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novaursa · 4 months ago

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The Last Fire

- Summary: You survived the fall in the desert, and now it's up to you again to decide where your story leads or ends.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: This part contains two new possible endings that were requested. Pick your poison. These events happen after The Last Flight, and these two short stories are part of The Broken Crown series. For all parts in one place, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

Ending where Y/N survives the fall, but still dies.

The last thing you remember is the unbearable pain, the world spinning out of control as you and Tesaerix plummeted toward the unforgiving sands below. Her agonized roar still echoes in your mind, a terrible sound of agony and desperation. The impact had been a blur of fire, darkness, and then nothing at all.

When you wake, it is to the sensation of a dull, throbbing pain that pulses through every inch of your body. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and smoke, and your mouth is dry, lips cracked. Your eyes flutter open, struggling to adjust to the dim, unfamiliar light. Stone walls loom around you, cold and unwelcoming. A Dornish castle. Your heart sinks.

Your first instinct is to move, to fight, to escape, but your body betrays you. Sharp pain lances through your side as you shift, and a low, involuntary groan escapes your lips. Everything hurts. Every breath is a struggle, every thought fogged with the weight of what has happened. You reach for your belly, your hand trembling as it finds the emptiness where there should be life. The child is gone. A sob rips through your throat, raw and jagged. The loss is a hollow ache, a void that you cannot fill, no matter how hard you try to pull the shattered pieces of yourself together.

A guard standing at the door turns at the sound, his expression a mix of surprise and something darker—satisfaction, perhaps. His armor gleams in the dim light, the crest of House Martell emblazoned on his chest. He watches you struggle with an impassive gaze, offering no words of comfort or aid.

“How long?” you manage to rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper, rough from disuse.

“Eight days,” the guard replies, his voice flat. “You’ve been unconscious for eight days.”

Eight days. The weight of it settles over you like a shroud. Aegon must think you are dead. The thought of him mourning you, believing you lost, brings a fresh wave of pain. You try to imagine what he must be feeling—the grief, the rage. It’s almost too much to bear.

You attempt to sit up, but your body refuses to cooperate. Every movement sends sharp stabs of agony radiating through your limbs. The guard takes a step forward, a warning in his eyes.

“Stay down,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re under orders not to leave this chamber.”

“Orders?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. “From whom?”

“Princess Meria Martell,” he replies. “You are to be held here until he decides your fate.”

Your fate. The words chill you to the core. You are a prisoner, a trophy to the Dornish princess, held captive in the land that has stolen so much from you. Your dragon, your child. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the hopelessness is overwhelming. You close your eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

But you cannot afford to break. Not now. You have to survive. You have to find a way out, a way to let Aegon know that you are alive, that you are still fighting.

The days pass in a haze of pain and frustration. You are too weak to move, too broken to plan an escape. The guards change shifts, faceless men who bring you food and water, who watch you with the wary eyes of those who know they are in the presence of something dangerous, something they do not fully understand.

One evening, as the sun sets below the horizon, you hear it—a low, distant rumble. Your heart skips a beat. It is a sound you know well, a sound that has haunted your dreams since the day you fell. Dragonfire.

You push yourself up, the pain almost unbearable, but you force yourself to ignore it. You stumble to the small, barred window, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The sky is a dark canvas painted with flames, the unmistakable black silhouette of Balerion the Black Dread soaring above, his jaws spewing torrents of fire that rain down upon the castle below.

“Aegon,” you whisper, your voice breaking. He has come. He has come to avenge you, to burn this place to the ground in his wrath. But he does not know—you are still here. Panic surges through you, cold and sharp. You pound on the door, shouting with what little strength you have left.

“Help! Someone, please!” But no one comes. No one hears. The guards have fled, the castle descending into chaos as Balerion’s fury turns stone to ash and sand to glass.

The flames grow closer, the heat becoming unbearable. The walls of your chamber begin to crack, smoke seeping in through the seams. You cough, your lungs burning as you struggle to breathe, to think.

You have to escape. You have to find a way out. But there is no time. The fire is everywhere now, the heat scorching, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh and wood. You stagger back, your legs giving out beneath you as the ceiling above begins to splinter, molten rock falling like rain.

In your mind, you see Aegon’s face—his eyes dark with grief, his jaw set in that way that you know means he is barely holding himself together. You want to reach out to him, to tell him that you are still here, still alive. But the words stick in your throat, lost in the choking smoke and searing pain.

The door to your chamber bursts open, flames licking at the edges, and you know this is the end. There is no escape, no hope. You close your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you surrender to the inevitable.

“I’m sorry, Aegon,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the roar of the fire. “I’m so sorry.”

The flames engulf you then, and the world fades to black.

The great hall of Aegonfort was cloaked in an uneasy silence. Servants moved quietly, casting nervous glances at the somber figure of the King. Aegon Targaryen sat on his throne, a shadow of the man he had been. His face was pale, eyes haunted, the lines of grief etched deeply into his features. Each breath felt like a burden, each moment a struggle to maintain the stoic facade he had been forced to wear since that day.

He had returned from Dorne victorious, or so it seemed to others. But victory felt like ash in his mouth. The fury that had driven him to lay waste to Sunspear had given way to a hollow emptiness. The cries of the dying, the smell of burning flesh—all of it haunted him, because none of it could bring you back.

It was then that a servant approached, holding out a small, sealed scroll with trembling hands. “A message from Princess Meria of Dorne, Your Grace.”

Aegon took the letter, his fingers almost numb as he broke the seal. His eyes scanned the parchment, and as he read, his blood turned to ice. The words blurred, but their meaning was unmistakable. You had been alive. Captured, held prisoner. And he had—without knowing—burned you alive in his wrath.

He staggered back, the letter slipping from his grasp and fluttering to the ground like a dying leaf. The world spun around him, his knees buckling as the weight of the revelation crashed over him. His vision dimmed, and he would have collapsed, had Visenya not been there, her strong arms wrapping around him, steadying him.

“Aegon!” Her voice was sharp, full of concern, cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. Rhaenys was there too, her face stricken, rushing to his side.

“Aegon, what’s happened?” Rhaenys asked, her voice trembling. She reached for him, her hands gentle but insistent, trying to draw his gaze to hers. “Please, tell us.”

He could barely speak. The words lodged in his throat, a jagged knot of guilt and horror. His body trembled uncontrollably, a tremor that started in his hands and spread through him like a plague. His eyes, wide and filled with unspeakable anguish, locked onto the faces of his sisters, searching for something he could not name.

“I—I killed her,” he choked out, his voice breaking on the last word. “I burned her alive.”

The silence that followed was absolute, the kind of silence that is born from disbelief, from horror too deep to comprehend. Visenya’s grip on him tightened, her face ashen, her eyes reflecting a grief that mirrored his own.

“No, Aegon,” Rhaenys whispered, shaking her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “That can’t be true. You wouldn’t—”

“She was there,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “In the castle. Alive. And I... I didn’t know.” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of his confession. “I thought she was gone, and I...” He buried his face in his hands, a raw, strangled sob tearing from his throat. “Gods, I killed her. I killed them both.”

Rhaenys’ hands flew to her mouth, a sob escaping her lips as she stumbled back, her legs giving way as she sank to the floor. Visenya’s face hardened, though her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her grip on him remained firm, as if trying to hold him together when everything else had shattered.

“Aegon,” she said, her voice breaking through the haze of his despair. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known.”

But her words felt meaningless, empty. There was no solace to be found in them, no absolution for what he had done. He had let his rage blind him, had let his need for vengeance consume him, and now the price was beyond bearing. The child—your child—gone forever, as he believes it was taken by his own hand. And you... you, whom he had loved more fiercely than life itself, gone because he had failed you in the worst way imaginable.

His body shook with the force of his grief, tears he could no longer hold back streaming down his face. “I killed her, Visenya,” he whispered, his voice a broken thing. “I killed her and our child. I... I’ve destroyed everything.”

Rhaenys reached for him then, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him close as though she could somehow hold the pieces of him together. “Aegon, no,” she wept, her voice a soft, desperate plea. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

But the truth of it was a knife twisting in his gut. He had believed you dead, and in his fury, his pain, he had become the very thing he had sworn to destroy. He had let his grief turn him into a monster, and in doing so, he had taken everything that mattered.

Visenya knelt beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her touch a steadying force amidst the chaos. “We will get through this,” she murmured, though her voice shook. “Somehow, we will.”

But Aegon knew there was no coming back from this. No battle to fight, no enemy to conquer. The enemy was within him, a darkness he could never escape. The flames of Balerion’s wrath had claimed more than just stone and flesh—they had taken the very heart of him, leaving nothing but ashes and ruin.

And so he wept, there on the cold stone floor of Aegonfort, his sisters by his side, but no comfort to be found. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, broken by his own hand, mourning the woman he had loved—and lost—twice over.

Ending where Y/N survives the fall with her dragon near Sunspear.

The air was filled with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, the heat of battle suffocating even in the high sky. Tesaerix’s wings beat heavily, each movement strained, her breaths coming in labored, ragged bursts. You could feel her pain through the bond you shared, a deep, searing ache that tore through your side as if it were your own. She had been struck, the harpoon lodged deep in her flank, just beneath her wing. Her roar of agony still echoed in your ears, a sound that would haunt you forever.

“Hold on, girl,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned forward, your hand pressing against the warm, slick scales near the wound. Blood, dark and thick, oozed from the gash, and your heart clenched with fear. “Just a little longer.”

Tesaerix let out a low, rumbling growl, her muscles tensing beneath you as she angled downward. The ground rushed up to meet you both, but her descent was controlled, her movements careful despite the pain wracking her body. You clung to her neck, every jolt sending fresh waves of agony through you both, but you held on, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

The landing was rough, her massive form crashing down onto the rocky terrain outside of Sunspear with a jarring thud. The impact jarred you from the saddle, sending you sprawling onto the ground. Pain flared through your side, and you gasped, your hands instinctively moving to your swollen belly. The baby. The fear that gripped your heart was cold and sharp. You forced yourself to take a breath, wincing as you struggled to your feet, pain lancing through your body.

“Tesaerix…” You turned to her, your heart breaking at the sight. She lay on her side, the harpoon still embedded in her scales, her eyes half-closed, her breaths shallow. You stumbled toward her, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch her snout, your fingers brushing over her warm, familiar scales.

“We made it,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “We’re safe now.”

But even as you said the words, you knew they were a lie. The sound of approaching footsteps and the clatter of weapons made your heart sink. You turned, your body tense, as a group of Dornish soldiers surrounded you, their spears raised, their faces hard and unyielding. Behind them, riding in a litter shaded by silks, was Princess Meria Martell, her gaze sharp and calculating as it swept over the scene.

“You are far from home, Targaryen,” she said, her voice carrying over the tense silence. “And in no position to bargain.”

You straightened, ignoring the pain that shot through your side, your hand still resting protectively over your belly. “I am Queen Y/N Targaryen, wife of King Aegon. I demand safe passage for myself and my dragon.”

Meria’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Demands, is it? You are in no position to demand anything, child. You and your dragon are prisoners of Dorne.”

You glanced at Tesaerix, her body still and trembling with pain, her deep red eyes flickering weakly. Chains were already being brought forward, heavy iron links that were meant to bind her, to keep her grounded and helpless. The thought of her, proud and fierce, being chained once more like a common beast made your blood boil.

“Please,” you said, your voice breaking despite yourself. “She’s wounded. Let her be treated, and I will come with you peacefully.”

Meria studied you for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. Then she gave a curt nod. “The dragon will be tended to, but she will remain under guard. And you will come with us, now.”

The soldiers stepped forward, and you forced yourself to stand tall, even as fear and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Tesaerix let out a low, pained growl, her eyes locked on you as the soldiers approached, her body tensing as if she would rise and fight, despite her injuries.

“No,” you whispered, your voice firm as you placed a hand on her snout. “Stay, Tesaerix. Stay.” She let out a soft rumble, her massive head lowering to the ground, her eyes closing as if to conserve her strength. You turned back to the soldiers, your heart aching, but you forced yourself to move forward.

They escorted you into Sunspear, through winding streets that echoed with the murmurs of the people, curious and wary as they watched the procession pass. You kept your head high, your gaze fixed forward, refusing to show any sign of weakness or fear.

They led you to a chamber in the castle, its stone walls cool and unyielding. The door closed behind you with a heavy thud, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing through the room. You were alone now, a prisoner in an enemy’s stronghold.

The days blurred together, each one filled with a growing dread. Your thoughts were consumed with worry for Tesaerix, chained and wounded outside the city. You paced the confines of your chamber, your mind racing with thoughts of Aegon, of what he must be feeling, believing you lost. You could only hope he would find out the truth before it was too late.

On the fifth day, Meria visited you. She stood in the doorway, her expression inscrutable, her eyes lingering on your belly before meeting your gaze. “Your dragon will survive, though her wing may never fully heal,” she said, as if discussing the weather.

Relief washed over you, though it was quickly followed by a fresh wave of anger. “And what of me? What do you intend to do with me?”

Meria tilted her head, considering. “You are valuable, Targaryen. As long as you remain with child, your life is safe. But know this—I will use you to ensure Aegon’s compliance. The war has cost too much already.”

You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your voice steady. “And if I lose the child?”

“Then your fate will depend on my whim,” she said simply, her eyes hard. “Do not try to escape, Y/N. Your dragon may be chained, but even a wounded beast is dangerous. And if she dies trying to save you…” She let the implication hang in the air, the threat clear.

Rage and fear battled within you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “I will not try to escape,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue. “But if you harm her, there will be no place in this world you can hide from my husband’s wrath.”

Meria’s smile was thin, humorless. “We shall see, my lady.”

As she left, you sank onto the hard bed, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. The days that followed were a blur of pain and uncertainty, your thoughts constantly turning to Aegon, to Tesaerix, to the fragile life within you. You had to survive, for their sake. You had to find a way to endure.

Outside, you knew the chains that bound Tesaerix were a constant reminder of your captivity, her pain mirroring your own. But you were both still alive, still fighting, even if only by clinging to the hope that Aegon would come, that he would find you before it was too late.

And when he did, you swore to yourself, you would make them all pay for what they had done. For every wound, every chain, every day of fear and suffering. You would see Dorne burn for this. You would see them all kneel before the fury of the Targaryen fire.

Princess Meria Martell sat in her chambers, the heavy stone walls of Sunspear pressing in around her like the weight of a great, immovable burden. She drummed her fingers on the polished wood of her desk, her eyes scanning the letter she had penned days ago. She had offered the King a simple exchange: your life and freedom in return for Dorne’s autonomy. It was a calculated risk, a gamble meant to end the bloodshed that had ravaged her lands and threatened her people.

But the answer she received was not what she had expected.

The messenger had barely finished delivering the news when a sudden, deafening roar echoed across Sunspear, shaking the very foundations of the castle. Meria’s heart froze. She shot to her feet, her blood turning to ice as a servant burst into the room, his face ashen with terror.

“Dragons, Your Grace! They’re here!”

Panic seized her. She swept past the servant, her silks rustling as she hurried down the corridors, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The stone walls seemed to close in around her, her mind racing with fear and confusion. Aegon wasn’t supposed to come, not yet. Not like this.

Reaching the balcony that overlooked the city, she pushed open the doors and stepped out into the blazing sunlight. The sight that greeted her was one she would never forget. Balerion the Black Dread hovered above the city, his massive wings blotting out the sun, casting a dark shadow over Sunspear. Below him, Vhagar and Meraxes circled, their screeching cries filling the air as if announcing the coming storm.

And there, on the edge of the city, near the main gates, was Tesaerix. Her golden scales glinted in the harsh light, her massive form still and tense, the iron chains that held her stretched taut. But Balerion was descending toward her, the great beast’s eyes glowing with a dark, dangerous intent. With a mighty roar, he landed beside her, his immense claws tearing through the chains as if they were no more than threads.

Tesaerix let out a guttural snarl, her wings unfolding cautiously as the last of her bindings fell away. The sight of the great dragon, wounded yet still fierce, stretching her wings and shaking off the restraints, sent a shiver down Meria’s spine. She knew then, with a clarity that burned like ice, that she had underestimated Aegon Targaryen. This was not a king who would bargain or yield. This was a man who would see the world burn before he let anything be taken from him.

Meria turned, heart pounding, as she saw the three figures approaching the castle. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys dismounted just outside the gates, the air around them shimmering with the heat of their dragons’ breath. The ground trembled beneath their feet, the power of their presence undeniable, terrifying.

She forced herself to move, to descend the stairs and meet them at the entrance. Her guards flanked her, their faces pale, their hands gripping their spears as if holding on to the last shred of their courage. She stepped forward, lifting her chin, though her heart raced like a caged bird.

Aegon’s eyes met hers, and the fury she saw there was like a living, breathing thing, coiled tight and ready to strike. His face was a mask of barely contained rage, the lines of his jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might shatter.

“Princess Meria,” he said, his voice low and cold, as if he were spitting the words through gritted teeth. “You dare to hold my wife captive and then try to negotiate with me?”

Meria swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “I offered you peace, Your Grace. An end to this war. Dorne in exchange for—”

“For my queen? For my child?” he snarled, stepping forward, the raw power radiating from him like heat from a forge. “You think you can trade lives with me, like some merchant haggling over goods? I am no man to be bargained with.”

Visenya’s eyes were like chips of ice, her hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, the sword gleaming wickedly in the sun. “You will release her, and our unborn nephew or niece, now,” she said, her voice a quiet, deadly promise. “Or Sunspear will burn until it is nothing but a memory.”

Rhaenys’ usually warm, vibrant presence was overshadowed by a seething anger. “Do not mistake our patience for weakness, Princess,” she said, her voice taut with restrained fury. “You have made a grievous error.”

Meria raised her hands, trying to project calm. “I do not wish for more bloodshed. I swear to you, Y/N is unharmed. She and the child are safe.”

“Safe?” Aegon’s voice was a roar, his eyes blazing. “Chained like a beast, held in your dungeons, with her dragon bound outside like a common animal—that is your idea of safety?”

Meria took a breath, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “I needed to ensure that Dorne would not be crushed under your might. I needed leverage.”

“And now you have none,” Visenya cut in, her tone sharp as a blade. “Release her. Or I swear by the gods, your city will burn until there is nothing left.”

Meria hesitated, her mind racing. She had known this moment was dangerous, but she had thought she would have time, that she could control the situation. Now, looking at the three Targaryens before her, their dragons looming like harbingers of death, she realized just how badly she had miscalculated.

She nodded, slowly, her voice quiet. “She will be brought to you. Unharmed.”

Aegon stepped forward, his face inches from hers, and she could feel the barely restrained fury radiating off him like a physical force. “If I find one scratch on her, one sign that she or my child has been harmed…” He let the threat hang, his eyes burning into hers with a promise of utter destruction. “I will reduce this city to ash and bone.”

Meria shuddered but nodded again, turning to give the order. As she did, she glanced back at the dragons, at Balerion, who stood protectively near Tesaerix, the massive beast’s eyes glowing with a deadly intelligence.

She knew then that there would be no mercy, no second chances. If she failed to deliver, if she tried to deceive them even slightly, Sunspear—and all of Dorne—would be lost to the wrath of the dragons.

And so she prayed, silently, that her people would not suffer for her misjudgment, and that you would be returned to your king unscathed. Because if not, there would be no place in this world that could hide her from Aegon’s vengeance.

#fire and blood #asoiaf #game of thrones #house of the dragon #aegon i x you #aegon i x reader #aegon i x y/n #aegon i targaryen #aegon the conqueror #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x y/n #house targaryen

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 6 days ago

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Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 9

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 4983 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazonians' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

Y/N sat by a fire pit alone, stoking the flames absent-mindedly as her mind raced with the events that occurred on the beach.

In that respect, she couldn't recall much, but she remembered an unfamiliar power coursing through her - how strong she felt when it took over. And that was another thing, she didn't feel like she was the one in control.

Y/N stared into the fire and thought of the white flames that encased her and her lance before. She'd felt another presence in them, coaxing her, guiding her to using the new power.

'But who are you,' she whispered.

'Hey.'

Y/N flinched as she turned to find Dick standing there, both hands carrying two legs of lamb. His head tilted as he gave her a confused look. 'Who are you talking to?'

'No one,' she answered, shaking herself back to reality. 'Just... clearing my thoughts.'

Dick nodded in understanding. 'Oh, okay...' The two awkwardly looked at each other in silence until Dick held up the two lamb legs and said, 'So... you hungry?'

As if her stomach was listening, it growled loudly before she could give an actual reply. The two chuckled at the comedic timing.

'I think that was answer enough, don't you? Y/N asked, happily taking one of the lamb legs off Dick's hands. She hadn't realised until now how hungry she actually was. The smell of the lamb had her salivating so she took a massive bite from the leg and almost groaned with delight.

'Whoa, someone's hungry,' Dick said amused before taking a bite of his own out of the moist meat. 'Whoa!' he exclaimed. 'This is really good!'

'Much better than MacDonalds, right?' Y/N asked.

With another mouthful of meat, Dick replied, 'You bet!'

It didn't take long for Dick and Y/N to finish their meal, although if Y/N had kept up with time correctly, there was only three or so hours left until sunrise. The fight had gone on longer than she'd imagined, but then there was that whole point of the battle she couldn't recall. It frustrated and scared her to think that she could forget something so important so easily.

A hand on her shoulder brought her back out of her thoughts to see a concerned Dick looking at her. 'Hey, where'd you go just now?'

Y/N shook her head. 'I don't know, really,' she answered. 'I just... I was just thinking about the beach. I don't really remember what happened down there.'

Speaking of it, Y/N's gaze drew to the beach just down the stairs she was situated atop. She saw the fires of the lanterns the Guard that Calliope had set up, saw their light reflect off the dome that still stood around the whole of the mountain Themyscira sat upon. But that just meant she saw the wall of darkness all but pressing up against the dome.

No doubt the monsters remained in case the dome broke down, but they also didn't appear to be doing anything but waiting. What was Echidna planning? That unknown answer was the one that scared her most.

'Well, to put it plainly, you saved all of us,' Dick answered matter-of-factly, his gaze also moving to the beach.

'Don't mess around with words, Dick,' Y/N warned, though her threat was weak at best. There was no heat behind her words, no animosity, just truth. 'I meant... what happened to me down on the beach? When, you know...'

Dick hummed in understanding. 'Yes, that... Well, I don't have the answer specifically, all I know is that you had this... power that just... I don't know, it was like nothing I've ever felt or seen before.'

Y/N chuckled. 'That's saying something considering all we've been through, too.'

Dick let out a soft chuckle, the kind that could warm even a freezer up. 'I'm glad you can find the humour in all this. I can't imagine what you must be feeling all things considered.'

The honesty in his words caused Y/N to face Dick, and she found an equally honest expression on his ridiculously gorgeous face. She spared him a grateful smile before she looked down to her hands that fiddled with the stoker once more.

'I have a theory, you know,' she said. 'About what possibly happened to me.'

'And?' Dick encouraged.

'And... I think it wasn't my power that helped us just now.'

'What makes you say that?'

'When I... blanked, I do remember hearing a voice. It wasn't clear but I know the voice was guiding me, telling me exactly what to do. The most clear statement from the voice, however, was a question: But who are you? I think it was Athena herself speaking to me.'

'Athena?' Dick was stunned. 'You mean, the goddess of warfare and wisdom, as well as your ancestor, technically?'

Y/N nodded. 'I know it sounds crazy, but who else could it be that held such mighty power when it comes to weaponry and warfare.'

'Apart from Ares, no one else but Athena, I guess...' Dick gave Y/N a confused look. 'Why would Athena want to possess you for you to then use her power? If she wanted to help so much, why didn't she just fly down and help us herself?'

Y/N rolled her eyes. 'First of all, Gods don't have wings, Dick. They don't fly down, they would just... appear. Secondly, I don't know why she would want to help us, but I do know Gods never help without a reason.'

'Or a price,' Dick added solemnly.

Y/N nodded, recalling the power she'd held. The danger it possessed if she wielded it wrong. The scene of the monsters simply disintegrating into nothing but minuscule dust particles replayed at the back of her mind constantly.

'I'd like to think she'd help us because we are her blood and bone,' Y/N said, curling her fingers inwards to form frustrated fists. 'But her power... I don't know if I can wield it as she does. So precisely and destructively. What if someone innocent gets hurt because I can't control it. Goodness, I can't even remember half the battle just now; how am I supposed to control the power if I can't control myself?'

'Okay, whoa, ease up,' Dick said, holding his hands out in a "calm down" manner. 'I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself here. You don't even know if you still have the power. What if it was a one time thing?'

'But what if it wasn't?' Y/N argued.

'Then we will cross that bridge when we get to it,' Dick answered cooly, without hesitation. 'Look, Y/N, you are not some tyrant who uses power to harm others. In all the time I've known you, I don't think you're even capable of harming innocents. Your worst fears of yourself, they are never going to come to fruition because you're-'

Dick cut himself off and Y/N couldn't help but notice the red flush creeping up from his neck. The intensity of which his blue eyes were looking at her made her feel simultaneously vulnerable and impenetrable. The silence that hung between them had her heart stuttering. Out of hope, out of fear, she couldn't tell the two apart anymore.

'I'm...?' she asked, not daring to try and finish that sentence, It was silly really. They were in the middle of a war and here she was thinking about all the almosts, all the close calls. The moment back on the balcony before Echidna decided to wage her war on Themyscira. It was stupid, but Y/N couldn't help it. Even after all this time, she couldn't help it when it came to Dick Grayson.

'You're... you're the best person there is,' he finally finished, but his words sounded strained. As if he had planned something else to say. 'You're a good leader, Y/N. You are strong and compassionate and I've never known anyone else to hold onto their resolve and values as much as you can. If it's Athena's power that possessed you, then, well, I couldn't think of anyone more suitable to wield it.'

Y/N wasn't sure why she was surprised anymore. Her heart deflated at his words, or more so at the words he didn't say. She couldn't believe she was still hoping after all this time that he would ever say what she wanted him to say, to feel all that she felt for him and more.

But she wasn't some heartbroken eighteen-year-old anymore. Dick was right, she was a leader now, and they had a war to win above all else.

So she smiled her gratitude, but couldn't help a chuckle as she said, 'Athena's not a demon, you know. I don't think gods "possess" people.'

'Well what would you call it then?'

Y/N shrugged. 'I don't know. I just... I don't want the women to think I'm weird, you know?'

'Too late for that I'm afraid, Princess.'

Y/N glared at Dick at the mention of her title, but eventually dropped it and sighed. 'I more meant I don't want them to think I'm a god or something. I don't want them to fear me.'

Dick looked thoughtfully down at the beach for a moment before returning to look at Y/N. 'God or not, everyone should be right to fear you. I mean, you're an actual Amazon warrior who can lift cars above her head with one arm and can fly with just a single thought. Who wouldn't be a little fearful of you?'

'Are you really trying to make me feel better?' Y/N flatly asked.

'I'm getting to that point,' he countered. 'What I'm trying to say is, yes, you are terrifying to certain people. But anyone who knows you and cares for you knows who you truly are.'

'And what's that, Grayson?'

'A good person,' Dick answered, eyes locked with hers. 'A true leader with a heart of gold. Echidna messed with the wrong Amazon, and she's gonna regret it. I just know it.'

Despite his joking demeanour, Y/N could tell he was being sincere now. Better yet, he was being honest, and while it didn't appease the fear in her heart, she appreciated his kindness.

Another thing she frustratingly loved about him.

She smiled at him. 'Thanks. I really needed that.'

Dick smiled in return. 'I know you, Y/N. Just like you know me. I'll always be here to help keep your head on straight.' With a tired groan, Dick stands up. 'Speaking of which, you should probably get some sleep before the sunrise. Who knows what Echidna has in store for us next.'

Dick offered his hand to help Y/N up, to which she graciously accepted. He pulled her to her feet and the two of them walked to the tent that was setting up cots for soldiers not on duty to sleep on until it was time to get up.

At the first empty cot they found, Dick said, 'You take this one. I'm sure there is another one nearby.'

'Thanks,' Y/N said, offering him a sweet smile. 'And thanks... for before.'

'Don't mention it,' Dick replied, but instead of walking away he continued to stare at her. It was like he was contemplating his next move. Just as Y/N was going to go to bed, he swiftly stepped close enough to her to place a kiss on her forehead.

The action caught her so off guard she just froze, aware of nothing but his lips on her skin. Even when he stepped away, his kiss felt like it was burning into her forehead.

'Goodnight, Princess,' he said softly, and then he was turning away and striding down the aisles of cots in search of an empty one.

Long after he'd disappeared from her sight, she still looked on into space, fingers delicately pressed to her forehead. What in the name of Aphrodite was that about?

~~~

Y/N didn't remember falling asleep, only that one moment she was frozen with confusion over her conflicting emotions regarding a certain dark-haired batboy, and the next she was waking up at the first ray of sunshine.

Y/N sat up and threw her legs over the side of the cot. Her muscles ached slightly, but that was possibly the cot's fault. It really wasn't the comfiest of bedding to use. But they were at war, so they would have to make do.

It suddenly struck Y/N how quiet it was. She looked around her; everyone was still asleep. She strained to hear for any outside noise but could not register any. That's odd, she thought, and so stood up and made her way outside the tent.

Even when she had first entered the tent, there were Amazons sitting around chatting and laughing and cooking. In general, there had been a huge commotion even in the early hours of the morning. But as she stepped out of the tent, it alarmed her to see nothing but white fog around the campsite they had set up in the streets.

What in the world... Y/N walked around the fires that had long since died when they should've still been burning. She noticed the absence of warriors heavily. Where is everyone?

A thought had her running for the stairs that lead down to the beach. She could barely see the next step as they came up, but she didn't care. Some horrible feeling inside her said something was wrong.

Distracted, Y/N tripped on the last step and landed face first in the sand with a heavy thud. But she didn't waste time getting up as she spat out sand and scrambled to her feet. There should've been torches, but the fog was too thick even almost standing next to them.

Y/N walked slowly through the fog, unsure what direction she now was heading. I really should've brought a weapon, she thought, berating herself at how vulnerable she felt.

After a few metres of blindly walking, she saw a torch stand through the fog. She ran for it, but upon closer approach she noticed the flame had gone out. Y/N looked into the pit in which the flame would've been burning, and found still warm ashes sitting there.

This went out recently. Now Y/N was really regretting not bringing a weapon. She spun around blindly, expecting an attack at any point. But what was she going to do if they did? I need to get back to camp and wake everyone up.

Just as she took a step in the direction she thought the stairs were, she kicked something quite solid, almost tripping over it. She had to bend down to see through the fog to see what it had been.

To her horror, it was the body of an Amazon. Well, just her torso that is. As Y/N inspected closer, she found more body parts scattered nearby. Blood and guts littered and stained the beach, and Y/N finally realised that it wasn't just the parts of one body she was looking at. It was the entire Guard they'd assigned to watch the dome.

Y/N covered her mouth to stop her from both screaming and throwing up the lamb she had only a few hours ago. What could've done this? Unless...

A growl emanated somewhere in the fog, and Y/N put aside her disgust and picked up one of her dead comrade's swords. Again, she spun around in anticipation of an attack, but she couldn't tell where the sound was coming from. It sounded everywhere and nowhere all at once.

She backed up and to her relief her feet met with stone. The stairs. Y/N took a step up backwards, keeping her eye and sword aimed on the fog in front of her. She was trying to be quiet, but the fog made the steps slightly wet. One step she didn't quite make, and her foot slipped down, causing her to yelp in fear. Y/N quickly balanced herself, but she'd given herself away.

A giant dog-like creature leaped from the fog, its fangs bared sharp and ready to bite. Y/N reflexively put the sword up as a block and pushed the hound off. When it lunged at her again with an open mouth, she plunged the sword into the roof of the hound's mouth. It howled in agony, but Y/N only pushed the sword even more until it pierced the creature's brain.

It fell lifelessly to the ground as Y/N pulled the sword out. As she did, she noticed the fog clearing slowly and revealing more hounds and other creatures waiting on the beach. They stared up at her hungrily, snapping their jaws as if imagining how she would taste when they got to her.

Y/N didn't wait to find out that answer, instead turning and sprinting as fast as she could up the stairs and back to camp. She heard the howls and hisses of the monsters, felt the stairs tremble with their paws and hooves. Y/N ducked as a giant wasp-like monster swooped at her, but she just swiped at the monster's wings and didn't look to see it plummet to the earth.

As she approached the top of the stairs, she cried, 'Get up! Get up!' Assume offensive stations!' But as she reached the city, she was horrified to see that the fight had already begun. The fog had been a hiding place for the monsters, as well a way to keep everyone but her asleep, it seemed. Giving them enough to infiltrate the edges of the city.

The dome hadn't held, and now they were well and truly under attack.

Remembering the creatures that followed her, she turned and began slicing her sword at any that came near her. She sent some tumbling back down the stairs, knocking others down as well. But they just kept coming.

'Princess, look out!'

Y/N turned around to find some warriors about to roll a barrel down the stairs, so she dove out of the way as they did. The creatures howled as they were taken out and rolled back down the mountain. Out of nowhere, a flaming arrow arced over the mountainside and landed perfectly on the still-moving barrel, causing an explosion that sent monster guts and marble stone flying everywhere.

Y/N looked to her left to see archers lined up on the roofs of houses, some flaming, some normal. They aimed at those on the ground, as well as the giant insects and harpies that flew in the sky.

Y/N caught the eye of one of the flaming archers, no doubt the one who'd blown the barrel up, and gave a nod of approval. The warrior returned the gestures, then returned to her duties.

'Keep this up! Don't let anymore up the stairs!' she called to the barrel soldiers.

'Yes, Princess!' they replied, already moving onto their next barrel filled with, Y/N figured, explosive powder.

Satisfied that the area was being taken care of, Y/N looked to the skies. The harpies and insects were dropping rocks and attacking from on high. The screams of her friends compelled Y/N to run towards a tall pile of rubble and leap onto a harpy flying by.

The creature screeched and spun around in the effort to shake Y/N off. But Y/N gripped the scruff of the harpy's neck nape and pulled backwards. The harpy, midair, reared up like a horse, but still Y/N held on. Now with a better grip, Y/N guided the harpy to fly high and forwards. Guiding the harpy with one hand, Y/N used the other hand to slice and stab the other harpies and insects attacking her friends.

One by one, they plummeted to the ground. The insects splattered while the harpies either fell on the rubble or they were killed by nearby warriors.

A certain large gathering of hounds on the ground caught Y/N's attention, and as she flew the harpy closer she saw what brought the hounds there. Quickly, she plunged her sword into the harpy's head and leaped off it as the creature fell lifelessly to the ground.

She tumbled right into the middle of the gathering and pressed her back up against the meat that drew the hounds there. 'You sure know how to pick your battles, Grayson,' she said as she spun around with her sword at the ready.

'Hey, it's not my fault I'm so appealing,' he countered, that arrogant charm of his unfaltering even now. 'Though I have to admit, this isn't the target audience for my charms.'

'Gods, you know no shame, do you?'

'I know, it's both a flaw and a super power.'

Y/N rolled her eyes. 'Less talking, batboy, and more fighting.'

Simultaneously Y/N and Dick swung out at the hounds, causing them to leap at the two of them. It didn't take long for them to behead the creatures, leaving the two of them standing in the middle of the circle of death heaving for breath.

Dick finally broke the silence when he turned to Y/N and said between gulping breaths. 'Batboy? Really? That's low, even for you.'

Y/N shrugged. 'Sorry. Slip of the tongue.'

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N noticed something was happening to the slaughtered hounds. It looked like green energy was being sucked out of them, slowly causing them to completely disintegrate.

'What's happening to them?' Dick asked, coming to stand beside Y/N.

'I don't know,' she answered, eyes following the trails of green energy back to the camp. A cold stone feeling settled in her stomach. 'But we better go find out. Come on!'

Y/N and Dick ran back through the damaged streets towards the camp, leaping over fallen statues and jumping over giant holes in the cobblestone ground. Y/N had never been more grateful for her call to evacuate the city two evenings ago. Who knew how many more bodies, how many more innocents would be lying dead on the streets with their fallen warriors.

Y/N and Dick raced around the corner but stopped at the sight that greeted them. The energy from the hounds - along with the other monsters, both fallen and still fighting - wasn't just going anywhere. It was being sucked and sourced into creating something larger than all the monsters Echidna sent. The last of the energy from its fellow monsters finished the third head of the serpent-like dragon creature, causing that stone cold feeling in Y/N to spread over her whole body in terrified realisation.

'Hydra! Take cover!' Y/N cried as she grabbed Dick's hand and dragged him towards a building that had pillars out the front.

The monster reared its three heads back before spitting out fire all over the camp. Y/N and Dick ducked behind a pillar just in time, but Y/N felt the heat of the flames at the pillar's edge. Dick must've felt them too, as he quickly pulled Y/N into his chest and held her close. Y/N instinctively clutched onto his back, and there they held each other until the heat died down and they could move.

Y/N took a peep of the damage that had been done. Warriors - friends - that hadn't taken cover were melted into the ground, the walls of buildings, into carts too. Some laid screaming from where the flames had just caught them. The flames had been so intense they'd melted off the body parts unfortunate enough to be caught.

The screams threatened to consume Y/N. She couldn't take her eyes away from them all. But one girl caught Y/N's eyes. She laid just a few metres away from where Y/N stood in the safety of the building. She was on her stomach, crawling towards Y/N, towards safety. Her head was partially burnt, leaving behind only tufts of brown hair. Her legs had melted off, and still she struggled.

As the warrior's eyes met Y/N's, and she reached out with one hand and cried, 'Princess! Help me! Help me, please!'

Y/N realised what the warrior meant. She'd saved them all on the beach last night, she could pull off another miracle again. But Y/N couldn't feel any power surging inside her. In fact, she'd never felt more powerless in her life. Athena was not coming to help them this time, and there was nothing Y/N could do about it.

But I am here. I can help.

Y/N shook herself out of her thoughts and made to go down the steps of the building. 'I'm coming-'

Y/N stopped when the hydra slammed its foot down on the warrior, spraying her blood and guts all over Y/N. It took Y/N's brain a moment to compute what just happened, and even after she did, Y/N did not move. The image of the warrior pleading to her to help froze her; the feeling of blood and guts all over her made her want to hurl, but she was - for the first time in a long time - too scared to move.

The world had gone quiet, all senses but her sight had gone numb.

'Y/... /N... Y/N!'

One moment she was staring at where the warrior had just been squashed, the next Y/N was rolling along the bloodied cobblestone streets, Dick's arms around her.

Once they'd stopped, Y/N looked to where they'd been standing to see another foot of the hydra's standing there. She'd been so out of it, she almost ended up like the fallen warrior.

Y/N's attention turned to Dick as he placed a hand on her upper arm and heaved her to her feet. 'Come on, we've got to move!' he cried, dragging her to follow the other warriors who were fleeing the camp area.

It was like his touch activated her senses once more, as she was able to regain balance and a sense of surroundings in order to run alongside Dick. Together, the two scrambled through the city, following the remaining warriors that fled for the palace. The palace possessed ancient magic that dispelled any unwanted visitors. Y/N hoped that included unwanted and unexpected hydras.

As they drew closer to the palace gates, Y/N recognised Calliope was the one holding them open, ushering everyone. 'Hurry up, get inside!' she cried, then she turned and spotted Y/N and Dick. Relief softened her expression, but her eyes quickly widened as her gaze drifted somewhere behind them. 'Hurry, it's right behind you!'

Both Dick and Y/N turned to briefly look at the hydra. It had turned the pathway they'd just run on into a scorched wasteland, nothing but burning houses and scolding hot rocks in its wake. Its triple green gaze fell on the two of them and reared its three heads, ready to strike.

Y/N and Dick didn't wait to see what happened next, as they turned back around and sprinted with all their energy and will to survive to the gates of the palace.

'Come on!' Calliope called, and soon she was joined by others.

'Keep going!'

'Run faster!'

'Hurry!'

'Come on!'

They'd reach the gates as the hydra blew its fiery attack. Y/N, Calliope, Dick, and whoever was nearby gripped onto the palace gates and yanked them as hard and as fast as they could to close them.

Calliope yelped as some of the flames squeezed through the gap of the closing gates, stumbling backwards before falling into a crouch with her hands tucked tight to her chest.

Everyone stood back from the gates, waiting for fire or smoke or the hydra itself to burst through the gates. But no matter how much it attacked, nothing came through.

'We're safe,' one of the Amazons nearby said with immense relief.

'For now,' Y/N added, turning to crouch with Calliope. 'What's wrong? How can I help?'

In the time Y/N had known Calliope, she had never seen the brave warrior cry. But her she was, crouched, almost folded in on herself, offering her burnt and blistered hands out to Y/N with tears pouring like waterfalls down her flushed and dirty cheeks.

Horror and guilt tore through Y/N like a sword to the heart, piercing what she thought was a soldier's composure. She reached out to Calliope's hands and gently cradled them, avoiding actual contact less she cried more.

'I am... I am sorry, Calliope,' Y/N murmured softly, unsure how else to express the pain she felt for her friend. The pain she had caused her friend.

Y/N looked to the crowd that was huddled in the courtyard of the palace. There were, by the looks of things, less than one quarter of the warriors that were based at Y/N's camp standing before her. That including the injured, the barely standing, the barely breathing. She could hardly tell if anyone but herself and Dick had come out of the hydra encounter unscathed.

Princess! Help me! Help me, please!

Y/N swallowed the stomach acid that threatened to come up and stood up, addressing the crowd. 'Anyone here a medic?' Three girls put their hands up. 'Good. Take General Calliope and any other injured warriors to the Palace Infirmary and assist with their care. Everyone else, head to the kitchens and find some food. Then get some rest. I will... I will...'

This is where her mind went blank. Even with all her training, all her experiences with bad guys and death, she couldn't unsee the poor girl, who couldn't have been much older than herself, reaching out to her, expecting Y/N to save her. She couldn't unsee the blood, the guts, the melted bodies.

She couldn't see what their next step was.

'You heard the Princess,' Dick suddenly interjected. 'Now go.'

The remaining warriors nodded their heads in agreement and scurried away, many helping the injured to the infirmary as they went. One of the medics and another warrior came to collect Calliope, who still cried with pain.

Her howls echoed well and truly past when she left the courtyard, leaving Y/N feeling more empty and sorrowful than she'd ever been.

~~~

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honey-minded-hivemind · 10 months ago

Text

❄Fallen Snow🩸 AU... Part One:

(WARNING: Depictions and mentions of abuse, neglect, physical harm, self-harm, depictions and mentions of wounds and blood, self-harm ideation/actions, and Reader at one point is thought to be dead/almost dies. Viewers discretion is advised...) (Side note: Wolverine and Sabretooth are brothers, and their relationship is platonic, and Kurt, Kitty, Fred, Lance, and Todd join the X-Men/Brotherhood after the X-Men/Brotherhood lose Reader and have changed)

• They weren't always the way they are now. There had been a time when they were hopeful, happy, cheerful... Or maybe it was obvliousness, their subconscious the only part of them to understand that something was wrong.

• You can't remember much of anything past the age of five, but you remember some parts of your childhood. It was spent with a mutant group, ones who had taken in or had others like yourself, who were honed to be soldiers. To be unstoppable weapons. You thought they were good for the longest time. Too long, to be honest. You weren't smart back then the way you were now. You didn't understand jokes or sarcasm or much beyond facts in a book. You didn't really understand that the others, the kids and the adults, didn't like you. That they thought you were annoying. Useless. Simple. Someone not worth the effort. Someone unworthy of being with them. Someone unlovable.

• When training, you tried your best, but you weren't naturally aggressive in the way they said you should be. That for a feral mutant, you weren't much of one. You tried to be quick, tried to be kind, tried to go along with what they told you to do, who they wanted you to be. But you just... weren't that. You weren't ruthless, weren't violent, you cried when you killed a moth by accident, what was to be expected? But you still, somehow, did well enough to be allowed to stay. To not disappear. Or maybe they just couldn't be bothered to do anything about you, one way or the other.

• The kids thought you were weird. You looked weird, acted weird, talked weird. They thought you weren't bright. They certainly made jokes at your expense, you knew that, you simply couldn't understand the jokes and sarcasm they used. It hurt. It hurt, bad enough that you grew quieter, more sullen and downtrodden. You weren't as happy or talkative as you once were...

• It came to a head when you caught the ire, the hatred, of your two "mentors"... Two of the three adults ferals, the ones you heard whispers of late at night, talking about how you might be related to them, perhaps a clone... You weren't sure what you did, just that when they found you that day, you were dragged off into a lone room, given no explanation or warning. Their faces were filled with a blind rage, a freezing wrath, and the next thing you know you're being yelled at. Loud, furious roars, a tight, bruising grip on your arm, and no way out... And suddenly-

• SLASH!

• A searing pain filled your senses, and you're crying, trying to hold a hand to the wounds on your face, hoping to stop the pain, the hurt, the redredredred- They order you to stop crying, to stop wailing, or they'll give you a reason to. And so you cover your mouth as best you can, sucking in sharp breath after sharp breath, blinded by the blood dripping down your face. It stains the floor, once clean, a filthy, ugly crimson, garnet-colored ichor growing into a small puddle. They huff, but go to leave, only telling you to clean yourself up. And then they're gone, and you're on your own, and nothing is right anymore.

• Over the next two weeks, you keep your head down and stay out of everyone's way. No more talking than needed, no direct eye contact, and no being around anyone for longer than you're required. You weren't blind to it anymore, were you? That you weren't safe. That you weren't cared about. That you were alone. And with that realization, you grew to dread being near them, near the other kids and the adults and anyone else who was around. But... you had the beginnings of an idea. One that could end your suffering... It would be risky, but... At this point, you'd rather risk the threat of death than stay another day.

• It's at night when you make your move. It's quiet, dark, chilly. You aren't dressed for the weather, and you aren't prepared for whatever is out there. All you have are the clothes on your back and the boots on your feet. You make it mostly all the way, out of the compound, facility, whatever they called the place yo- they, lived in. There's snow out, thick sheets coating the ground and flakes of it dancing down from the sky. It's beautiful... You wished you could have enjoyed it, but there wasn't time to do so. You made your way from the field towards the woods, the icy dirt crunching beneath your feet...

• "Wh-? Reader, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

• And then you're running, as swift and fleet as you can, as far away as you can run. Your feet carry you through the frosty woods, stirring up small bits of snow as you race by, the wind howling around you as you flee for your life. Sometimes your feet nearly slide out from under you, having stepped onto an ice patch, but you quickly right yourself and go faster, forcing yourself to keep going no matter what you hear or how much it scares you...

• Until you eventually reach a seething, ice-studded rocky outcropping. The beginnings of a river spill over a ledge, crashing into a foaming, roaring current, twisting away into the wintery night. You're stuck. And then the worst possible thing happens- they find you.

• "Reader. Get back here. NOW."

• You take a step back, pulling your hands closer to your chest. The noise is almost unbearable, being so close to the raging water so close to you. They only take a step closer, an angry, annoyed look on their faces... "Get over here. NOW. Or you're going to be in even worse trouble." A whine hums in your throat, a pathetic sound. You take another step back, and feel a subtle shift in the rock beneath you. "That's it, I SAID-!"

• CRACK!

• The ground beneath you breaks, sending you tumbling down into the rocks and water below with only a scream as your last words. And soon, all you know is the icy touch of water filling your lungs and the sting of rocks on your skin...

• You weren't sure how you initially woke up... You weren't sure you were even alive... But with a weak, gurgling gasp, you cough up the water sitting in your lungs, gagging into the dirt as you try to hold yourself up. When you eventually finish with one last rasping breath, you crack open your eyes, looking around you. You're by the river, lying in the dirt and rocks and silt of its shore, which is surrounded by endless snow-capped trees and endless sky. And somehow... You feel a small pang of hope. You made it, after all. You weren't dead. You were... free. Of course... now you had to actually get to where people were. Find food. Maybe drink some of the water from the river...

• You weren't quite sure how long you had stayed in the wilderness, scrounging up small, half-starved animals and barely surviving the few times you tried to take on larger prey. Having your cheek ripped open by an antler and having a bear bite through your arm weren't fun experiences, but you had learned that while you could hunt some prey, the larger, more filling prey wasn't what you could go after. You'd learned plenty of things from your time alone in the wild, but your loneliness still grew. It was always festering under the surface. You were glad once you stumbled into a small town, dragging yourself through an alley to spy on the normal going-ons of humans. You hadn't really seen or met a human since before you were five, and you only had the hatred of the X-Men/Brotherhood to explain them. Which led to your decision to scout the woods around the sleepy town, to find a way to read them before you met anyone. And what a thing you found: A small, dusty yet cozy abandoned cabin, just right for you to move into.

• And so that was how your first year was spent, foraging bones and rocks from the forest and hunting animals, selling their pelts or even the whole bit of prey to make a living. You came up with a small story for any townsfolk who asked about you, saying you had an ill family parent to take care of and a relative who visited from time to time to make sure your schooling got done (it was all a lie. You had to say something, and saying you were a mutant child who escaped a dangerous group of bigger, meaner mutants was a no-go). They more or less bought it. They didn't press for any information after that besides occasionally asking if the fake family members were okay. All in all, you had been doing... alright...

• You didn't reveal anything beneath the surface of your skin. You didn't talk about your nightmares, of being back with them, of being hurt, of being laughed at, of being killed- You didn't mention how you got hurt when you hunted, how you sometimes used your own claws to do the hurting for you, slicing them through your skin until blood ran like water- You couldn't bring yourself to deal with your panic attacks, your paranoia and inner turmoil, the fact it hurt to think-

• Yet it didn't last more than three years...

• You weren't sure how they found you. You weren't sure if it was an accident, or if they knew you were alive the entire time, or if someone tipped them off. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter, because they'd stumbled on the little town and had found you within a few days. Seeing them for the first time in so long... You only felt a rising, bubbling feeling of blind fear. It didn't matter if their faces went all weird and soft, or that they tried to get near you, you didn't care- You ran, you bolted, running deep into the woods and not looking back for a second. It didn't matter what you left behind! You had to move, you had to run, you had to fleefleeflee-!

• It shouldn't have surprised you when something thunked into the earth next to you, thin and sharp and leaving an odd smell behind. It shouldn't have surprised you when your old mentors managed to find you, their eyes dark with something that wasn't hate or malice... But you didn't think it would be any better. You know a few of the others, older now than when you last saw them, are close by. You keep your claws out, your face set into a fearful snarl, ready to flee or bite or scram at a moment's notice.

• "Oh, cub... What did we do ta ya?" You do your best to keep an eye on both of them, which proves difficult. They're on either side of the small clearing, each watching you with sharp, unwavering eyes. It doesn't help that when you try to move further away, as far as you can from them, they only move towards that side, keeping themselves in your way of escaping. Their scents are off, something dark and deep and somber, not their old usual fury and annoyance. Their claws aren't out, either... It's strange, for people who want you dead... (Right? They want you dead, to kill you, right?) "Shhh... Cub... I know a lot has happened... I know yer scared, an' yer hurtin', an' I know it's our fault. I know nothin' we do er say can make up fer it... But... please... please give us a chance ta help ya. Please... all we want is ta help ya. All we want is ta give ya what we should've from the beginnin'..." Your eyes dart between them fearfully, a soft whine building in your throat. This is worse than your nightmares. This is your nightmares come to take you back. And you can't have that.

• You try to dart out of the clearing, trying to dodge past the hands that go to grab you-

• But large, warm hands grab the back of your shirt, tugging you back into an iron grip. "Cub, calm down, please! We promise ya we aren't gonna hurt ya! Yer safe, yer okay, yer not gonna be hurt-" You don't pay it any heed, kicking and scratching and biting at what you can, doing everything in your power to break free from the arms keeping you captive. It does nothing. All that happens is the arms tightening and a flurry of panicked words filling the air. "Kid, cub-! Just, calm down fer one minute! We can talk this out-! Please, ya gotta stop fightin' us, ya gotta stop fightin' me! I know yer scared, I know, just, please-!" It doesn't matter what either man says, as all it earns from you is a fearful scream as you struggle harder. The scents around you are rife with sorrow, salty and cold and damp like earth after rain. You hear a wounded noise come from them, but you don't stop your attempt to escape the hold on you. A long, hurt sigh whooshes out, followed by the hold on you pinning you further.

• "I'm so sorry, cub... But we can't let ya keep goin' on like this. Yer hurtin' yerself. And we just can't let that happen."

• And just like that... something presses into your flesh, a sharp sting, which is gone just as quick. A hiss escapes you, your hands suddenly clawing so you can feel at where you were stung. "Shhh... don't worry, cub... It's justa small sedative... It won't hurt ya, all it's gonna do is make ya all sleepy an' tired..." Your eyes widen, then with a small shriek you try to tug yourself away. You can already feel the drug seeping in, a buzz at your skin and thoughts. The more you struggle, the more your thoughts cloud up, earning more movement from you as you do your best to snap out of it. Something akin to a sob breaks loose from you as your tugs and scratching grows weaker, the drug nestling into your system and numbing your limbs. Your mind keeps growing more muddled, thick and soft and syrupy... A hiccup pushes past your lips, being met by a hand patting lightly at your hair. It's weight feels good, the warmth sending you deeper into your tired state. When you try to speak, the words leave you, turning into a sleepy mumble, your body slumping into the hold around you. Everything feels quiet... barely there... So soft... So calm... Hardly any thought stays inside you as your breaths soften, the fear and fight leaving you as you stumble into unconsciousness...

• "Good cub... Just go ta sleep... We'll help ya feel better, that's it..."

• They're careful, one of them holdin' their kid while the other alerts the others, letting them know they have Reader with them and that they had to use a sedative to calm 'em down. It feels so surreal, seein' their once bright kid so... tired. So scared. So hurt. Bein' near 'em, even tha other teens, scared them enough that they were runnin' inta freezin' weather, all ta stay away from 'em. But... They can't let 'em go. Not again. The last time they let 'em go, they thought they died (maybe they actually did, and only came back due to their small healing factor...). They hurt them, they terrified them, they were tha reason they were afraid, the reason they were hurtin'. And now the kid was hurting themself. Was causing themself pain, with no one ta stop them er help them er let 'em know they'd be alright. They'd be d*mned if they let it continue. They'd be worse than dead if they left 'em ta wilt away on their own, ta slip off inta the blinding snow once more... They might have ta keep them calm, make it so they're relaxed enough so they can help them... But they'll do anything, just ta keep them alive. Ta make them feel loved. Ta be their family. And this time, they're gonna do it right...

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen evolution #platonic yandere xmen evolution au #❄Fallen Snow🩸 AU #platonic yandere sabretooth #platonic yandere victor creed #platonic yandere wolverine #platonic yandere logan howlett #creed!reader

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lenreli · 7 months ago

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hey world (aren't you running out of time)

[AO3]

For A1 - Woke Up Dead for my @dreamlingbingo! Featuring a title from SHIV-R's Retina!

CW: Horror, gore, suicide references.

Got possessed by an idea, wrote it down, and here we are. :D

4.1k, M.

Hob wakes up suddenly, a pain on his temple almost unbearable as goes to pick the offending object out―

And, for a moment, can’t comprehend the bullet, utterly confused as to why it was there. Well, he died, which seems obvious enough, but he can’t remember anything of what happened.

Looking around, he’s in his home, in his bedroom, feeling like he’s missing something as he tries to connect the pieces. The last he remembers is…

Going out with colleagues? Which is the last thing he remembers, and not what happened to lead him here.

Putting the bullet on the side table carefully, he feels his head, frowning and pulling his hand back as he feels muscles and nerves, alarmed at the sight of blood on his fingers. Gingerly, he pats the top of his head, and is relieved to still feel hair, trying to get the shape of what happened without getting up, a part of him lethargic.

He has his hair, and the bottom of his ear, the skin of his cheek gone, all the way down to his chest as he looks down. Which is weird―after 600 years, he knows the limits of his immortality, knows how it functions intimately, and this isn’t it.

And with no warning, pain lances through his body, complete and total, can feel his heart stopping―

Waking up with a gasp, he pauses on the way to his face―

Something’s wrong. Like a mass, he can feel in his body, on the left side of his body, a sickening not meant to be like that as he slowly brings a hand up to his face, and the skin he can feel is a comfort, his body regenerated.

Using the bedside table to get stand up, he almost collapses under the feeling dragging his body, just. There. Something horrible and making him sick to his stomach as he lists against the wall, terrified to come across a mirror to reveal what’s wrong with him.

Or perhaps it wouldn’t show at all, which is infinitely more terrifying.

Dream can help, he thinks, feeling like his head is cleaved in half, a part of him somewhere else as he walks out of the bedroom, gripping onto the doorframes to get himself to the living room, or just moving, the wrong in him so still and gaping, a maw of nothing.

The wooden doorframe starts to crumble under his shaking fingers, and he can vaguely feel himself start to hyperventilate at the sight. “Dream, Dream, Morpheus, Oneiros, Dream, Morpheus, Oneiros, Kai’ckul, DreamDreamDream―”

He doesn’t even know how to fucking summon his oldest friend, all the instruction Dream gave him evaporating like the wood under his hands, the wrong in him spreading, can feel it on the left side, stretching out, destroying―

The smell of death distracts him from his sheer horror, to a new one where he’s the one who dying―

“Hob, what is―” Dream’s familiar voice is a balm and he sobs in relief as Dream comes closer―then steps back, black eyes wide, reeking of death, and repulsed by him, by whatever’s happened to him. “That is not,” Dream opens and shuts his mouth.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, “I―I don’t,” Hob can feel tears, hot on one side of his face, the left side disappearing. “Help me,” he pleads, the smell of death from his friend overwhelming, and he wants to ask why, why but can only be selfish, can only think of himself and the wrongness inside him.

Dream’s eyes shine, and his friend steps closer, looking him over―

And looking at Dream, the new terror in him can feel, how easy it would be to give Dream the death he’s seeking with a touch, a black hole of nothing, and he wants to reach out, hold onto that pale hand, can feel himself doing it as Dream hovers close.

With a cry, he wrenches his hand back, shutting his eyes as he falls to the floor, wood disintegrating under his touch.

“Hob, I will find out what has caused this,” Dream promises, the entity’s face terrified and determined. “What is the last thing you remember?” Dream asks softly, pale hands almost reaching out to him, can feel it, and he shakes his head.

“I,” he swallows and thinks how long have I been dead, and there’s a gross certainty inside him that if he doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink, then he’ll continue. “A―colleagues, went out for drinks,” he answers, knowing that this would be nothing like the 1600’s.

Dream’s hand is a ghost over his jaw, and they’ve never touched before this. Hob wants it, to feel that pale soft skin, but he shifts back instead, the knowledge that whatever’s in him could kill an Endless horrifying. “I will fix this,” Dream states, disappearing―in his normal way, sand spriting him away and Hob takes a deep breath.

He needs to get out of this fucking house, this city.

Hob’s unsure how he managed it, calling and texting that he’ll be taking some personal time, as he gets out a fuel can from his garage and fills the car, the glass of the car door only showing him, dead-eyed as the mass of horror weighs his left side down.

There’s a place he owns in the countryside, which he hasn’t been to in over a century, so it’s that place he drives to, the wheel creaking under his hands―but still keeping together, by some weird force of will.

The main reason he chose this place is that it’s already old, nothing of his of value there, a place to―be alone, though he has the feeling that where he is doesn’t matter, the result would be the same.

Silly human, he can almost imagine some past Dream saying and he smiles as he sits on the dusty sofa, putting his face in his hands as he cries.

Looking around, he looks at the old bookshelf, equally old and rotting books on it, the house wooden, but still with four walls and a roof, and on one of those walls, a mirror.

Blinking, he gets up, shambling over to the mirror, where it shows only himself―and not the wrong inside, weighing him down, ready to―

Hob sees blank brown eyes before the mirror crumbles into nothing under his fingers. Then he throws it against the opposite wall in some tired anger, the bookcase trembling momentarily.

He can’t feel the cold, the heat, he doesn’t feel thirsty or hungry just―just―

A void, ugly and roiling, meaty and more, inside him, as he sits near the sofa, watching days and nights pass through the open window that was near the mirror.

“You should not have left,” a deep voice chides and Hob blinks, dragging his head to where he can see his friend, and he smiles, feeling relieved at the sight of him. Even though he’s terrified, can almost taste it. “You left a path of,” Dream frowns and stares at the door, opening it.

Hob blinks, half of still missing as he stares at the ruined road, the car eaten through and rusted. “Oh,” he croaks, voice rusty from disuse. “Just―felt like, needed to be away. From people,” he manages, terrified to go to sleep, mind lagging under everything.

Dream frowns and comes closer, kneeling down near him. “When did you last sleep?” Dream asks, worry seeping out of his tone, and Hob chuckles.

“Don’t you already know the answer to that,” he sighs, and Dream looks even more worried, eyes flitting over him. “Did you find anything?”

“I am working on it,” Dream promises, and it’s only then Hob notices the smell ― or lack of it, and his senses are fine, can smell the rain and sunshine, the rotting wood and metallic rusted steel. Dream no longer smells of death and he smiles. “I am sure. I can help you sleep. It will not be a full sleep, but it will help.”

Somehow staring at the ceiling, he drags his head to the side, smiling, “go wild,” Hob croaks.

Dream nods and stands up, regal as always, “it would be better on the sofa, at least,” Dream says gently, reminding Hob of those platitudes he heard in the hospitals, kind words to help people pass―but this is only Dream, and even with this, he doesn’t want to die. He wants it to stop, but he doesn’t want to die, never, as he forces his body to sit on the sofa.

The black pouch is a familiar sight, but the sand, sparkly and blue, is not, and it’s the last thing he sees.

Waking up from unsettling dreams, from the feeling of hatred and horror, he at least feels―more himself, less a pile of mismatched shapes, some of his sanity regained as he stares at the ceiling. The wrong within him, at least, seems a bit more manageable, even with it’s weight, like it’s going to tear through the flimsy curtain of reality itself at any moment.

“You must help him,” Dream says and there’s a scoff, loud and brash as Hob turns his head, not comprehending the Constantine in his walls, though he can feel them like a phantom limb, slowly becoming nothing.

“I must?! I don’t even―the fuck―if I pull this off,” Constantine says in a Cockney accent as she gestures at him, and he can only blink as she comes closer, staring down at him. She frowns and does a series of words, seemingly going down a laundry list of spells and taking out various things and letting them fall near him, some disappearing when they touch his skin. “Can he pay?” Constantine asks after her barrage of tests.

“Yes, but if he lives. And I am not sure, but,” Dream pauses, which makes Constantine look at him, “I am sure that if he continues like this, your payment would be the least of your worries.”

Constantine huffs and steps away, “it’s always the world-ending shit with you,” she mutters as she loves.

Groaning, Hob sits up, leaning on the arm of the sofa heavily as Dream watches him, worry twisting his face. “I don’t think you’re wrong. I can feel it,” he rasps, unable to feel the left side of his body, even as he brings his left hand to his face, even as he knows there’s an eye and skin, can’t connect it with himself. With the way it feels, a black hole of pure hatred and nothing, “it’s not good.”

“She will be useful,” Dream’s face gets even more worried, gliding closer to him. “How are you feeling?”

Hob giggles, the sound manic, “better than before, so I guess that helped.”

Dream lets out a breath, relaxing a fraction, “I was worried it would speed along whatever is causing this, but I am glad to be right,” Dream says, a tiny smile on his face, which Hob is sure he reflects, though it feels twisted. The smile drops off Dream’s mouth, brows furrowing as he kneels near him, “what if, Hob Gadling, the only way to end this was to,” Dream doesn’t finish the question and Hob can feel the mass bear down.

“To die?” Hob grits out, anger flaring up at the thought, “fuck no! There’s always another answer.” Dream ― doesn’t look convinced, doubtful, and more anger appears at the thought of the smell he’d almost forgotten about, carried by his friend. “I’m not going to die,” he growls, incensed and the most himself ever since this started.

Dream’s shocked, eyes wet as he nods and looks away, “as you say,” Dream’s tone is fond. “Still. Might you―”

“Consider it?” He retorts, voice acrid, the mass in him almost sparking up, and they pay no mind as a portion of the roof falls to the floor, a beam of moonlight shining near them, over the debris of the roof, “like you?”

Dream steps back, almost like he’s been slapped.

“I could smell it on you. I’ve noticed it, that people reek of it, when they want to, or even if they don’t know, but I can tell,” he hisses, holding onto this familiar anger with both hands even as Dream steps back. His hand digs into the sofa as he holds himself up, “and what? Did I ruin your little farewell with this?” He asks, and Dream flinches, taking another step back, expression horrified. “Do you hate me for it?”

“Of course not,” Dream breathes, eyes wet, tears sticking to dark lashes. “Of course not,” Dream repeats, voice tinged with desperation, and Hob wonders who he’s trying to convince. “I could never, please, I, the rules,” Dream continues and Hob lets out a laugh, manic and spitting.

“If the rules themselves think the only way for me to get rid of this is to die, then I’d happily kill them with it,” Hob growls, the old house rotting even more, “and what’s to say that even if I die, that it won’t come with me? Will destroy the afterlife? Is that what you wanted Dream? To end it all? Because I could help with that,” he spits out cruelly, feeling the mass bending to his will as he walks closer to Dream, can feel the particles of oxygen dying as he gets closer to his friend, the horrible thing inside him almost close enough to brush against atoms near Dream.

Dream looks even more terrified, and it’s only when he’s vanished in a cloud of sand, does Hob’s hold of his anger let go, and he falls to the ground.

The door is only a hole in the wall now, and somehow Hob’s found himself on that fucking sofa. Putting his head in his hands, he laughs at the thought of the apocalypse happening while the cause of it all is on some ratty fucking piece of furnitute, only held together by his will.

“That’s not good,” someone says and Hob blinks, finding a golden-eyed person looking at him in fascination. Hob’s sure they seem familiar, like something Dream told him about, he can’t muster up the memory.

“It sucks,” he replies as the person walks closer, corset swaying and fishnet tights sparkling with diamonds as they analyze him, red mini-skirt fluttering around perfect thighs.

“I was going to congratulate you on wrecking my brother so masterfully, but,” the person blinks, their expression that familiar mixture of terror and sadness. “Even like this, you want so much.”

Hob laughs, then winces, “like apologising to your brother,” he says, the regret which soon sunk in afterwards, wondering if he’s scared off his friend once again, driven into ― something that was him, but less and more, twisted and enhanced by whatever the fuck’s inside him.

“Oh, darling,” they sigh and reach out, a hand hovering over his shoulder before they snatch it back, like he’s on fire. Which, in a way, he is, “he’s just a wet rag. You could have a lot more fun with me,” they sniff.

Managing a smile, he laughs, the brief respite from the circumstances needed. “Don’t doubt it, but I do like him quite a bit either way,” he admits, quiet and rueful, and they sigh.

“No accounting for taste, I guess,” they lament, putting their hand on their face, expression sorrowful as they vanish ― shimmering like a heatwave before they’re no longer there.

The little amount of sleep he gets is helpful to not lose himself completely, even with the unsettling, bone-churning nothing they feature, no life anywhere, almost a prophecy with the way he can feel it inside.

Days and weeks pass, and he can see the grass of a far-off hill joining the lifeless area around him, can feel the pull of rusted swings and a car that’s not even good for parts anymore, just a pile of rust in front of the house.

And he can feel it―every atom, every cell and bit of dark matter he can’t see, but it’s there―and he lives in a world where his best friend is the unconscious itself, where he’s seen and done so much, and the idea might be completely insane, but Dream has told him in fancier words that he considers Hob insane, so why not.

But he tries to control it, mustering up energy and anger, a constant emotion he’s felt since he was little, which has never left, a lodestone to stake himself on as days pass.

Slowly, so slowly, he can feel it recede, the mass pressurizing under his emotions, becoming smaller, another day passes as the rust leaves the car, falling apart in a shower of steel.

And it hurts, as he wheezes and coughs up blood, the mass―there, but small, under his skin, under thin layers of skin and muscle and bone, held back by 600 years of anger, by his own insane determination to keep it there.

Gasping, he whines, blood vessels bursting as he pushes it down deeper, knives on the inside with every breath, able to feel every millimetre of pain it’s causing. “Hob,” a voice says, deep and beautiful and Hob smiles.

“You came back,” he whispers, wiping his mouth as he slowly stands up as Dream looks―worried, of course. “I’m sorry, for what I said, for what happened,” he pushes out the words as Dream hovers nearby.

“You,” Dream purses his lips and looks away, then alarmed as Hob walks out of the rotted space where the door was. “It is forgiven.” Every step, every breath hurts as he walks outside the house, “Hob, we have found out what to do. Soon, it will be over,” Dream says, voice bright and worried as he follows Hob.

Swallowing down blood, he smiles, “that’s good,” he replies and tries ― touching the wreck of the car, no decay or disintegration, which is a relief. “Won’t have me dying will it?”

“No,” Dream says, looking between the car and him in wonder. “How?”

“It’s all in here,” Hob gestures to himself, his left side feeling even more paralysed under internal pressure. “Dream,” he reaches out, concentrates ― and Dream doesn’t disintegrate under his fingers as he lightly holds the other’s hands, Dream freezing in place at the touch. “I dunno, feels suitably dramatic,” he mutters.

Then leans forward, pressing his lips against the pink of Dream’s own, chaste as Dream gasps, spindly fingers clutching his own tightly. “Hob,” Dream chokes out, blue eyes shining as he lets go, can feel his concentration slipping as he shakes his head.

“Not how I imagined that’d actually go,” Hob hears himself say distantly as he walks over to a lone tree, every movement screaming at him as he can feel insides disintegrate, rotting and bleeding as he sits down at the trunk of the tree, sighing in relief as Dream follows, as close he can get without touching. “Just going to rest a bit, then,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he feels the sun.

Hob wakes up, and can immediately feel it ― the lack of it, the weight gone, can’t believe it as he takes a breath. Then another, wriggles his toes, can feel his left side as he brings his left hand to his face, feeling everything. And a familiar feeling, his organs new and fresh, twinging with how recently made they are.

“Hob,” a voice says softly, and Hob focuses on the feeling, bones cracking and moving as he cracks finger joints of his left hand. Blinking, he looks over to Dream, blue eyes wet as they stare at him. Dream moves closer, sitting on the edge of the bed gingerly as Hob marvels at being able to feel his body again, the lack of weight and pressure, the lack of the wrong gone from him. “How are you feeling?”

Swallowing, he licks dry lips, just noticing the beard on his chin, almost as long as it was in his first life. Hob wonders at it, quite sure it wasn’t there while he was―”alive,” he croaks, smiling. And Dream smiles, long form bending over him in relief. “What happened?”

Dream’s brows furrow, “are you sure you want to know?”

“Lay it on me,” he smiles, moving his hands and toes, the movement of joints, the feeling of them so good to have.

Dream frowns and takes something out from his coat ― a small vial, and Hob stops at the sight of ― a scale, or looking like a scale, black and absorbing the light around it. And he can feel it, even with it out, the gnawing nothing that was inside. “There was a ritual ― it needed an immortal for it to work,” Dream says gravely.

“A promising start,” he says dryly, staring at the vial warily.

“They drugged you,” Dream continues, “a cult of those wanting an end to everything. To put this inside you, where it would ― end everything,” Dream gives him the vial, almost disturbed at the contents of it. “A fragment of an old god, from a universe before.”

Hob stares at the vial, the words matching with the feelings of it, “and when you say end everything?” He asks softly. On some level he already knows, having it inside him for what feels like an age, but still.

“If you were to die, to take my sister’s hand, it would decimate the Sunless Lands. If you were to dream, it would destroy the Dreaming ― and me. If you did not somehow contain it, it would have ended this universe in a blink,” Dream says, voice deep and resonant.

Nodding, he holds the vial ― then sits up and throws the vial into the drawer of his bedside table. “Where was it?” He asks, exhaustion setting in as Dream stares at him, eyes black and empty―he looks away, stomach rolling, “stop with the ― eyes,” he chokes out.

A pale hand reaches out to him ― a thumb pressing above his left collarbone, “it was there,” Dream replies, eyes a blessed blue. Sighing, he grabs hold of the hand on him, the simple touch reminding him of how he went months without it ― starved for it, especially from Dream. “Did you mean it?” Dream’s voice breaks.

“Me kissing you?” Hob clarifies, Dream giving him a minute nod, somehow even more terrified than before. “Definitely.”

Dream’s hand presses into where it was ― and he can almost feel it, spot where it was, the way he couldn’t feel his left side before ― though, all those thoughts vanish as Dream kisses him, the softness of the other’s skin making him want to cry. And he does cry, a bit, as they kiss, licking into Dream’s mouth, a pale jaw under his other hand.

The desire coursing through him is ― heady, the simple emotion combined with Dream, with the way Dream kisses him back, presses against him, so good―

Hob breaks the kiss with a gasp, arms winding around Dream’s shoulders and waist, keeping him close as his face presses into the other’s collarbone. “‘M tired, and,” he’s probably gross now that he thinks about it ― tired and wrung out, organs inside him still knitting themselves together. And having not eaten or slept in months, or showered even.

“You should rest,” Dream says, hands slowly resting on his back as they cuddle. “You have had an ordeal.”

Sighing, he soaks up the other’s touch gratefully, the way he can feel Dream warm up by some eldritch metric. “Don’t leave,” Hob whispers, probably holding Dream tight enough that no breath could leave the entity ― if he needed to breathe, that is.

Dream’s hands stroke up and down his back, and a sigh leaves Dream anyway. “You were right. About ― me, when I first visited,” Dream says quietly, an arm going around his shoulder. “But seeing you ― and your anger, that there’s another way.” Hob nods, forcing himself to not fall asleep to the other’s voice. “I called,” a pause, long, one, two, three, four heart beats, “my siblings. To help you. And then they helped me.”

“No dying?” He mumbles, pleasantly warm and fuzzy, Dream’s touch a balm to himself.

“It is still ― a problem. There will be no dying. There will be another way,” Dream promises. “I thought I would want to end, become another facet of me. Faced with what was inside you, I,” Dream swallows and holds him tighter, and he winces, insides protesting as Dream lessens his grip. “I am amazed at how much I want to live. To experience. Especially if you are involved.”

“I’ll teach you all the tricks,” he says in a yawn, falling off to sleep as Dream caresses his back.

[Fin]

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #writing #have been wanting more horror #there is a happy ending!#it's just. there's the Horrors first #2024 dreamling bingo

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jtl-fics · 1 year ago

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Fluent Freshman - Part 35

"Andrew, wake up." Andrew felt a hand on his shoulder and he lashed out as he always did. He found himself rocketing towards consciousness as he heard Neil's pained grunt. Panic lances through him as he realizes what he had hit instead of the intruder and he's glad they compromised when he and Neil had started to sleep in the same bed.

Andrew pulls Neil in closer to protect him even as Neil groans at the sudden jolting movement.

He needs to get-

"I already moved your secret pillow knife Andrew." The intruder says as Andrew's hand grasps at nothing. He has a second one but the intruder is now armed and Neil-

"Erik and the Hans Moretti Sword Box are the only combination of me, another guy, and blades being stabbed at me that I will accept. Now, wake up." The familiar sounding intruder says.

Andrew blinks awake.

Nicky's frowning face is staring down at him.

"I need to borrow the Maserati, or you need to drive me to Abby's house. Right now." Nicky says without a hint of the fear.

Or, at least, not fear of Andrew.

"What's wrong with Smith?" he asks holding out his hand for his pilfered knife as he rubs Neil's side where he had lashed out instinctively.

Nicky looks at him for a long moment before handing the knife back to Andrew, "There's...I just feel like something isn't right. I want to be there with him, I shouldn't have left him there." Nicky says.

Andrew didn't disagree.

FF had been relaxed and at ease, drinking the disgusting smoothie that Kevin had forced on him, and Andrew had noticed a hint of a smile on his friend's face.

Then that fuckface showed up and FF had looked worse than when Andrew had stabbed him. He still remembered the garbage that piece of shit had spewed and Andrew hated knowing things about his friend that his friend hadn't told him.

Hated that his brain could piece moments that made a horrible amount of sense now. FF staring at his car the first time before climbing in, how he had requested that Andrew focus on the road, Nicky looking at all of them exasperated "Smithy was going to walk back", and-

“See, you’re still upset over what that guy did. Why are you clinging to the last name of the guy that did this to you?” Fuckface asks from behind them, “He almost killed mom and you. He did kill our two-“

"Stop."

Andrew makes himself stop thinking about it. It wasn't something FF wanted to talk about.

"The keys are where I always put them." he says because he thinks if he gets out of bed he might go hunt fuckface for sport. The thought of seeing fuckface's well fucking face as he hits him with the Maserati is not a bad one.

"Thank you Andrew. Sorry Neil." Nicky says and Neil waves it off having mostly drifted back to sleep as Andrew had rubbed his back mindlessly.

Nicky leaves without another word. Andrew settled back into bed hand still mindlessly rubbing Neil's back. He closes his eyes. He thinks about how FF had looked at those two kids a few weeks back.

He'd looked like a good older brother.

He holds Neil tight, focuses on the feeling of his even breathing on his neck, and listens to Kevin's snoring to think about a monster consuming Daniel whole.

******

Sometimes Matt feels like he misses out on things with his friends. It didn't happen that often and he doesn't regret the Thanksgiving he spent with his Mom and Dan. Not a single atom regrets making hand turkeys with Dan or holding Dan and his Mom's bags during their Black Friday spree.

He still felt ice in his stomach when he heard that some of Nathan's men had come for Neil and that FF had gotten hurt. FF hadn't seemed overly bothered by the injury and Matt was looking forward to having the freshman as a roommate once he was fully cleared by Abby.

FF was a good kid and Matt had a hard time disliking someone who so obviously looked up to and liked his best friend. He'd told Dan about the 'Captain Neil' title and the two of them had just about died talking about how sweet they both found it.

Which is why he feels a certain kind of way when he finds out his Skype date with Dan had him miss out on a face that, based on what he heard from an incensed Aaron, was in desperate need of a punch.

"Where's Nicky?" Matt asks.

"He couldn't stop worrying about Smiths, he doesn't have Friday classes so he mentioned something about sticking with Smiths." Aaron explains over his oatmeal and Matt turns his head towards the wall they shared with Neil, Andrew, and Kevin's room as he hears the blender going. Aaron shovels the remainder of his oatmeal into his mouth, "I gotta go. I'll see you later." he says.

Matt waves his roommate off and wonders what the sudden rush was but it was hardly three minutes later that Kevin Day was bursting into their room without knocking. "Aaron, I need your-" Kevin stops gaze settling on Matt. "Where's Aaron?" he asks.

Matt looks at him, "He just left." he says. Kevin looks to the ceiling in obvious frustration, "Anything I can help with?" Matt asks while at the same time cursing himself for asking.

"Have you had breakfast?" Kevin asks immediately.

"Uh...no?" Matt says.

"Perfect. Drink this." Kevin says shoving a smoothie into Matt's hand. Matt looked at the blue-ish smoothie in his hands and then back up to Kevin. "You asked if there was anything you could help with. Tell me how that tastes." he points at the beverage and Matt recognizes the distinct smell of one of Kevin's health shakes.

"I don't want to do this." Matt says setting the smoothie to the side.

"I'm trying to improve the flavor." Kevin says, "It was brought to my attention that it isn't very...good tasting." Kevin adds sounding like the admission costs him something.

"Just now? You just figured out they taste like butt, just now?" Matt asks incredulously.

Kevin flushes, "Smiths drank it without complaint!" he exclaims.

"Yeah, 'cuz Smithster is nice! Also I think his face is just stuck like that." Matt says.

"There was no way I could have known they were gross!" Kevin argues.

"Kevin, most people TASTE the things they're giving to others." Matt points out and Kevin only grows redder.

"Are you going to help me improve the taste or not?!" Kevin demands pointing at the smoothie, "that's phase one right there." he points at the beverage.

Matt considers it, "This is to make these god awful smoothies taste better for Smithster?" he asks finally feeling like there was something he could offer his friend.

"Yes." Kevin says.

"And you can't just taste them yourself....because?" Matt asks.

"I need multiple datapoints, it can't just be me." Kevin answers immediately.

Matt rolls his eyes but he was not one to deny the scientific process, "Fine." he agrees and grabs the smoothie, "You said this was phase one of improving the flavor?" he asks.

"Yes." Kevin says.

Matt nods and brings the smoothie to his lips.

Bitter. Slimey. Why is it spicy? So Bitter. It's liquid how is it chalky?

He immediately spits it out, "Why does it taste like that?!" Matt demands immediately. "You said it was phase one?!" he hisses.

"That's the control. I needed your opinion on where I was starting." Kevin jerks his head to the side towards the entrance of Matt's dorm, "C'mon, we've got work to do." he says leaving the room without taking his godforsaken smoothie with him.

Matt looks to the ceiling like Kevin had earlier. Honestly, the world had been a darker place since Kevin had to take the required science course last year.

****** There was no singular more 'freshman' thing that FF had done, in Nicky's opinion, than the fact that the kid had early Friday classes. Nicky had gotten to Abby's place late and hadn't slept before, too caught up in a conversation with Aaron.

FF had been awake when he'd gotten to Abby's, staring blankly into the fridge and based on how cold his friend's pajamas were he couldn't help but wonder how long FF had been there. So he herded FF back to bed and FF had pressed his face into Nicky's shoulder and hadn't let go. So Nicky had crawled into bed after FF had nodded his consent.

Nicky had slept terribly.

Still, he woke up with FF's alarm. FF's gaze was about a thousand miles away but he got ready for his two early Friday classes robotically. Nicky shot a text to Aaron and Andrew to let them know that he'd stick with FF for the day to make sure that if Daniel showed up he wouldn't bother FF.

FF walked into a wall as he was texting. "Aw, bud." he says and sets him on a new course.

Andrew texted to tell him that Neil was going to talk with Wymack about not giving Daniel a chance.

He heard another thud, "Oh, Smith don't run into that." he hears Abby say worriedly.

Nicky puts his phone away.

Focus.

He gets FF through breakfast and through the walk to campus. He takes a seat next to FF in his Math class and ignores the narrowed eyes of the person who's usual seat he has obviously taken. He turns in FF's homework, pays attention, takes some notes, answers the clicker questions for FF, and guides him out and over towards his next class.

He sees Daniel being shown around campus by Jack.

He texts Aaron for back-up. The two of them manhandle FF across campus just in time for his Japanese class and Nicky and Aaron swear up and down that they are just there to look in on the class. Nicky hands the clicker off to Aaron since the future doctor's handwriting left a lot to be desired.

Eventually it was done and Nicky and Aaron had to maneuver FF through a truly STARTLING amount of people who wanted to 'have a word' with FF. Nicky remembers that kid from months back. 'The Adonis of the Foreign Language Department'

Eventually through a combination of Nicky's polite declinations, Aaron glowering, and FF walking into another wall they managed to escape the Foreign Language department of Palmetto State University.

"I think we deserve a treat." Nicky says, "Everyone who agrees raise your hand." he adds and raises his own hand before lifting FF's hand up and looking to see Aaron lift his own hand up.

"Are we sure he's okay in there?" Aaron asks waving a hand in front of FF's face as they made their way to an ice cream shop that had excellent waffle cones and was the place that sold FF's favorite triple berry milkshake.

"Yeah, this happens sometimes." Nicky says even if it had never gone on this long with FF having to reboot his system. It feels like his friend may have blue-screened but Nicky's willing to wait it out.

"If you're sure." Aaron says expression giving away how unconvinced he is but he moves along, "Did you do what we talked about last night?" he asks.

"Yeup." Nicky says popping the 'p' at the end.

"Good." Aaron says as he opens the door to the ice cream shop.

****** Andrew is walking to Abby's with Neil, Kevin, and Matt to pick up his car. Nicky had texted Andrew that he and Aaron were hanging out at Abby's trying to get FF to snap out of whatever daze he had fallen into.

"We have to let him tryout and there will be someone from the university there making sure it's all fair." Neil spits the word out with obvious disgust. "Like any of this shit is fair!" Neil kicks a pebble on the sidewalk.

Andrew keeps his thoughts to himself that if Daniel just doesn't make it to the tryouts then there's no issue. This whole mess kicked off because he stabbed FF and Andrew wanted to make it right. FF may not blame Andrew and may still reflexively tell anyone who asks that Romero did it, but Andrew can't forget the moment he looked over and saw his knife in FF's stomach and realized that the blood on his hands was his friend's.

"He might be a good addition to the team." Kevin says.

"Kevin, if you say that one more time I'm going to dump phase 3 down your throat." Matt hisses.

Kevin recoils in visible disgust and notably keeps his mouth shut. Andrew will have to get the recipe off of Matt if it's that effective at shutting Kevin up.

They make the final turn onto Abby's street and Andrew's eyes narrow as he looks at Abby's driveway where there was only one car.

"Where the fuck is my car?" he asks.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

#Fluent Freshman AU #AFTG #AFTG AU #FF - Pt 35 #Fluent Freshman Friday #Ya'll are getting a long one because the Matt POV took me #Jack is showing Daniel around the campus #And the two of them are both growing INCREASINGLY irritated with the other #Because it's two people who can't help but be so far up their own asses #That having to listen to someone be up THEIR own ass? TORTURE.#Jack was showing him around because the Wymack asked him to.#Wymack was hoping that Daniel would leave #Neil was his usual charming self to the board of directors #Which is to say he ripped them apart #Honestly if Andrew was there at the board meeting the last scene wouldn't have happened #Andrew and Neil would be too busy sexiling Kevin to be walking and see FF #But alas #Andrew was doing homework and eating ice cream #Also Matt and Kevin got up to Phase 13 #Because I'm a sucker for keeping up with themes #Andreil

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klance-headcanons-official · 5 months ago

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Ok ok so have yall seen those fanarts of Keith as one of lotors generals? Hope so cause that’s kinda based off what I’m talking about. Buckle up cause this is long and I didn’t reread it so sorry if there is any mistakes

What if Keith worked with lotor as one of his generals? Who would be the red paladin? I think it would be allura, or lance would be in red and allura would be in blue. Keith could’ve known shiro on earth but after the Kerberos mission incident, Keith tried looking for him like in cannon but couldn’t. Then, somehow bc I’m not sure yet, Keith gets ‘kidnapped,’ by lotor/the galra. He becomes one of lotors generals alongside acxa, ezor, zethrid and narti

The paladins got into space similarly to cannon. Pidge gets the Voltron’s signals, they kidnap shiro but PIDGE finds the blue lion, then they get shot into space and become the paladins of Voltron alongside allura and coran

They catch the attention of lotor and his generals since, oh shit, voltrons back and oh wait!! Keith knows the black paladin for some reason? Plus the galra empire but yk this ain’t about them

So it goes down how it did in canon for how the paladins meet lotor and technically the generals, I don’t remember how this happened so it’s vague, sorry, and then they meet Keith. Shiro can barely recognize Keith. It can’t be him. That can be the same like 12 year old he knew all those years ago. This is someone completely different.. right? He certainly looks different..

I think Keith would probably looks more galran rather the human. Example being yellow sclera, pointy irises(like a cat), maybe even white pupils, and his teeth and nails are sharper, almost like claws, his hair has a purple tint to it, like his mother’s. Basically he appears human but the more they look at him the less human he seems

The paladins, specifically and mainly shiro, end up having to fight him like the do acxa or ezor or zethrid. And frankly, shiro feels terrible about it. No one but shiro and lance knew who Keith was. But lance didn’t really like him because of their one sided rivalry. So shiro had to explain how he knew Keith. How that cannot be the same boy he helped and cared for. It can’t be his little brother.

Then lotor goes kinda crazy and says he’s gonna destroy the galra! Which is yk.. definitely something to say! So Keith and the others help haggar and the empire, like in canon. But Keith questions it like acxa eventually did. So he ends up helping the paladins, who still barely trust him, which is fair. But he does something that gains their trust. Maybe keeping lance safe by risking his life. Keith ends up growing to trust shiro again. He only ‘stopped’ trusting him because he was left behind. And he had worked with lotor, who really made it seem like he, shiro, was untrustworthy

But he isn’t needed with the paladins, until shiro fucking dies but I’ll get to that in a second, so he helps the BoM. Where he finds his momma then gets stuck on that damn whale thing. But he gets kosmo and finds out krolia is his mom

But then shiro goes missing. So he has to help the paladins. But he’s not the leader, no no no. That’s lance. Allura is in blue and Keith is in red.

That’s all I have right now lolol

- Vee 💜

I need to figure out your account if I don't already know it and I need to be ur mutual right now literally how do you come up with this stuff it's so good holy shit

I can absolutely see all of this happening and their is a good chance imma make fan art later.

#voltron #vld #klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #ships #hehe #headcanon #thanks vee!!

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fateandfragments-fanfiction · 2 months ago

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Eternal Bonds - Ghost!F!Reader x Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd

Fire Emblem - Three Houses (Time Skip)

During the war, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is haunted by the ghost of Reader, a knight he considering more than a friend, who died under his command.

TW: Death and grief, survivors guilt, emotional anguish

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The battlefield was eerily quiet after the clash of steel and screams had subsided. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, once prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and now its broken heir, stood amidst the carnage, his one good eye scanning the horizon for signs of stragglers or ambushes. Blood stained his tattered cape, and the weight of his fury, his grief, bore down on him as heavily as the battle-worn lance in his grasp.

The voices in his head whispered incessantly. Accusations, condemnations, the ghostly wails of those he could not save.

And then, one day, amid the ruins of a dilapidated village, another voice cut through his torment.

“You fight like a man trying to outrun his shadow,” said the voice, soft yet unmistakable.

Dimitri froze, his grip tightening on his weapon as his gaze darted across the desolate village. There was no one alive—he had checked himself. The dead littered the ground, unseeing eyes staring into the void. Yet, this voice was different from the chorus in his mind. It was clear, almost melodic, and filled with something the others lacked: warmth.

“Who’s there?” Dimitri growled, taking a cautious step forward, his good eye narrowing.

“I’d forgotten how paranoid you could be,” the voice replied, almost teasing now.

And then she appeared, stepping from the shadow of a crumbled wall like a dream brought to life. Or, rather, half-life.

[Name].

Her form shimmered faintly, translucent but undeniably her. The memories hit him like a blow to the chest. She had been one of his knights—a steadfast companion, a voice of reason when the world had begun to crumble. Her laughter had been rare but infectious, a ray of sunlight in the bleakness of their lives. And then, one fateful day, she had been lost. He remembered her falling, her blood staining the snow, her lips forming his name in a soundless plea as life left her eyes.

He had failed her too.

“You’re—” His voice broke. “This is a trick. You’re dead.”

“I know,” [Name] said simply, a wry smile curving her lips. “Believe me, it wasn’t my plan. But I’ve been watching you, Dimitri. And, gods, you need help.”

His laugh was bitter. “What help could a ghost possibly offer me?”

“More than you’d think,” she said. “But first, you need to stop wallowing in self-loathing long enough to listen.”

In the days that followed, [Name]'s presence became a constant. At first, Dimitri thought her another manifestation of his guilt, but she didn’t act like the other voices. She didn’t accuse him of failures or demand vengeance. Instead, she nagged him about eating properly, teased him about his gruff demeanor, and occasionally drifted off to scout the terrain ahead.

“I’m not just here to haunt you,” she had said one night as they camped by a dying fire. “I’m here because there’s something you need to do. Something I need to do.”

Dimitri didn’t ask what she meant. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Yet, as the weeks turned into months, [Name]'s purpose became clear. She wasn’t just lingering to torment him—she was guiding him. Every village they passed through, every skirmish they survived, seemed to bring them closer to uncovering a mystery she refused to fully explain.

“It’s complicated,” she said one evening, sitting cross-legged on the air as if it were a solid surface. “But trust me, it’s important.”

“More important than the war?” Dimitri asked, his tone harsher than he intended.

Her expression softened. “It’s connected. You’ll see.”

Their journey eventually brought them to a forgotten stronghold on the outskirts of Faerghus, its gates rusted and walls crumbling. [Name] grew more agitated as they approached, her form flickering like a candle in the wind.

“This is it,” she said, her voice taut with an urgency Dimitri hadn’t heard before.

“What is?” he asked, glancing around the decrepit fortress. “There’s nothing here.”

“There is,” she insisted, gesturing for him to follow. “But you’ll have to trust me.”

He did. He didn’t know when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, he had stopped questioning her. [Name] led him through the ruins, her steps sure even as the floors threatened to give way beneath them. Eventually, they reached a hidden chamber, its entrance obscured by debris.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of decay. Old scrolls and ledgers littered the floor, and in the center of the room stood a pedestal bearing a tarnished crest—the symbol of the Blaiddyd lineage.

“What is this place?” Dimitri asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“A secret your family tried to bury,” [Name] said, her tone bitter. “The truth about the tragedy at Duscur.”

The words hit him like a thunderbolt. “What do you know about Duscur?”

“More than you,” she said. “And it’s time you learned the truth.”

As they sifted through the documents, the pieces began to fall into place. The massacre at Duscur had been no mere act of revenge but a carefully orchestrated conspiracy. Political machinations, betrayals within Faerghus—everything Dimitri had believed about that fateful night was a lie.

His hands trembled as he held one of the scrolls, the words blurring before his eye. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Would you have listened?” [Name] asked gently. “You needed to be ready.”

“I don’t know if I am.”

“You are,” she said, placing a ghostly hand over his. He couldn’t feel it, but the gesture steadied him nonetheless. “And you’re not alone.”

For the first time in years, Dimitri felt something other than rage or despair. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close.

When they emerged from the stronghold, the sky was tinged with the first light of dawn. Dimitri stood taller, the weight on his shoulders slightly less crushing. [Name] hovered beside him, her expression unreadable.

“What happens now?” he asked.

“You take what we’ve found and use it to end this war,” she said. “Expose the truth, reclaim your kingdom. Do what I couldn’t.”

“And you?”

She smiled faintly. “I’ll still be here. For a while, at least.”

Dimitri’s throat tightened. “[Name], I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice trembling. “If you say it, I might not be able to let go.”

He nodded, the words dying on his lips.

"Let’s go," [Name] said, her voice barely above a whisper, the faint shimmer of her form flickering as though her resolve had weakened.

Dimitri glanced at her one last time before turning his gaze forward, forcing himself to take a step. The weight in his chest remained heavy, the words he had wanted to say swirling in his mind like a storm. But he respected her wish. To speak now, to give voice to the connection he felt, might shatter the fragile tether that kept her with him. Or worse, it might bind her here forever, trapped between life and death because of his selfishness.

The walk back to camp was silent, save for the crunch of snow under his boots and the faint whistle of the wind. [Name] drifted beside him, her ethereal glow dimmed, as though the secrets they had uncovered had drained her strength.

When they returned, the camp was quiet. His band of loyal yet broken soldiers—those who followed him despite his madness, despite his failures—were resting. The faint light of the fire cast long shadows on the tattered tents.

Dedue approached, his face as stoic as ever but his eyes filled with concern. "Your Highness. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Dimitri hesitated, glancing toward [Name] . She gave him a subtle nod.

"Yes," he said finally. "But it raises more questions than answers. We will discuss it at dawn."

Dedue inclined his head. "Understood. I will keep watch."

Dimitri started toward his tent, but [Name] lingered, her gaze fixed on Dedue. "He still follows you," she murmured, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her tone. "Even after everything. You’re lucky to have him."

"I know," Dimitri replied, pausing. "I don’t deserve his loyalty, or yours."

"Maybe not," she said, drifting after him. "But we’re here all the same."

He didn’t respond, pushing into his tent and collapsing onto the crude bedroll inside. The exhaustion of the day weighed on him, yet sleep didn’t come. [Name] hovered nearby, her presence both comforting and tormenting.

"You’re thinking too much again," she said after a long silence.

Dimitri let out a dry laugh. "You should know by now that I can’t stop."

"Then let me help," she said, settling cross-legged on the ground. Her form flickered faintly, as if the effort of sitting drained her, but she steadied herself. "Ask me something. Anything."

He hesitated. There was only one question he truly wanted to ask, but he feared the answer. Yet the words slipped out before he could stop them.

"Why did you stay? Why didn’t you move on?"

[Name]'s expression softened. "Because I couldn’t leave you like this."

He clenched his fists. "That’s not fair to you."

"It’s not about fairness, Dimitri," she said gently. "It’s about what’s right. You needed someone to pull you out of the abyss, even if it’s just a ghost who refuses to let go."

"And when I’m out of the abyss?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Will you leave then?"

She didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze dropped to her hands, which shimmered faintly before becoming translucent again. "I… I don’t know. Maybe."

The silence that followed was unbearable. Dimitri stared at her, memorizing every detail of her spectral form—the curve of her lips, the determined set of her jaw, the way her eyes, though faint, still burned with the fire of the woman he had known.

"I don’t want you to leave," he admitted finally, his voice cracking.

[Name] looked up, and for the first time, he saw the tears glistening in her ghostly eyes. "Don’t make this harder than it already is."

"I won’t," he said, though the words felt like a lie.

They sat together in silence after that, the unspoken words hanging between them like a barrier neither dared to cross.

The days that followed were filled with purpose. Dimitri shared what they had learned with his inner circle—Dedue, Gilbert, and even a reluctant Felix, who had begrudgingly rejoined the group. They began to piece together a plan, one that could expose the truth and strike at the heart of the conspiracy that had plunged Faerghus into chaos.

[Name]'s presence was a constant, her guidance invaluable as they navigated the treacherous political landscape. But as the pieces fell into place, Dimitri couldn’t ignore the growing distance between them. She was fading, her form flickering more frequently, her voice growing quieter.

One night, as they prepared for a decisive battle, she appeared beside him, her glow faint but steady. "This might be the last time I can help you," she said softly.

Dimitri’s chest tightened. "Why now? We’re so close."

"Because you don’t need me anymore," she said, her voice tinged with both pride and sadness. "You’ve found your way. You’ve found hope again."

He shook his head. "No. I can’t—"

"You can," she interrupted, her gaze fierce. "And you will. You have Dedue, and the others. You’re not alone."

"But I’ll lose you," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She smiled, a faint, bittersweet thing. "You’ll never lose me, Dimitri. Not really."

He reached for her then, his hand passing through hers like mist.

"[Name]—"

"Shh," she said, leaning closer. Her voice was barely a whisper now, her form flickering like a dying star. "You’re going to be fine. Promise me you’ll see this through."

"I promise," he said, his throat tight.

Her smile widened, and for a moment, she looked as solid and real as she had in life. "Good."

And then she was gone.

The battle that followed was fierce and bloody, but Dimitri fought with a clarity and purpose he hadn’t felt in years. [Name]'s voice echoed in his mind, guiding him, steadying him. When the dust settled, and victory was theirs, he stood amidst the carnage and looked to the horizon.

The weight of his grief remained, but it was no longer unbearable. He carried it now as a part of himself, a reminder of what he had lost and what he still fought to protect.

And though she was gone, he swore he could feel [Name]'s presence, a faint warmth at his side, urging him forward.

------

Dimitri had long since grown into the man [Name] always believed he could become. Years passed after the war, years spent rebuilding Faerghus and forging a fragile peace across Fódlan. But no crown, no throne, no victory had filled the space she left behind.

He lived for his people, his kingdom, his friends, and the memories of those he had lost. It was enough. Or so he told himself.

Until the day he died.

The transition was seamless. One moment, he was an old man closing his eyes for what he thought would be the last time; the next, he found himself standing in a field of endless light. The air smelled of spring—fresh grass, blooming flowers, the kind of clean breeze he hadn’t felt since his youth.

And there she was.

[Name] stood a short distance away, her back turned to him as she surveyed the field. Her form was solid, her figure more alive than the ghostly shimmer he had grown used to during her haunting. She wore no armor now, just a simple tunic and trousers.

“[Name],” Dimitri called, his voice trembling.

She turned, her expression stunned at first, before her lips curved into a smile so bright it took his breath away. “Dimitri?”

He took a step forward, then another, until he stood before her. Hesitant, he raised a hand as if to touch her, but stopped just short.

“Is this… real?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Her laughter was like music, unrestrained and full of life. “As real as it gets, I think.” She reached out and took his hand, solid and warm. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

At her touch, something in him broke, and all the years of grief and longing spilled out. He pulled her into a fierce embrace, his arms wrapping around her as if afraid she might disappear again. She held him just as tightly, her presence grounding him in a way nothing had since her death.

“I missed you,” he murmured against her hair.

“I missed you too,” she said softly.

~Fin~

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Wrote this with a friend in mind, who together, we tend to make the angstiest storylines for each others characters pseudo-canon events. You know who you are 👀

#reader insert #x reader #fanfic #reader #fe three houses #fe3h #fe3h dimitri #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimitri/reader #reader/dimitri #dimitri fire emblem #dimitri x reader #reader x dimitri #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #reader x dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #reader/dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd/reader

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alphabetbill · 4 months ago

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Macabre [ HEMLOCK GROVE ] - chapter 1

" 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧, 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠- 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 "

[ C I C A D A ] hosho mccreesh.

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~ description ~

A werewolf whose only skill is running from his fears, a half-upir with no idea of the true darkness lying inside of him, and a girl found alive in the woods months after her mysterious death.

Some secrets in Hemlock Grove should have just stayed buried. In a town that isn't so sleepy after all, monsters of all kinds are wide awake under the surface, crawling their way up.

~ warnings~

This story will contain mature and heavy themes that may involve potentially explicit content, gore and murder, talk of kidnapping and stalking victims, supernatural/paranormal/religious themes and trauma, any other themes not covered in the general description will probably be tagged here at the start of the chapters that other significant warnings apply to.

A list will be linked here upon completion and upload of each chapter:

Cicada and the Snake

Chapter 1 . Chapter 2 . Chapter 3 . Chapter 4 . Chapter 5 . Chapter 6 . Chapter 7 .

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c h a p t e r o n e .

Peter Rumancek

<<>>

IT WAS WITH A HEAVY HEART SOMEWHERE INSIDE THAT Lance Evergreen would lay his daughter to finally rest, but not heavy enough.

On a muggy October evening, the man would stumble into his house, more of a trailer trash dwelling than anything, and hit the drinks as though he had never left them. Judith had been gone for months, and in his mind, seeing them lower her battered corpse into a hole in the ground where he would never see her again felt almost offensively anti-climactic. He had dreamt of the worst-case scenario over and over again, had imagined how it happened, when and why. How they would find her and what would be left of her.

By the time her body was found dumped in that ditch, in his head, Lance had already seen it all.

He had already mourned. He would never stop.

Peter went to visit him the day after the funeral.

He kicked his way through discarded beer cans and shattered bottles that spilled sticky ichor onto the bare particle board. He thought Uncle Vince was bad, given his lethal alcoholism that had eventually killed him, but this was just sad and Peter was just sad.

He knew Lance as well as he had known Vince, the two men having been close friends. Peter knew that Lance had an ex-wife, Judith's mother, who had shown up for the funeral and left promptly afterwards. Peter hadn't known her all that well from the couple of times he met the woman when he was little, but he had seen the way she clung to her cigarette and never said a word to anyone at the funeral. She used to be a local, but neither his uncle or Lance had brought it up so he had never had a reason to ask why she left. They also had a son who died.

Peter had also known Judith, which only made his heart squeeze more to think about it. He had fond memories of throwing worms at each other, collecting snails as kids, and gathering around Nicolae Rumancek to observe the fairy he had caught in a mason jar. He remembered so clearly how Jude was so adamant that it was in fact not a fairy, but a firefly, and that Peter's grandfather ought to let it go. Now his grandfather was gone, the girl was gone, and all he had left were faded recollections to remember it all by.

The man was already out cold by the time he reached the couch, which had been torn up by a dog- he could tell from the scent. It must have died not too long ago, because the food bowl still sat in the corner of the kitchen, flies buzzing around it. Peter took it upon himself to dispatch the old food with a hollow feeling in his chest and returned to the living room.

It was difficult to see how much this man had changed. Peter had fond memories of Lance giving him shoulder rides and driving around in his car. He remembered his stories, many of which he and Vince made up, and remembered how life-like and exciting he had been. Now all that was left was a husk of the soul of a man- a man with a failed marriage, two dead kids and one dead best friend. Alone in the world to drink and then die.

Peter didn't know what to do to fix his uncle's friend. He didn't know how to help his sad, hulking body off the couch when he had no interest in learning how to move. He didn't know how to console a father whose daughter was gone. But he did know that he wanted to be there for him, and that he wanted to help.

So, he helped. All while the man had drank himself into a stupor, the boy found his way to the kitchen and to the garbage bags beneath the rusted sink with the constant drip. He put the bottles, the cans, the wrappers, and all of the litter that his eye could see into the bag and hauled that bag out to the trash. He came back. He repeated the process.

It should not have been Peter's job to clean up this mess, but for once he didn't mind doing it. It felt almost therapeutic to cleanse the trailer of the mess and the alcohol and the despair he wished Uncle Vince had the chance to. The last thing he did was pry the bottle from his hand and set it away on the kitchen table.

Then Lance muttered in his sleep. Something something not worth it anymore.

When Peter came home later, he hugged his mother. He loved Lynda and she loved him, but they had never been a family for too much sentimentalism. Tonight was different. He needed that hug. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to never hug her again.

The following day at school felt like walking through a land of zombies. Peter was new to town, having arrived a couple of weeks prior to Judith Evergreen's funeral. He didn't know whether or not it was because of that, that everyone here seemed so lifeless and flat. He didn't think so, because he only found one or two funeral flyers dangling from the noticeboards, all of which had been trampled on or discarded on the floor.

It was the end of the day and Peter was in the middle of picking up one of the memorial notices for her when Roman Godfrey spoke to him for the first time.

"So you knew her," he said. A statement, not a question. His eyes– those eyes– tore right through the flesh and into his soul.

Peter knew at once that the boy was upir. He could sense it from a mile away, from the very first time he had glanced in the rich boy's direction on his first day at school. He could sense it like a serpent shifting beneath Roman's skin in the dark.

Roman was impossibly tall for the age of seventeen and had a face that had been morbidly carved by the holiest of angels. His hair was brown and loose, unlike his crisp blazer or tucked-in shirt and trousers. Peter wondered if the boy could smell his blood.

"Yeah. When I was a kid" he replied, anything to erase the unbearable cloud of tension that was the upir standing behind him.

"Mm. It's weird. I knew her too," Roman said. His voice didn't sound sympathetic, or if it did, it fronted as disjointed and monotone. "You want a lift home?"

It was raining and Peter had no interest in walking until he became a soggy wet dog. So he accepted.

The car was a vintage cherry red Jaguar, which Roman explained had belonged to his father. Peter wasn't sure what he was meant to do with this information but nonetheless continued to listen. The ride was relatively quiet and the radio hummed in the stretches of silence between admittedly one sided conversations.

"You're new in town," Roman said, making small talk.

"Are you a Gypsy?" he asked, but surprisingly not in that sneering way most other folk did.

"People at school say you're a werewolf. Is it true?" he questioned, as if Peter hadn't heard the rumours already, much like a subtle interrogation.

All of those things were correct, but Peter scooted around the last question by declaring that he was just an obscenely hairy teenager.

The car stopped on the side of the road near a slope that rolled down into a clearing, pulling up just in front of a rusted mailbox.

"You're related to Vince," Roman evaluated, seeming to recognize the dwelling. "He used to work for my mom at one point."

Peter had not known about that, and briefly found himself wondering what exactly his uncle had been doing with Olivia Godfrey. A strange, unnerving woman indeed.

As he thanked the rich boy and got out of the car, retrieving the mailbox, a car drove by.

Peter jolted.

In the seconds it had taken for the other vehicle to pass, a girl had appeared sitting in the passenger seat of Roman's car, where Peter had only been sitting seconds ago. In the small window of time he caught a glimpse of her, he saw black and blue and gray skin and teary, blood-filled eyes.

He saw Judith Evergreen, and then she disappeared.

"Something wrong?" Roman asked, viridian eyes narrowing.

After taking a moment to settle himself, unconvincingly the werewolf shook his head. The Upir left, but not without staring at Peter for a little longer than what was considered a normal duration of time to stare at someone.

He descended the old wooden staircase and into the clearing by the river where his home, previously Vince's, sat overlooking the water. He entered, greeting his mother, and opened the fridge to pop open a beer.

"So what's up with the Godfreys?" he asked, swigging from the bottle as he went over to plunge into the couch, stretching lazily to reach the remote and flicking on the TV.

"Bad business," Lynda said as she sipped on her cup of tea, already seated on the couch. "You should steer clear of them."

"The boy, Roman. He's an upir. I don't think he knows it himself," he sighed. All he could think about was the sinking feeling he got when he was near him, the feeling of drowning slowly, or being buried alive beneath the burning weight of his stare alone. Despite this, Peter couldn't deny his nagging intrigue. Call it morbid curiosity.

"He dropped you home?"

"He offered. It was raining."

Lynda said nothing in response, but Peter knew what she would have said.

Be careful with him.

That night Peter sat down on the edge of his bed and found himself staring through his window and out into the woods. In those woods, he thought he saw a girl.

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boring but we're getting there i swear also oh my god i'm actually posting for once????

anyways this is also on wattpad and chapter two will be out very soon :) i'll shut my mouth now.

#bill skarsgard #hemlock grove #roman godfrey #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgård fanfiction #roman godfrey x oc #peter rumancek x oc #someone plz tell me if i'm supposed to use capitals for upir because it looks weird when i do #i know if its a proper noun i would but ehhhhh

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harukamitsuki · 8 months ago

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Hello, I saw your tumblr pop up and I saw that you are very critical of lances character. I mean absolutely no harm and want to have just have a conversation.

I’m not going to bash you completely because that’d get absolutely no where. I understand a lot of the points you’ve made. The way Lance treats his other teammates (especially Keith and allura) are to say the least… not great.

His one sided rivalry is terrible especially because Keith really is just a kid. He’s got a lot of family issues and now he’s being hated on by some kid he doesn’t even remember/recognize. Allura is dealing with 10,000 years of guilt not being able to save her planet and especially her father. Then ofc Lance comes in and immediately flirts with her.

Neither of these are good things. However, I’d argue that it helps in largely with his growth (if the writers actually cared).

In the first episode when the trio get in trouble Iverson immediately states to Lance that he’s only here because Keith isn’t.

And considering how easily he says this it very much feels like something that’s said often to him.

I don’t think Lance just started the rivalry because he just decided to hate Keith’s guys but because he’s having to be reminded that all he is, is a “cheap replacement” in a sense.

If they (writers) explored this idea more thoroughly I feel as though it would’ve made lances character more understandable. Not better (because even tho something happens doesn’t give anyone the excuse of whatever) but more to show that he’s human.

I would’ve loved to see an apology to Keith for this but obv it never happens.

I will say he does grow more with Allura though. Yes he still flirts but considering in season 5 the scene where Lance is comforting Allura really shows a change in lance.

I feel as though he really changes but the thing is Allura treats him in the end almost as a rebound (not bashing on her or anything). She clearly is more in favor of Lotor and even kisses the hallucination of him and never tells Lance when they’re together.

Moving on, I believe you’re characterizing Lance a little too unfairly. He does not get everything on a silver patter. He gets to be a fighter pilot because he’s the only thing closest to Keith’s record. He is constantly made the joke to the point where even Veronica his older sister find out that they’re being killed because she thinks Lance is an idiot (despite actual evidence mere 5 seconds ago proving it wrong). The whole bob episode makes fun of him. The team kinda leaves him behind. Hunk who’s supposed to be his best friend rarely interacts with him and is more pidges best friend than anything. Season 5s whole thing with Kuron and Lance gets scrapped instantly.

Is Lance a flawed character? Absolutely. But he is very much not given everything. In all honesty I believe Keith is the one who is the most “spoiled” in the show.

Season 1 and 2 lovely. However when shiro dies everything kinda changes.

I understand what the writers were going with but in truth Keith is by far (in my opinion) the worst option for being the black paladin.

Yea Keith has a fucked up backstory. He didn’t want to be the black paladin. he was forced into it.

But that doesn’t mean he is the right one. When he starts he almost kills everyone. Yes he’s starting out but afterwards he doesn’t become his own leader. He just steals shiros character.

When the clone comes in he dips. Sure ita because there isn’t space anymore but considering how easy it is for him to leave is what makes me think of him as spoiled.

The others don’t get an out. If the others had to leave they couldn’t. They don’t have galra genetics that can make them a marmora. They don’t have a space mom to travel with.

They’d have to stay in the castle because there is no where else to go for them.

Keith in the other hand gets an out. He is half galra he has a mom out there in space.

We never see him interact with the others again or even think about them. He only ever thinks about shiro.

When he comes back all of a sudden everything that the paladins have been working on is flipped on their heads. Now Keith has to save the day. Kuron goes bonkers and instead of using all that build up with Lance it’s Keith.

Keith leaves the team defenseless and without Voltron to deal with Lotor.

Gives absolutely no remorse on killing Kuron and just allows shiros mind to be put into his body.

Then he doesn’t give a rats ass about shiro anymore. He never gives him the black lion back (despite that being the original reason he left in the first place)

Shiro becomes a cardboard cutout of who he used to be. And to top that off despite the buildup between shiro and sendak Keith kills him off (despite shiro not even getting injured)

Now as a shiro fan yes I am biased. But, even then this doesn’t give Keith the excuse of being a Mary sue.

The mission where Veronica calls Lance stupid is the one where he leaves the team again to do his own thing.

Despite him agreeing with the others to take off the armor their tracking to run and hide the next scene we see is all of a sudden him being the savior of the episode.

no one else gets this. especially not Lance.

Yes lance is selfish. But I’d rather watch him be the black paladin than Keith.

Because in that Lance can learn and grow. Show that yea being a leader of a team isn’t as “cool” as you think. I wouldn’t loved the paladins being mad at him and him having to actually learn to grow up and be better.

Keith being the black paladin is just him being a recycled shiro.

I wish in all honestly that we got to see the characters be more flawed. and see them ACTUALLY grow instead of being either a carbon copy of another or just completely being thrown.

I hope you see this and I’d love to see your feedback.

Okay. At first, I was really liking this ask. I agreed with a lot of your points about Lance. While I have been heavily critical of him, that's only really because of how much people adore him and are afraid to criticise him. I've already stated, in my original 'Lance bad' post, that I didn't have an issue with Lance in season 1. I liked where his character started, but it was only in later seasons that I started disliking him.

I liked that he was insecure, but there was no pay-off to it. Maybe there were a few times he was reassured by someone, whether it be Allura, Shiro, Keith or whoever, but it feels like less of a trait/flaw and more of a way for him to be comforted. There's no scene in which Lance's insecurity puts the team in actual jeopardy, which would be a great way for his character to develop and to put some actual meaning to making him insecure.

I liked that he was flirty and goofy, because the cast needed a balance between the serious characters and the comedic ones. I liked that, even though he was goofy and comedic, the staff still tried to take him seriously. (Unlike Hunk).

So, yeah. There is stuff I do like about Lance, which is why I'm still treating him as fairly as possible in my rewrite. His insecurity is alluded to early, he's actually best friends with Hunk and it's not just saying that, he at least tries to defend his friends against Iverson, he is quite protective of Pidge, and he is capable of speaking to Allura (in SEASON ONE) without flirting every ten seconds.

But. In canon? I can't stand him. You say he doesn't get everything handed to him on a silver platter, but I don't see your point being proven. Instead, you point out how he's the constant butt of a joke. In season 7 and season 8. Yes, he's made fun of, but that doesn't mean he's not spoilt?

You also say that Keith is spoilt the most, because he gets the Black Lion and 'gets an out'. I feel like you just wanted to see Lance in the Black Lion more.

You claim that Keith is the worst option. That just because he has a fucked up backstory and was forced into it, it doesn't mean he's the good option. Um. That isn't why the Black Lion chose him?? Keith was the only one who didn't have selfish reasons for entering Black. Pidge and Hunk were basically goofing around but they're mostly comfortable where they already are. Lance wanted Black for selfish reasons, to prove himself. That's fine and all but it's not what Black was looking for.

Allura and Keith are the only ones who didn't want the Black Lion for themselves. A lot of people think Allura should have been the Black Paladin, which is fine but I honestly prefer Allura in Red and Keith in Black. Keith only went into Black's cockpit because Shiro wanted him to and the universe needed a Black Paladin. He did it for selfless reasons.

Onto your next point. About how Keith led them into danger and near death when he started. Um. He's just started out? And nobody has comforted him about losing Shiro (AGAIN). Instead, we have Pidge calling him a loner, Lance accusing him of using Shiro's death for his own gain, and everyone just being overall mean and nasty to Keith, RIGHT AFTER SHIRO DIED.

Honestly, I'd love to see you try to lead a team that seems to hate you. At least Keith gets his head screwed back into place before long. And calling him a B-tech Shiro? Should I remind you of: "You want me to lead Voltron? This is how I lead!" The whole point of that was to show how different their leading is. Shiro would rather play it safe unless he's emotionally compromised like at the end of season 1. Keith would rather hold nothing back and go at it 100 percent.

Also, I seem to keep having to bring this up. When Shiro was still there but was knocked out or unavailable, guess who was the one issuing orders? Yeah, that's right. It was Keith. Keith was always the first to ask Shiro what's wrong and then issue orders until Shiro gets back. He was always meant to be the Black Paladin, it's you guys who refuse to see it. I mean, if you look at his clothes, you will very quickly notice that it's not Red's colours. Mostly black with some red, white and yellow? Hmm, that's-- Oh yeah! That's Black's colour scheme. He was always meant to be in Black.

Also saying that Keith is spoilt because he 'gets an out' is stupid. Yes, I am insulting you because that's so far from the truth? Lance could have been dropped off on Earth while Allura stays as Blue and Keith goes back to Red. Allura could have taken a step back and let Lance go back to Blue and Keith to Red and Shiro to Black. Shiro could have stayed dead like he was supposed to and let nothing change.

That first episode of season four? Voltron are doing parades. The BOM are searching for important information to take down the Galra Empire. What, did you want Keith to do the parades? Surely, the people could understand that the Black Lion is out on a mission. There's no need for all five to be there. But, no. Of course, Keith is in the wrong. Regris dies right in front of him and he nearly dies out in space and he's doing incredibly dangerous and important work. But when he gets back, surely the others will be there for him after a fellow Blade died and he nearly did? Right? Nope. They just glare at him because there was an attack nobody could have predicted.

Keith leaves and nobody stops him. Keith leaves so Lance can stay happy in Red and Allura can stay happy in Blue and Shiro can get Black back. He leaves, not because he gets an out or is spoilt. The work he's doing is arguably MORE dangerous than Voltron's work. He isn't hiding inside a Lion, he's doing all this in person.

Saying that he gets to go around on Space Whale with his mother? The same one who abandoned him? While reliving past memories such as his father's death? While having to go through future scenarios again and again, essentially dying over and over to Shiro. His brother.

The whole point of setting some stuff up between Lance and Kuron is to compare with Keith and Kuron. Keith who would have been able to hear Shiro. He would have heard Shiro be cruel and snappy and he would have been on that case immediately. He would have done everything to find out what the hell is happening.

Keith is not spoilt. Lance is not spoilt either. Yes, Lance is given mostly everything he wants, but he still suffers. It's not directly correlated to what he wants/gets, but he suffers nonetheless. Keith is the furthest from spoilt. The only time he can get to relax? Um... He doesn't. Not even in the two-year time skip on the Space Whale because he's constantly suffering from images of the past and the events of the future.

Also, it's ironic that you call Keith a carbon-copy of Shiro, even if they're completely different. Because that's what viewers want Lance to be. They never admit or outright say it, but they want it. They want him to be traumatised, kind and serious, and they want the Galra to take something from him (like, say, a limb), and they want him to struggle to rely on others. That's Shiro. They want Lance to be Shiro but Cuban.

Lance would be a horrible pick for Black Paladin. As I've said time and time again. The reasons are in a pervious post if you want to find it. I've only just woken up at the time of writing this. It's kind of funny to me that I can provide a good reponse to this while I still have sleep in my eyes and I can barely remember the multiples of seven.

If Lance was white, I wonder how many people would still love him.

#vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender #character analysis #lance mcclain #vld lance #voltron lance #anti lance #anti lance mcclain #anti bp lance #anti black paladin lance #black paladin keith truther #black paladin keith #keith #vld keith #voltron keith

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alohaasaloevera · 1 year ago

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How can Keith start dating again if the last boy he loved kissed him like they were the only two in the universe and he would make Keith breakfast in bed every single Monday to “prepare him for the week” and let Keith cry in his arms? How could he even score someone who could even compare to the boy who said “I love you” to him every day in 3 languages; the boy who almost died for him countless times (and did once); the boy who dedicated the last remnants of his childhood to saving the universe while still being able to care and love for Keith the way he did. How can he even wrap his head around the idea that he has to date someone else other than him; the boy who braided his hair whenever he wanted; the boy who did and always will have his back and forever will be his one and only.

He can see in the corner of his eye that said boy and another girl are happily chatting with each other; the boy’s arm wrapped around the girl—just like how he used to hold Keith—how his eyes shine whenever she’s in proximity; how their souls are entangled, intertwined within each other like no other pair has ever been on earth. Keith would’ve never believed love like this was real when he was a kid. But then again, that was before he met Lance. The boy who was no longer a boy but a well-refined man, but still a boy at heart—the boy who loved with all his might, the boy who did everything he could for others.

The boy who saved his life.

Keith pretends that his heart doesn’t leap and land on a spike of uranium after doing a triple-backflip as the boy kneels down on one knee and takes the girl’s hands in his, voice just as smooth and mesmerizing as Keith remembers, reciting meticulously-practiced lines.

Keith pretends that when the girl shrills in pure joy, jumping up and down practically about to combust with happiness, saying “yes” over and over again, it doesn’t feel like his soul has been torn into pieces with a crappy shredder and poorly put back together with an Elmer’s glue stick.

When the wedding comes, he doesn’t object. No one in the world would want to listen to a second his disparage about the newly wed. No one even bats an eye when he excuses himself to go to the bathroom and try to puke his guts out.

Keith doesn’t get drunk. Not even a little tipsy. He uses the fact that he’s been drinking a hell of a lot of alcohol (thanks to you already know who) lately and that the others should be able to loosen up after picking him up late at night so many times he can’t count.

He’s afraid that if he does, his self-control will drop to zero and it’s only a matter of time before he pulls Lance by the collar and—

Nope. Not finishing that sentence.

It’s not until someone playfully punches his shoulder that Keith realizes he’s been completely enraptured in his thoughts for a good 5 minutes. He turns around and instantly freezes once he sees a familiar, lanky silhouette.

Lance.

Lance doesn’t even get a word out before Keith is running, running, running, running for his dear life. He bursts out the obnoxiously large arched double doors and to his car, only one thought circulating through his mind in that moment.

Don’t fuck this up again.

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year ago

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fic rec friday 41

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

Won't you lie with me a while? by notverystraight

When their laughter finally died down, their eyes found each other, the two falling into an intimate kind of quietness. Keith realised their bodies were now so close that his bangs tickled Lance’s forehead, the warmth of their skin mingling, Lance’s every exhale grazing his lips. If he tilted his head ever so slightly, their noses would brush. Lance’s gaze was magnetic. All of a sudden, the air felt much heavier than it had been a minute ago. Keith was hyper aware of the arm curled around his middle, fingers ghosting beneath his shirt. The slow, burning heat that was beginning to pool in his gut was mirrored in Lance’s eyes as they roamed over Keith’s face, his neck, his chest, pausing where his fingers lay against the sliver of exposed skin at his waist. Keith’s breath hitched. - Or, Lance and Keith hang out in Lance’s bedroom. That’s it, that’s the fic.

i LOVE this one. all the little details are so cute. y'all know @mothmanavenue 's recent post with keith and lance's room?? this is like an older fic version of that, almost. the percy jackson poster in lance's room, the bed, the way they're squished together on it.....it's just so sweet and transitory i'm in love

2. In (Almost) Every Reality by notverystraight

When Lance finds himself face to face with alternate universe versions of himself and all his friends, he’s excited to talk to them – who wouldn’t want to see just how different their life could have turned out? However, that feeling begins to sour when Lance notices that, out of all his alternate selves, he seems to have the most underwhelming life. And another unexpected thing. He and Keith seem to be a lot more, um… friendly with each other in the other realities…

early season dynamics when lance is still like fully insisting on the rivalry thing while also being super attracted to keith and mad about it, and then finding out that he and keith are literally soulmates?? like in love in every reality?? ENDLESSLY funny. also lance being a big nerdy fic reader is so so real

3. Speak in Tongues by laidellennt

Lance learns Altean from Coran. Keith's kind of weird about it.

keith getting like lowkey horny when lance speaks different languages is SO real and SO funny 💀💀 like of course this whipped dumbass is just like so hugely attracted to lance in all his strange awkward competency and of course he has no idea how to handle it. of course lance is offended by it. i love early season dynamics

4. 5 things Lance was surprisingly good at +1 thing that should be obvious by orphan_account

5 things Lance was surprisingly good at +1 thing that should be obvious, it's pretty self-explanatory.

i love this one bc its just a way to headcanon lance as being good at random stuff. like yes obviously he can throw knives. of course he can bake. duh he can sing. the world would be a better brighter place if we just talked all the time about how good lance is. also side note but do any of yall remember when clicking the orphan account link on ao3 would bring you to a massive account that had archived every fic to every be abandoned instead of an error page?? bc i do lol

5. Would You Like A Sticker? by delaneym_15

Lance has been working hard these past few weeks. Getting the newly set up infirmary being one of his most pressing concerns. Gone are the days of being put in a healing pod for every little injury. Of course that means someone has to run it, and what better person than the paladin who has been all but officially apprenticing under Coran since the Blue lion first brought him to the castle. If only the rest of the paladins would take him seriously.

i fucking love the medic lance tag. well and truly it is the gift that never ever ever stops giving. he is just so well suited for it!! i love him so!! let him be competent and judgmental and pretty as he does it!! like!!!

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

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lyculuscaelus · 6 months ago

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Astronomical Greek mythology shenanigans #1

588 Achilles found himself staring into the darkness that was known as space.

He felt so alive, once again. And he was glad that death had not erased even a bit of his memories. He still remembered how he went under the training of Chiron—now a constellation of stars over there, going by the name “Centaurus”—an honor to the great mentor of heroes; he remembered how his mother disguised him as a girl, sending him among Skyros where his identity could be hidden; he remembered how he fought under the city of Troy, earning great honor and fame until the irascible Atreïdes, shepherd of people, took away what belonged to him, dishonoring the prideful Peleïades…

Speaking of whom, 588 Achilles could now see 911 Agamemnon talking to his a close friend 3564 Talthybius, the loyal herald of Agamemnon. Somewhere above them, the great Cretan king 2759 Idomeneus was engaged in a conversation with his companion 3596 Meriones, and 659 Nestor—that Geranian noble horseman. 588 Achilles did not find either 1437 Diomedes or 1143 Odysseus anywhere—no doubt these two were once again getting up to some mischief…

But he did not find his Patroclus anywhere.

Where could he be? Roaming around in the Greek camp, 588 Achilles still couldn’t find any sign of his therapon, which was unnerving him even more. He did managed to drop by and exchange greetings with his good cousin 1404 Ajax, and he did see most of the Greek camp entertaining themselves with conversations and songs conducted through dust and radiation of various frequencies, during this one and only leisure time of theirs. But still, there was no sign of his best friend.

And then 588 Achilles remembered how Patroclus died. At least, what Antilochus told him of.

A shove by the god. A lance through his chest. A spear in his torso—then on the ground you lay, struggling for breath, with your last strength you whispered a curse, for the one that held fast.

“A curse fulfilled by myself,” 588 Achilles murmured. Why did it feel like it had happened so long ago? 588 Achilles continued to drift forward, trying to look for an answer to all this.

About sixty degrees behind him, the great Jupiter—known as Zeus to them all—kept watching over everything. The Great Red Spot in his grandiose realm continued to brew, wielding storms and lightning on the gas giant, as if a huge eye of the wide-seeing god was holding its glare over both camps or either or none, keeping their fortune and fate in check.

Speaking of which…shouldn’t I be dead already?

588 Achilles looked at his own physical form, feeling so lost. No longer could he feel the hands that were to grasp his spear and shield—not without effort. He didn’t see his armor either—maybe this piece of rock will become what he was—he had no idea. So…is this what death feels like? Adrift in deep space, with other souls that are either dead or alive—but still we are together, the great league of Achaeans, conversing all these feats and sufferings we have experienced in our lifetime?

But then, he saw 3793 Leonteus drifting towards him, almost on a course of collision before the Thessalian soldier spun wildly, converting most of his translational kinetic energy into rotational energy. But then, he accelerated, trying to synchronize with 588 Achilles. And when he did, 588 Achilles asked. “What is it that brings you here, noble son of Coronus?”

“Achilles, we have found something,” 3793 Leonteus began. “Someone, actually. Hiding among a group of soilders, but we know his face almost immediately.”

“Where?” 588 Achilles blurted. “Take me to him, now.”

“He’s right here,” 3793 Leonteus pointed to their right hand side.

And there 588 Achilles saw him. It was rage that came before his disappointment, as 588 Achilles glared at this Trojan, the one he hated the most, the one he had once had his vengeance upon—the one that had landed the last blow to his dear friend, Patroclus.

588 Achilles barely heard 3793 Leonteus’s words through the radio waves—the closest thing he had to a whisper—“a spy”.

For he was already charging towards the huge form of 624 Hektor.

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shaakyhaands · 1 year ago

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CODVN but (some of) the princes play DND:

How they start playing, idk. Maybe it’s a dare. Maybe it’s a genuine, honest to god attempt from one of the princes to learn more about MC and her habits/hobbies/culture. Imo, Fenn probably did something and of course, the other princes got dragged into it.

Mc: DM

• is the one who introduced the game.

• Teaches the princes how to play

• tortures them when possible.

Toa and Guy:

• Wizards, because MC punked them.

• Convinced them they were the most powerful class at higher levels, neglected to inform them that they start with fuck all health.

• “Here’s this: if you’re so smart, why don’t you play a mundane who has to study magic? Humans play this class all the time, I bet you can’t handle it…”

• “You bet??? YOu BET?? Very well, speak less” *gets hit once, almost dies from 7 points of damage*

• Guy demands the opportunity to change his class, MC responds: “Okay! I’ll let you change your class— and everyone else will get the chance to multi class :)”

Toa: “multi… class?”

MC: “Oh, it’s when you get to reap the benefits of your character occupying two classes at once :)”

Guy grumbles, and falls into a stony silence.

• the two *barely* survive levels 1-3, but somehow they pull through. And suddenly, outside of game, they’ve started acting with a little more respect for those not magically gifted…

Fenn: Paladin.

• Still charisma based, so can still rizz and charm like Fenn is used to.

• But playing as a Paladin also serves as wish fulfillment, because that’s what DND is all about.

• You might be thinking, “A paladin?? But Fenn should be a Bard, it’s so clearly the best fit”. And I get you! But that’s exactly it— Fenn is already a Bard in his real life. Playing as one in game does nothing special for him. There’s no escapism, no fantasy. Here, he can be a knight in shining armor, upstanding and righteous, and all the other things not typically associated with Fenn. All the other things people don’t let him be, that his reputation prevent him from ever really achieving. Here, he can basically role play as Greyson. And honestly, who wouldn’t?

• is the first prince MC introduced the game to

• lowkey gets into it, and eventually does some of his own campaigns :)

Roy: Bard.

• Again, the name of the game is DND Wish Fulfillment. Roy looks up to Guy, who’s attribute is charisma. What class is based on that stat again? BARD. And now, Roy doesn’t have to be morally upstanding and perfect and unsoiled. He gets to be a little shit and enjoy it.

Lynt: I have no idea, NGL, but I’m thinking warlock.

• This is basically a DND joke— if you don’t know, warlocks have like, two spell slots. So if they want to cast more spells, they need to recharge, which is basically some form of rest.

• Don’t let this fool you, warlocks can be fucking BUSTED. Those two/three spell slots, they put them to fucking WORK. But they gotta get their rest in, dawg.

• in this way, they remind me of our sleepy boy. Quietly powerful as hell, but really only fuck around if they HAVE to. Otherwise, they kind of just mind their business.

Rio: Barbarian

• one of the easier classes to start with— and I know they’re ALL just starting, and I love Rio, but he can use the training wheels. Ain’t no shame in that.

• he approaches life in a way that’s very similar to barbarians: in a story, when Toa was telling him he was trying to put too much magic through too small an opening, Rio’s response was “oh, I know what to do! That just means I need to use EVEN MORE magic!” Like, shit, go off king.

• unlike some of the other princes, I don’t think he would be adverse to using melee over magic.

Lance: Rogue/Druid RANGER

• Lance gets to multi class because 1. I’m biased, and 2. I can see arguments for both classes.

• you may be thinking, “but shaaky, he’s the prince of wrath! His kingdom’s main export is mercenaries, ffs. Shouldn’t HE be a barbarian, or at least a fighter?” And again, I hear you! But, you gotta remember the magic words! Say em with me: “DND is wish fulfillment”. Lance fucking HATES how his kingdom is ran. That’s like, 80% of his story. He wouldn’t WANT to play a character built like that. Unless… it was for the people.

• correct me if I’m wrong, but Lance is the only prince who knows what it’s like to be poor. Not just a commoner, like actually destitute. He’s probably the prince with the most street smarts. And lowkey, he’s probably had to steal shit to survive at some point. He 1000% would ace the rogue class, and would probably stun the princes while he did it.

• Lance: “I loot the body”

Toa: “pardon?”

Lance: “I slit the guards throat, he fell over prone. I loot the body, for whatever valuables are on his person.”

MC: “make an investigation check”

Lynt: “…😨”

• Druid is there if he wanted to just fuck around and hang with animals.

• RANGER, oh my GOD ranger is RIGHT THERE, how did I miss that—

• Ranger is basically the flavor you get when you mix rogue and druid together, so it makes sense that it would fit Lance

• the man fucks off to the forest first chance he gets, everytime.

• just give him a bow already— he probably knows how to use it given his Ira background

• it’s the final battle, the other princes are up against the BBEG: Toa and Guy are on the brink of death, Roy and Rio are down, Fenn and Lynt are barely hanging in there— and then out of nowhere, a hissing noise rings out above everybody, followed by a sickening thwa-CHUNK. An arrow has lodged itself smack dab between the BBEG’s eyes, he falls over, dead. From 600 yards away, Lance’s character stands up, says “finally”, and leaves.

Other silly little head canons:

• instead of maps, MC uses magic to generate basically holograms of bosses and character minis.

The holograms move. So when the giant beast bellows, I mean it literally bellows, claws out and spittle flying and everything. More than once have the princes jumped back in their seats, genuinely scared by the images she generated.

Toa, traumatized: “Remember when I said you had no imagination?… I take it back. I take it all back…”

Guy, thinking to himself: if she ever did go evil on us, we’d be fucked…

• MC will call them on it if the princes lapse out of character.

MC will remind them their characters are, in some way very starkly, different from themselves, and for the story, those differences matter.

Guy: “what do you mean, he said he wouldn’t let us past?”

Mc shakes her head, does an accent: “gainst the rules, boy. Can’t be doing that”.

“Against the—?! You will LET ME PAST, you insolent mongrel—”

Mc: “roll to intimidate.”

Guy: “roll?”

Mc: “I’m sure, being a huffy prince of a powerful kingdom and all, demanding stuff usually works for you. But might I remind you, your highness— that you are playing a game. and in this game, your character is a scrawny, bookish sapling of a man who weighs about a third as much as the guard you’re talking to, and is around half his height. Tell me, what’s your charisma modifier?”

Guy frowns, but looks through his character sheet.

Guy: “… negative one?”

MC smiles: “Your character has the charisma of dragon piss filled boot. Which means you need a 16 or higher, otherwise this guard is going to laugh in your face and pat you on the head.”

Guy stares at MC, but says nothing.

Mc: “Now, your wisdom modifier?”

Guy: “what?”

Mc: “your wisdom modifier, what is it?”

He checks his sheet again.

Guy: “… it’s a positive 4.”

Mc: “you’re right, it is. Which is a hell of a lot better than a negative one. So, while it may not be intuitive, you’re going to be much more likely to convince this man to let you through if you utilize a wisdom based approach, as opposed to relying on charisma.”

Toa snorts: “what would you know of wisdom?”

Mc: “might I remind you that being an asshole is not listed as one of your character’s traits? Also, your character is currently otherwised engaged, trying not to die from missing the last step on the staircase. As such, you can’t hear this exchange.”

• Eventually, after getting familiar with the games mechanics, the princes do a campaign where they get isakied to Earth.

MC throws a lot of mundane shit at them, and they absolutely flounder trying to make any sense of it.

Guy: “Peanut butter?? What do you mean he’s allergic to peanut butter, what the devil is that??? Epipen??!”

Lynt, confused: “Almond milk?… how do they…?”

Toa: “I assure the woman that I am not, in fact, “tripping”, as she so claims. The floor is clear and level, and there are no staircases in sight.”

Fenn: “what do you mean he’s 63??? Good Creator, how long are humans lives again? Wasn’t it at least a 1000 years?…”

#court of darkness #codvn #toa qelsum #guy avari #lynt akedia #dnd #dnd5e

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kidge-planet · 10 months ago

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KIDGE ANGST

TW! death

50 years had passed. It had been 50 years since they shared their first kiss, and they had never left each other's sides.

During those 50 years, their love had only grown stronger with each passing day.

Now, she was 70.

As she lay in her bed next to her husband, Katie felt a strange sensation. Both she and her husband had been worried lately; she had been feeling weak and breathless for almost a month now, and doctors couldn't find anything wrong.

She took a deep breath and rested her head against her pillow. Keith knew exactly how she felt. He knew her so well that just one look in her eyes was enough to tell that something was wrong.

But he also knew that if he asked, she would simply answer that she was fine. So, he asked, and as expected, she said that she was okay. He insisted, and so did she.

Deciding to give up, knowing how stubborn she was but also trusting that she would confide in him later if something was truly wrong, he kissed her forehead as they wished each other a good night.

As he closed his eyes, Keith instantly fell asleep. But no matter how much she tried, Pidge couldn't.

As she grew older, it became harder for Pidge to fall asleep at night. She and Keith had lost everyone:

The first to go was Baebae, Pidge's dog. It had been complicated for her, but she stayed strong.

Then came Sam. It was years after Baebae, and it was possibly the worst day of her life by that time.

Sam was followed by Colleen, who couldn't bear losing her husband for the second time. She was an old woman who had been through so much, but her heart could not handle more. She died, drowning in sadness, and no matter how much Matt and Pidge did to save her, it wasn't enough...

After Colleen, Shiro followed. It devastated everyone, especially Keith. But with Pidge by his side, he healed faster.

Hunk died years later. A heart attack was the reason...

The only ones remaining in their lives were Lance, Matt, Krolia, Kosmo, and their kids. Some other people remained, but they were less important in their lives.

And all this kept Pidge awake at night. She remembered the old times, hurting herself by allowing her thoughts to dwell on all the happy moments. And then, she remembered that it was over, that she would never again be hugged by her father or laugh with her mother... That she would never get to hug Baebae to sleep or have nice Paladin hangouts with her friends... And, of course, she would never gossip with Allura again.

She missed Hunk's cookies and his presence when she was feeling down. She missed Shiro's advice and how reassuring he was.

She just wanted to go back in time, start everything over, and reclaim the beauty that she thought she had lost.

And she was happy with Keith. She always had been, and she felt so grateful that he was still by her side today... But she missed how they used to love each other back then, those nights when they wouldn't sleep and would share every piece of passion. She missed discovering his touch, his body; it all felt new back then, and now, it just seemed routine. She knew his touch by heart... And not that she thought it was bad, but she did think that it was better before... Because everything seemed better when they were younger.

She used to fight for peace, she used to be a model for so many people and have an important purpose. Today, she felt worthless. Just an old lady. A grandma, certainly, but then what was next?

Death. And she would feel guilty admitting that she actually waited for it every day now.

She knew that she would leave her kids behind, along with her remaining friends, her brother, and her husband.

But her kids were grown adults now, with their own families and lives that she wished she could still have. They didn't need her anymore...

As for her friends, she only really had Lance and a few acquaintances. But she rarely saw them, if ever. She called Lance often, but that was about it.

She saw Matt often. Same old Matt. And when thoughts of ending her life crossed her mind, she tried to push them away, knowing that she was his only family left.

And then there was her husband. How she loved him. He was the only reason she hadn't tried to end it herself. The only thing tormenting her now was deciding whether she wanted him to die before her or after her... Whether she would hurt him or herself.

She didn't really have a choice.

Lost in thought, her eyes closed, and she felt her body's weight growing heavier with each passing second. She understood. Summoning all her strength, she opened her eyes one last time to look at him. The only man who had ever loved her, the only man she had ever loved.

Oh, how beautiful he looked in the moonlight, she thought to herself, finding the strength to reach for his cheek...

She caressed his cheek, feeling her hand grow too heavy, and she rested it in his.

If only she could tell him how much she loved him... But she didn't want to see him cry. She didn't want him to take her to the hospital or try to "save" her.

She wanted to silently pass away in the bed where they had shared their love for years. In the room where they had once been young together. In peace.

A tear rolled down her face: she was feeling greatful in this moment to have had such a beautiful life.

And she silently hoped that she'll find him again, in another life.

(there you go and I hope this made you feel the emotional turmoil you wanted lol :') )

Let me know your thoughts about that one!!!!!!!

#voltron pidge #voltron legendary defender #kidge #voltron #keith voltron #pidge #keith #voltron kidge #pidge and keith #keith and pidge #angst #I cried #asks #fic #one shot

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dimiclaudeblaigan · 1 year ago

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I find the whole premise of the war in Houses very sad.

Rhea is being targeted because "everything is the fault of Crests" according to Edelgard. Rhea has no power over Crests themselves, and the blood that enables Crest bearers to use Relics is dragon blood. The Relics are the bones of her brethren.

According to Edelgard, whose every ounce of information is fed to her by the Agarthans (why does she even believe anything her captors say again?), Rhea is an enemy... but why would Rhea condone anything related to Crests and Relics? Also, Edelgard didn't stop the Agarthans from kidnapping Flayn for her blood, allowing them to create demonic beasts. On top of that, she later uses demonic beasts for her war, so she uses Agarthan technology, etc, to turn regular humans into demonic beasts while saying that Rhea is the one at fault.

Rhea, who actively tries to stop Relics from falling into the hands of people who will turn into a demonic beast if they use them. She gets mad if Byleth says they won't turn over the Lance of Ruin to her, and it's one of the few times she openly gets mad at Byleth - because she knows the dangers of it falling into the wrong hands. Her only relief came from Sylvain - not Byleth - who said he would take the Lance of Ruin and assured her he wouldn't let it fall into anyone else's hands. He was also pretty convincingly honest about it, because she wanted him to remember the dangers of it and he says he "won't soon forget". Coming from him it was likely the most honest response she could've gotten out of anyone else in the monastery, so she let it go.

And also, here we are, with Rhea, one of the very last of her kind, being told she can't exist because she's not human, thus proving all her fears and worries about her identity correct. In CF, the last straw for her was that same person "taking" Byleth, Sitri's child, from her (i.e. even if Byleth "chose" that path, there was someone that was the cause of that decision. Without the war starting, Byleth wouldn't have decided that, so in Rhea's eyes it's Edelgard's fault, but she also isn't letting Byleth get away with it either).

It's also sad that Rhea's only chance to tell the truth (i.e. to Claude) was when she was already dying. There was no chance for her to tell the truth, be free of it and still feel safe. In this case she also wouldn't have died if the war had never started, because her five years of captivity by Edelgard left her weak and it kept her from being at her full strength when it came time to fight the Agarthans.

It's very frustrating for me too that we have Claude who does what he can to find out the truth, but Edelgard never does any such thing and just immediately believes what the Agarthans believe. Instead of her thinking her captors might be lying, she allies with them to kill Nabateans, which is exactly what they want. Why not try to find out the truth, or talk to Rhea to figure out what her side of the story is? Why just take the side of your tormentors both by information and in a war of your creation? Edelgard was a puppet on Thales' strings and willingly went along with it for years.

But somehow everything ever is Rhea's fault. See, even if Sothis was uwu BaD and stuff, I'm still not sure how any of that lands on Rhea, besides for her being Sothis' child and thus the children of the parent must die simply for who their parent is. Either way, it comes down to Rhea not being human, and thus Edelgard blaming her for every problem in Fodlan ever. It's sad to me because it really is that simple in terms of Rhea getting blamed for everything.

Rhea lied about the Crests and Relics, calling the people she hated heroes (something Edelgard could never do about the people she hated) to avoid more tragedy. It's almost like her lying for the benefit of humanity worked against her, which in an ironic way is like saying the humans were the enemies all along. She does good things for them and they just turn on her. It's kind of like, maybe she should've seen them as enemies all along, but she didn't. She accepted the ones who didn't hurt her or her kin. She accepted the people who had nothing to do with any of that.

Idk I just wanted to mention Rhea's place in the war because I've never really brought it up. It's just sad to me that she did everything she could to stay safe while not viewing humans as an enemy, but her kindness was part of her downfall. It makes me wonder if she'd told the truth eventually that people would've understood better. When she tells Claude, he realizes all the lies Rhea's been telling weren't hurting anyone, but instead allowing the power of the dragons to continue to exist in humans. If it had been her decision, she never would've allowed that because it was her family that was killed for that.

But like... apparently it's all her fault. Apparently everything is all her fault.

I know the Fodlan games have a huge glaring issue with victim blaming, but it's very sad to see that the victims are at fault right until their death (mainly on CF, but if you factor in Hopes, SB and GW too). They're blamed for their coping for how they suffered, and they're blamed for every little thing they do or don't do from then on. There's no winning. If you're a victim, you're a villain. Edelgard used to be a victim, but she stopped being a victim when she started making victims and siding with the people who tormented her in the first place.

Imo the story should've had Edelgard side with Rhea against the Agarthans and still have done four routes. Like... sometimes I think of what Edelgard could've been, how she could've turned on the Agarthans after pretending to work with them, and end up telling Rhea everything. She could've been a kinder person who had the same "ideals" (quotations because they're empty promises in canon) and could've been equally as resolute and strong.

She could've told Dimitri the truth that she hid from him despite having an entire year to tell him. She could've told Claude what she knew about Rhea after talking to Rhea, since he was looking for answers. She could've been a really awesome lead where CF/SS were similar routes with different perspectives (not necessarily identical), but those routes were her and Rhea working together. At the end, she could've taken responsibility for any time she worked with the Agarthans and moved on.

It's also sad how the fandom does the exact same thing to Rhea. She does something, she's bad. She doesn't do something, she's still bad. All she has to do is exist and she's still bad. If she reacts in any way because of her trauma, she's bad.

The fandom's views on trauma are pretty disgusting though tbh, because the general vibe is that if you have trauma you can only uwu about it. If you have any other reactions, including violent ones, you're horrible and need to be "put down" because you didn't have a "proper, correct" reaction to your trauma. If you don't shut up and deal with it, you're a bad person.

I feel like CF was a mistake with its writing and justifying the actions of ableism and imperialism both in one route. A mistake as in, now people actually believe that stuff is all well an good (despite the other routes saying otherwise).

Anyway that's it for this. I'm sure someone out there will call me a Rhea apologist now even though I'm not and even though she's not even remotely my favorite character lol.

#DCB Comments #and no I'm not here for arguments if someone somehow sees this in a for you page #I'm just expressing I find the premise of it all very sad and not here to argue about the reasons for the war #you all know that shit is old ass arguing that's been done for four years now #I like the game and want to talk about it without people boohooing that it's not completely in favor of their pixel waifu #Three Houses

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