#she thinks their past grief and anger can make it happen

[chaoticcreatorgardendean]

"Is this it? Is this the end? Primus,deity of light and harmony,if you can hear me listen to my plea."

"Save them... Optimus and Jack,let my friends succeed in his rescue, please let my voice despite how foreign it is to you reach out to your audio receptors and grant my friends a miracle not for my sake but their's,lend them whatever power necessary to make their goal a reality..."-Terravega

"I heed your voice,an end to this conflict and lives to be saved? This is your spark's desire? If your will remains unchanged,I shall bring you here before me, Terravega my chosen"-Primus

Happens in Orion Pax Part 3

Elita-1: "Your war is what destroyed our home. You have strayed from what you were trying to change, all because of your lust for power. I heard your testimony. You wanted to change the system, but your envy and ire toward Optimus caused this energon shed," Elita-1 said, her voice filled with a mix of sorrow and anger as she confronted Megatron.

Elita-1: "Don't confuse ideals with ideology. It's our actions that define us, and yours make me sick. I thought the world of you back then. If you think that because I knew the hero I would absolve the monster… you really are insane."

Elita-1 paused, her optics narrowing as she stepped closer to Megatron.

Elita-1: "If there is anything left of the champion who clawed his way up from the Pits of Kaon… of the hero who fought for all of his people, if there is truly a spark of goodness left in you, Megatron, there is another way. Join us. Together, we can rebuild anew without the old council. A new way that allows every voice to be heard, not taken for granted. Optimus would do whatever it takes to change it because he learned from you and saw the truth with his own optics."

"Elita... is it truly you?" Optimus murmured, his voice barely a whisper as she effortlessly shifted the debris that had trapped him following Airachnid’s ambush. She extended her servo, helping him to his feet.

"You are alive! But Megatron and Shockwave, they..." Optimus’s voice trailed off as they began to walk, Elita leading with a determined stride, Optimus following closely behind, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and relief.

"Wait! Terra! She's in danger. I have to go back and save her!" Optimus exclaimed, urgency lacing his words. Yet Elita continued forward, unresponsive, her pace unchanging. Optimus’s calls seemed to fade into the void as she moved.

"Elita, are you listening to me? Why aren’t you stopping? And where are we going?" His voice grew desperate, but as he followed her past a puddle of water, he noticed something chilling - her reflection did not appear. A cold realization washed over him. "You are not here... Are you?"

The world around him fell eerily silent, the distant sounds of the battlefield seeming to vanish. Elita halted, her back still turned to him.

"Elita... I... I don’t know what to say. Forgive me - it was my fault that I let you fall," Optimus confessed, his voice breaking as he grappled with his grief. "And now, I fear I am too late to save Terra as well. Even if she is a Quintesson, she is my friend, and I care for her. What if I am too late again? What if the danger claims her as it did you... when I was powerless to stop it?”

His optics closed in anguish, a silent plea for absolution that he knew would never come. It was then that Elita turned to face him, her appearance translucent, ethereal. She stepped closer, her servos reaching out to gently grip his. Surprised, Optimus opened his optics, finding himself looking directly into her spectral visage.

"Elita..." he whispered, the weight of unspoken apologies hanging between them.

"Elita... is it truly you?" Optimus murmured, his voice barely a whisper as she effortlessly shifted the debris that had trapped him following Airachnid’s ambush. She extended her servo, helping him to his feet.

"You are alive! But Megatron and Shockwave, they..." Optimus’s voice trailed off as they began to walk, Elita leading with a determined stride, Optimus following closely behind, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and relief.

"Wait! Terra! She's in danger. I have to go back and save her!" Optimus exclaimed, urgency lacing his words. Yet Elita continued forward, unresponsive, her pace unchanging. Optimus’s calls seemed to fade into the void as she moved.

"Elita, are you listening to me? Why aren’t you stopping? And where are we going?" His voice grew desperate, but as he followed her past a puddle of water, he noticed something chilling - her reflection did not appear. A cold realization washed over him. "You are not here... Are you?"

The world around him fell eerily silent, the distant sounds of the battlefield seeming to vanish. Elita halted, her back still turned to him.

"Elita... I... I don’t know what to say. Forgive me - it was my fault that I let you fall," Optimus confessed, his voice breaking as he grappled with his grief. "And now, I fear I am too late to save Terra as well. Even if she is a Quintesson, she is my friend, and I care for her. What if I am too late again? What if the danger claims her as it did you... when I was powerless to stop it?”

His optics closed in anguish, a silent plea for absolution that he knew would never come. It was then that Elita turned to face him, her appearance translucent, ethereal. She stepped closer, her servos reaching out to gently grip his. Surprised, Optimus opened his optics, finding himself looking directly into her spectral visage.

"Elita..." he whispered, the weight of unspoken apologies hanging between them.

I made some minor adjustments:

"It wasn't your fault," Elita whispered, her voice a soothing balm. "What happened was beyond your control. You, Ratchet, and Razer - your efforts to save me, your loyalty and love, I've treasured them through everything. Even when the war tried to tear apart the future we envisioned together. Remember, you once told me, 'It is a life worth fighting for.' Those words have been my anchor, pushing me forward toward a better world, a future for this planet and for Cybertron. I know you will triumph over the Decepticons."

Overwhelmed, Optimus clutched her servos tightly, the strength in her spectral touch grounding him. He returned her embrace warmly, a silent thank-you for her enduring faith in him.

As they parted, Elita placed her hands gently on his face, her smile warm and encouraging. "It isn't too late to make things right. I believe in you, Optimus. No matter what happens, remember, I am always by your side. I will always love you... Orion, no - Optimus Prime."

With a final smile and a brief touch of her forehead to his, she stepped back. Elita dissolved into a cascade of pink and white petals, reminiscent of the lotus flowers that symbolized renewal and resilience.

"The Lotus flower," Optimus murmured, the petals in his servo stirring memories of Terravega’s gift and the deep meanings she had shared with him about new beginnings and enduring hope.

Terra: "They like what science gives them, but not the questions. No, not the questions that science asks."

Ratchet: "Actually, I have a question."

Terra: "That’s why you’re a scientist."

Ratchet: "I was working on my experiment, my project. The first time it worked great. But the next time, it didn’t. I mean, it sort of worked, but then it didn’t, and I don’t know why. The first test run was successful, and the second was too, initially, but it backfired in the end."

Terra: "Then maybe you never really understood it the first time."

Ratchet looked at her, puzzled but intrigued.

Terra: "Ratchet, people think science is here," she pointed to her head, "but it’s also here," she pointed at her heart. "The first time, did you love your experiment?"

Ratchet: "And the second time?" He hesitated, remembering how he inflicted harm on that Vehicon and his discord with Optimus, and his defeat by Megatron.

Ratchet: "No, I rushed it. I wanted it over, by overlooking important details."

Terra: "So, you changed the variables."

Ratchet: "I thought my intentions were pure, but in reality, they were selfish and reasonably wrong."

Terra: "Science is not good or bad, Ratchet. But it can be used both ways. That’s why you must always be careful. 'Love, faith, and thoughtfulness before ambitions and results,' as my mom taught me."

Optimus, hearing from afar, felt a deep sense of pride and admiration for both Terra and Ratchet. He stepped closer, ready to offer his support.

Optimus approached them, his expression a mix of pride and gratitude. "Terra, your wisdom continues to amaze me. Ratchet, your willingness to reflect and learn from your mistakes is a testament to your integrity as a scientist and a leader."

He placed a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder. "We all face moments where our ambitions cloud our judgment. What matters is recognizing those moments and striving to do better."

Turning to Terra, Optimus smiled. "Your mother’s teachings have clearly left a profound impact on you. Thank you for sharing that wisdom with us."

Terra smiled back, feeling a warm sense of belonging. "Thank you, Optimus. We all have much to learn from each other."

@blade-liger-4ever @lets-try-some-writing @dailyoplita when reading the Elita-1 and Optimus bit listen to "Moment of Truth" Of Miraculous Awakening it will make you cry

[magix-winx-club]

My biggest issue with the Walking Dead (please do not take the way I wrote it down too seriously! And if you do not agree, that is totally fine). I love twd, and overall, I don't mind many of the storylines I wrote down. I mostly observed that female narratives are not prominent on their own, and female characters often "lack" something. This is not meant to critique twd. Specifically, it is more meant as an observation

Female storylines are always tied to men or motherhood. And why Beth's Grady storyline was so important and her death disrespectful to female narratives

(Yes, the always is a bit hyperbole, but hear me out)

1. Lori and the Shane/Rick issue leading to her death. Basically, a woman is moving on "too soon" or "cheating" on her husband, specifically with his best friend. Leading to conflict between the men and results in pregnancy. Therefore, she is punished by the narrative, which is why she dies violently in childbirth. (This is often seen in American literature/TV bc of puritanical values still existing in the underlying foundation of American media. Source: Trust me bro been studying this kinda literature for years now)

2. Carol and the children she loses (seasons 2, 4, and 9) do you guys (twd writers) not have any other use for Carol then "oh look at this poor mother" not a her own person but specifically a mother especially the stupid Henry dies storyline. Carol can be angry and have rage and pain outside of motherhood. I would not be so hard on this storyline if we would have given any talks people (specifically daryl) have with Alpha to Carol. Really draw on the one thing these two have in common -motherhood. I mean, if you make it about motherhood with Alpha and Lydia and Carol and Henry's death, then commit. damn it!

3. Maggie and Glenn. Right from the beginning, the storyline of maggie was just Glenn (yes, she lost her family and the struggle of Beth's suicidal ideation), yet we still get more screen time with just Glenn. I wish we would see her bond with the group because of her own character. For example, Lori and Maggie talk about Glenn in season 2, the constant back and forth in season 2 between her and Glenn, (aren't there more problems rn?), the SA from the governer is still tied to Glenn (yes the show called it out but it was still about Glenn and then once the conflict between them was resolved it never came up again), Glenn gets sick, Glenn and her are separated, Glenn has to help her get over Beth's death, Maggie is pregnant, Glenn is killed. Yes, she has some other storylines, but the most prominent ones are always with Glenn or because of what happened to Glenn.

4. Andrea's grief and struggle with suicide made about Dale, her relations in the group is primarily male (Dale and Shane), her storyline with the governor. She trusted an evil man and wasn't "loyal" to our prison family, so she ended up dying.

5. Beth's death to save Noah. Noah, having to go back to Grady, triggers the event that leads to Beth's death (I am NOT saying noah is the reason for Beth's death because he isn't). Then, her death is used for male pain, specifically Daryls.

6. Michonne, her boyfriend, male friend, and child. Her arc begins with the death of her child and boyfriend and the male friend. She has the two walkers who were once her boyfriend and male friend. She sees them as responsible for her sons death. After she shuts down and only starts to open up once she is with Andrea, which I think would have been a great storyline to show female friendship and help, it can provide with grieving. But then we have her antagonist be a man, and her anger against the governor takes vocal point to her original storyline with Andrea. Then, she connects mostly to male characters such as Carl, Rick, and Daryl.

7. Karen's kid died in the governers war (I think it was the one Carl shot), but we only see her in relation to Tyreese, and then she dies)

Yes there are definitely exceptions and I do not remember much past season 5 since personally once Beth died I got uninterested since female characters and their narratives where too male centric and their death only done for the Male Pain.

HOWEVER, I do think it is important to show storylines like Michonnes, which I thought was so well done. And the start of Carol's arc in the first 2 seasons (I wish we actually got to see the change in her progress I found the contrast from season 2 to season 3 and especially killing Karen and David to stark and abruptly but that is my opinion. If you think it was well done and you liked it, then that is totally fine! My opinion does not take away from yours they can co-exist).

Beth's arc was so important and interesting since she was completely cut off from her family, so there no ties to any male characters from our family. (That said, I LOVED her and Daryls storyline) Anyway, she is experiencing female specific violence (yes, men can experience it too, but it is predominantly female) such as silencing, kidnapping, forced labor, manipulation/gaslighting and sexual threat/violence. She is fueled by her own desire to escape, not for example because Noah inspires her to which would make her narrative male centric again. She is her own narrative who happens to have a male friend.

I could write a whole essay on this, and maybe I will, but I just wanted to get my thoughts out there.

[arthur-lesters-balls]

i had a conversation with my gf yesterday about satosugu and their fights, and its so funny how the kfc divorce is the exact opposite of that. like. if they had a fight there maybe things wouldve worked out

but instead, it was just gojo desperately trying to get a reaction out of geto, trying to make him explain himself or at least open himself to discussing the idea seriously, and geto calmly refusing to do so

gojo didn't go after geto to kill him, he did to get an answer and geto just said yeah, killing me is an option, we talking this out isnt 👍👍 what the fuck

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Verdict Due

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1)

Innocents Among You (Part 2)

The Guilty Plea (Part 3)

Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: You head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

Simon's steps are slow, lacking energy or purpose. Releasing the buckles strapping his vest down to him, he finally arrives to his door, lifting the camo from himself.

His forehead pressing into the wooden door, he finds it harder and harder to open everyday, seeing reminders of you every moment of everyday, when he closes his eyes, when he lays down in bed. Hell when he opens the door. He hated this room now.

Outside of the place that you both had made your home away from war, from battle, from the base, this was where the two of you had once spent most of your time.

He raised his head off the door, before bringing it back down on it, then doing it again, this time hard enough to hurt. "Fuck," he cursed, cursing himself, his stupid decisions, the times he'd never get back, the mistakes he'll never be able to erase. Huffing out bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut, he's still for a moment, before banging his fist against the wall. "Fuck!" There's a crackle along the wall, a clatter of dust and dried paint hitting his feet.

A shuddered breath leaves him, swallowing down his grief, his anger at himself. But, he can't help it. He's ruined everything.

Simon's head stays there against the doorway, he doesn't want to go in.

His head turns a bit, seeing a figure down the hallway, straightening up, dark eyes squinting. "Johnny?"

Quiet and Still. The Scotsman's mouth is set in a hard line, he runs a hand down his face, smearing the mess he'd made of himself. "I..." he breathes deeply. "I saw her today."

"You what?" Simon perks up, eyes wide. He looks past his comrade, seeing the open doorway of your room, "She's here," he speaks, voice alight and hopeful. Making his way past Johnny, "She's here?" he asks this time, bracing himself at her doorway.

But, the room is a mess and void of you. He'd nearly forgotten how the soldiers had left it, the day it happened he could watch it, it would've been too finalizing of what he thought was your betrayal. Today was meant to be the day they'd clean it all up, due to plaguing themselves with missions and ops that required long weeks, long hours. No one wanted to think about what they'd done.

But, now they'd only made another mistake in waiting too long. And now you had to be greeted by this mess.

"I didn't know it was--" Johnny couldn't turn back to the room, back to Simon, as he spoke. "I didn't know we did so much to her. I thought--how long--how could I--" he shakily began. "--how could you?" Simon's eyes flicker to his friend, dark circles and sunken cheeks seem to worsen. "She was so...she couldn't even look at me, Si. Like I'd make her sick, like I'd--hurt her again...I've never--" his fingers claw at his chest, hoping to rip away the ache in his heart, eyes haunted to tears and staring into the dark of his memory as he thought back. "I'd never--" he can't finish.

"She was here?" Simon asked again.

Johnny's clouded eyes look to Simon, opening his mouth before opting for nodding. Clearing his throat, finally seeming to get a handle on himself, "Just left."

"She what?" Simon bolts out towards the stairs, pushing through the doorway and jumping down the first flight to rush through the rest.

As he gets to the lobby floor, he shoves through the door, revealing the hallway to him, running down the long stretch before ramming into the side wall to catch himself at the corner. He continues down the way, running as fast as he's able, before bursting through the side doors of the front lobby.

He sees you immediately, beyond the glass doorways.

"(Y/n)..."

He's running before he can think to get his legs moving.

---

Leaving the dormitories, finally leaving behind the spare hospital wear that you had swapped for your own clothes, you waved down the first vehicle you'd seen.

The driver letting you into the truck, the two of you unaware as he begins to drive off, Simon shoving his way through the residential doors and coming to a stop in the middle of the street as you drive away.

You, having hopped a ride with one of the soldiers making his rounds, the Jeep shakes with the changing terrain, providing more conversation than the trooper that was much too quiet. Shifting his shoulders, adjusting his fingers around the leather, glancing one too many times through the mirror.

It was getting weird. But, you were a familiar face on the base, unfortunately now, it used to be because you were good at your job, the best sniper they had on the force. But now, it was because you were the first proclaimed traitor of the force in decades and the first to be wrong about.

So, the new attention is nothing to be pleased about.

"Find something interesting to look at, soldier?"

Back straightening, body stiffening and eyes facing the road, the trooper swallows thickly at having been caught eyeing you. "No, ma'am!"

"Then I suggest you keep your eyes on the road."

"Yes, ma'am!" clearing his throat. "Sorry, ma'am, I don't mean to stare."

Arms crossed, head turned to watch the smaller buildings go by, your jaw clenched. "It's fine..." you breathe, before relaxing a bit more as the drive goes farther and farther away from the residential areas. Eyes flickering over to the still tense trooper, you mutter. "Ease."

His shoulders drop, head turning, flustered. "Sorry, ma'am."

It was always strange to be called 'Ma'am' by fellow soldiers, usually you were only a year or so apart, others you had been younger by ten years or older by five. But, this trooper was new to the force, young, clearly still jumpy, you had been the same after your first missions on the Task Force.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the trooper then speaks, shakily.

"You don't have to keep--"

"About what happened to you," he continued. "I'm not sure if you heard that yet, but it's--that sounds--I can't imagine. I'm sorry that happened to you."

For a moment too long you're quiet, holding your breath, staring at the scenery as it whistled on past, the wind whipping through your hair. Your nails tearing into your skin as you rake them over your scars, smearing the line of blood left after ripping out your IV line, abandoning it as you found a ride.

"Get any cool scars out of it, at least?" he jokes, lightheartedly.

Your eyes snap his way, his eyes widening before he looks back to the road, back to stiff.

You open your mouth to speak, but you can't. You're just angry, too angry to find the words. But, you don't want to take it out on him, he was just attempting to alleviate whatever burden he imagined to be on your shoulders. But, all it was was a reminder, this was all anyone could think of anymore, when it came to you, this ordeal.

The apologies, the reminders, the quiet looks, the whispers, the fucking gnawing pain still splintered through your spine, you were tired of it.

The car pulls up to the largest administrative building on the base camp, hopefully you were right and this was where Laswell was posted up.

Quickly pulling the car handle as the trooper steps out of the vehicle to assist you, you hurriedly speak as he reaches to touch you. "I've got it," you hiss out, harsher then you meant. Stepping down and off the platform, onto the sidewalk, you forget you don't have your IV pole to at least stabilize you. So, when you stumble, he grabs your arm, his other resting on your shoulder.

"Woah!" his grip lacks gentleness, though not bruising, it's enough to set you off.

Your arm goes back and over his arm, shrugging him off, roughly. "I said I got it!" Your palm pushing into his shoulder and sending him back and off of you, he shifts back and nearly off his feet, catching himself.

"Alright, jeez!"

You're stumbling back into the light pole luckily a few steps behind you, leaning yourself against the cemented metal, you balance yourself. Shaking off the buzz in your ears and rubbing away the tension built along your skin, taking a few shuttered breaths, turned away from the soldier.

The trooper takes a few steps away from you, expression lifted to frustration and annoyance, rolling his eyes, brows furrowed and back pedaling to the Jeep. "Fucking crazy," he mutters to himself, adjusting his gear and stepping up back to the vehicle.

But, he doesn't make it very far until you're on him.

"What the fu--!"

Taking the opening of his kevlar and yanking him out of the vehicle, unable to catch himself fast enough to get to his feet. You hold a steel grip on the collar of his uniform, literally holding him up by his straps, pulling his entire bodyweight off the ground, leaning down so you're face to face with him. "Say it again," you snapped, eyes dark and boring into his skull. "I wanna have a good excuse for what I'm about to do to you."

He was taller, probably stronger, but looking up at you, he could see the years of mayhem and chaos that's burned itself into your irises, made you the lieutenant he'd tripped up on properly respecting. "I didn't--I didn't say anything! I'm sorry, ma'am, it won't--it won't happen again!"

Nostrils flared, eyes flickering between his wide, fearful ones, your hands loosen around his gear. He falls forwards, landing on his forearms with a groan, releasing a relieved breath.

He looks up, watching as you turn and make your trek into the building. You had seemed so fragile before, with a limp in your walk, scars head to toe and those braces along your legs, he assumed you had no fight in you. He couldn't have imagined, five minutes, he'd be wrong.

---

"Laswell."

The Station Chief turns, manila folder files in hand, brows raised at the intrusion before her eyes widen at the sight of your tired figure.

"Gray..."

You don't wait to be invited inside, instead pulling up a chair as you let the door close behind you. Not fully out of a lack of respect but your legs were killing you and surely if you wait a second longer you'll literally tear a muscle. "You free?"

"Never. But, I can make time," she answers. "Is something wrong?"

You bite down on your tongue. What isn't wrong.

"I put in a request for council in resignation, ma'am. I'm just here to know if it went through."

"I did...receive your request," The woman is still quite surprised to see you, a bit off put at your presence, hearing about your scars was one thing, seeing them was another. "Of course. Though, I expected you to wait for my call before deciding to come to me."

"I'm sure," you feigned a slight chuckle that faded as soon as it started. You say nothing else but stare.

Laswell sighs, tossing down the folder she'd been holding. "Look, Lieutenant Gray--"

"Just (L/N)," you gritted out. "Please." You couldn't stand your codename at the moment, you didn't want to carry a single thing this team had given you.

"Lieutenant..." Laswell pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the long table, facing you, "You've accomplished much on the force, saved lives, eliminated threats that had the potential to level the united nations, your honors and distinctions. At the very least, here, your guidance is a treasure..."

"I'd like my resignation to be approved, Chief--"

Laswell continues. "I need you to careful think about what you're doing here, Gray--(L/n). I don't want you to be motivated by what's happened to you, you still have a place on the force, it doesn't have to be beside your team. Don't waste your talents in the field because of this experience."

"Experience," You scoffed at the word, nose cringing up in disgust at the downplay. "I didn't go on a rollercoaster at Disney World, god--I was tortured by my team for weeks while my fiancé threatened to kill me afterwards..." you were about to lose your mind. "What makes any of you think I'd want to stay here? Why can't any of you just respect my decision to leave? I'm resigning."

Laswell settles back into her chair, lips pressing together, she makes a hum of a sound. "I can arrange a transfer," she compromised. "But, my authorization goes through only after informing Price, he also needs to sign off on this."

Your jaw clenches, your fingers tightening around your clasped hands. "Then how about that favor you owe me?"

Station Chief straightens, brow lifting and arms crossed. "Excuse me, soldier?"

Sighing, reaching a hand into your bag, you bring out a folder of your own, some documents signed off. "I had to wonder who the evidence was sent to, given it was right after our mission and Price doesn't even look at his reports to sign off on something in under 24 hours, it wasn't him," watching as Laswell opened the folder, revealing her own name signing off on the interrogation, just a few of the photos that'd declared you guilty. "Thanks for ruining my career, Laswell."

She spreads out the evidence, her own signature on the papers, she breathes out. "And what are you trying to do here, Gray?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Trying to threaten me with what exactly--?"

"Nothing," you answered. "I'm asking for a favor, from someone I thought was my friend," you find it harder to say, Laswell's jaw clicks and she shifts in her chair. "You owe me that much."

"It's the job, (L/n). I was protecting our own, our resources were very promising."

"Until they weren't, huh?" you sarcastically gritted out.

"Yes..." Laswell sighs. "I do apologize, (L/n), but--"

"Just do this for me," you interrupted, pleading this time. "Please. I can't go to him, I can't even look at Simon, let alone Price. Forget about being in the same room with them. I just--I can't be here, this isn't where I belong anymore," looking down at your hands, the scars that circled your wrists. This was a final decision. "I'm resigning with or without you."

Rising from your seat, Laswell stands as you do, "You resign without clearance, they'll take everything from you. Your pension, your insurance, retirement, everything, you'll be dishonorably discharged, you understand that?"

"'Course, I do," you admit. "Honestly, I thought I'd be dead on a mission somewhere before I saw any of that, I don't expect anything out of this. Nothing's...worth any of this."

As you turn the handle to leave, Laswell speaks once more. "I just wanted to enlighten you on what I'm risking for you, signing off on this."

At that, you glance back to her, watching as the older woman sighs heavily, picking up a pen, opening up the manila folder she'd been holding onto previously. Opening it up to reveal your resignation papers.

"If I do this, when I call on you, Gray," Laswell says. "I expect you to be there."

As she wrote her signature down on the dotted line, you swallowed down the ache that's plagued you for weeks, "I swear."

As the station chief continues down the packet, turning to the next page and signing once again, you slowly slide back into your chair, sitting silently as you watch her sign off on your leave from military service.

You bring your hand up fast as a tear runs down your face, wiping it away before Laswell can see, sniffing quietly.

---

Walking slowly down the side hallway of the admin building, you stare out into space, your eyes glistening as you hold the signed resignation packet to your chest, pressing it to yourself tightly.

Passing the front desk, the security posted up at the elevators, you enter the main hall and come to a stop. Your grip on your documents tightening as you watch rain pour out onto the outer glass of the windows.

Watching the downpour outside, you can't seem to get your feet moving to just leave this place. That's all you need to do, just...walk right through it, into a car, past the gates, onto the highway. Just...go home.

As you flinch at the pitter patter of the rain hitting the building, a short burst of thunder, you try to inch your way closer to the doors but the closer you get, the more you can remember. The more you can feel.

The rain gets louder, and louder. It's cold, although you recall it being 90 degrees and in the middle of the desert. It must just be you.

Putting your folder away and into your bag, the automatic doors open for you, but it's too hard to step through. Staring out into the open landscape, the dividing border of the desert land and the gates surrounding the base. The dry ground now turning muddy, trucks driving by and the mud swelling up at the change in pressure, soldiers rushing through the rain, kicking up mud, flicking up umbrellas.

Breathing deeply, you scuff your shoes forwards, feeling the first drop hit your skin, it's warm, but it's no comfort. Gasping at the feeling, you stumble back into the building, the automatic doors closing.

Short gasps of breath quietly leave you, your nails burrow into the skin of your forearm, you stare at the rain as it pelts at the ground, flooding pot holes and falling into storm drains.

The automatic door opens again, you back up, shifting to the side, as an officer gives you a strange look as he walks past and into the rain.

Your hesitance to proceed into the rain was noticed by a few in the main lobby. Like Kyle, who still stood in his mission uniform, dropping off his reports to the main desk, getting off the elevator to see you staring up at the cloudy sky.

His eyes widening in shock, he's lost in his own world when he begins to take steps towards you, lips parting in disbelief, voice cracking as he breathes out to say, to beg or plead for forgiveness.

The automatic door opens again as you shuffle forwards to try to step outside, he doesn't fully notice your fear of the weather when he speaks.

"(Y/n)..."

You turn at the sound of your name and his eyes flicker to the large scar along your cheek, the red of your eye still, that had changed the color of your iris, maybe permanently. The way you hold your bag tight in your hands as if to shield it from the rain before yourself.

You don't say anything, he hadn't expected you to. You stare at him, surprised to see him, then the expression changes to terror, brows pulling inward and hands sinking into your bag to bring it closer. His heart aching at your reaction to him, his lips pressing together, he doesn't know if she should say another thing. Just let you go.

"(Y/n), I..." he can't help himself as he continues, breathlessly.

You back away from him, out of the building and into the rain. The moment it hits your back, soaking through your shirt, rain hitting the top of your head, down your back, you tense up and spin around.

Kyle's brows furrow, before worriedly witnessing as you curl into yourself instantly, crying out in terror, your hands coming up and over your head. "(Y/n)!"

Realizing what you'd done, your back hits the glass doorway, too late for the doorway to register you wanting to come back inside. You stumble to the corner of the building, just next to the doorway and under the too small gutter to find any shelter from the pelting water at your skin.

A loud sob leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut, you can feel the torture starting again, the unbearable freeze of your limbs, the force of crashing pounds of water along your spine. The screams they would pull from you...

Your torment lasts only a few seconds, suddenly the rain stops, but the sound continues around you. A coat settling around your shoulders and over your head, Kyle's hands on your shoulders, he's yelling over the thunder. "Come on, let's get you out of this. Come on, (Y/n)," he takes your arms. "Let me help you, please!"

"You did this," you cried. "I told you. I told you it wasn't me. But, you kept turning it back on! And then you'd leave it like that and it drove me fucking insane. I'll never be ok again, I can't--" hyperventilating. "Don't touch me, Kyle."

Kyle swallows thickly, head hanging low, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before leaning down to you. "I can't leave you here like this, please, love," he hauls you up to your feet. You shove him back, pressing yourself further into the corner, shaking, "(Y/n)--"

"Don't put your fucking hands on me. What don't you get, huh?" you spat. Pulling off the jacket he'd placed over you, tensing at ever drop of rain that fell over you after, but you toss it back at him. "I don't want anything from you. Never again."

"I'm sorry," Kyle clutches the jacket. "I'm so bloody sorry. I'm sorry for every damn thing I'd ever done to you. I'm sorry we didn't listen. I should've never done that to you. I didn't want to, I just--I thought I was doing the right thing for all of us," his voice breaks and he cries under the rain as his little sister, his family, hatefully stares him down. "I thought you'd give in, that it'd be over as quick as it started! I'm sorry I couldn't trust that you were telling the truth all that time."

"I don't want your apology!" you yell. "Cause you'll never know the same feeling. You'll never understand what you've taken from me. What you've done to me--" hiccupping painfully.

Kyle looks away from you, inhaling with a shudder, reddening eyes are covered as he raises his hands to run over his face.

"Your apologies. Your wishes for forgiveness," you seethe. " You should keep them. They mean nothing to me."

With that, you shove on past him, re-entering the building and rushing down the hallway, you turn the corner away from Kyle. Leaving the distraught man out in the rain, the automatic door sliding closed as he looks on after you.

Part 5 OUT NOW!

[beforetimes]

my headcanon about the alternate timeline we see in s2ep7 is that instead of ekko and powder being close friends throughout their childhoods who became lovers with no friction, it actually took a while for them to bridge the gap that vi's death caused.

when we see ekko and powder go to vi's memorial for the first time and ekko asks if she was the one who caused their death, powder very quickly retorts that it was ekko's tip that ended up sending them on the job that killed her. i think that this is important not just because the writers wanted to explicitly say that the chain of events that led to the original timeline hinged on ekko's tip but also because in how quickly she said it, we can assume that this is something that's come up between them before.

ekko already is seen as a character who carries a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders, mostly self-ascribed, which i tend to characterize as being born partially of guilt. i think guilt is a large part of his character and it would be somewhat irresponsible to shrug that off when speaking about his character in the alternate timeline that the original ekko drops in on.

powder is characterized as brighter and happier than jinx when she grows up in this universe with a support system, obviously, but she still has a tendency to anger. this is shown through how she tells ekko to get out before she does something she'll regret rather than rolling over in the face of his interrogation and insensitive statements. she also holds a grudge, as we see it takes ekko physically taking her to see vi's painted memorial in the firelight lair before she stops scowling at him in the bar and warms up to him again.

looking at all of these things, i think it's a fair assumption to make that following vi's death, there was a period of time where powder directly blamed ekko for what happened, and that ekko blamed himself as well. this, in my opinion, doesn't cheapen their relationship when they grow up into the people we see in s2ep7, but deepens it.

i think the act of forgiving is something that takes a long time, whether you're forgiving yourself or someone else, and ekko and powder's relationship being as comfortable and easy as it is in s2ep7 speaks to the fact that they had a long stretch of time to get to that space where they could move past the circumstances that led to vi's death. at least, they both do until original timeline ekko drops in and reopens that wound, which in turn leads powder to throw blame back in his face, similarly to how i assume she must have done directly following vi's passing.

the idea that powder and ekko in this alternate timeline had to move past anger, grief, guilt, and blame makes their relationship feel more heartfelt than if they were locked in since day one and there was no more work to be done. love as something that has to be earned and worked for even in a world where things seem mostly ideal shows that it wasn't just a fluke that they got together but a deliberate continuous choice to work through trauma to allow themselves to be together.

it also legitimizes the idea that original timeline ekko and jinx could hypothetically be together as well. not just because we see "oh, one version of powder and ekko can get together so this one can, too" but because both versions have baggage to work past before getting together, but the universe we see displays how this pair managed that with the luxury of a support system and a kinder environment that original timeline ekko and jinx unfortunately weren't afforded.

i think this also makes their team-up in s2ep9 more heartfelt because we can see ekko move past blame when he comes back for jinx to help in the fight, similarly to how i assume ekko in the alternate timeline had to work through his own to eventually get together with powder. both relationships hinge on the fact that they have to put effort in to get comfortable with each other following the consequences of the job that ekko sent them on rather than letting the alternate universe relationship ultimately act as a fluke that can't be replicated because of how drastically different that world is.

[senseandaccountability]

the healer has the bloodiest hands

I wrote some thoughts after the finale of Veilguard. Solavellan heavy.

This is just me, parsing through some feelings. "My people had a saying long ago -'The healer has the bloodiest hands'. You cannot treat a wound without knowing how deep it goes. You cannot heal pain by hiding it. You must accept. Accept the blood to make things better."  Solas to Thom Rainer in DAI.  ***

One can wonder, of course, what Mythal has to do with a Solavellan reunion and Solas’s choice to become the Veil’s protector, but hear me out. 

It is significant that it’s Mythal because she is the embodiment of his terrible past, the epitome of their brilliance and boldness and good intentions turned to terrible truths. The horrors they did, they did together. It is significant that it’s Mythal that sets him on this new course by removing the chains of his guilt and regret. Lavellan can’t do that, she didn’t forge them. Solas’s journey as the Dread Wolf begins and ends with Mythal. 

Mythal literally pulls Solas out of the Fade to use his wisdom, first to not lose herself to the other gods' vanity and brutality, then to gain advantage against them in an endless power struggle that breaks them both, I’d argue, though most significantly it breaks Solas. Retribution and revenge has no room for understanding, there is no wisdom in conquering. And Solas, for all his faults, isn’t brutal or cruel, doesn’t want power for his own gain. Instead he’s wise and creative, doomed to see the faults of his actions even as he carries them out, arguing in vain that the Evanuris too must see it - don’t cross these lines, don’t do it like this, don’t warp and twist your powers to forces of destruction. You must know this is madness! He objects to the creation of the bodies for the ancient elves, objects his own People’s physical creation. Did the earth not shake? It did, it was horrific and it was wrong and he knows this and it doesn’t matter. What he wants has never been part of the equation. 

Even when he breaks free from Mythal, when he burns her mark off his face, he never stops fighting for the world she once wanted. Because otherwise? Should he stop? Then all that he has done, all that he has given up, all that has been demanded of him both as Mythal’s lapdog and the Dread Wolf, leader of the rebel armies for centuries, cloaked in a persona of strategy and battle orders - all of that has been for nothing. He has made a ruin of himself, of the world, for nothing.  So he begins again, he picks up the pieces, he swears to make it right, to fix what he broke. That’s how he perceives healing, that’s what he thinks he is doing. But you cannot heal pain by hiding it. That’s why the Crossroads are falling apart with the manifestations of Solas’s greatest regrets, that’s why he needs Rook to escape his own prison, that’s why a Regret demon burns through Skyhold.

Solas traps the Evanuris as a final act of the ancient times, the creation of the Veil an embodiment of everything he and Mythal ever were - protection, benevolence, retribution, wisdom, pride. He ties it to the blood of the Firstborn out of spite and anger and it wrecks the world in ways he could not foresee. In ways he cannot fix because you cannot fix what has already happened.

You must accept. Accept the blood to make things better. He holds himself like a broken thing in front of Mythal and you can see it as submissive or as a man finally letting his grief out. There, at long last, he stands beaten and bloodied and blighted and he cries for all that was lost, all that he did and all that was done to him, all the things he cannot, cannot undo. And then: a new way forward.

In willingly binding himself to the Veil he embodies the best of those old myths, the All-Mother and the Breaker of Chains, as he breaks the cycle of punishment and grief and protects the sun and the moon. This oath, as opposed to the oaths of the empire that made him, is not to someone but to everyone, to all the innocents of the world. Instead of being the one who makes the terrible sacrifices of other people - the things I have done - he becomes the protector of the world that his people broke once upon a time. Instead of being the Creator of a new world without the Veil - the god he vehemently does not want to be, that he arguably thinks nobody should be - he becomes a caretaker, a guardian. A healer with bloody hands. And yes, it takes Mythal to break Mythal’s hold over him. You cannot treat a wound without knowing how deep it goes. And this one goes deep.  But it’s Lavellan who brings him the light in this story. It’s Lavellan who breaks through the dark, transforms it into something hopeful. 

His prison construct in the Fade was terrible, an abyss of regret made to hold a god. An ancient punishment for ancient crimes but times change, people change, the People change for better and for worse and here Lavellan stands in all her mortal imperfection, offering him not a way to change the past - where all these ancient beings are stuck - but a way to mend the future. It will be a terrible place, he tells her, saying I am terrible because the Fade shifts around our beings. It won’t be terrible, Lavellan argues. Because I’m there with you, walking the dinan’shiral with you, all the way. He doesn't have to fix anything first, he doesn't have to change for her, he just needs to stop hurting the world, hurting himself. Because she loves him, despite all the terrible mistakes he has made. Because she knows all his names, from Dread Wolf to Vhenan, she knows the power of his mind and the fires of his love and she saw more than most of the man he is. The man he wants to be. For a little slice of time there in Skyhold he was that man, he was seen and he saw. He saw the world filtered through her and could forgive it, he saw her through his own ancient, tired eyes and he fell in love no matter how much he thought he did not deserve it. You don't have to deserve love, or mercy, it doesn't demand anything in return, holds you to no oath. It is a gift, freely given. That's what Lavellan offers him by holding out her hand there, at the edge of everything. That's where the light slips in.

She’s real, which means everyone is real and she changes everything, because she can.  Ar lasa mala revas. 

[revelboo]

Prowl no💔 you come back and get us RIGHT NOW

He thinks he’s doing right

Stand Too Close Pt 15

Prowl x Reader

• You don’t even like him, so why do you feel like crying? People are giving you a wide berth and you reach up to try to do something about your hair and realize you’re crying. Tears silently sliding over your cheeks as the anger begins to build. Because he’d thrown you away without any hesitation. Gotten tired of you and discarded you. And you know you’re lying, that you’d been growing attached to him. Starting to get to know the real him under the prickly asshole veneer. Picking your way along the street to your apartment building, you realize you have no idea what happened to your keys or any of your stuff. You’d dropped it when Prowl had hit you. And that has to have been months ago. Trying to scrub the tears away with the heel of your palm, you head toward the grubby little office for the apartment building.

• Can’t make himself leave you just yet. Had gotten halfway back to the Ark before turning around and finding a dark alley on the outskirts of your city to park. It takes him longer than he’d like to get his holoform avatar stable and solid enough to interact with humans. Walking the streets in search of you, he’s aware that the other humans shy away from him. Humans walking toward him part around him even going so far as to step into the street to avoid touching him. Like they can somehow sense he’s not one of them. That he’s other.

• Turns out when you stop paying rent for months, even if it’s because you’re missing, you still get evicted. Listening in a numb fury as the lady stinking of sweet and milds at the desk tells you about how everyone assumed you’d been murdered and your body dumped out in the desert. Almost sounding disappointed that you’re alive. Your stuff is gone, too. Apparently the police had gone through your apartment looking for signs of foul play, hadn’t found any and your landlady had dumped your stuff out in front of the building as soon as she legally could.

• Turns out that it’s hard to find one human among thousands. And he almost walks past the hunched figure sitting on a street corner. Stopping in front of you, your head lifts and the tears are like a slap. “I’m going, okay?” Watches you stand and scrub at your face. Why are you on the street? And you’re upset not happy. Why didn’t you go home? “Of course, she called the cops on me.” And he reaches to catch your wrist. If he speaks up you’ll know him, but he can’t just leave you like this. This isn’t what he wanted.

• Something about the cop makes your skin prickle and you wish he’d let go, but you don’t dare fight against his grip. “I don’t have a phone. I just need to call someone,” you add, not even knowing who to call. Your family is out on the other coast. And you’d also figured out you can’t get into your bank account without an ID, so you’re broke. Homeless and defeated. Had almost walked to your workplace, but you’re sure they’ve replaced you by now and you don’t think you can take one more hit. Because this is all just the cherry on top of the abandonment sundae Prowl had served you. And the cop is just staring down at you, expression empty. Unmoved by your grief. Sucking in a breath,you go rigid when he tugs you into his body, his other hand cupping the back of your head. And cop or no cop, you panic and knee him without thinking.

Previous

Next

[gremlin-bot]

There is No Closure, Just Adapting To Life

Ao3 link: Here Master list: Here

Summary:

Danny should have asked more questions before accepting the request to fix a different dimension's time stream from Clockwork. He didn’t think he would be de-aged and live a different life where he would latch on to a new family and friends. It was nice being a part of a community of heroes.

It really wouldn’t have been that bad if he stayed there. Too bad that he was pulled from that world and back into his old one, both fulfilling his wish to see his original family and killing all the relationships with his new ones.

Now he has to figure out how to live in his original dimension again. And maybe, just maybe find a way to visit the one he forcefully left behind.

Chapter 1: Your trial period is over; your account has been put on hold.

Danny shouldn't be thinking about the past life he lived, shouldn't think about the parents who adopted him only to disappear for months at a time, nor the vigilante family he’d inserted himself into during their time of need. That life wasn't his to begin with! Just a dimension with a timeline that needed fixing in an unconventional way. 

So, why is he crying? 

He just got back to his home, time hadn’t passed here. He can see Sam, Tucker, and Jazz again! (He'll never see Cass, Jason, Dick, Damien, Steph, Kon –) He's more experienced and better at fighting now. He can protect Amity better! (He misses Gotham. The city seemed to make heroes feel like magic) Danny has his original life back… but damn it, he wants to go back! He doesn't want to protect a city alone again! 

Danny curls into himself on his bed. Silent sobs racking his body. He's so different than he was before. His hair was longer and parted in the middle, nothing like his usual, (old), fringe style. His missing scars and the new ones he can't explain. Gods-  (No, wait, it's Ancients) he is missing his spleen! How was he going to explain that, or any of this? Even as his sobs grew more violent, their volume didn't increase. 

A trick he learned in the Wayne manor. 

He didn't want to disturb anyone with his half remembered dreams of a different life.

Danny took a shuddering breath, the feelings he’d been trying to bury since his return hitting him full force. He’d been sucked back to his original dimension without warning a day ago. Clockwork, that bastard, didn't even give him time to say goodbye to the rest of the Bats and Birds. He was in his apartment as Tim Drake one second and plopped in Danny Fenton's bedroom the next. 

His talk with the older ghost didn't make the situation any better. 

He didn't explain anything! Just that his work in that dimension's timeline was done. If Clockwork hadn't time locked the portal Danny would've been in the ancient’s lair instead of dissociating in a room that doesn't feel like his anymore. He hates not being given a choice or having a plan. 

Jason was right; anger was so much easier than actually dealing with your feelings.

His spiraling was stopped when he heard a soft knock on his door. Oh, he’d forgotten that Jazz was home. Living through a lifetime made him forget a lot about his first one. He didn't get time to follow the new spiral of thoughts before his sister opened the door. 

"Danny?" Her voice was soft, laced with worry.

"Yeah," He hates how hoarse his voice sounds.

 He should be better than this; he’s infiltrated the league of assassins for Ancients’ sake. He watched as she approached his bed, buried beneath blankets. He can hear when she actually sees him by her gasp. 

"What happened?" Jazz asked as she sat on the bed facing him.

"I… I fixed a timeline in a different dimension for Clockwork." Danny can't bring himself to look at her. Everything is still fresh. The feeling he can just barely comprehend as grief has yet to settle inside him. He takes a deep breath. He can compartmentalize this and deal with it after Jazz leaves.

"How long were you gone this time, a month or two?" Jazz looks at him with unending patience and care. 

"17 years," He whispers hesitantly.

"Oh… oh, Danny." He couldn’t have prepared himself for the shock and pained confusion on her face. She leaned her over him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Oh, he can't compartmentalize this after all. Danny’s breath hitched as fat tears began rolling down his face, dampening his pillow even more. His life as Tim made him forget what it was like to have unending support from a sibling. He loved the hodge podge of the Waynes, but he was a vigilante first. He wasn’t really family.

Just a coworker.

“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too much. Just know that I’ll always be here for you little brother,” Jazz’s voice was gentle. Oh, did he miss her during those years. Cass and Barbara helped him cope with missing Jazz whether they knew it or not.  He turned into her, relishing in the fact she was here. He may be missing a whole new family, but he got his old one back.

“I missed you, Jazz. Can you stay here with me for a little while?” He pleaded between silent sobs.

“Of course. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

---------—x—---------

Tim woke up to the sound of typing and the sight of red hair. He must have crashed at Barbara’s last night. He sits up, not fully awake just yet.

“Morning, Babs,” he yawns, eyes blurry. 

The gentle but persistent clicking of keys stops with a hitch of her breath. "Danny, it's me Jazz. Is Babs someone you were close to… before?" 

The voice he hears back isn't Barbara's.

It's one he barely recognizes now, made even harder to place with the barely covered pain. Jazz deserves a better brother than him. 

What kind of brother is he, that he doesn't even remember his own sister at first glance. 

Danny takes a deep shaky breath. No, he can't think like that. He hasn't seen her in 17 years, Of course he isn't going to recognize her. Still she hasn't changed one bit. 

He can't tell if that makes it better or worse.

"Yeah" he croaks, voice rough from sleep and the lump that's formed in his throat. “She has hair like yours.”

“Oh… do you want to talk about it?” she offers awkwardly. She was completely out of her depth but still wanting to help in her own way. (Alfred would have loved to meet her.)

Danny shakes his head, pushing past the aching in his chest as he drags himself out of bed. He doesn't look back at Jazz, he doesn't want to see the pitying look in her eyes. Something ugly, angry, and raw always tends to creep into him when that particular emotion is directed at him, and she doesn't deserve that.

What a cruel joke that the one thing that he gets in spades in both lives is pity.

He needs a strategy if he plans to survive the next couple of days, (the rest of his life), and that starts small. Get ready and investigate what the hell was happening in his life before… his time mission. He lost so much time with his breakdown, how annoying. 

Tim (no, he's Danny now) huffs, opening his closet. Well before he starts anything he needs a damn shower. 

---------—x—---------

By the time Danny was clean and dressed, Jazz had left him with a journal with his name on it and her scrapbook. Ancients, she really is the best big sister. (Cass would contest that). 

He knows that he should dive into them right away, but… he can put it off a little longer. Remembering and relearning will take time, and he has all the time in the world now, whether he likes it or not. Diving deep will be too much. He’s too emotionally raw, and just needs something to latch on to, like: 

Next day survival plan 101, start small. 

He can look at Danny’s phone; he’ll figure out what to do with Tim’s later. Remember, one step at a time; one thing at a time. Finding the device was easy, it was on the nightstand where he always leaves it. Seems like this is one of the habits he kept in both lifes. Opening it up was easier than he originally expected; he really didn't have a sense of cybersecurity beyond Tucker back then.

(…Now?)

The device was familiar in so many different ways; he always did gravitate towards technology (with Tucker pushing him forward right next to him). The screen lit up, showing the basic layout of all phones; he dismissed notifications from dumb games, leaving the social media ones. What he was really looking for was his messages.

He had a couple new messages from Sam and Tucker in their group chat. He should look at the chat, but, in doing so, he'd be facing the people he had been grieving their missing presence for the last 17 years. A missing presence that had him picked up so many new hobbies, just because they reminded him of his two best friends. Danny would have never touched a camera if it wasn't for the ache in his chest everytime he passed a looming gargoyle. The hundreds of pictures will finally be seen by their intended audience, if he could only get himself to open the gods damned chat!

Shaky breath slips from his lips as he steadies his thoughts. Baby steps. Look at the messages and go from there.

— New Messages —

PettyWitch

Tucker I swear if your ass isn't up rn, I'm coming over and replacing all of the meat in your fridge with lettuce.

TFine

give me a sec 2 get down there you can stop calling me 

i'm not going to answer

what about Danny

how come you aren't calling HIM!!!!!

PettyWitch

Bc Danny can actually get up before noon during the weekends unlike other people in this chat! So he can be trusted to get to Nasty Burger on time. 

TFine

HEY!

Their banter goes on. Danny scrolls through it with a painful kind of fondness draping over him. A hole that once gouged his heart was being filled, only to have a different part get ripped out for the same reason. The people he missed will always have some type of mouth on them, especially one that gets them in trouble. Moving past the too fresh grief and focusing on the conversation at hand does bring about a pressing issue, he's supposed to meet up with Sam and Tucker soon.

Shit.

Looks like he's facing more ghosts of his past-turned-present sooner than he thought. It's Tucker and Sam. They stuck with him through his death and his first hero career. If anyone besides Jazz could sympathize with him, it was them. Resolve hardened like the Bat he is (was —there is no way back to them now), he spends the little remaining time flipping through pictures and looping handwriting as he pieces the memory of his old life back together.

[sprnklersplashes]

five times telemachus sleeps in his parents' bed (ao3)

buy me a coffee!

Telemachus won’t even remember this. He is mere months old, and outside his palace his city is preparing for war. The kitchen table is weighted down by his father’s things, swords and daggers, a travelling cloak and provisions, stacks of paper for the letters he will write home. The air is heavy with grief for what it is to come, but Telemachus knows nothing about this. All he knows is that Father lifted him from his cradle and is taking him down the hall, pulling faces and babbling so that his little laugh fills the palace. He knows that his father loves him more than anything.

“Odysseus,” Penelope sighs. “You need to let him sleep in the crib. The midwife says he should learn to sleep on his own.”

“Let me have this.” He eases himself into the bed, shifting Telemachus from his hip to his stomach. “When I return he may not be in the crib anymore.”

“Odysseus-” 

Telemachus babbles and reaches forward, fascinated by his father’s beard and oblivious to the admission he let slip. Odysseus kisses the boy’s tiny hand, his heart already aching. To think that he’s had so little time with his son, and now has to leave because…

It’s not your place to question, a voice whispers. He can’t tell if it’s himself or Athena.

To his side, the sheets rustle and Penelope’s head comes to rest on his shoulder, her leg slipping between and tangling with his. If he only could, he would stay in this moment forever. His boy on his belly, his love by his side. It’s why he cannot say no; if anyone touched either of them, Odysseus would make the world burn to get them back. There is no bliss like this. 

“You be a good boy for your mama while I’m gone, all right?” he asks him. “And when I return, I’m going to teach you all manner of things. We’re going to go hunting and I’ll teach you to shoot and we’ll go sailing and oh, wait until Athena meets you properly. She will love you. She’s going to train you like she trained me.”

I did not agree to that her voice booms in his head, but for once he waves her off. Telemachus gurgles, kicking his feet with delight as he kisses him and that is all that matters. 

They lie there for some time, sitting in tender silence, until Telemachus’ eyes begin to droop. He blinks and rubs them and sways like a tiny flower caught in the breeze. Odysseus lowers him slowly, so he lies flat against his chest. His heart beats against the tiny body; a special melody to lull him to sleep.

“I almost don’t want him to go sleep,” he whispers. “I don’t want him to close his eyes and wake up without me here.”

“I know.” Penelope runs her feather-light finger up Telemachus’ back. Unlike Odysseus, she doesn’t hide her anger. She might not speak it aloud, because she has common sense, but he can feel it coming from her. And hell has no fury like his wife scorned. 

It is almost enough to make him stay.

Odysseus kisses her head. He doesn’t mention the tears running down her face, nor the ones gathering in his own eyes. Right now, he is here, and he has promised to return.

It will have to be enough.

2

It takes him a while to knock on the door. His cheeks burn, half-hidden behind his hands. Part of him wishes to run back to bed, to hide under the covers and pretend like nothing happened. But the palace is different at night, the corridors are longer and cast in shadow, and the silence is suffocating. Telemachus doesn’t know which steps he should take, if monsters lurk around the corners he passes so freely during the day. 

“Tel? Sweet boy, why aren’t you in bed?”

Telemachus looks up. Mama stands over him, hair messy and eyes heavy. He opens his mouth, only to give nothing but a feeble croak. The words he has learned over the past four years desert him in less than a second.

Luckily, Mama knows. She lowers down until she is his height and in no time sees the soiled nightshirt. Telemachus whimpers, a feeling he can’t yet name gripping him, and before he knows it his face is screwing up and his whole body is hot and tears are running like rivers down his cheeks. 

Mama pulls him close and lets him rest his head on her shoulder.

“It’s all right, sweet boy,” she tells him. “It happens. It happens, it’s all right. Let’s get you cleaned up now, mm?” She pats his back. “It’s all right.”

Telemachus keeps his head buried as they make their way to the washroom. The monsters don’t come after Mama, but he doesn’t want to look up in case one finds him and comes into his room later. 

Fear strikes him, sharp and sudden, and his sobs build.

“It’s all right, Tel. Mama’s got you.”

In the washroom, she doesn’t bother calling for a servant. Instead, it’s her who washes his legs with warm water and soap that smells like honey. It is Mama who places his damp nightclothes in the basket and pulls fresh ones from the cupboard. It is Mama who wipes his tears and kisses his head and braves the monsters to walk back to their chambers. Telemachus wishes he could be like her, he could be brave and strong and walk back to his chambers alone, but he can’t. He doesn’t know how to be brave yet, and part of him worries he will never learn. 

“Now, my boy,” Mama whispers. “Why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight, mm?” She smooths his hair away from his face. “Just in case there’s any more accidents.”

Telemachus nods, and when Mama wraps him in her covers and cuddles him, he forgets about the monsters outside. 

3

Telemachus has never liked storms. Not when he was a child, not when he was a baby according to his mother, and certainly not at 10. The problem is, he is the man of the house until Father comes home, and the man of the house cannot be running away from storms. He cannot be huddled beneath his covers with his hands clamped over his ears because he does not like the thunder.

He should not be shrieking when the covers are pulled from his head by his mother.

“Telemachus,” she sighs. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“I was asleep,” he protests. He doesn’t know why he continues trying to lie to his mother, not when he has been caught out every time, but he does. One day it has to work, doesn’t it?

Mother sighs, sits on the bed, and rubs his back.

“Come and sleep in my room tonight.”

“No,” he says. “I-I’m fine. I can sleep on my own.”

“Tel-”

“I’m not scared,” he insists, just as another thunderclap booms overhead. Telemachus jumps before he can stop himself, and his mother’s reaction is equal parts concern for him and equal parts ‘I told you so’.

In response, Telemachus can just scowl, not even sure who he is angry with. 

“Well, I am scared,” she says. Telemachus shakes his head; he knows Mother is not afraid of anything. “No Tel, I really am. I hate storms.” She shudders and whimpers as she peers outside the window. “And I keep thinking if only I had a big strong man in my rooms to keep me safe.”

“The guards are there,” he responds. But a smile tugs on his lips.

“Oh, them!” she scoffs. “They’re good, but I wish I had a proper hero to keep me safe until the storm passes.” She puffs out her cheeks and fixes Telemachus with her most pleading eyes. He buries his face in his pillow. “But, if I can’t have that, I shall have to return to my rooms.” She gets up. “Alone.” She steps towards the door. “Afraid.” Another step. Telemachus bites his lip to keep the giggles inside. “And sad-”

“Wait!” He jumps from the bed, breathless. “Maybe I should come with you. To keep you safe.”

“Oh Telemachus!” She touches her hand to her chest, eyes brighter than the stars. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course I would.” He strides up to her and takes her hand. “I am the man of the house now.”

Mother squeezes his hand, a slight hitch in her breath.

“Yes you are, my little prince.”

With a newfound energy, Telemachus surges into his mother’s room, wasting no time nestling in the blankets. Mother rolls her eyes as she discards her cloak and climbs in beside him, more grace any all the nymphs put together. She lets Telemachus have the whole other side of the bed and when she settles he grabs her hand, his heart thump-thump-thumping like a canon. 

“Tell me a story. Please.”

“Which one?”

He pretends to think, but there is only ever one answer.

“One of Father’s,” he says. “Oh! Tell me the one about Athena’s magic boar!”

“You’ve heard that one fifty times, Telemachus.”

“Please,” he insists, bordering on whining. Definitely not how the man of the house behaves, but at present he is just a boy in his mother’s bedroom. So he can get away with it.

“All right,” she says. Telemachus grins and wriggles into her lap. Stroking his hair, his mother begins the story, of how his father was out exploring with a patrol when he came across a boar in the woods. His friends wanted to move on, but Father knew something was different about the boar, something in the way the fur glowed…

As Telemachus listens, Mother’s voice drowns out the storm outside. He fights the sleep taking over him until his Father becomes Athena’s warrior of the mind. Mother was right, he has heard this story so many times, but he never gets tired of it. To know his father is one of Athena’s chosen warriors, known throughout Greece. Powerful, clever, courageous. 

Definitely not afraid of some wind.

4

He is fifteen when the suitors start arriving. 

He doesn’t like them, and no, it’s not just because they aren’t his father. It’s not because they call him small, or that they sneer at him when his mother’s back is turned, or that despite him standing at his mother’s side they act like he’s not even there. It’s nothing he hasn’t faced before; he’s spent his life pretending he doesn’t hear the whispers, the constant comparisons to his father and how he is all the things Telemachus isn’t. He can handle it.

It’s the way they look at his mother. It’s the way they move close and closer and that Telemachus’ presence does nothing to deter them. Their hands on hers at dinner, their greedy eyes roaming everywhere except her face. It’s the way their teeth clench, when she tells them she hasn’t made a decision, that she is still weaving her shroud, that she has a duty to her son first. Impatience builds until their palace stinks of it and Telemachus can’t get them out of there fast enough. He watches his mother, his unshakeable, unbreakable mother, shudder whenever they leave. She sobs, silently, whenever she thinks Telemachus can’t see her. He begins to resent the dining hall, the front entrance, each plate and cup that they have touched.

The worst is what he hears when they think he’s not there.

“I’ll take that fucking shroud and strangle the bitch with it.”

“We’ll make her pathetic brat watch.”

“Him! I’ll hang the kid with his own innards if I could. String him up like the flower garland he is.”

“Do you think she’d beg if we did?” One of them asks giddily. “Maybe she’d let us have our way with her if her precious prince was in danger.”

Thankfully, Telemachus has learned not to scream. He forces his fear down, down, down, and by the time he can breathe again, his teeth are stained red.

He doesn’t tell his mother. But when she comes into her room to find him already there, she doesn’t make him leave. All she asks is he puts the sword beneath the bed.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself with it.”

He does, but he keeps the hilt towards him and a smaller dagger strapped to his leg.

If anyone wants to enter his mother’s rooms without permission, they will go through him first.

He can be just as deadly as they are. 

5

The palace is quiet. Telemachus’ mind is anything but. He paces his room, afraid to lie down and close his eyes lest he sees it all again The hallways gushing blood, the tip of Antonius’ blade. Each man falling, one by one, as if torn down by an invisible wind.

Except it wasn’t wind or anything natural; it was his father. The space that sat vacant for twenty years is now filled and it is…. Everything. And incredibly, incredibly loud. 

As minutes and hours go on, Telemachus finds he can’t take it anymore. Voices overlap in his head, the walls of his bedroom are pressing inwards and whether it’s a trick of his mind or something else, he doesn’t want to find out. So he slips out with a blanket around his shoulders, and tiptoes down the now-scrubbed corridors to his parents’ room.

He’s barely knocked on the door before Father answers.

“Son?” 

Telemachus hesitates before slipping inside. The room isn’t as dark as he expected; a single lamp in the corner bathes it in a soft glow. Father is still awake, half propped up against the pillows with Mother asleep on his chest, her arm tight around his waist. Telemachus can’t shake the feeling that he’s interrupted something, even with Father beckoning him in. His eyes hold so much and he can’t help but wonder if he’s up for the same reason Telemachus is. That his thoughts were too loud to let him rest.

“What’s bothering you?”

Telemachus pulls on his sleeve, his breath shallow. 

“I can’t sleep.” 

Father smiles. Despite the heaviness in his eyes, it feels sincere. It’s a steady on his shoulder, a reminder to breathe, a warm embrace to keep him safe. A suggestion that maybe things will be fine.

“Come here,” he says softly. He hadn’t realised how much he needed to hear that.

Mother is pulled from sleep as Father shifts to make room for him. There’s a moment where she hasn’t realised the second person yet and she smiles up at Odysseus, completely free of lines and worry as if it’s 20 years ago again.

Telemachus feels blessed to have seen it. 

“Tel?” she mumbles when she notices him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He slides into the space his father left and reaches across to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m all right. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Mother nods, an easy smile gracing her lips. Propped up on her elbow, she leans over and musses Telemachus’ hair, chuckling when he protests. Father laughs too, and Telemachus feels it against his body. Solid, warm, real. Here. Alive.

Mother settles back into the bed, pressing kisses to Father’s bare shoulder as she goes. Father grins and again, it’s like Telemachus is watching a scene from twenty years ago, from a world where nothing bad ever happened and he grew up whole. And maybe it’s the late hour talking, but for the first time, he has hope he can be.

Especially when Father kisses his head. 

“Go to sleep, son,” he whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

“I know,” he murmurs. He presses into his father’s side and sleeps soundly the entire night.  

[luniise-kel]

thinking about how cool and awesome moon stone cassandra couldve been if she wasnt given the world’s worst villain motivation

dropping my whole au / rewrote of season 3 below

uh preface is im sleepy and its almost midnight, so like sorry if some parts dont make sense or whatever

uhh basically, instead of cass trying to like reach her destiny or whatever as like her Main motivation and the only reason to why she Evil and Malicious ive changed it so its more mixed in with her desire to protect rapunzel. i think moonstone cass is cool and i like the idea of her but i really just think her execution was poor mostly because it wasn’t built up as much as it shouldve been.

rewrote cass’s character slightly just so there more empathize on her idolization of her mother, and so when she learns the truth of why mother gothel left her, the knee jerk reaction to blame raps makes a little more sense.

Anyways, Season 3 cass deals with a lot of her issues, i think on the journey to get the moonstone something something happens and cassandra is told that if rapunzel comes in contact with the moonstone she will Implode. Like die. Return to being the sundrop. and cass is like oh fuck, shit, balls, I need to Protect her from Dying. So out of her intense Need to protect Rapunzel she yoinks the moonstone, and (still slightly pissed at raps for stealing her mom but not really she’s just trying to figure out her emotions + rapunzel needs to get away away from this rock) she goes into Evil mode.

Her villain arc is partly fueled by her anger at her own situation, always in second place. her desire to feel love and cherished and important rather than being the 2nd option. However, it is also fueled by her need to provide safety to her friends ,, even if it’s not the smartest choice. Moonstone Cass devotes her entire identify to being the cliche villain, so no one feels bad if like the solution to destroying the moonstone is killing her. she knows that logically the Zhan Tiri is manipulating her but 1. she idgaf and 2. she needs to learn how to control the moonstone’s power so she doesnt hurt her friends.

Tbh boiled now, it’s just cass isnt obsessive with mother gothel and mother gothel leaving her to kidnap a baby because it made like no sense for her character. like instead, moonstone cass grabbles with her identify and place in the world, who she is outside of rapunzel. Also she wants to learn more about her past, yknow, who mother gothel was and is she Worth getting upset over. spoiler she figures out that no, her bio mom sucks booty

Anyways, throughout my version of season 3, cass is trying to figure out a way to destroy the moonstone. She visits Rapunzel often too and pretends to be evil just so she can check in. She angry at her mom but not so much on rapunzel, maybe a little bit but probably more to with simply trying to crave out her identify outside of rapunzel. Same general plot beats happen in s3, but shes more grief driven than anger driven i suppose.

Theres probably a lot i forgot to like, reformulate in this especially w s3 bc i havent had the time to rewatch it and collect my thoughts that well. But, uh, hope u enjoyed. might yap more about my personal gripes with the show and how i think it shouldve been written.

also to add on i suppose, at the end of the series she gets exiled from corona officially, but lowkey comes back to hang out and after like a year every1 is like yeah okay i guess.

[minijenn]

That feel when you spend the past several days drawing for a forgotten niche AU you created years ago that you've just been having severe brainrot for lately and you have to get it out of your system somehow so you just... draw.

Anyway, Thorn in the Gut AU! Perhaps the most angsty little AU my brain ever did create back in the old UF days, I'm still quite fond of it. Its just chock full of drama, conflict, existential crisises, all that good stuff! And so, for those of you not in the know, here's a whole dump of info about it to go along with the art! (copied most of this from Discord so excuse any wierd formatting)

The basic gist of Thorn in the Gut spawns out of RMD (Rifts/Memories/Dimensions) and basically starts when Bill lands a practically fatal blow on Stepper (instead of cracking his Gem) and Steven, realizing both he and Dipper won't survive this, essentially "poofs" (lets his physical body disappear) and sacrifices his gem over to Dipper to keep him alive. Anyway, Dipper winds up back in Gravity Falls alone, much to the alarm and anger of the Crystal Gems especially when they realize Steven is basically dead (not them blaming a literal child who had no say in any of this). From there, the following ensues:

The Gems are A Wreck but they are still deeply attached to that gemstone (because of Steven and because of Rose) and they really don't know how to interact with Dipper now as a result; eventually, they force him to move up to the temple because he very quickly starts showing he has Steven's powers now but he can't control them because he is also A Wreck with survivor's guilt and grief over losing his boyfriend (did I mention this AU is Stedip? Well its Stedip) and his heavy emotions are making them wonky

They also watch him like a hawk because they think Steven could somehow return at any moment; they're also just like, hella impersonal with him; basically any sort of warmth or goodwill they had toward him has completely evaporated and they just view him as "the reason why steven is gone"

Garnet probably just... never talks to him like ever. Pearl is a sobbing wreck but is also surprisingly the most sympathetic towards Dipper out of the Gems (bc she knows about Rose and Bill's history to a certain extent and also knows thats at least in part why Bill attacked Stepper so viciously and why all this happened in the first place). Amethyst is just mad and probably prone to verbally lashing out at Dipper in frustration the most.

Stan and Ford are Fighting obvs bc Ford thinks Dipper staying with the Gems is for the best (also not Ford also kind of lowkey starting to negate his own nephew as a "fascinating breakthrough discovery" because of how scientifically impossible what's happened to him should be; Stan, meanwhile, is furious at how both Ford and the gems are acting, he's one of the few people still entirely in Dipper's coner, along with...

Mabel, who while mourning Steven herself wants to be there for her brother so badly but can't be because the Gems and Ford won't let her be, claiming that its for her own safety when really its just to keep her out of the way of a very delicate situation; even so, the twins still try to see each other as much as they can and comfort each other however possible (potential eventual fusion between the two?? maybe)

Connie is fucking mad, mad that Steven would sacrifice himself like this, mad that he'd sacrifice himself for Dipper, mad that Steven is gone and she can't do a damn thing about it. As a result, she distances herself from both the Pines and the Gems for a good long time to grieve on her own (but even after she comes back around, things remain hella tense between her and Dipper)

Other characters: Lapis is fuckin squicked the fuck out by what's happened here, because something something its comparable to permenant fusion, but even so she tries her best to support Dipper even though its difficult for her; Peridot is kind of lost in the shuffle of all this, like Mabel, so I feel like that's where she's lending most of her support; Pacifica? ehhh I mean this AU works under the assumption that Stedip is kind of the only currently canon MK ship so she probs wouldn't have much to do here 😛

Fucking forgot to talk about Dipper himself you know like he aint the damn focus character; so he's in Shambles, emotionally distraught for a number of reasons; his boyfriend is gone and he can only speak to him in his dreams (and those dreams are usually sweet… until one certain triangle starts showing up in them); amidst still reeling from losing Steven, the way the others are all treating him leads him into an existential crisis, because to the Gems, he's Steven, he's Rose, to Ford, he's an experiment, to Bill, he's an obstacle in the way of a prize, to the diamonds (if this continued on into UF2 which it could), he's Pink, and with all that in mind he truly starts to wonder if there's anything really left of Dipper at all

And the bad guys; Bill is furious, obvs. it doesn't take him long to start showing up during Steven and Dipper's little dream chats, causing all sorts of chaos and being just a general bastard all around; but he wants that gem, he has a deal with White to make good on after all, and he's determined to do whatever it takes to get it, even if he has to guilt trip Dipper into ripping it out of his stomach himself (which may or may not happen); as for the Diamonds I mean they'd probably just think this is "Pink" playing another one of their silly games, like they think about Steven so not a ton changes on that front? (even still, I summed up that this boy is in Danger in the span of time that would be UF2 in that one art)

Oh and of course, Steven's status. He is… aliveish? Of course, he doesn't have a physical body anymore, kind of gave that up entirely when he "poofed" bc he's half human. At first he's only able to communicate solely to Dipper through his dreams (and like Stan and Mabel, Steven is completely in Dipper's corner and is fucking mad as hell about how the Gems are acting towards him). And eventually, he makes that frustration known by using his possion powers to take control of Dipper (which Dipper allows, god who cares about past trauma, anything to make the Gems see reason) to tell the Gems off, but he isn't able to do that for very long or very frequently. I'd like to think Dipper can also sometimes "hear" Steven speaking to him through his thoughts when he's awake too. Basically, Steven is always with him ^_^

After getting steven's gem, Dipper maintains Stepper's hair color and skin hue :3 and he also starts wearing Steven's shirts bc fuckin gay grief compells him to wear his BF's clothes and then the Gems, fucking freaks that they are are like "nah you should keep wearing them" even when he doesn't want to anymore. Oh! and another thing, Dipper doesn't see himself when he sees his reflection in the mirror, he sees Stepper (represented in the art).

Since Dipper has to stay in Gravity Falls (because how the hell is he able to leave with all of these newfound manifesting magical powers), Mabel ends up going back home alone with a spare memory gun Ford gives her in tow. She remorsefully uses it to erase Aaron and Allison's memories of Dipper so they won't ask questions she isn't able to give answers to :3 Also, Dipper is unaware that this happens until some point in UF2 when Mabel breaks down and tells him. Suffice to say it basically ruins whatever is left of his relationship with Ford (not that it was good at that point anyway because well, Ford is basically using him as a lab rat)

Basically, without Steven around, most of the cast is just... fucking not acting right bc steven was basically their moral compass so they figure why even try anymore without him around (the gems and hell even dipper included, he makes some pretty questionable decisions in this AU himself)

Just, its all about identity, really, about how the way others around you treat you can impact how you view yourself for better or worse (in this case, worse); it's about loss of agency and how grief can drive people to act in some... pretty terrible ways.

Anyway yeah that's a Lot but its my current obsession in the In Between time of S1 and S2 and I figured I need to chase my bliss (bc how else will I cope with The Horrors if I don't put my favorite blorbos through Horrors of their own. Expect something to be written from this AU... eventually idk man probs not anytime in the immediate future tho lol it's just a silly fun little side thing. Anyway enjoy the Pain! ^_^

[akiizayoi4869]

The Southern Raiders

Been meaning to make my own post about this episode for a while now, so here it is. The main thing I hear about this episode is that Aang didn't understand Katara's pain at all but Zuko did. The notion that a genocide survivor doesn't understand another genocide survivor is certainly one hell of a take, and it's very stupid. Are we really going to forget the air nomad genocide?

Aang lost EVERYTHING because of the war. And to make it worse? He feels guilty because he wasn't there to stop it from happening (even though he wouldn't be able to do much since he hadn't mastered the four elements yet) because he ran away from his duties as the avatar. When Aang finds Monk Gyatso's body in the Southern Air Temple episode, he's overcome with so much grief and anger that he triggers the avatar state:

Katara herself even compares what she's been through to what Aang was feeling in this moment by saying "I know how hard it is to lose the people you love! I went through the same thing when I lost my mom." Certainly sounds like two people who understand each other perfectly if you ask me. Also, in the Lost Adventures comics, we're shown that the Fire Nation used a dirty tactic to smoke out any other airbenders that might have escaped from the genocide.

We see how happy Aang was to learn that some airbenders may have survived, only to find out that it was all a lie to capture any remaining survivors. At the end of the comic he looks disappointed and crushed knowing that the possibility that air nomads fell for this trick and were killed as a result.

A lot of people take Katara saying "I knew you wouldn't understand" to Aang as her saying that he doesn't understand her pain, but if you actually look at the context? That's not what she's saying at all. What she means is that she knew that Aang wouldn't understand her need for VENGEANCE. For her desire to kill her mother's killer. Because Aang was taught that revenge isn't the answer. Even though Aang absolutely understands how she felt, something that he says himself:

In both of those moments he felt extreme anger and hatred, both strong negative feelings that would have caused him to lash out and do something that he would regret later on. Who stops him in both cases? Katara. She calms him down (and can I just say that I think it's really poetic that in this specific episode, Aang's words are what calms Katara down in the end, and is why she decided to spare Yohn Rha?) in his moments of rage, something that he's grateful for.

Another argument that I've seen is that Zuko understands her pain more than Aang because he also lost his mother. While I can see why people make this comparison, those are two entirely different situations. Ursa was banished because she protected Zuko from being killed when he was a child. Which means that she's still alive (as we later find out from those horrible comics). Kya, on the other hand, was KILLED because she protected Katara by saying that she was the waterbender that they were looking for. This happened in a genocidal raid by the Fire Nation. Safe to say that Zuko can never understand what that feels like.

Also, it's pretty crazy to me how people can say that Aang was wrong in this episode, when Zuko HIMSELF says that Aang was actually right, and that what Katara needed in the end wasn't revenge. Aang knows Katara a lot better than Zuko does, and he knows that killing the man who killed her mom would have absolutely destroyed Katara because of the kind of person she is. Just like Aang remembering how he killed all of those Fire Nation soldiers in the North Pole while he was in the avatar state and being controlled by his past lives and the ocean spirit caused him to have nightmares and be terrified of what the avatar state can do. Both of them are alike in that regard. The closest thing I can say that Zuko understands about Katara is her anger. Boy spent 3 seasons being angry so he definitely understands that. But other than that? He doesn't understand her, which is to be expected since he just joined them a few episodes ago, and spent a whole year chasing them and trying to capture Aang. So he's just started getting to really know everyone on a personal level. In conclusion, Aang did indeed understand Katara, and his words were exactly what she needed to hear.

[leafpoo1]

Constellations: The Thematic Movie Sonadow song in my humblest opinion

Stars as a theme are ever present in Sonic 3 and as a lover of astrological symbolism you KNOW I gobbled it up like a last meal. Shadow literally coming from a falling star then having Maria's "the star shines even if it's gone" i'm so happy they committed to this as a motif. The gold of Sonic and Shadow's powered up forms as they fly through the sky like comets, and the fact that just like stars, Shadow and Sonic are quite possibly from galaxies away. Symbolism blah blah blah.

I will now elaborate on why for me, Constellations by the Oh Hellos is on theme with movie Sonadow's story and themes. I hope it's not as boring as it sounds lol I'm just very used to writing these things in a formal essay technique.

To start, the first sound of the song is this gentle guitar, it's very reminiscent of the guitar Maria plays in Shadow's introduction scene in the movie. It's simple, gentle, just like Shadow's life before the G.U.N. Raid. The main singer is our beloved Tyler Heath, with backings from his sister Maggie Heath. I like to think in this context, it's Shadow singing with Maria joining him in the back as a little voice of encouragement. Later, more voices are added to the harmony, and maybe I'm a sentimental bastard but to me it's the new people in Shadow's life (AHEM SONIC) that join in, all of it being a warm reminder that Shadow has a place in the world with those who love him, from the past and future ahead.

Okay lyric brainrot time, I'll try to format this in tandem with the song so that the pauses happen with each separate group of lyrics (Oh Hellos instrumentals are divine by the way). As of writing this post, I'm still pondering some of the lyrics connections but I will make updates if I discover new interpretations!

In general, Constellations is interpreted as a song about breaking past beliefs and the inner turmoil that can result from the cognitive dissonance. Sound familiar?

"I can feel it on my tongue; brick and mortar Thick as scripture, drawing lines in the sand and laying borders As tall as towers I babble on until my voice is gone"

The sensory feeling of something being on the tongue; Shadow is trying to speak but he's held back by his memories. Everything he remember is in the ashes of his once home, and in a bid of self preservation he builds the walls around himself. He knows how the world sees him from all the grief it's put him through in the past, so at least in his eyes, this is necessary to protect himself from future hurt.

"This hill I'll die on is about 90 meters of bricks Coloured indigo, and inscribed with my name, and lined with cedar But the words fall flat like Cymbals crashing, like molars gnashing"

From his despair Shadow plans to die underneath the weight of his own revenge and self isolation. But he still hesitates, as seen in his final conversation with Gerald Robotnik ( "is this what Maria would have wanted?"). His love for Maria, and knowing that she believed the best in him, prevent his anger from full reaching full intensity. In the end, the weights of Shadow's past become his newfound determination. To make right, and hopefully live the life Maria always wanted for him.

"'Cause like constellations a million years away Every good intention, every good intention Is interpolation, a line we drew in the array Looking for the faces, looking for the shapes in the silence"

For a good part of the movie, Shadow is confused of Maria's intentions for him after her death. Would she be angry with her perpetrators? Would she want Shadow to die in an attempt to make right? The only thing he is sure of is his love for his sister, and the love she gave back. It's the anchor point, where all his actions lead back to.

"All that's left for me to climb to the heavens is The chasm of the night and a matter of time But I hear the rumble as the tectonic plates start to shake And I feel my blood pounding like the beat of a drum"

Going a little bit backwards but I interpret this as the perspective of Shadow while still believing vengeance is the right option. He accepts he will die and maybe even see Maria beyond life, even if he has to resort to an unspeakable act (chasm of night). But Sonic is there as his equal not just in skill but past experiences. Sonic's understanding combined with Maria's compassion are what ultimately touch Shadow and shake him from the path of destruction.

"'Cause like constellations a million years away Every good intention, every good intention Is interpolation, a line we drew in the array Clinging to the faces, clinging to the shapes in the silence"

In your classic musical fashion, the chorus returns stronger than the last, and I think of it as Sonic adding his more vivacious energy with Shadow's new confidence in what is right to do. With new perspective, Sonic and Shadow have found their constellation, the key to it being embracing their shared past as a way forward.

"Like constellations imploding in the night Everything is turning, everything is turning And the shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light Everything you thought you knew will fall apart, but you'll be all right"

I LOVE THE MOON SCENE I LOVE IT SO MUCH. As Shadow and Sonic share their past with each other in a moment of vulnerability, the stars glimmer above watchfully. And like the ever changing constellations and systems, Shadow is able to change his perspective on his past. Shadow lost his home, his sister, and his old life. But, I like to imagine it's Sonic that says the last line to him with a hand outstretched. The stars are Sonic and Shadow, aliens from far away who found their light despite the seemingly endless darkness. The stars are reminders of Sonic and Shadow's old lives, which can now be cherished in their hearts as a warm glow, despite not being physically present anymore. And as the world turns to reveal the sun, Shadow's realization of his own heart is recognized as they are both bathed in a heavenly ray. ABSOLUTE CINEMA.

Whew I did that mostly in one sitting I hope it made sense. Maybe I'll do it again with my other playlist's songs it was fun! Please do share thoughts, feedbacks, addons, anything if you have it really! Anyway back to crying to my Sonadow Playlist.

Aformentioned Playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1aWnEadpn1rXQoX9d9JxUG?si=PWOt_v6DS7-E43HT9LgCxg

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 9

Chapter 9: marauding Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur's mental health is kind of not so good...VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Guns and violence. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. WC: 5212 CHAPTER 9 !!! Thank you guys so much for all of your comments and replies and feedback, I've been loving it!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖 Thank you for all of the lovely asks as well, @frillydolle @emerald-ranch @teenalien-xx and anyone else who has sent an ask about this series… you guys are the best, I LOVE YOU watch out for meanie arthur AGAIN LMAO😈 Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace. some scary shit, so watch out 👀Arthur being rude as always just... low honor arthur as a warning lol

You wait for Arthur to decide what happens to your family.

It’s entirely too still in your family home. The air is as stiff and immovable, just like the man, your man as he likes to say, standing behind you. Arthur’s presence is unwavering. As always, he has a natural inclination to hold dominance, to control. He doesn’t seem bothered by this situation, not like you do, not like your parents who watch on, powerless to stop him. In fact, it’s like he’s in his element. He holds himself with that signature cockiness, not misplaced for a second.

You pant in panic, feet shuffling underneath you. You grip onto the rough hide of his coat, scratching your nails into it, as if you can hold onto him for support but you know that whatever happens is ultimately Arthur’s choice.

Both of your parents have withering glances and worried stares. Their mouths are agape in shock, they try to move closer instinctively but Arthur cocks the hammer back on his gun. You can’t move, Arthur holds you much too tight, you almost can’t breathe. Fat tears drip down the roundness of your cheeks and down your jaw.

“You let her go, she didn’t hurt nobody, she never meant anybody any harm-” Your mother is trying to speak past her worry and anger. She devolves into a strangled cry, covering her face. Arthur has a rough chuckle, it grates on you. He thinks this is amusing, an exciting development.

“Yeah, gentle as a lamb, this one. You raised a real sweet girl, really knows how to make a man feel special, don’t she?” he has a light casual tone, as if he isn’t holding a gun up to your mother. His insinuation makes your face warm in shame, casting your gaze to the ground.

“Arthur…” Pleading with him results in nothing, you only want this to be over, you wish you could sink into the floor. At least then, you wouldn’t cause your parents so much grief. You thought he cared for you but that care does not extend past you to your family. This is simply how he gets what he wants and it doesn't matter to him that it’s your parents. That you beg him not to do this. Anyone who stands in his way risks their life.

“Honey, much as I like to hear you beg for me, now ain’t the time,”

Your father’s glare is full of disdain, disgust. Arthur revels in it, you can feel his chest puff up, he stands a little taller. His aim doesn’t dip at all, keeping his gun steady. He’s calculating what to do, where to go from here. All of you wait to see what he decides. It’s terrifying how it feels like he’s done this before, pointed his gun at innocent people to get what he wants. Arthur controls every single aspect of the situation with an untroubled air.

“We haven’t very much but you could have it all if it means you leave ‘er alone,” Your father’s hands are raised in defeat and surrender. Arthur scoffs.

“You ain’t got much, that’s true. Just one thing I want,” You whine, his grip isn’t rough, only firm, reminding you of how he thinks of you. You belong to him and you always will.

“Don’t want a goddamn thing, ‘cept her. What do you think, sweetheart? I take care of you?” You blink, you flush a little, unable to contain the joy his words bring to the sick part of you that likes Arthur. You can’t stand to look up and look at your parents. Their mortified faces, their utter horror. He becomes more vulgar as you fail to answer. Pushing you to say what he wants you to say.

“She might have a big mouth when it comes to this but her mouth weren’t so goddamn big last time I checked. Couldn’t fit all of me in there, now could you, pretty girl…could only stand to take ‘bout half of me,” your father’s disdain turns into disgust, malice. He looks as if he’s about to do something, angry tears well in his eyes. You can’t stand to see your family’s faces as they hear of the depraved things you did for Arthur.

“Yes! Yes, you… you took care of me,” you practically sob, mortified and humiliated, overcome by fear and a violent pang of regret. You focus on the wood grain of the floor, vision blurring with your own tears. Your voice is a shame filled whisper.

“Just stop this Arthur; I’ll go with you, please, let’s just go,” You beg again, hoping he’ll listen, that he’ll take you with him. That you can salvage whatever is left for whatever brief moments of peace you had with Arthur.

Your father says your name between clenched teeth. “You are not going anywhere,” his face twists, he doesn’t want to see you leave with Arthur but you don’t see another choice. Another way out of this situation without Arthur hurting your parents. All you can imagine is a hole in your father’s head, like the hole in the head of the man who tried robbing your campsite. The glazed over look in his eyes. Arthur hasn’t shown you anything that makes you think he would actually pull the trigger on your parents but right now, he’s a cornered rattlesnake. Poised and ready to strike if the moment calls for it.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that just yet,” Arthur huffs. You can almost hear the way one side of his mouth lifting up to show off that prideful smirk.

“What’s that you said? Didn’t matter, as long as I took good care of her. Never even said I loved her and you was ready to send her off. Don’t sound like anybody cares for her ‘round here. You sent her out there; for what? Don't you think ol' granny's lived long enough?” you look away, a subtle pain erupts in your chest. He never did say that he loved you.

There’s a cruel edge to his voice. He talks as if he's telling a joke. He motions vaguely in the direction of your grandmother. His casually callous words do seem to strike a cord with your mother; she closes her eyes, feeling the guilt he wants to inflict.

More tears spill over your lash line. If you had just been modest, if you had fought him, maybe you wouldn’t be so ashamed, you wouldn’t have disgraced yourself like this. But what hope did you have? He overpowered you then like he overpowers you now, his heavy arms slung over your neck, any shift from you and he presses his arm tighter.

“Should’ve known your Pa was spineless. Your woman's more man than you. Had more backbone than you; were you really gonna sign your only kid away like that?”

“You’re no man; no man at all,” Your father’s outcry at Arthur hits him more than he knows. “You’re nothing, just the scum of the earth here to take what isn’t yours,” your fathers tone is panicked still but you can tell he means every word, his face screwed up in anger. He may not know it but you know his comment impacts Arthur; more than Arthur would ever let on so obviously. But his hand squeezes harder at his gun, his posture stiffens behind you as you’re pressed against his body. Arthur doesn't have any room to hear your father’s complaints, does not let them go without consequences.

A bullet shatters something on the mantle and both you and your mother scream. You sob against Arthur, shock forces you still under his arm. The gun firing in the enclosed room has your ears ringing. You think your father is dead, you feel your stomach drop and more tears drip down your face. Everything fades away for a moment. You don’t know what you'd do if your father died today.

Your father clutches his shoulder, his hand comes away with blood. Your mother checks frantically over your father while his legs tremble, groaning in pain. Then he collapses into his knee. The smell of blood and his gunfire consume the space. You sniff, acknowledging that your father isn’t gravely injured but still, you thrash until he has something to say about it.

“Calm down, it ain’t exactly fatal,” he says, as if his bullet simply grazed your father’s arm. “Should teach you to keep your mouth shut. I’m usually less polite,”

“You’re a coward, is what you are,” your father struggles to speak past his pain. Your mother presses some fabric to his injury.

“You are really startin’ to annoy me. I ain’t got a single problem with leaving your neck a bloody stump but I don’t want her to see that. Do you?” His voice drops as low as it can go, a hostility that isn’t just for show. You whine, shaking your head, pressing backwards into Arthur. It doesn’t matter what happens to you, all you want is for him to take you away, to spare your family.

“No! No, Arthur, stop, I wanna go back to your house,” you attempt to pull his attention back to you. “Pa, I-I need to be with Arthur, It’s like you always said, right?” You look at him with as genuine a smile you can pull but the ache of your circumstances pulls you down. Your father shakes his head but you nod.

“Arthur, please…” you turn over your shoulder as much as you can. You plead with him with your eyes too. Imparting your desperation in your gaze. You know that Arthur, although steadfast and stubborn, can be moved by you. Something in you, whatever has captured his attention has him wanting to please you too. You can see how he huffs, looks this way and that. But he’s giving in, letting you have your way. His anger doesn’t dissipate entirely but he drops his shoulders.

“Alright, enough of this. Think we’re done with this little family reunion, ain’t we, sweetheart?” You nod vigorously, sniffing past your tears, trying to blink them away. You’re glad that endearing yourself to Arthur is still a trick you have up your sleeve. He seems to be done with whatever fight your parents put up, there isn’t a lot of it they have to offer. They cower at the end of his revolver. Your father puts himself in front of your mother, despite his injury bleeding onto the cloth your mother gave him. But he has no weapon to defend anyone with.

“No, you don’t have to go, sweetie,” Arthur’s finger twitches at the trigger, making your mother’s desperately hopeful voice fall silent. The teary eyed smile she gives you falls like her voice does.

“I’m not sure you heard what I said. But I’ll make it easier for you to understand. She ain’t your little girl anymore; she’s her own woman,” he mocks your mothers words. “N’ she wants to come with me,” you whimper as his arm gets tighter, unconsciously expressing his possessive attitude towards you. He looks down at you, lightening up a little.

“I’m real sorry it had to be like this, wanted somethin’ different for you. But I ain’t the one who went n’ messed it all up,” the blame he puts on you has your heart sinking. If you were just a better liar, maybe he wouldn’t be here, aiming a gun at your father who is already on the ground, staunching the blood which drips out over the fabric anyway.

“Shouldn’t hafta say this but I feel that maybe I have to. You make this difficult and I leave a bigger mess for your wife to clean up, you understand?” He’s speaking only to your father. His arm eases off of you, slowly. You can feel the underlying threat in his tone.

“Now, go and grab your things, honey.” His finality and the dead silence make you hesitate, like if you move it’s official. If you move, then you can’t go back to this moment again. To this place again. But he nudges you towards your room, motioning his gun, still pointing with that deadly aim you know he has. You go to your bedroom in a trance almost, walking past your parents, you can’t bear to see them. Their terrified faces, the mournful stare they watch you with. As if you walk to your execution.

In your room, the chest is much too heavy for you to take with you. So you leave your clothes and take only things you can’t get back. The most precious things to you. A book of stories from your youth, some toys and your favorite toy, figurines your father gave to you and a shawl knitted by your grandmother. Silent tears drip as you pack them into a much smaller valise, bead of water gathering over the wool of your shawl. Your supplies for knitting and embroidering are stowed away too but you don’t take any of the unnecessary bits you have.

You snap it shut. It feels like this chapter of your life is snapping shut too, you know it, so deep inside of yourself. That you’ll never see your family again. By some miracle perhaps, but never the same way at the very least. You wipe violently at your face, picking up your suitcase, changing quickly into a fresher set of clothes before you step out.

The smile he has for you is tinged with the violence of the gleam of the silver metal in his hand. That wolfish grin, a bear's snarl more than something that reflects any true joy. You walk to him, stand at his side, the way you know he wants you too.

Your father still has that gleam in his eye, like he wants to fight against Arthur. You frown. You don’t want him getting hurt trying in vain to save you. That’s the last thing you want. You know that sacrificing yourself for the safety of your parents isn’t what your father wants but you don’t want anyone hurt here because of you.

“Please, Pa. Just leave us alone. I… I want to be with Arthur,” you murmur. It’s harder to say as you look at your father’s hand clenching over his wound. You’re not even sure if you mean it yourself. But Arthur is your reality now. Whether you like it or not.

Your mother starts to cry louder now. You blink, holding back the loud noise of your emotions. You drop your bag, hugging your family tight in one strong motion, letting them hold you tightly. Your fathers blood stains your cheek but you don’t care. Your mother brushes it off your cheek.

You want to hold them for as long as you can. Your mother shakes against you and your father kisses your hair. You separate yourself slowly. You want to keep this moment forever. Maybe you’d see them again, you’d beg and beg Arthur to take you here again. But you doubt he’d say yes. Or even worse, your family would refuse to see you, the disgrace you’d be after leaving with Arthur.

“You don’t have to go with him…” Your mother pets your hair. You shake your head.

“Yes, I do. Pa’s already hurt, I can’t-” You can’t see anymore of this. You know he’ll survive this, he has survived worse. But you don’t want anyone else getting hurt on your account. Your mother and father tell you they love you. At least someone in this room has the sentiment in them to say it to your face. You tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, sniffing quietly.

“I’ll be ok, I promise,” you bid, trying to soothe their worries but it’s like they don’t hear you at all, as if you said nothing. You back up, one step at a time before you’re taking your things in both hands again, clutching at the wooden handle of your case like it's the only thing keeping you from floating away. Arthur has his revolver in his holster now. You give them a parting look, trying to absorb as many memories of your childhood as you can, before Arthur guides you out of the door.

The cold greets you again, you pull his coat around you tighter, letting him help you up into the wagon after he places your things in the back of the cart. You hardly look at him, instead watching your parents delicately step outside to watch helplessly as you ride away with Arthur. You can hardly stand to watch as your mother falls in a heap on the cold snow. Your father looks on, a devastation is made clear in his defeated posture, his somber gaze. You bring yourself to do it anyway, looking until you can’t see them anymore.

You don’t talk with Arthur. There’s a stiff air between the both of you. Any minute amount of companionship or whatever fake love he made you feel is gone. He has told your parents what happened, and threatened to kill them if they didn’t let you go. You don’t know what you had imagined when you first arrived at your parents house but it wasn’t this. You had prayed things wouldn’t end in blood but perhaps you were too hopeful to expect Arthur to keep his nature in check.

The clouds from earlier seem to have blown away for now. The winter sun is starting to dip lower, an orange hue lights the horizon beyond the dark trunks of the bare trees.

Arthur lets you have your space and some time to stew but he’s had enough. He heaves a sigh, like he knows you’ll be upset with him. But acting as if it’s unfair that you’re not in the best mood has you just about ready to slap him; consequences be damned.

“Listen, I didn’t want things to go that way,” his voice is hardly apologetic, some stuck on emotion that isn’t sorry one bit.

“So you didn’t mean to shoot my father? Arthur, don’t…I think you’ve said and done enough today,” you warn. You don’t want to listen to him talk. It's like he just likes the sound of his own voice right now more than anything.

“What did you say to your mama anyway? You tell her I held you down? That I violated you? Or you tell her how much you like my tongue inside your-“

“Arthur! Stop it. I- I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to,” you pull your collar to the side but only slightly. You show him the mark he left on you. “She certainly understood the message,” you want to cry, to show him the angry tears dripping down your face.

“I’m just lucky you didn’t leave my father’s neck a bloody stump, aren’t I?” You spit at him. You let your tears dry, only anger left inside you. A rage you didn’t know you had. An anger you’ve shown him before in brief glimpses when you give him lip but not like this, not quite pushed to the edge as now.

You ignore how his hands tighten on the reins. How his breathing becomes heavier. His eyes track over the mark. A symbol of his supposed ownership. The iris of his eye is such a pretty blue, hidden by the narrowing of his eyes and then the dip of his head, the brim of his hat lowering over them. His body postures, like he wants to act but he holds it all back. His shoulders tense under the brown fur of his coat.

“Maybe my Pa was right, huh? You; Arthur Morgan, can act all high and mighty, but I’m not sure you’re a man at all either,” you let yourself continue, not minding Arthur’s reaction which is about to boil over on you. “I’m not sure men are supposed to act anything like-”

Your defiant tone is clipped short by his hand on your face, the fingers are tight on your cheeks. It doesn’t hurt you but he holds you in place, pinned down like a lamb to be sheared. His eyes are cold now, his face is frighteningly neutral. He makes you look him in his eyes, meeting his frosted gaze. The anger in your face dissolves like sugar in water. Replaced by the surprise of his sudden action.

“Yeah, you are lucky I didn’t blow his head off, leave his brain on the wall for your Mama to scrape off with a goddamn spoon,” his voice is rough and low, touching something in your head that drains all the anger, some old instinct in you. But not a new one, one you’ve had before. Melting into him, the way you did the first time he grabbed you, he held you against the counter. “As for my manhood; I ain’t got nothin’ to prove. But you’re all too familiar with mine, ain’t you, girl?” You burn red hot at his derisive question.

His eyes are focused in a quiet rage, but he shakes his head, as if thinking of something, of a better way to handle it. Hopefully for your sake; something not too rash. Then he moves his sharp gaze to the lonely woods behind you.

“If you want to try and run now, by all means. Be my guest,” it’s maybe the last thing you would think he’d say. It’s against everything he’s done to you, you give him a look, bewildered. No way Arthur would let you go so fast. You’re almost confused but you wait for his catch. Things with Arthur are never so easy.

“But if I catch you, you’re mine,” A strange smirk and a cruel glare are what he offers. That easy cockiness returns to him, his sure attitude, the certainty in his brow. The leather of his gloves is cold on your face still. It’s a game he wants to play with you, a challenge. As if delighted by his own idea, he grins a bit wider.

“I’ll make it fair and easy, how ‘bout it? I give you a chance to get away. And if you do, I’ll go home empty handed, hell I’ll even leave all your stuff here and send your horse back to ya.”

“But I catch you; you come home with me. And you won’t be leavin’ me,” you stare at him, unsure and afraid. He’s giving you one shot at freedom. To leave him behind and go back to your mother and father.

“Arthur, can’t you see you’ve already gotten what you wanted?” you protest lightly. The imagery of besting him, the strong and capable Arthur Morgan does call to you but something isn’t right.

“You want things to be fair; I’m makin’ them fair. You keep actin’ like you don’t want this, like you don’t want me. Now’s your chance to prove it,” Each word he says is dipped in his frustration. He isn’t quite satisfied with how things went in your family’s cabin as much as you thought he would be.

“C’mon, angel,” he sighs, he looks excited. His breath comes heavier, faster. His eyes are blown wide, eclipsing his summer blue and prairie green eyes with darkness like the coldest winter. He’s grinning, pressing into you, his hand pinches at the softness of your cheeks. Not enough to hurt you. Only to remind you of his strength, his tenacity.

His hand floats down to your neck, yours comes up to hold his wrist. He looks too excited, happy to chase you, work for you. Show you the lengths he’s willing to go to. At first you’re not too sure why. You prickle; you know something isn’t right but you’re too attracted to the thought of winning his little game.

“Cute little things like you are good at runnin’. I’ll give you a head start,” his hand leaves you and he begins counting. You’re stuck, like your back is glued to the seat of the wagon.

“Two…Three…” you turn like a brush animal, jumping from the wagon and stumbling a bit before you’re running into the woods.

The rest of the numbers ring out eerily in the quiet of the woods before they fade into the background. Your heart jumps into your throat. He’s serious about this. You pant, lungs burning with cold air, fear pushes at your heels. His coat is heavy on your shoulders but you don’t want to die of hypothermia should you toss it in your haste. You gather it up, before sprinting as fast as you can. The sun's orange light is fading fast but you pay it no mind, kicking up your legs to carry you as far away as you can.

The light snow crunches under your feet and you run into the depths of the woods, where animals sense your coming and rush off, knowing a predator is stalking. You look behind you, face screwed up in fear, adrenaline almost makes you stand still. You can’t see him and you didn’t bother to ask how much time he would give you. Arthur isn’t always the giving type but you hope he has a shred of mercy for you. You think perhaps this is the exception.

Like a deer looking up at the smallest sound. You rush off, trying to pace your running. Eventually, your legs tire, your side hurts and your nose and lungs start to ache from the cold dry air flowing through them. You lean against a tree a moment, panting, feeling warm, uncomfortable in the fur of the coat. Your thoughts run dry like a dusty river bed, all you can think of is escaping. Getting away from Arthur.

You keep going for as long as you can but fatigue pulls at the muscles of your legs and thighs. You continue, looking for somewhere to hide at least. It’s quiet, no birds, no animals, no wind to even sway the branches of the trees. All you can hear is your own blood, your own breath. The puff of your gasping into the winter air clouds up before your eyes.

You look out at the trees, black slender trunks that reach far too high for you to climb. All of the brush has decayed for the winter. You see a part of the forest that tilts downwards, perhaps a bit too steep but you don’t have another choice.

You slip down the hill, trying to stay upright. You land in somewhat of a heap, on your behind at the bottom of the hill. There’s a cropping of some rocks and you can find something to hide behind, large enough for you to stay hidden. You cover your mouth, your heart beating under your chest. like you’ve trapped a song bird in your rib cage.

You don’t know what you did to be here. Except perhaps needing help in a vulnerable moment. You kick yourself, you should have just ran down the road back home but in all of your fluster, you ran into the woods, like a scared rabbit. Just to get away. You don’t know what Arthur will do should he find you but you know it won’t be a happy reunion, not a playful meeting like two children playing hide and seek. It will be something else, much more like when a wolf corners a lost animal. A domesticated creature meeting a wild beast of prey.

You wait there for what feels like the longest hours of your life. The sunlight almost disappears, it gets much darker than before, the dusk starts to close in. Especially in the valley of this little hill you hide in. It gets colder as the light fades. Through the quiet, you can hear him, his boots crunch heavily through the snow.

“Y’know, you ain’t any good at covering your tracks,” he steps up to the top of the hill you had gone down. His voice makes your blood run cold, you tense up, as if sensing he’s looking in your direction.

“But I played fair, gave you a little while,” he grunts as he makes his way down the hill. Much less sloppier than you. Your eyes squeeze shut, you clench your hands. You had forgotten all of his hunting trophies, all of the guns he had on display. He set out already knowing he would win. You deliberate bursting from your hiding place or waiting to see if he’ll find you.

In a split second, you’re up on your feet, running in another direction. He’s after you, you’re sure of it, you know you can’t stop. You can feel the desperate noises in your throat. You try to make it as far as you can, but Arthur has his arms, corded in muscle, around your waist. You let out a strangled squeak, as he lifts you off the ground briefly with a scary amount of ease.

“There you are, princess,” he has pride, a self assured happiness. But he isn’t surprised at all. He has you on the ground, even as you struggle against him. “Been lookin for you,” you’re held down in no time at all really, even as you struggle against his grip on you. Arthur is entirely too heavy.

“Settle down, girl, it’s alright,” he’s shushing you. You exhaust yourself, feeling yourself heave and sob in his arms. Why couldn’t he be a bit scrawnier? You wish he were the kind of man who could be easily kicked off but he’s anything but. The adrenaline courses through you, making you jitter but all you can feel is the defeat. Quiet resignation calms you down, letting yourself go in his arms. He’s much too strong for you to put up any real challenge. You should have known he had this in mind, an easy win.

“I got what’s mine. My wife…” He mutters, gloved hands petting your hair. The satisfaction in his voice sends shivers down your spine, the dredges of what feeling you had for him stir, even after his treatment of you and your parents. You wiggle, whining, trying to shake his hand off if you. Your heart beats faster at his words. His wife. You don’t want it to have an effect on you but you can’t help it, wincing in embarrassment. You watch helplessly as he bites his gloves off his hands, clearly intent on feeling every bit of you with nothing between your skin and the heat of his fingertips.

“Deals a deal, sweetheart, ain’t much else to it,” he sighs, a sarcastic disappointment in his voice. His face is so close to yours, he puts some of his weight on you to keep your half hearted thrashing to a minimum. You try to give him all you can in the way of defiance. But you know Arthur. He won’t let you go. This is his commitment to you.

His hips jolt, nudge your thigh provocatively. And you just now realize how his breathing hasn’t slowed down like yours. His eyes are wild, still swallowed in the black of his pupils, a crooked smirk pushes at his lips. You should have known better than to think Arthur would lose this hunt. He was destined to win. And you were always going to be the prey he would catch.

I would like to thank Twistidkiwi over on ao3 for the arthur hunting you idea, it was just... too good 🥹🥹🥹🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ thank you queen!! i hope you guys liked it!! i would just let arthur get my ass after like 3 miinutes of chasing me LOL ohhh nooo you caught me 😳thank you so much for reading and lmk what you think !! until ch 10 😏Series Masterlist

[bonebabbles]

Ivypool's Heart: Finished

Just completed reading the new super edition! I'm pleasantly surprised by this one. Overall, this was a very good book, MUCH better than the past 3 which were some of the most boring and unnecessary entries to the entire franchise.

If you were on the fence about this one, I'd recommend it. Just take this warning; it does the Warrior Cats thing where it harps pretty strong on parenthood and nuclear families being a borderline essential part of life, including a ton of bashing on how uniquely horrible this makes the Sisters.

If you can get past that, it's a pretty solid story about grief that makes some really fun additions to the WC lore, including the wildcats, StormClan, and a broad expansion to the afterlife system.

Meandering thoughts below the cut;

One of IPH's biggest flaws is pacing, but it's not nearly as bad as the past 3 SEs.

Not to mention, this is a pretty small SE. If you're ever bored, it won't last long.

Before the book introduces the Wildcats, it REALLY meanders. It'll pick up, but you will have to wade through relatively uninteresting scenes of the cats traveling and talking about their feelings unprompted.

A lot of "quicktime events" happen out of nowhere to fill pages with cats running away from random bullshit.

There's a horse carriage, an apple picker, dogs, weasels, foxes, a storm, traffic, humans, boats, sandwhiches. It's endless. My eyes glazed over during most of these scenes.

I know a lot of people were dreading Ivypool being nasty and unreasonable during this book, but honestly? I was hoping for it and didn't really receive it.

I find her most compelling when she's holding a grudge, acting on her anger, and generally working through messy issues. But aside from her just thinking about being annoyed or angry, she's really not snappy at all.

I feel like there could have been a lot more interesting and organic conflict between Icewing, Dovewing, and Ivypool's personalities instead of boring Quicktime Events. In fact, I felt like Icewing and Dovewing were kind of underutilized.

The conversations often feel quite stiff, especially in the first half. Everyone is very understanding of each other, respect boundaries and knows not to push too far, resolve their personal issues very easily, etc. It's kinda... unnatural.

Personally, I found that disappointing because I WANTED to see the cats actually process their grief over the course of the book. Watch them act out, maybe get in an fight or two and resolve it for the sake of the mission, have them come to a greater understanding of each other, etc.

Because Icewing and Dovewing are both so motherly and gentle and we're in Ivypool's POV, we don't really get to see them process their grief because of that.

They're not TOTALLY neglected though! I just... wanted more from this group.

However. I wanted LESS Rootspring.

I understand he's there to process the loss of Bristlefrost with Ivypool but god, every time he was on screen I wanted to push him aside and talk to Icewing lmao.

Stop trying to sell me "cool, mellowed from grief" Rootspring. He's a silly little hyperactive man and you will never be able to convince me otherwise.

As a silly little hyperactive semi-manthing myself, it would have been a lot more cathartic to see a clown like me going through grief. Not to mention just generally make for better chemistry with the group.

Between Ice and Dove who are already quite chill as characters, Whistle could have used someone more goofy to bounce off of.

I REALLY didn't like the whole implication that Rootspring is going to move on from Bristlefrost and "find a mother" for the kittens he wants so badly, though.

Erins PLEASE remember that adoption exists. He does not need a wife to be a dad. I'm beaming myself directly into your brains and telepathy-ing directions to the nearest cat adoption agency

aaaaaand on that note.... yeah. I did not like the way that this book leaned so hard on the whole "nuclear family" dynamic. Ivypool has had like two major interactions with her husband and one JUST happened in this book.

It especially bugged me that they leaned into Ivypool having been a very active mother, when we saw very little of that in the ACTUAL book. It wasn't even mentioned that Fernsong was allegedly the primary parent of the kittens when they were young.

But... I was able to look past it and just accept the book in a vacuum. There's a lot of good here.

Like the wildcats.

While I'm still wary of these being Scottish Wildcats and reserve my misgivings about the misuse of species that are very unlike domestic cats... I LOOOOVEEE the culture they've set up for them

I LOVEE the way that individual spirits reach out to the kits, guiding them through life

I LOVE the connection to StormClan

I LOVE their idea of the elements and general spirituality

And I LOVED the fact that a big part of Ivypool coming to terms with her grief was the expansion of her worldview. The way that she realized the religion she was raised with is quite small, and that there is an immense beauty in coming to understand other cultures, accept their advice, and see the world as they do.

I just wish the book had been able to tie that to a flaw that Ivypool has expressed since her very introduction back in OotS-- that she's smallminded.

It would have been a FANTASTIC way to really tackle and address that flaw, and pay off literal decades of set up. I really wish she had been messier in this book because of that!

But, digressing.

I'm over the moon that the team's actually playing with the series' spirituality! After such a long time of them outright avoiding some of the weirder elements in the series, like Rock and Midnight, it's exciting that they're finding some freedom in making new magic lore for themselves.

Hopefully, in the next few super editions, we'll be able to get some more insight to StormClan and the Wildcats.

The book really hits its stride in the second half because of this, and the ending chapters are actually fantastic. Some of the best stuff that's come out of the series (on purpose) in a loooong time.

[flurry-of-beaus-pop-pop]

"What if Agatha and Rio aren't endgame?"

They already are.

The love these two have for each other has spanned centuries, has overcome distance and grief and anger and who knows what else, yet still rages on, strong as ever.

You can see it in all of their interactions... the way they both know exactly how to get through to the other, the way they are both the only one that can make the other truly laugh, the way Agatha can't help but be drawn to Rio at every step along the road or the way Rio is the only one who knows instantly that Agatha is scared when confronted with her past... the way they can both only be vulnerable with each other...

Their love for each other is never going to change.... it's not a temporary love, it's a forever and always, no matter what happens, kind of love.

Now this isn't to say that I think Agatha All Along is going to give up everything that makes her her or that Rio is going to give up being death, because that's who neither of them are... it wouldn't be them to end this show with them running off into the sunset, hand in hand, leaving everything behind and I don't think any of us would truly be happy with that.

Even in death, whether that comes at the end of this series or down the line at some point, Agatha and Rio are still endgame, because death for Agatha just means stepping into the embrace of the woman she loves.

Agatha and Rio's love story is truly beautifully written and should be studied for all future relationships, because they have truly written something so beautiful and interwoven that no matter what happens, these two are always going to find their way back to each other.

Because after all, as Rio says, "All roads lead to me"