#ofc his self blame is a distortion

[kizunarae]

Also, thinking ahead to F&F and how the Fool constantly berates himself for "using" Fitz by snatching him back from death. I'm a little surprised on my reread how very little the Fool had to do with preventing the dungeon death for Fitz. It seems like it would have been a very likely death too.

[littlemisspascal]

Rockford & Roan Pt. 4

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count:2.8k

Summary:  “Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…

Rating: T 

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, references of dead bodies + suicide, police, HTTYD reference, scars

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you so so much for all the kind support 💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Case

You take possession of one of Rockford’s spare notebooks, yellow and spiral bound, scribbling down details about the case he’s been asked by the police to help investigate.

7 suicides over the past 8 months 

Unsure why the brief lapse during the third month

Perhaps to throw police off potential trail?

Victims are all different ages, backgrounds, careers

Also found dead in different locations across Fox Leap—alleyways, parking lots, isolated spots

No witnesses

No suicide notes left behind 

Single commonality: all died by ingesting a cyanide pill

Suspects? None

Police aren’t convinced deaths are connected 

Rockford is certain they are

I don’t know what to think

The Invitation

Friday evening finds you job hunting across the internet from the comfort of the couch. It’s another one of the steps of Dr. Odair’s grand therapy plan to reintegrate you into society. Of course, what she failed to mention was that the potential career opportunities for ex-military empaths are few and far between. You lean back against the cushion, resisting the urge to grab your mug of tea and pour it onto your laptop. It’s not the computer’s fault there’s a prejudice against those with mind-gifts after all. 

The squeaks of Banjo’s stuffed toy pull your attention towards the dog rolling around on the floor, his beloved plush panda Bamboo held between his paws, teeth gnawing at its leg. Rockford lies stretched out on the white rug nearby, eyes closed, the picture perfect example of tranquility. He isn’t sleeping—you can tell by the tapping of his fingers against his stomach, a song only he knows—but it’s nice to pretend. For all that you’ve pestered him with questions about his job and for all that Rockford has patiently answered each one without even the tiniest thrum of irritation, his bizarre, seemingly nonexistent sleeping schedule is a topic you’ve yet to broach with him. 

Brown eyes snap open, startling you so badly it’s a miracle your laptop isn’t sent crashing to the floor. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Rockford’s on his feet and stalking off down the hallway in a blur. You blink, caught off guard, and exchange a look with an equally bewildered Banjo. Should you follow after him or…?

A knock on the front door makes the decision for you.

The prospect of a guest sends Banjo into a tizzy, ditching Bamboo without remorse, tail wagging so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t fly off. You can’t exactly blame him. Other than a quick visit from the landlady to give you your own set of keys and introduce herself— Professor Rosasharn Claremont, an instructor of forensic sciences at the local university with prehensile hair she used to slap the back of Rockford’s head for not visiting her enough—nobody’s knocked on the door as long as you’ve lived here.

You’re not sure who’s brain function shorts out first when you open the door: yours or the unknown man wearing a police badge on his belt. He’s middle-aged, dirty blond hair, a scar twisting along in a distorted line from the left side of his mouth to his ear. A hideous mark, but at the same time intriguing in its uniqueness. You can’t help but think how if it was copied onto the right side, it’d almost look like some kind of villainous grin.

Banjo’s attempt of squeezing between your leg and the doorway to get a good sniff of the man is enough to jumpstart you back into motion. Nudging him away with your socked foot, you tell him to return to his bed, punctuating the command with a firm point of your finger. Only once he sullenly pads away, ears drooped as if you’ve just gutted Bamboo right in front of him with a butcher knife, do you turn back to face the policeman, who appears to have also gotten over his initial surprise.

“Can I help you, officer?”

“Inspector,” he corrects with an accent you can’t quite place, almost like a rumbling sort of growl, but despite the harsh sound his tone is polite as he introduces himself. “Inspector Dorrance with the Fox Leap Police Department. I’m here for Tim Rockford.”

His emotions are almost unnaturally steady, like he’s got the internal parts of a clock ticking away rather than temperamental hormones. You figure he must’ve gone through some sort of training course for mood management. Smart. A lawman with a high pressure job, anger issues, and a loaded gun is a disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh, is this about the case?” you ask with far more perkiness in your voice than you intend. 

“He told you about that, did he,” Inspector Dorrance says in the exact same instant that Rockford calls out from the depths of the apartment, “Get to the point why you’re here, Kez.”

Kez? You mouth to yourself before opening the door wider, inviting the inspector to step inside. He isn’t subtle as he looks around, gaze lingering noticeably on the few personal items of yours spread throughout the room, before he turns towards the hall.

“Another body’s been found. Abandoned warehouse near the wharf.”

“And?” Rockford asks, still out of view. 

Dorrance side-eyes you, clearly debating with himself the legalities of discussing an open case with a civilian present. A civilian he clearly knew nothing about as of two minutes ago. You offer up only silence in response, too curious for your own good to leave without him directly asking.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Your roommate emerges from his office, his trench coat gripped in one hand and mouth fixed in an unimpressed frown. He gestures between you and the inspector. “Kez, my current roommate and match, Roan. Roan, my ex-roommate and one of the only competent members of law enforcement in the city, Keziah. Can we get back to the victim now?”

Your eyes widen. Ex-roommate? How long have they known each other? There’s definitely a story there. 

“I’m sorry,” Dorrance begins, “did you just say she’s your match? When the hell were you going to tell me this happened?”

“Apparently not,” Rockford mutters. “I was going to tell you when it came up. And it just did.”

“You—” Dorrance cuts himself off with a sharp exhale through his nose.

It really is a credit to Dorrance’s mood management training his emotions don’t even so much as dip or catch fire. Instead, he shoots Rockford a look that plainly says, We’re going to be talking about this later, and then turns to face you once more.

“I wish we were meeting on better circumstances. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you since you’re his match that underneath this—” he gestures vaguely at Rockford which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You just gestured to all of me.”

Dorrance carries on, unbothered, “—is a giant question mark nobody will ever find the answer to. But if I were to bet on anyone coming close, I’d put my money on you.”

“Thank you, I think,” you say, daring a quick glance at Rockford’s face, which you’re pleased to notice has softened the tiniest bit. “You’ll be the first one I tell if I do.”

For whatever reason, your answer has the inspector immediately smirking, left side of his face stretched tight due to the scar tissue.

“Kez, in addition to being a recurring pain in my side,” Rockford explains, sensing your confusion, “is also a lie detector. Any hint of dishonesty and his gift’ll catch it. Makes him handy in the interrogation room.”

Gifts can be interesting like that sometimes, lining up perfectly with a specific job. A singer with the ability to alter their voice to any pitch, a fireman with an immunity to burns, a veterinarian who can speak to animals–you’ve seen them all. Human lie detector is a new one though, you’ll admit.

Dorrance shoves a hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone vibrating with an incoming text. He scans the message, smirk wiped off his face and replaced with grimness. 

“Right, back to the reason I came over,” he says briskly, tucking his cell away again. “You know how the victims never leave notes?”

“Yes.” Rockford’s listening attentively, eyes narrowed. “What of it?”

“This one did.”

Rockford’s expression doesn’t change, not even a twitch of his brow. His mind though, oh his mind’s the calm before the storm. Something’s beginning to stir awake underneath the surface. Tempted by the reveal, hungry for more details to dig its teeth into. 

For weeks you’ve wondered about the depths unknown to your empathy, about what lurks there. You’ve got a distinct, icy certainty crawling up your spine you’re soon to discover another side of your match previously unseen. 

“Will you come to the scene?” Dorrance asks hopefully.

“Of course. No point sitting at home when there’s an exciting development going on.” Rockford begins slipping his arms through the sleeves of his trench coat, adjusting the collar to his liking. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been down to the wharf.”

“Just try not to piss off anyone, will you? One dead body is enough to deal with as it is.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Rockford says with a wry grin. Then, turning to you, he arches an eyebrow, “Well, Roan, you got any plans this evening?”

You think of your laptop back on the couch, numerous job sites still left to be checked. 

“Uh, no,” you answer, shaking your head. “Not really.”

“Roan was in the military,” your roommate tells the inspector, but his eyes remain held on your face, a speculating glint in them that has you subconsciously straightening up. Almost as if you’re standing at attention. “You saw a lot of violent deaths, didn’t you?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Witnessed several dangerous situations?”

“Worst of the worst. Stuff of pure nightmares.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, becoming heavier. There’s a crime scene needing to be examined, a case to be closed, and yet everything seems to have slowed down all at once. As if the very air itself has frozen solid. And you realize you’re holding your breath, waiting for something.

“Want to see some more?”

An invitation.

Dr. Odair’s been telling you now that you’ve matched and your mind-gift has become more manageable, it’s time to pick up some hobbies. To go out to more places for fun other than just the library and dog park. No doubt she was probably thinking of safe and relaxing options like chess or badminton or pottery classes at the rec center.

The problem though, is that safe and relaxing doesn’t spark a wildfire in your blood, bringing you back to the days where you had a clear purpose to fulfill and problems to deal with head-on. You want another adventure, and here’s one dangling right in front of you, just waiting for you to say—

“Hell yes,” you blurt out, and even without your mind-gift you can tell Rockford’s happy with your choice by the half curl of his mouth and crinkling around his eyes as he asks Dorrance for the address.

The Doubt

Rockford holds the cab door open for you, sliding in after you’ve settled against the plush seat with Banjo secure in your lap. The little mutt’s tail beats a rhythm against your jacket, excited about the trip even if he has no clue the final destination. You’re still not convinced bringing a dog of all creatures to an active crime scene investigation is the wisest move, but let the record show your roommate has a helluva weakness for Banjo’s puppy eyes. 

“Keziah’s team of imbeciles disguised as CSIs are wreaking havoc on the scene as we speak. I highly doubt there’s much more damage Banjo can cause,” Rockford had said with an amused look when you voiced your concern. “Besides, no man left behind. Isn’t that the military creed?”

And well, he wasn’t wrong about that. (Not to mention, you’ve got a pretty big weakness for Banjo’s sweet brown eyes too…)

The drive to the wharf is brief without too much annoying traffic. Outside, the sun’s dipped out of sight and darkness is enveloping the city, street lights blinking on. Inside, it’s quiet except for a country song playing lowly on the radio. The cabbie’s mood is easygoing if not a little bogged down by exhaustion whereas Banjo’s is a bouncy spring of enthusiasm, nose practically pressed against the window as his eyes struggle to keep up with all the sights rolling past. Still, as entertaining as the pup’s emotions are, your mind-gift continues circling back to the man sitting next you like a homing pigeon.

Nothing’s changed within his mindscape during the journey. The calm, almost eerie stillness from before is still in effect. You can tell he’s thinking about something—the man’s never not thinking—but whatever it is clouding his gaze, furrowing his brow, is not disturbing enough to imprint upon your empathy. It’s moments like this one where you wish you were a mind reader, if only for a few seconds. 

“We’re here,” Rockford announces, paying the cabbie his fare.

Scrambling out of the vehicle, you set Banjo down on the ground. While he performs a full-bodied shake, you take in the cluster of police cars and flashing lights and abundance of barricade tape surrounding a warehouse, derelict and foreboding, along the waterfront. The press have also caught wind of the scene, prowling around with their microphones and cameras like vultures. You swallow, subconsciously twisting the leash around your fingers.

You’d wanted an adventure and yet…this is all so very, very different from a battlefield. It’s a whole other form of organized chaos, and it’s terrifying not having the slightest clue how to safely navigate it. 

Your initial fears were misplaced. It won’t be Banjo making a mess. It will be you.

Rockford starts forward, clearly eager to get to work, only to halt after five steps when you fail to follow. He turns around to look you over from head to toe, carefully nudging at your mind-gift as he does so, confusion only deepening when he fails to understand your lack of movement. “Is something the matter?”

You bite your lip, glancing nervously once more between the hive of activity and his steady brown eyes. “I don’t think I belong here.”

Rockford stares at you, the glow of the street light illuminating one side of his face. 

“Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…

Your head’s already shaking aggressively before a response forms. “N-no, absolutely not!” you say hastily, frantic to assure him of the truth. You close the gap of distance, hoping somehow being closer will remedy the spiraling situation, but when that doesn’t smoothen out the wrinkles on his forehead your empathy reacts by hurling a tangled ball of loyalty-friendship-safety-contentment straight at him. The most desperate of Hail Mary plays.

Rockford sucks in a breath. You watch his expression spasm, knocked off-kilter, before it settles into something as exasperated as it is fond. This time, the nudge against your mind-gift is firmer, the only warning you get before the ball you’d thrown returns and smacks you square in the chest. 

“Oh,” is your immediate reaction, breathless from the intensity.

What was it he had said before? You and him are two halves of the same whole.

And then there’s a warm hand on top of your head, gentle, affectionate, and you’re breathless for an entirely different reason. You blink up at Rockford, heart thudding in your chest.

“That’s right. You,” he says slowly, purposefully, “belong anywhere I am. Banjo, too.”

Banjo woofs, baring his teeth in a snaggletoothed grin, and you’d chuckle at that if you had any air left in your lungs. Not for the first time, you cannot help but marvel at your match’s realness. There’s no such thing as perfection, but you think he comes pretty damn close. 

“Now you’ve done it,” you aim for humor, but you can’t shake the wobble from your voice. “You'll never know a moment’s peace again.”

“Ah, peace is overrated,” Rockford declares with an unconcerned shrug, hand returning to the pocket of his trench coat. “So, we’re in agreement then. We’re stuck with each other.”

“Mhmm, no take backsies.”

You needed this moment, this reassurance. The doubts you hadn’t even known you carried have been firmly put to rest, vanquished by the proof he values the soulbond tying your lives together just as much as you do. 

But despite the importance of this conversation you can’t keep ignoring the flashing lights up ahead forever. Your eyes slide past Rockford, spotting Inspector Dorrance in his grey suit amongst the sea of navy uniformed officers gesturing with his arms.

“Ultimately, it’s your choice where you go,” Rockford says, and it’s clear he’s made up his own mind by the way he turns away from you, resuming his walk towards the scene. 

You watch the dramatic flaring of the bottom of his coat with each step, watch the tapping of his fingers against his left thigh, watch as the man tosses one last remark over his shoulder:

“Keep up, Roan. We both know you’re coming with me.”

By the time he reaches the barricade tape, you and Banjo are right by his side. Exactly where you both belong.

[noa-ciharu]

I know it's hard to notice since all angst betrayal and tragedy, but in vol7 Seishirou is actually hella creepy touchy with Subaru. Actually even during bet year, the more his 'facade slipped', the more handsy he was with Subaru even when he was conscious (ahem, hospital scene)

Yes, semi analysis and shitpost about Seishirou's creepy touching and mental gymnastic in vol7. Yes in that angst.

Oke we start with relatively chastite touch - scratch that this is Seishirou we're talking about nothing is ever chastite with him. Predatory "I'm about to fuck you up mentally and emotionally for life" type of touch

Was it necessary to pull Subaru in that close? Ofc. How else would he deliver the news of what bastard he is? Duh

Maybe 6/10 on creepy touchy scale. But we're just getting started with pain and suffering. And creepy touchiness

Very dominating, very disturbing, very possessive, very sensual - give me 5 more of those.

Also how to waste a chance to talk about Seishirou's hand fetish? Actually it's Seishirou's obsessiveness and possessiveness showing because he's so obsessed with Subaru's hands because that's where his marks are. In his mind, Subaru is his prey; is object that belongs to him. Seishirou might deny it all he wants it, but he sees Subaru as 'special' on simple basic that he made the bet in the first place. Noone else is marked by Sakurazukamori's marks nor was spared death for that long. Nor does Seishirou view anyone else as his prey; as his. Messed up and distorted way of being special yes, but from the man that views emotional connection and love as weakness nothing better could be expected.

In a way, it could be said Seishirou lost the bet the moment he made it. If we go by definition of him viewing Subaru as 'different from the rest'

Almost delicate hand hold (the irony), chin grab and hand kiss - Seishirou literally can't keep his hands of Subaru's hands. Really, if he knew he was the first person to touch Subaru's bare hands in idk, 8-9 years he would have gone feral

All while mindfuckery is playing on and Seishirou surely is getting kick out of 'tainting ' Subaru's innocent perspective on life. Psychological torture Seishirou's love language <3

Yes, hand fetish.

We know.

So here he's either sitting down or kneeling and cradled semi-conscious Subaru against himself? All while caressing his neck (vulnerable body area) and gripping chin. And ofc inflicting irreparable psychological damage on Subaru's psyche.

How Seishirou manages to look equally tender and sadistic, it's actually a very good metaphor for mixed picture Subaru has of him. For a year he was nothing but compassionate and kind to Subaru, created picture of kindness and safety. And then in span of couple minutes all of that came crashing down. Psychological trauma of this kind is deeply scaring as victim cannot tell what was real and what wasn't. Ofc when retrospecting, Subaru would be foolish to say Seishirou showed him true face during bet; but discarding all of that as pretense and lie wouldn't be the full truth either (from reader's perspective). So whilst Subaru probably discarded it all as him being fooled, we as readers are left in confusion

Some abuse followed which I won't include since ;-; but really, what was the reason for beating Subaru up like that? It served no purpose? He was already destroying Subaru's innocence and soul via psychological damage. So I can't help thinking Seishirou was lashing out, for multiple reasons. Press f to pay respect to that man's lack of self awareness

Ouch. And when you take into consideration how Subaru thought "I may be worthless and there isn't much to like about me so if someone hated me I'd have noone to blame but myself" literally before walking through that door. No wonder boy's self esteem and self respect is in minus

No creepy touching but creepy leaning over almost crucified Subaru. All while saying those things. Truly a bastard

"Ah yes, your grandmother came to rescue you since I spent too much time mentally torturing you and mansplaining. I totally should hurry up and kill you once and for all. Goodbye. Yes I'm about to kill you but let me wipe your tears and caress your face a bit more. Yes I must grip your chin a bit more. Goodbye, now for real. Yes I'm about to kill you now. For real. Ah damn looks like your grandmother broke my spell, what a pity you were able to get away. Never mind that I said literally minutes prior that I'm stronger than her, I must retreat back to safety. No I totally wasn't waiting for someone to rescue you, no way I was completely emotionally prepared to kill you. Looks like you got away this time Subaru-kun"

F in chat for this man's lack of self awareness

[itsnightslashtime]

Hey if you get this ask can you explain the lore? (Sadly) similar to the hate anon ask from before, i don’t mean this in a negative way, but I never learned the Akari Lore™️ and never had the time to backread a ton to learn, so unlike the hate anon ask, i’m going to politely ask if you’re willing to summarize the Lore so i can actually keep up with it from now on

((ooc: Ofc!! Honestly all they had to do was ask nicely :)

So basically, starting from the very beginning of this accidentally-months-long arc:

the links cut off halfway through because i had to leave my computer

Akari went to Kalos to bury a teammate

Found out Melli(@/thegreatestwarden) got displaced to Kalos and decided to help him since his Ingo was freaking out

During this time, an arm of Arceus contacted her to make amends and be niceys to her

Tried to send him back to Hisui from the Spear Pillar, that same arm of Arceus yoinked her and plopped her back in Hisui, without Melli

She Fucking Lost It(her mind and her form) and blamed that arm for betraying her and being niceys just to hurt her again

the first time was in hisui, when her ingo went home

She attempted to set god on fire, god panicked and threw her back to modern-day Sinnoh, where her Flamethrower(learned by TM) went off and scorched who knows how many feet of woodland

She, as a Zoroark, proceeded to go Fucking Feral on every living thing she saw

The Pokemon Rangers got called on her and Cynthia came along(she offered in the Rotomblr League Members server) to tell them not to put her down like that

Ex-Champion Dawn came along to bring her home

Akari was kept in confinement for a few weeks with Dawn trying to get her back to normal(it was not working)

She woke up from a dream, panicked, and used the wispy part of her shapeshifting to get the fuck out of her confinement(which was completely on instinct, she wouldn't be able to do it again on command) and become a Braviary

She decided "fuck this, I'm killing Almighty Sinnoh" and went to murder the Creation Quartet

She succeeded

This success happened over the course of either a few hours or a few days, no one's really sure because the first one she killed was Dialga

After she killed Palkia, Giratina yeeted Dawn into the Distortion World to wait things out until they and Arceus were killed or they managed to calm Akari down

Guess which one happened first (hint: they did not manage to calm Akari down)

After the murder of the entire Creation Quartet by a very angry fox who had garnered their appreciation and dare I say, love, the timeline was miraculously stabilized by the hatching of eggs on another blog I run

Akari was put back in confinement and has stayed there for roughly the past month, with Dawn working to un-fuck her heart up

It's been. A difficult process, to say the least, but one that was almost completed... until Dawn took her to visit Lucas, Barry, and Prof. Rowan, whom she immediately alikened to Commander Kamado and her hate reared its feral head all over again (the shadow gauge jumped up two full bars)

Then I got bored and decided to start the Inner Event, wherein you talk to the Inner Akari kind of like in The Owl House where every person has an inner self, the event hasn't been going on for very long so it shouldn't be hard to read past all the blue-backed white-vignette pictures

[irondad-defensesquad]

going a little personal here but a friend of mine is team cap ofc we're cool about it, but they didn't even remember that team cap didn't want to face the consequences of killing thousands of ppl

ppl have completely distorted the conflict like tony is the egotistical piece of shit that destroyed the avengers. everyone even the directors (the russos) treats the civil war like it's tony's fault. but team cap deliberately ignored the possibility of having limitations. sure we can't trust the government but like rhodey said, "this isn't shield, this isn't hydra, this is the united nations, all the countries are apprehensive and furious that we've killed a shit ton of innocent ppl (especially poc but mcu has the same self-awareness as team cap stans)", steve was being completely arrogant, and no one in his team gave a shit either. at least sam and tony came to an understanding later on

but in other movies they just joke about it like they broke up like a band, and while tony does rightfully yell at steve in endgame, they force tony and steve to become besties again just to shit on rhodey who has no other role but being a little shit that makes snarky and mean-spirited comments on thor

idk i'm so tired of the anti tony sentiments in canon, ppl probably refuse to watch civil war without seeing that hey not only did steve never tell tony that bucky killed his parents, he left tony to die in siberia and just gave him a shitty ass "apology" letter but still blaming tony for everything that happened

(the biggest reason why i hate st*ny btw)