled.

The good news is her personality was back to normal— the grim reaper made sure of that, but when I explained what I’d done (NOT the deal, just that I’d revived her) and why she was alive, she… got mad?

She started screaming at me, tears in her eyes. She asked how I could seriously do something like that after “everything she did.” How I could “even bear to look at her after she became such a monster.”

And as she did, something sort of strange happened. Her body started to shift. You see, the girl I loved… she, um, stole a few bodies while she was in the throes of madness, and although she was initially herself when I brought her back, that didn’t last. Her body is constantly changing. Most of the time she’s something in between what she used to look like and who she was at the end of her life. A few friends of mine have theorized it’s because she isn’t really sure who she is anymore, and her body isn’t either.

She freaked out even more. She started to panic, asking “what I’d done to her.” I said I didn’t know. She ended up passing out.

Some friends of mine explained the situation to her— what had happened while she was gone and helped her calm down. The next time I saw her, she was less upset.

She apologized for her outburst, saying it seemed I had “suffered a lot because of her.” She said she didn’t mean to seem ungrateful— she was just scared and haunted by the things she’d done.

I told her it was okay and that we’d work through it together.

But things… haven’t gone swimmingly. We got run out of our home because the rest of our country hates us. She’s still upset about everything she did, especially to me. She won’t even let me call her by her name, saying that after what she did she “no longer deserves it.”

And her body keeps changing. Which is… really hard on her. Her appearance has always been important to her, and she hates how she looks. She says her old body is the body of an ugly, unlovable freak and that her newer body is the body of a sick and evil monster, and that it’s even worse being something in between.

No matter what she looks like on any given day, she hates it, and she’s even started hiding her face. She made us take down all the mirrors at the place we’ve been staying at and wears a mask all the time, saying she “can’t bear to look at herself, and doesn’t want anyone else to see her either.”

It breaks my heart. I still think she’s beautiful, no matter what she looks like, but she doesn’t believe me. She says I’m just saying that to make her feel better.

She… tries to be strong for me. We’re in a relationship now (we couldn’t be before— too many societal customs holding us back). She says she IS grateful for what I did… that she wants to give me the happy ending I deserve after everything I’ve been through, but…

Sometimes I hear her crying in her room at night when she thinks I’m not listening, and I wonder if I made the right decision. I remember the terror and anger she screamed at me with when she first came back and I feel sick to my stomach. She’s always saying these terrible things about herself. She has so much to grapple with. She never actually seems HAPPY.

And even worse, a few other friends of mine recently learned about what I did— the deal I made, that is, and they were very upset with me. They said I shouldn’t have done that— that they couldn’t believe I’d sacrificed my own life.

The girl I love still doesn’t know, but I know if she learned, it would destroy her, too. She’d probably hate herself and hate me even more than she already does. I’m really scared of her finding out.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I made the right decision anymore. I just wanted my friend back, but I’m starting to think I didn’t think about what SHE’D want at all. I didn’t even stop to think about how much guilt she’d have to deal with— all the things she’d have to process.

…Did I do something selfish? And if I did, how can I even begin to fix it?

[sparkyscout]

PMMM AND REVUE STARLIGHT FAN SPOTTED UH . revue starlight pmmm au is rotating in my brain and I must ask what other people’s thoughts on the idea are so if I can, what do you think ?

Hi, first off thanks for the ask, I had a lot of fun with it! (It's also very long I had a lot of thoughts on this)

Keep in mind that my memory of pmmm is very sketchy so if something doesn't make sense that's why lol

I wasn't quite sure which way to interpret rs/pmmm au so I eventually decided on exploring what would happen if a RS character was placed in a pmmm character's shoes, backstory and all. For each of the five main pmmm characters I was going to choose two RS characters. One of which, if placed in pmmm, would not end up causing major changes to the story, and the other just for fun lol. Unfortunately, just Homura's got much longer than expected, so I only ended up doing her.

If you want to hear any more about the other castings or if I completely misinterpreted your ask pls lmk!! There are so many thoughts about rs/pmmm in here but I am so bad at getting them into words lol.

Casting: Homura Choices: Nana, Hikari The first candidates that come to mind for this role are Nana and Hikari, due to Nana's literal time looping and Hikari's I Will Perform Starlight Alone Forever stunt. At first glance, despite the lack time looping, Hikari seems to carry the most similarities to Homura. However, most of the similarities would not remain in pmmm, instead, it is Nana who would follow Homura's storyline.

If my goal was to create a story similar to pmmm canon as possible, I would choose Nana for Homura's role, as I believe that while they have different methods of achieving their goal within the loops, they would end up with similar outcomes (outcome being becoming the Devil).

Homura's goal is to save Madoka and prevent her becoming her from becoming a magical girl. Unfortunately, the only time Madoka ends up not dead or a magical girl is when she straight up ascends. Homura's inability to destory the magical girl system (kyubey....), means that she is unable to save Madoka. Nana too, when placed in Homura's situation, of trying to save loved ones from death and soul stealing in the loops, would try and fail. (Note: I am assuming that Nana also time stop/loop powers due to the similarities between early Homura and Nana, will explain more later down.)

Why? Because their storylines and characteristics have them working and winning within the system. To give some examples, this trait is why Maya and Claudine would never have won against Nana in her loops. All three excel within the system, but Nana is simply better with the system/stage then they are, and can consistently beat them. In contrast, it is Karen's nature to break the system, gate crashing the revues on Day 1, and she is the one who is able to put an end to Nana's loops. Nana is never going able to beat the system. Both she and Homura are able to manipulate more finely than most others, but neither were able to truly break it even if they tried (and Homura really tried). In the pmmm world, their story would be a tragedy because of who they are. Therefore, if looping were a constant failure instead of a constant success for Nana, we would eventually get a Devil Nana. (system vs system break characters still not making sense? sorry. good luck. words says this is it rip)

Now why would Nana get the same powers as Homura? Well, the granted powers seem to correlate to both the wish and who the girl is. Given that Nana literally also wishes to go back when faced with losing her friends (albeit in a less permanent way), I think it is safe to assume the wish would be the same. For characteristics, both Homura and Nana were lonely, unhappy kids. Upon getting a taste of friendship & the type of happiness that comes with it, they both latched on immediately, and would do anything to get it back/keep it. At their core, they are quite similar.

What they do primarily differ in is not their whys, but their hows. Homura acts as primarily as a lone wolf, relying on herself and her tools, and deals with the loneliness of the loops by keeping everyone but Madoka at arm's length. In contrast, Nana responds to loneliness by becoming as warm and friendly as possible in order to create more connections. Timelooping naturally causes emotional disconnect between those looping and those not. An yet, while Homura is forced to resort to becoming cold, Nana manages to consistently keep up the warm impression even while slowing losing some of her empathy (see scene where Nana barely pays attention to a classmate hitting their head bc of loops she knows they will be fine, not a great sign). That level of acting and emotional influence/manipulation? It's terrifying. No wonder she wiped the floor with everyone even in the original timeline. Homura faces major hurdles convincing the others to trust and believe in her. Nana would not. Or at least, not to the same degree.

Still, while their journeys would look different, their outcomes would likely be the same. Devil Nana anyone?

If Nana ended up being similar to Homura at their core and in likely canon trajectories while differing in methods, Hikari is the opposite. With Nana, enough of their backgrounds were similar that if placed in pmmm, she would not become a significantly different person. Hikari would.

While Hikari has many physical and behavioral similarities to Homura, they are at their core, fundamentally different people. Hikari and Homura share long straight black hair, names that start with H, the role of the mysterious transfer student, lone wolf tendencies, the desire to kidnap their loved ones, an aloof demeanor, a heavy promise, and having their soul stolen. However, many of these similarities are surface level or in their methods. They share the how, but RS Hikari and Homura have different whys and core struggles.

RS Hikari was not depicted as lonely child. She was quite outgoing, confident, had friends, and continued to have friends. Her promise, her why, was a shared long term goal. Homura and Nana's focus is on the past and present, while Hikari's lies in the future. When placed into pmmm, some aspects of Hikari would change, but not enough to be a copy of Homura, aka Hikari would definitely not be getting time travel powers.

Homura's heart disease would probably limit Hikari's ability to act, cutting her off from an activity that probably improved her confidence, social skills, and opportunities to make friends. To what extent is unclear, but given how Hikari was a lead in a play so young, it is likely she had a significant amount of confidence beforehand. Another change in circumstance would be the family support system or lack of. For Homura...yeah who knows but they're definitely not there. Hikari's is also a little unclear but we know they exist and played in active role in childhood at least. And someone had to be bankrolling all those prestigious schools she keeps switching between. My guess would be that PMMM Hikari would not be as shy as early Homura, more confident than Homura but less than RS Hikari, and maybe a little more cold than RS Hikari. She probably wasn't as desperate for friends as early Homura was. The conditions that made Hikari similar to Homura are no longer present, and so their non surface level similarities decrease when placed in similar conditions.

Homura made the wish that granted her time travel pre-Madoka promise. So if Hikari is different enough from Homura, both in wish and character, it is likely that she would not get time travel powers. Without the time travel powers, the promise would likely not be made. However, Hikari would likely still make a wish as the kyubey is a wiley fcking bastard. Assuming that her love for the stage remains, but PMMM lacks the physical means to explore it, her wish would likely be stage related. (If she was interested that young, discovery of her love for the stage is more a matter of time then accidental).

So magical girls Hikari and Madoka who trust the kyubey. Ah. Hm. On one hand Hikari gets to avoid time loop suffering and going insane. On the other hand, its pretty likely Hikari either dies or becomes a witch eventually so there's still suffering and insanity on the table. Oops. Sorry Hikari, this is not how I would thought you would end up.

Yeah this got much longer than I thought it would. If you've made it to the end congrats and thanks for reading!!

[cosmicjoke]

After the war, do you think Levi's leg will recover after years and will be able to walk normally in time? Obviously I have this Hc. Or is his leg permanently damaged? How is the mood after the war? I want him to achieve happiness and have a purpose. I wish Isayama had a chance to show how Levi was after the war.

Hi there,

Well, it's hard to say. Most people seem to think Levi isn't permanently wheelchair bound, but that he only needs to use it for moving longer distances. Since it was his knee that really got mangled, I would imagine he's always going to have difficulty for the rest of his life, probably at least needing a cane to walk. But even if Levi is permanently disabled, that doesn't mean he can't have a good and happy life. The thing for Levi is, after the war, he may finally be able to start living for himself. His whole life's been spent living and fighting for others. For other people's lives and for other people's dreams. So, at last, in a world without titans, and without a war between the Eldians and the rest of the world, he can just be free to do what he wants, whatever that may entail. I imagine it's probably a bit of a journey of discovery for Levi, to figure out what that even is. Because, again, he's lived his whole life for others. Maybe he gets to open that tea shop he once spoke about in one of those interviews, haha. I don't think Levi needs to have any greater purpose beyond just living a peaceful life, which is, after all, what all his comrades fought and died for. Levi getting to live that life is sort of like him continuing to carry the legacy of his comrades, in a way. He's fulfilling their dreams still, by continuing on.

I also imagine that, immediately following the war, things were probably still pretty bleak. It would take years, even decades, to fully recover from the damage Eren caused. But we see Levi living in, or at least traveling in an in tact city just three years later, and so I imagine he's located somewhere that was relatively untouched by the Rumbling and he's doing okay. He's got Gabi, Falco and Onyankapon with him, so he isn't alone, like some fans try to claim. Those are always the fans that say they wish Levi had died so he could be with his dead comrades, which is always so bizarre to me. You would think they would want Levi to have a chance to live a normal, peaceful life, after all the suffering and sadness and grief he's been through.

Isayama did say in an interview recently, when asked if he had any more story for AoT to tell, that he actually has a story idea for Levi specifically, so maybe we'll actually get to see that someday! One can only hope!

[ivycorp]

Riot's TFP AU: Megatron as a patient, or how Soundwave tries to not go insane with his leader's unfortunate addiction to a certain Prime

From the moment Megatron left his quarters knowing that Soundwave was really cross with him, he knew there would be more consequences than just the communication blackout. Walking to the bridge he was barred from entering by the TIC, who simply pointed him in the direction of the medbay.

There were battles to be picked in one's life - and usually the warlord picked them all - but this time the guilt from disappointing his most loyal friend (beyond acceptable parameters) could not be stopped. It flooded his circuitry, making him flinch away and nod; he turned away from the door and followed the path to Knock Out's domain. Soundwave followed him like a shadow, most likely to ensure he reached the medic and stayed there for whatever reason he deemed necessary.

Megatron doubted he would like the outcome, but he knew that the blue mech was not actually plotting his demise - if Soundwave wanted him dead, he would already be melted down for the Cause before he stepped out of his room.

He wouldn't even blame him - TIC did not wish to lead, so it would not even be a selfish decision to climb rank. If Megatron ever became unsalvageable, Soundwave would put him down, simple as that. But before that ever happened, he would exhaust all the other options first.

Which, apparently, included getting the warlord examined. 

Knock Out turned towards the opening door, unsurprised to see their leader sulk inside, nor to see the company. He gestured towards the berth the warlord was repaired on just a day prior.

"Hop on, my Lord, I have been informed you require a full physical," the medic began, as he took a relevant datapad in his servo to take notes on.

Megatron shot a look at his TIC, and upon seeing a small motion of the helm indicating the direction of the berth, he crossed over and laid down his tired frame. When he felt a gentle tap and heard a firm but polite 'please open the mediport for me, sir', he allowed a rarely used panel to reveal the port entrance, feeling oddly vulnerable. He didn't have to worry about Knock Out doing anything dangerous in Soundwave's presence, but the multitudes of professionals had taken a look at him and either gave up at once, or did the same just after a short while - when they realized how uncooperative of a patient he was.

The silver mech didn't really mean to be so difficult - but nearly every piece of medication tasted so bad to him that he would end up throwing it up or away instead of taking it. His body was in a permanent state of screaming, and his coding had not been updated in eons. Because of this, there was a limited patience to explain to yet another doctor that:

Yes, he couldn't recharge regularly;

Yes, he was very sensitive to the bright lights, and it made his helm feel like it was splitting apart at times; 

Yes, he was aware his optics were no longer working as before.

No, he was having enough exercise;

No, he was not trying to off-line himself from lack of maintenance;

No, he would most certainly not discuss his self service schedule.

Meds, injections, operations - and, of course, therapy. The standard result. 

This only meant he would be purging his tanks for a month trying to follow any instruction and fail from the distasteful residue from the medicine - all of this causing him to lose hope of the diagnosis being correct. He would feel let down at the lack of effect, get angry, and the cycle continued. There were periodic attempts to get this addressed - until he finally went out to get Dark Energon and was under nobody's care for a couple of years.

Not that he needed somebody to take care of-

An image of smiling Optimus crossed his mind, and he scratched out that last thought.

Knock Out used his distraction to plug into the exposed port, completing handshakes with his old programming and starting the check-up procedure. He raised the datapad, frowned at it, and took a look at the warlord.

"My Lord, when was your last full frame medical check-up?" Knock Out inquired, tapping the empty log on the patient file.

Megatron muttered something quietly. 

"I didn't catch that, sir, you need to speak up, please," he asked again, a bit less patiently.

"I think it was before we left Cybertron," the mech answered without looking at the medic. He knew what to expect by then - a huff of anger, an exasperated sigh, or a combination of both.

Instead, Knock Out grew silent. 

The red bot turned towards Soundwave, clearing his intake to catch his attention. TIC flashed a questioning glyph on his visor, as the medic asked:

"Is there any upcoming operation that requires Lord Megatron's presence or particular skill set?" 

The blue mech paused, visor flashing with a flurry of images as he cycled through the upcoming plans and schedules. When the screen blanked once again, Soundwave shook his helm negative.

"Lord Megatron: not critical to operations before next rota generation," he added in a short burst of combined recordings. Knock Out nodded thoughtfully, still connected to the silver mech, and reached out to another datapad, filling it up and passing it to the TIC.

"That would be probably enough, if we don't take too many breaks," the mech said matter-of-factly, as the blue mech read up the contents of the form - before adding his own signature. 

"Splendid, that's taken care of," the red mech smiled, and added as an afterthought prompted by the newfound professional concern:

"Some of the tests will take a while, so I believe we could turn this into an opportunity to check up on the entire staff," Knock Out observed the TIC for a moment, and after receiving a tired nod, waved the mech politely away.

"Fantastic, I will send over the list for the worst offenders and for the necessary shopping - or specialists to start looking for," he added, as he already was opening up a call to his conjunx to get cracking on the personnel's files.

Megatron was slightly confused at the odd exchange, but when the form was passed back to the medic, pieces fell together. 

The rota is generated every six Earth's weeks. He could vaguely recall seeing the update warning a few days prior. The fact that the TIC signed anything the medic gave him, meant he was officially approving something.

They benched him.

As Soundwave turned to leave, Megatron blurted out a short chirp of distress, but remained in place when the visor turned to look at him one last time. 

If it had been anger, he would have understood, possibly tried to overwrite the signature with his own - but he knew his loyal friend for a long time, and this was not that. 

No, Soundwave was trying to hold onto hope. That Megatron could still be 'fixed'. The door slid shut, and the warlord felt hollow as his CPU supplied him with a number estimate of that happening. 

It was depressingly low.

"Well, My Lord, your file is currently very patchy, I will need to check everything," the medic's voice drew his attention back, as he stared at the smaller mech blankly. He tilted his helm curiously, but his silence was taken as a permission to speak more. Knock Out started explaining the details, the plan of a lengthy cycle of checks and possible treatments, when Megatron raised his servo to cut him off.

"Why do you bother telling me this?"

The implied 'it's not like I can disagree and leave' hung in the air. 

The red Con looked at him with a mix of worry and hesitation; putting the data pad he was holding on the side table, he decided to respond:

"Because you are not a subject to be studied, sir; you deserve to know what am I going to ask you about and why, especially since I would rather we worked together instead of me having to fight you on providing you medical care," said the medic, looking Megatron straight in the optics. Normally, it would make the bigger mech tense up, sensing competition - this time, he felt it was more of a look of careful wish for cordiality. 

He sometimes forgot that Knock Out was an actual medic that could do his job well. And apparently, for some inexplicable reason, decided to employ his skill fully in his case.

Megatron nodded his helm, and tried to focus on what his old-new doctor was saying. It seems he would be in for a long haul. 

*****

The check-up took a long time. As the warlord and medic were cooperating to help get a complete picture of what was out of the acceptable norm, Knock Out cursed not being able to discuss this with another professional - he was sure even Ratchet would not scoff at the multitude of issues he kept on adding to the file.

Lord Megatron was a medical disaster. 

The silver mech had been riddled with pain that became such a norm that only the strongest pain relief would have made any difference. He did admit that the Dark Energon provided a dampening effect, and the medic immediately pushed the internal fluid check to highest priority. 

Contamination from the use of the mysterious substance was spread out across the frame, lingering despite lack of external exposure at surprisingly active levels. Knock Out noted with alarm that the normal Energon digested was being tainted, most likely keeping the warlord sedated without his knowledge. 

To remove the influence of the Unmaker would be to remove the only relief - and Megatron was still in a lot of pain despite its presence. 

The red bot called for Soundwave's support when he had to share this particular piece of diagnosis, afraid of a possible lapse in the arrangement he managed to turn this situation into - worried it would cause the warlord to lash out. In an unlikely turn of events, Megatron's face blanked out, before he tersely agreed to get the flushing procedure started.

When he woke up afterwards, he stared at the ceiling of the medbay for a long time and turned to Knock Out:

"I severely underestimated just how much the Dark Energon numbed the pain," he said, gritting his denta, and the medic took the hint, excusing himself for a moment.

The low wail of pain could be heard through the walls. When it stopped, the red Con let a couple of short, measured in-vents out, before he got back. The silver mech was back to his stoic expression, but the curled servos indicated he was still struggling to get back to living with the actual amount of pain he knew he managed to suffer in silence before.

The return to the prior state of things was way harder than he expected.

Knock Out did not hold any viable alternative that could have rivaled or surpassed the effects of the substance they just purged from Megatron, but he was going to try to get one - or possibly get some of his patient's aches away. 

One of the easier identifiable issues came to when the red bot examined the warlord's optics. When the silver mech flinched away at the passing light, Knock Out nearly dropped his tool - he knew there were going to be problems connected with them, the medic himself left some notes with a string suggestion for corrective action, but it never went beyond a temporary measure in form of shaded corrective visor.

Mostly because Megatron kept on 'forgetting' to wear it. 

This time around, however, the access to mediport allowed the smaller mech to see the intense flare of pain, suggesting a helmache forming. He hummed before reaching out and deactivating the light, and ordering the other lights to dim. 

The ache receded, systems noting lower strain.

"My Liege, I know we talked about this, but you really should be wearing the shaded visor we prepared for you," Knock Out mentioned, putting the tool away on a prepared tray table. Megatron grumbled a bit, but the medic had grown to know by then that it did not mean he reached the end of his tether, but that the mech was reluctantly listening. 

The warlord not doing some sort of token protest usually meant he tuned the conversation out. Knock Out learned to sense those moments, usually waiting for the mech to get out of this particular tactic from sheer boredom.

"Do you still have the old one we made you?" asked the doctor, and seeing the shake of the silver helm, sighed. 

Another thing to make. 

"I will get one more done for you, sir, but if you don't use it, I'll have to wield the next onto your frame - your optics are set for much darker surroundings and no matter how many times I fix it, it shifts to pre-sets every time, causing you helmaches," he promised, putting a note down on the file. The medic could see Megatron was observing him, trying to gauge the seriousness of the threat; and at that point, Knock Out was very serious.

His momentary suggestion to check out the entire ship had ended up with way more work on his servos than he expected - worse yet, the mechs he was treating needed help beyond his skill. 

Soundwave was updating him daily on the procurement and negotiations, but the millennia of war effort meant there were not many who would be willing to provide help to Decepticons - unless, of course, they paid a hefty fee.

Starscream was handling the budgeting, and seeing this supplied his recommendation: they needed to call Swindle. He would be most likely to get the results despite the cut he would be taking, so they allowed the mech to search the markets for their targets. 

The shopping list grew every day. 

Swindle was ecstatic.

Knock Out additional concern was the odd disposition of their supreme commander - namely, the distaste for one of the most common additives there existed. It was nearly in all of the medications as a stabilizer, and it was very rare to have any perception of it in the Cybertronian population.

Obviously, Megatron had an extreme case of it.

At first, when the medic realized his patient was very reluctant to take the meds, he tried hiding it in refueling rations.

It was also the last attempt of this solution pathway.

Megatron was able to feel the slightest presence of it in whichever substance he consumed, making it impossible to hide. Knock Out had to go apologize to the SIC who got accused of trying to poison the warlord that day.

For some reason, however, when the medic found colored glass in a similar pattern as the meds, the warlord ended up loving them - crunching on the marbles happily. Bribing the mech into taking more medicine became slightly easier with the promise of getting more of these in return.

Luckily, this time around the oddities of the Decepticon commander's frame came in handy - the glass didn't cause any issues, instead processing them easily. Knock Out checked a few times for possible residue buildup which occurred in some mechs with foreign substances, and noted with relief no adverse effects. For all he cared, Megatron could eat as many as he wanted, if it meant he would take the medicine. 

Especially that they were still battling his insomnia… 

The silver mech's recharge logs were all over the place - with no rhyme or reason, and an alarmingly low average time of rest. 

There were, of course, exceptions - but the analysis of those, run in tandem with the known occurrences of loud music being played in particular quarters made it clear why that would be. 

Knock Out cringed inwardly; since they were trying to solve this problem too, that was not the answer they could utilize. 

*****

Solar cycles passed, and the life on Nemesis carried on. 

With the warlord confined to a rigid schedule and the SIC at the helm, everyone seemed to lose some of the tension that came with Megatron's return from space.

Dark Energon was now fully isolated in Shockwave's lab, behind three different access codes held between Starscream, Soundwave, and Knock Out - their commander was banned from approaching the substance under threat of getting Tarn as a round-the-clock minder. As the DJD's leader volunteered readily to do it, the warlord kept far away from the lab.

The peaceful time was met with enthusiasm: the Vehicons were thrilled to have time to indulge in their hobbies and getting slagged less, thus the sense of community grew. The trinkets that got collected from around the Earth started showing up in shared spaces, colors and soft lights getting incorporated into spartan decor of the Nemesis. The dimness remained, as per Knock Out's insistence, but the variety of the glittering points strewn across the halls provided enough coverage in a pleasant manner that even the officers found appealing.

As the majority of the crew had been either dragged or came in willingly for a check-up at the medbay, the morale improved; who knew that showing concern for the troops would make them feel better?

The communication blackout was still in effect, but there were exceptions added to the list, allowing the troops to be contacted on operations outside of the ship; the ongoing income streams have been re-opened too, due to the increased spending estimates.

The Nemesis has changed - but none of its inhabitants could say anything negative about it.

*****

After the first three weeks, both Soundwave and Knock Out were satisfied with Megatron's progress - to the point they found it fitting to provide positive reinforcement. 

Namely, returning the access to his private room for recharging.

Releasing the warlord from the all-cycle supervision was done on a condition that he would still show up at scheduled times so the medication could be monitored, but the privacy of own berth and trinkets was to help facilitate a gradual adjustment back to the normal daily routine. They couldn't shut him in medbay forever. 

Though it seemed Soundwave wouldn’t mind this idea, if it kept him away from Optimus.

For a while, it worked as intended - Megatron followed up on their agreement, coming on his own volition to see Knock Out before he would be escorted by Soundwave to the office, where he would be finishing up on the reports back-log. He was not yet allowed back on the bridge, but there was not so much happening with the operations schedule keeping things on the down low for at least another couple of weeks. Starscream had a good hold of matters, so he couldn’t even have an excuse to be more involved - it was annoying, but as the medication went on, he appreciated having time to deal with the most irritating of side-effects at his own pace, without multiple witnesses.

Coming back to his own quarters was odd, at first - he didn’t miss the sounds of resident medical staff getting it on, but that was mostly because he couldn’t reach the same level of completion in his own self-servicing due to his odd arrangement with Optimus; not to mention that he couldn't deny the couple their happiness when one of them was his direct physician which could (and would) leave Nemesis at the mere suggestion of this sort.

He got used to the red mech, and would rather avoid having to lose the one medic they have around - or at least the only one they had that did not look at every patient as a science experiment.

As he closed the door and started getting on the berth to rest, he sighed, feeling the buzz under his plating come to the forefront of his mind yet again. In the medbay, it was easier to avoid the temptation, but in the privacy of his room, it came back in full force. The warlord was trying to wait the desire out, already sensing that he was fighting a losing battle. He could not allow himself to overload, his mind reminded, indulging into it would only drive the frustration higher.

Megatron managed to wait it out for the entire three days.

As his systems reported increasing signs of struggle, on the fourth day he found himself stepping over the threshold and going automatically to the interior sound controls.

He didn't think consciously about what he was doing - his servos moved in a well-known pattern, familiar music filling the space, as he turned to resign himself to losing himself for a bit in another fantasy. 

A small explosion rocked the ship, stopping him from arranging himself in a preferred position on his knees. Momentarily distracted, he went to check it out, his combat systems greedily hoping for something to punch. When it turned out to be nothing major, he took off back to the room, where he was stopped by Soundwave standing by the door.

The music was still playing, only fractionally muted by the walls.

Megatron's plating tightened defensively, but when the TIC pointed him away with an air of disappointment, the silver mech sagged and obediently dragged himself to the medbay.

*****

The Decepticon leader had known payment for his relapse was due - the reinstated ban of his quarters was proof of that, but even he couldn't expect what his friend would choose as a revenge tactic.

When he heard the news of Autobots showing up to Starscream's operation, he was understandably curious, but as the fighting occurred during his scheduled medbay visit, he didn't pay it much thought.

Until the message arrived later on with two attachments. No words. Just the files.

But they came from Soundwave.

Megatron braced himself, and opened the first one.

The recording opened to his quarters, quickly led towards the storage compartment. The silver mech was mortified when a slim servo reached inside the closet and pulled the box with interfacing toys out. There was no looking around - Soundwave knew where it was and came for it directly. 

As he watched the path of the TIC lead to the incinerator in Shockwave's lab, he started to panic. 

The warlord was in denial the entire time, until he saw the box get tossed inside, opened slightly to allow the heat to reach the interior. The blue digits turned the settings lower - the container would not incinerate completely, but it would be greatly damaged nonetheless.

As the fire raged, Megatron's spark filled with anguish so visceral, he let out a noiseless cry the entire time the box burned. When its charred remains were moved into another container, his throat hurt despite him not uttering even a whimper. 

The recording ended.

He didn't want to see the other one, but he knew that if he didn't see it, Soundwave would force him to watch it the next day in the office. He resigned himself to being mortified beyond what he already felt.

Megatron was not disappointed in that regard.

It must have been the fight earlier this cycle, as they didn't get to face the Autobots in the meantime; he could see that the TIC emerged from the ground bridge carrying the same box he saw on the previous file. 

The warlord was initially alarmed that the blue mech would just give it to the Prime, but instead a fight broke out, the box forgotten.

Seeing Optimus struggling against his top lieutenants was difficult, but he could not stop feeling proud of his crew - he knew they were capable, and seeing it was always fantastic to witness. As much as he didn't want the Prime dead, he couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of Starscream and Soundwave partnering up. 

At least if they off-lined him in the end, he knew that they could take on anything. 

He was surprised to notice the newcomers to the field, recognising the frames easily from memory - nearly forgetting what this all was about.

When a sharp order to retreat came, he noticed Soundwave pointed towards something, prompting Starscream's goading towards the Prime, who was barely holding himself from overheating from exhaustion.

The box. 

The TIC stepped through the portal, but he looked back towards Optimus one more time.

Megatron knew he saw it too.

The wide blue optics filled with dread.

Optimus suspected what was inside - and if the warlord knew his lover as well as he hoped, he would have confirmed his guess. 

Prime knew their collection was gone.

The silver mech curled in on himself, his spark pulsing with sadness and humiliation.

*****

Megatron was devastated - and it showed.

The progress made with Knock Out, the changes to Nemesis, the general improvement of morale, even increasing the rate of victories - all of this didn't matter.

Their box was destroyed. There was no fixing it. 

And Optimus knew about it. They gave it to him, after all. Like a cursed gift.

The warlord felt unmoored - carried only by the routine he had complied with so far, missing at least a solar or two from his memory. He was mostly staring into nothingness, barely acknowledging anyone. 

At least Soundwave did not act like he didn't know why he behaved like this. The TIC was waiting him out, as the silver mech would not even speak to his friend, communicating in nods instead. Megatron still followed the schedule they set up for him, but the balance has shifted - the repetitiveness of his days was grating, instead of grounding. 

He felt trapped inside his frame.

Lying down on the slab in the medbay, he idly noted Knock Out's presence - he opened the medical port without prompting, and the red bot plugged in while maintaining a bit more distance than before. 

The warlord couldn't explain why it bothered him, so he kept his mouth shut; with the other monitoring his systems, it was hard to avoid confrontation.

"There was an odd spike across your multiple processes right now, my Lord - would you be able to tell me why that happened?" Knock Out asked tentatively, more carefully than he used to. Megatron didn't think he actually needed to provide an answer, but something in the medic's posture prompted him to say:

"You are acting differently."

The red mech startled at the reply, expecting another session of complete silence. He weighed his options, and sighed.

"Lord Megatron, your recent behavior led me to believe you wish to be left alone - as your physician I am unable to comply with this preference, but I will not force my presence on you more than necessary," Knock Out explained, tapping idly on the pad in hand. 

"I do wish to be left alone, but this has nothing to do with you, doctor," Megatron's words sounded perplexed, but honest. The title had been slipping into their conversations before, so the medic was pleasantly surprised it was not rescinded.

"I will take that as a vote of confidence in my skills then," Knock Out smiled, letting himself slide back into a more relaxed stance, as he pulled closer the tray with assorted meds for his patient. The frown on the warlord's faceplates did not go unnoticed, but there was little to be done there.

He needed to get the alternative medications soon, the rate at which they were going through the marbles collection was concerning.

Megatron took every pill into his servo and as fast as possible swallowed them in one go - the taste was dreadful and the quicker it went down, the less suffering would be there to experience afterwards. The worst was when something got stuck and he could not flush it down - he would rather claw his throat out at times like that then let it stay there to dissolve on its own.

The silver mech started to power down, knowing he should try to allow the new concoction from the Pit to do its job. Knock Out let out a quiet sound of relief, as the evening routine went by the easy way this time around. He bid his commander a quiet farewell and locked the door to the medbay behind.

*****

Megatron didn't realize when recharge claimed him, but an undefined time after he laid down, he found himself being shaken awake by a pair of familiar servos. 

He scoffed, unwilling to wake up, because he must still be asleep.

There was no way it was actually Optimus - he wouldn't do something as stupid as come onto Nemesis, so he must be dreaming.

The touch became more insistent, so he lazily on-lined his optics.

Red and blue filled his vision.

"Hello, love - you're finally awake, I was worried I wouldn't have a chance to talk to you," said Optimus with a smile, as he stood right by Megatron's shoulder like this situation was completely normal for them.

"What are you doing here?" Megatron hissed out, starting to get up, when a servo on his chest pushed him down. 

"No, don't get up - I need to leave soon, it took me a while to get around the lock and I'm expecting alarm to be raised pretty soon," rushed the Prime, patting the silver plating pacifyingly, placing a kiss onto the other's helm. 

Right as the warlord was about to say something, the shrill sound of intruder alert sounded out throughout the ship.

The Autobot cursed, as he fumbled around some item in his servo, before he pushed it into Megatron's hold. 

"Here, I got you something - I had some time and well… couldn't stop thinking about you, and suspected I was not the only one like that," Optimus chuckled right over his audial, so he could be heard over the sharp sounds filling the medbay. 

Megatron, who could not comprehend this surreal situation while still fighting off the effects of interrupted recharge, just nodded and curled his digits around the gift. He was rewarded with another kiss, and a thrilling purr of "thank you, darling," as Optimus stepped away, watching the door to the medbay.

The warlord sat numb, observing as lights of a ground bridge flickered in the dim room, and loud shouts were heard through the walls in the corridor. 

Prime lunged into the barely formed portal right as at least ten Vehicons, Breakdown and Starscream burst into the medbay, nearly falling over Knock Out's short frame as he keyed the entrance open. The shots they sent towards the source of light never reached the mech going through it, instead leaving scorch marks on the walls. 

"Lord Megatron, have you been injured?" Starscream inquired after it became obvious they came too late. The silver bot shook his helm negative, as he kept his field tucked in tightly. 

"Move the ship and check how he had been able to pinpoint our location," he ordered, shifting focus away from himself towards the security of the Nemesis. The seeker shot a suspicious look towards his leader, but nothing seemed out of order - and the concern raised by the mech was valid. They needed to understand how the Prime was able to get onto the ship and so far inside before the alert went out. 

They couldn't let it happen again.

Decepticon SIC nodded, offering an acknowledgement of the order back to the warlord, and waved everyone out. The seeker had to find and talk to Soundwave - the TIC would be most likely the only one who would be able to trace Optimus's path, and who could counter it.

Megatron watched them all go away, and when the doors closed with a soft whoosh, his field unwound itself, spreading around the space like an explosion.

He was filled with so many contrasting emotions, there was no way he would be able to recharge again.

Curling his digits around the small item in his servo, he pondered:

Perhaps he could spend the time on something more… pleasurable.

******************************

Another ficlet inspired by @transingthoseformers's TFP AU, a direct follow-up to this and running parallel to this - and fleshed out by these posts about Nemesis time wth Megs as a patient.