#some attempt at saving them from falling to their deaths maybe?

[darkleysgarden]

"Jason was the violent Robin!" Uhhhh, no!

Jason was different than every single other Robin for one huge reason. He didn't choose to be Robin. Obviously, he jumped at the opportunity. But, it wasn't the same as Stephanie already being a vigilante or Dick being set on revenge or Tim who just straight up begged for the mantle. Jason wasn't like that, he was asked.

Jason was a street rat who had recently watched his mother die because of her drug addiction, his father was a criminal who skipped (and he later found out had died because of that field of work).

And what Bruce saw was potential where Jason saw an opportunity to have someone to care for him. Jason gained this father figure, becoming the first child Bruce adopted.

And Jason was overjoyed. He was happy. More than any other Batman-Robin duo, they were father and son. Jason quickly started referring to Bruce as his father, Bruce calling Jason son. To the degree that they even used those titles when working as Batman and Robin.

So, Jason was an extremely happy Robin. But, that isn't the extent of it. Jason's childhood never really left him. His whole life he had to fight to live. Survival of the fittest. And if someone moves to hurt him, or anyone who can't protect themselves. He sees reason to become the fittest. To become a fighter that eliminates anyone praying on the weaker. Because he was once the weaker.

And that's where the Felipe storyline comes in. Felipe was a r*pist and Jason wanted justice for the women he had hurt. And this is the spot where people say they can see the signs. The signs that Jason would become a killer of killers. Bruce told Jason not to go after Felipe alone. He did anyway. And Bruce went after him. He saw Felipe fall off a balcony, dying upon impact. But, then, he saw Jason on that same balcony. Making Bruce wonder if he really fell, or if Jason had pushed him. Bruce knew they had different views. Bruce thought people could be scared into not acting again. Yet, Jason thought, "What about the ones who aren't afraid?"

Jason says little to defend himself. Just saying he must have spooked Felipe, causing him to fall. We never find out if that's the truth.

Bruce now worries that maybe Jason's past wouldn't allow him to become a Robin he could have at his side. Jason was forced to take a break from being Robin.

During his break, Jason returned to his old neighborhood in Crime Alley. A friend of his deceased mother stops him and explains that she had saved some of his important documents and photos for him. Jason took the box of belongings back home and went through them. A lot of it had been damaged by water. Including his birth certificate. As smudged as it was, he was able to realize that his mother was not his biological mother. After some detective work, he narrowed it down to three women that could most likely be his mom.

Now here's where I hate it when he is portrayed as reckless. When Jason ventures to the Middle East to try and find his mom, he and Bruce check in with each other many times. And Bruce was in the area too, searching for the Joker.

He finds his mother, Sheila, in Ethiopia. They get along well. Bruce was even there for their meeting. And when Bruce needs to return to Batman work, he leaves the two to catch up.

It's unfair when Jason is portrayed as reckless in this moment too. He didn't go after the Joker on his own. He talks with his mom instead. Assuming she would become a permanent part of his life, he confesses that he is Robin. It's then that Sheila admits something too. She had been working for Joker. The Joker shows up and near instantly he starts to beat Jason with a crowbar. Sheila turns around and smokes a cigarette.

When Jason is on the brink of death, Joker stops. And says he can leave no witnesses. He ties Sheila up and sets a bomb. Then Joker leaves them alone. And with the last bit of life in him, Jason struggles to free Sheila from her binds. Sheila attempts to get the door open to save the both of them, but she is too late. They both died from the explosion.

So, this is to say. I do think calling Jason the 'happy Robin' is far more accurate than the 'violent Robin.' And I think that because, as you can see, he was never really unnecessarily violent or reckless. And it should be recognized that even the more violent acts, like Felipe allegedly, were not premeditated or extremely out there. Jason didn't want to hurt people just to hurt them. In his eyes, he saw it less as hurting this one person, and more as protecting many. That will stick with him. Yet, it becomes much more prominent after his death with the trauma and such. However, entire new can of worms.

It's also important to see scenes like this, where Jason encourages Bruce not to kill Joker. As Robin, Jason never set out to kill. That came much later. And even later, he sticks to morals.

Also, listen to him!!! Modern DC content, please stop pretending Sheila wasn't there and just making Jason go after Joker on his own. You're messing up the story.

Jason always saw the world differently than Bruce. Yet, he hardly acted on it until he was shown just how cruel the world really is. When he became the weaker that needed to be protected, and wasn't. And now, as an antihero, his goal is to stop anyone else from ending up in his situation, even if it takes killing those at the top. Trolley problem. Killing one may save thousands.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

fic where ford and stan come across a gravity anomaly. stan ends up floating over a steep drop and ford can’t reach him to pull him back, because every time he feels the tugging on his hair, clothes, everything, he panics and has to step back

[defectivevillain]

those who fall

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “What’s your name?” You ask your companion. “Hannibal,” he responds. The man doesn’t look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either he’s new here, or he’s been able to keep his hunger satiated. “Hannibal,” you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. “That’s a strange name.” Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile.

word count: 3k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical blood and violence, death, suicide, cannibalism, gore, suicidal ideation/self-harm. Emphasis on the cannibalism — both willing and non-consensual cannibalism. Mentions of throwing up/vomiting.

author's notes: Happy spooky pride! (I'm being told it's also called Halloween...? Weird.) Here’s a really fucked up fic. :3

If y’all haven’t watched The Platform, here’s the trailer, which should explain things. I’ve also attempted to write an explanation, but it’s long and bad. Here it is anyways, in case you don’t want to watch the trailer:

There is a vertical prison system that stretches more than 300 levels down. Each floor houses two people, and there’s a large hole in the middle to accommodate a table. Each day, a single table starts at Floor 0 and makes a stop at each floor. The table is loaded with a ton of dishes for a large and extravagant meal. Floor 1 gets the table for a short time before it drops to Floor 2. So on and so forth. People aren’t allowed to take things from the table to save for later, so it’s a scramble to eat enough to keep them nourished until the next day. They’re all eating from the same table, so as the floors get lower, there’s less and less food left. Inhabitants stay on their floor for one month, before they’re exposed to gas and moved to a different floor for another month. Basically, the lower the floor, the less likely you’ll be to get any food. In theory, if each person ate only their own ration, the food might last. But some people are greedy, wasteful, etc... A floor below 100 is virtually a death sentence, because that means 200 people pick at the food before you get to.

heed the warnings listed above before reading!

You wake up, blinking away the traces of a gas-induced sleep. It’s the beginning of the month, which means you’ve been transported to another floor in the facility. Groaning, you blink blearily, only to find someone staring down at you. You flinch and get up, hoping he’ll move away. But he continues looming over you, looking at you with a scrutinizing gaze. 

“You must be my new roommate,” he says emotionlessly. 

“How’d you wake up so fast?” You respond, squinting at the daylight seeping through the room. Typically, the gas is strong enough to leave you knocked out for at least twelve hours. But this man is already awake, and there’s no telling how long he’s been standing before you, watching you. The thought unnerves you. 

He just shrugs in lieu of a response to your question. You take a deep breath and turn towards the far wall, dread coiling in your chest as your eyes find the number of the floor you’re on: 139. Fuck. You’ve never been this low before. You had the 76th floor last month and the 23rd the month before that, then 87, 6, and 53. You had no idea the floors went down past 100; all you knew was that you’d be getting a new roommate this month, in light of your past roommate’s death. 

Floor 139 is practically a death sentence. You’d normally be able to fast thirty days, but you spent all of last month fasting at Floor 76. (You didn’t have much of a choice, as the food never made it down to you in the first place.) You push yourself to your feet and walk near the center of the space, glancing down only to find more floors stretching down as far as the eye can see. There are dozens—maybe hundreds—of people beneath you. You want to throw up. 

“You look frightened,” your new roommate remarks, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts. You glance at him, unable to hide your irritation. 

“Of course I am,” you snap, beginning to pace around the edge of the hole in the floor. “The food will never make it down this far.” 

“How do you know?” He hums. There’s a knowing smile on his face, as if he wants you to concede and utter the words aloud. 

“The food didn’t even make it down to level 87,” you recall, shaking your head as you try to fight off memories of an aching stomach and a debilitating weakness anchoring you to your bed. “And we’re fifty-two levels beneath that.” 

Silence. You swallow hard and try to maintain your composure. Panicking won’t do you any good.  And you definitely don’t trust this stranger enough to show him any sort of emotional vulnerability. You bite the inside of your cheek and think for several minutes. “What’s your name?” You later ask your companion. 

“Hannibal,” he responds. He takes another step backwards and light falls on his face, revealing a chiseled facial structure, brown-grey hair, and glimmering brown eyes. The man doesn’t look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either he’s new here, or he’s been able to keep his hunger satiated. 

“Hannibal,” you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. “That’s a strange name.” Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile. 

“How’d you lose your roommate?” You continue determinedly, desperate for some information on this guy. Something about him unsettles you. It must be the unbothered way with which he analyzes your surroundings, as if you hadn’t both just been given a finite expiration date.  

Hannibal studies you for a long moment. “You don’t want the answer to that question.” He eventually answers. A shiver rolls down your spine. 

“You killed them,” you realize aloud. 

“And ate them,” he confirms casually. Your heart starts thudding quickly in your chest. You pretend not to be affected by his confession. Internally, you’re scared for your life. To think that you’d survived months of starvation, only to die at the hands of another human? “What happened to your roommate?” Hannibal continues, before you can truly collect your thoughts. 

“They jumped.” You remember to say, the taste of bile climbing up your throat. There’s no need for further explanation. 

“Ah.” A tense quiet descends on the air once more, and the two of you spend the seemingly countless hours before the table’s arrival in silence. 

When you finally hear the telltale whirring of the table above, your stomach growls. You need food rather desperately—especially after not receiving any legitimate nutrition last month. Your hands are shaky; your vision is blurry; and your legs feel as if they’ll cave in at any moment. 

The glassware rattles and the table sinks down to your floor. Hannibal and you both look at the remnants of the meal from above, only to find plates licked clean and glasses entirely empty. As you expected, there is nothing left for you to eat: not even a crumb or bone. 

There is, however, a man crouched on the table. He stares ahead with blank eyes, as if he doesn’t even see either of you. You look at him for a few moments, immediately promising yourself not to get any closer. In this place, vulnerability is weakness. You’ve seen it happen before: someone will extend a helpful hand to another person, only to be stabbed through the back in the same breath. There is no saving anyone here. You are all destined for death, regardless of when it may come. 

Hannibal regards the new arrival for several seconds, before quickly reaching out and grabbing his collar, yanking him off the table and onto the pavement. You watch in disbelief as Hannibal brandishes a knife—when in the hell did he get that?—and stabs him several times. Your roommate’s ferocity ensures the man’s death. Calmly, Hannibal drags the corpse by the ankles until it’s closer to the walls. 

Then, he sinks his knife into the body’s skin. The victim, unsurprisingly, doesn’t so much as flinch. The knife pierces the skin of his chest and Hannibal sinks his hand into the cavity, gripping the entrails and pulling them out with practiced precision. He gets to his feet, holding the liver in his hand. You watch in silent horror as his head turns and his gaze finds you, his eyes trained on you even as he raises the organ to his mouth and begins eating. 

Your stomach turns in disgust and revulsion. You’ve survived months of fasting—you never ate another human, despite the earsplitting screams from above and below indicating that several other inhabitants did. Even though you know you need to eat, the thought of tearing into that corpse is enough to make your appetite disappear. You quickly turn your head and clamp a hand over your mouth, before raising it to cover both your nose and mouth. The scent is enough to make you nearly hurl. You close your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else—anywhere else, but trapped on this floor with a cannibal. 

Your ears are ringing at the confirmation that Hannibal is a seasoned killer. This was not his first kill, and it likely won’t be his last. There is a very good chance you’ll be his next meal. Fear pulsing through your veins, you manage to pull your knees close to your chest and close your eyes. The cool metal of your lighter grounds you to this horrible moment, this stiff and unfeeling air. 

If you had known just what horrors you would be subjected to, you would’ve chosen a different object to bring. Maybe you would’ve even chosen a weapon to protect yourself or a form of entertainment. But your naive self chose a lighter—not even for smoking, but just to watch the flickering flame. Your finger now twitches to bring the flame to your skin, but you resist the urge. There is enough pain and suffering here without your own self-inflicted torture. 

It is hard to sleep that night. Your thoughts are buzzing too loudly. It takes a while for your eyelids to slip shut, and once the table comes rocketing by, you shudder awake and have to fall asleep once more. When you finally succumb to slumber, your dreams are distorted and cryptic. 

The weird sensation of something in your mouth pulls you from slumber. You open your eyes to find Hannibal standing over you, the crimson light casting shadows across his face. You instinctively want to belch at the foreign material, but Hannibal’s hand is secured firmly over your mouth. You immediately catch on to what he’s doing: he’s feeding you some of the corpse’s meat. 

You try to fight back—attempting to shove him off—but his grip is too strong and you’re weakened by hunger and lack of sleep. You’re forced to chew, unless you want to choke and die. A shudder runs through your entire body as you chew, disgusted with the texture. The taste of iron and copper runs through your mouth; the smell alone is enough to make you gag. After what feels like far too long, you manage to swallow. 

Satisfied, Hannibal steps away—and you immediately fall off your bed and to the floor, stumbling to the sink to drink some water and flush the organ down. “Fuck you,” you spit at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. It comes back bloody, and you take extra effort to scrub your face clean. Hannibal doesn’t seem to be affected by the insult. Rather, he’s wearing an understanding smile on his face—and you’re growing more and more overtaken with the urge to punch that look off his face. You clench the faucet with an increasingly tight grip, until there are bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. 

“You will thank me soon,” Hannibal remarks, staring at you. You can see his heated gaze in the cracked mirror before you. It’s clear what he’s trying to say: if you don’t eat, you will die.  

“I won’t,” you say numbly, your heart roaring in your ears. “You should’ve left me alone.” Your voice breaks at the end of that sentence; if Hannibal notices, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he only looks at you imploringly. 

“You need proper nourishment.” Hannibal maintains. 

You hiss and walk back to your bed, turning to the side so you don’t have to look at him. You’re not foolish enough to turn your back on him—not when you know just what he can do. You don’t want to indulge his murderous sensibilities. You spend the rest of the day split between seething and suppressing the urge to throw up.

When night falls, Hannibal goes to sleep. You only pretend. When you hear the steady rise and fall of his breathing, you push yourself up quietly and sit on your bed. You will not fall asleep tonight. You don’t want a repeat of last night. 

Despite your quiet movements, it doesn’t take Hannibal long to notice that you’ve shifted. “You’re not sleeping,” he says aloud, admittedly startling you as the uneasy silence across the space is broken. When you comprehend his remark, you can’t stop the wry laugh that falls from your lips. 

“I don’t trust you,” you respond candidly. There’s no point in pretending otherwise.  

Hannibal lets out a strange noise. It takes you a few moments to realize that he’s just laughing. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already,” he then says. “You are… the least insufferable of my companions so far.”

You blink in the near darkness. “Thanks.” You say dryly. That statement isn’t reassuring in the slightest. You don’t want to wake up to find him forcing organs down your throat again. The thought sends a renewed wave of nausea through you, and it takes you several moments of measured breathing to fight it off. 

Eventually, you fall asleep. You can only fight off the exhaustion for so long, and if you’re not eating, then you definitely need to be resting to conserve energy. 

You wake the next morning breathing hard, expecting to see Hannibal looming over you. But he’s only sitting on his bed, regarding you with a blandly amused look. It appears he won’t be forcing you to consume human entrails again. 

But little do you know, Hannibal doesn’t have to force you next time. 

It’s been sixteen days since that horrible night. Sixteen days without food. Your body has grown incredibly weak. You can barely push yourself up to get to the faucet across the room. Speaking takes too much energy. Most of the time, you just lie on your bed and stare at some point in the distance, losing yourself in memories long gone. 

You can’t find the energy to waste on getting angry. Instead, you’re just… empty. The movement of the table is the only thing that helps you discern the time. The corpse Hannibal took all those days ago has since become a rotted pile. Neither of you have seen anything resembling food on the table. The people above are merciless. They eat the rations of several people; they spit on everything in reach. 

You don’t bother to look up at the table’s arrival today. There will be nothing for you to eat. And indeed, when you finally drag your eyes over, there is only glassware and silverware… scattered around a person in the center. They sit cross-legged and stare ahead with that similar unseeing expression from the man all those days ago. 

You don’t need to watch to know what happens next: Hannibal drags them onto the pavement, brandishes his knife, and kills them. He dissects them with the mercy of a disinterested scientist, before sparing you a simple look. There’s a single drop of blood carving a path down his lips. Hannibal wipes it away. 

You extend a hand wordlessly. 

Hannibal stares at you, a complex emotion passing over his face as quick as lightning. He places a bloodied chunk in your palm. The crimson stain spreads across your skin. You look down at it and feel… nothing. There’s an echo of disgust and horror, perhaps. But beyond that, you’re an empty shell. This place has changed you. Emotions do not survive here—instinct does. And your instincts tell you that you need food. 

Minutes later, the gnawing pain in your stomach has subsided and there’s the horrifically familiar taste of iron settling on your tongue. You swallow hard and slowly push yourself to your feet, mechanically walking over to the sink and getting some water to wash it all down. Your hands are shaking but you manage to satisfy your thirst. Turning the faucet off with shaking hands, you lean against the wall and sink down into a sitting position. 

There’s dried blood on your hands. It doesn’t matter that you washed it away—you can still see it. It haunts you, even when the night arrives and the floor is drenched in crimson light. You’ve since migrated to your bed, but you can’t get yourself to move from your sitting position and lie down. You can’t give yourself comfort. You don’t deserve it—not after what you’ve done. 

You’re not sure how long you sit silently, watching the darkness settle and fade into a dusky light. There’s a persistent pain in your back and your cuticles are picked open, yet these sensations fade to obscurity when you remember the meal you just willingly consumed. You had no choice seventeen days ago. You can’t say the same for yesterday.

There’s an uncomfortable wetness clinging to your cheeks and eyelashes. You’re crying, you realize. It’s been a while since you’ve cried, even with all the horrors you’ve witnessed here. You shakily wipe at your tears, but they keep falling. Falling prey to the burning in your throat, you bury your head in your bent knees and struggle for breath. 

At some point, there’s a hand on your back. You’re so exhausted that you don’t even flinch, because you can’t seem to muster up the energy. Your body is wracked with chills and phantom shivers as you try to comprehend just who is offering you comfort. The same person who kills others with ease and feasts on their remains… is wrapping an arm around your shoulders and sitting on your bed next to you. 

You don’t have the strength to push Hannibal away. You lack the strength and fortitude to do so. Hannibal is the only human contact you will have, if you continue living. You don’t have a choice—if you want to maintain your sanity, you’re forced to cave into the loneliness screaming behind the confines of your rib cage. That’s what you tell yourself as you reluctantly begin to relax in his hold. You cling to him with increasing desperation. Hannibal’s hand rises to the nape of your neck, cradling your head in what feels like an intimate gesture. 

You can’t stop the sobs crawling out of your throat. 

You want to assign Hannibal the blame. But you know it’s not that simple. He didn’t put you in this prison system; he is nothing more than another participant: one with the courage to keep themself alive, at any cost. Perhaps you should be more like him.

…It’s a chilling thought. 

You have never been so desperate for answers, inside bleak cement walls that give you nothing except more questions. The sparkling silverware; the gleaming glassware; the callous cruelty of those above; the painful plight of those below. There is no solidarity or community amongst the people in these walls: only the concepts of superior and inferior… and the fallen. Those who have been above, have savored without suffering… only fall from grace and stumble into starvation’s relentless grip once more. 

Your tongue recognizes the taste of copper; your hands the crimson stain that becomes a murky brown as time passes. You have fallen. And of one thing, you are certain: you will never rise again.

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[angelus-scripturae]

Pls pls write anything for Astarion. Like maybe an imagine, idk. I would much prefer something fluff but literally anything else is fine.

I'm starved :(

Well baby I’m gonna feed you tonight. Can’t have my lovely followers starving now can i?

Astarion Ancunin

Nightmares

Summary: You comfort Astarion after you defeat Cazador (not ascended)

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, mentions of suicidal thoughts and abuse, gn! reader, no use of y/n, no specified pronouns, (shitty writing because this is my first time writing in 2 years)

Astarion couldn’t sleep. Not that he didn’t want to, but he physically couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, phantoms of his past plagued the skin behind his eyelids.

He should feel better. Cazador was dead. The ritual was stopped and his kin were saved. So why did he still feel trapped?

He shifted in his bedroll a few times before letting out a frustrated sigh and sitting up. Running a hand down his face and glancing around the dark tent you shared. The only light being the remaining embers of the fire outside.

Experimentally, Astarion attempted to close his eyes in a futile last attempt to rid himself of the visions. Only to flinch and open them again upon seeing those agonised faces and mutilated bodies.

Sensing the sudden lack of presence beside you, you begin to stir awake and feel the bedroll beside you only to feel it empty. Feeling a jolt of panic, you open your eyes fully only to find your companion sat barely a foot away from you.

Astarion’s head turns as you join him in sitting up. “Sorry if I woke you.” He mutters and runs a hand through his hair. The frown on his face highlighting his fine lines and blemishes.

You shake your head and yawn as you come into a comfortable sitting position. “Don’t apologise…” You shift closer to him but stop once he flinches slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Worry laces your voice as you reach out to touch Astarion’s hand. His hand twitches as if wanting to pull away before he lets it close around your soft skin.

“It’s nothing, darling.” He forces out a chuckle. An obvious attempt to brush the subject off. You’d known him too long to fall for that. You let out a small sigh and move to sit as close to him as you could.

“Star… You can’t lie to me.” You smile sadly at him. “Tell me what’s bothering you. You can trust me.”

Astarion hesitates. Even after months of adventuring with you and getting used to your heroism and kindness, he still struggled with the fact that he could trust you. It’s not that he didn’t want to. He trusted you with his life. But it was still new to him.

“I spent 200 years not trusting anyone…” He speaks quietly. “200 years… suffering at the hands of that maniac.” He swallows as if trying to gulp down a lump in his throat.

“I’m supposed to feel free… happy. I’m finally able to live without the fear of being used as a pawn in some sick plan…” He squeezes your hand ever so slightly, trying to find comfort in the warmth of your skin.

“But I don’t, that bastard is dead and yet I still feel him looming over me. As if gloating that his death was quick.” His voice cracks a bit before he clears his throat. “Do you know how many times I wished for that? Preyed? A quick death to save me from him and my torture?”

His words made your heart break into uncountable pieces. Your eyes softening as you shift to hold his other hand with your free one. “Star…” You start only for him to cut you off.

“You killed him though… I know that…” He clears his throat again. “It’s silly for me to still worry about him. And the people he made me hurt.”

You shake your head and move to get a glance at his face. “Astarion, it’s not silly.” You speak softly, letting go of one of his hands to cup his face and turn his face to yours. “You’ve gone through so much. More than I can even begin to fathom. What you did was not your fault. You were coerced and manipulated by a man who was selfish and ruinous.”

His eyes finally move to meet yours, instantly softening once he sees the kindness in your gaze.

“You’re a different man to who you were under his power. A better man. Even if you don’t believe it. I’ve seen it.” You smile softly and run a thumb along his cheekbone. “It’ll take time to move on from this. This has been your life for centuries. Those habits will be hard to break, but I’ll be right there. By your side. Because I love you.”

Astarion smiles as his eyes gloss over with emotion at your words. “You mean that?”

You nod and press a soft kiss to his nose. “With my whole heart.”

He leans into your touch. Moving closer until he’s able to press soft kisses to your lips. “I love you too.” He whispers against your lips before pulling away and lieing back down on his bedroll.

Your smile widens and you lay down with him. Your head resting on his arm and your body pressed against his in a comfortable silence. No other words needing to be said to explain the bond the both of you share.

Your eyes get heavy again quite quickly as your breathing steadies drifting into a state of rest. Astarion glances down at your sleeping face with a soft smile and moves some of your hair to give you a kiss on the forehead.

He takes a deep breath, readying himself to tackle his demons again. However, for the first time in days, closing his eyes didn’t bring visions of victims and abusers.

But visions of you.

[novaursa]

The Blackwood Flame

- Summary: You saved his life and won his heart.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Davos Blackwood

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The crackle of flames and the heavy scent of burning timber fill the air as you descend on the battlefield, Sheepstealer’s mighty wings blotting out the sky above. Below, the chaos of the Battle of the Burning Mill plays out, iron and steel clashing against the smoldering earth. But even amidst the din of war, a strange, tense silence falls as your dragon's shadow sweeps across the soldiers, both Blackwood and Bracken alike, turning their gaze upwards in a mixture of awe and terror.

With a signal, you command Sheepstealer lower, his form casting an intimidating silhouette as he glides down with an almost predatory grace. As you prepare to strike, you catch sight of the Blackwood forces struggling against Bracken forces along the tree line, each side locked in fierce combat. Sheepstealer releases a roar that splits the heavens, and the men below freeze, eyes widening as they realize the sheer destructive force looming above them.

"Dracarys," you whisper, the word slipping from your lips like a prayer. Fire pours from Sheepstealer's maw, engulfing the enemy lines in blazing flame. The Bracken men scatter in terror, leaving behind smoldering ash and broken steel, their will shattered by the fury of dragonfire. Those who don’t fall immediately are cut down by the reinvigorated Blackwood forces, who rally around the sight of you, their silent ally from above.

The battle is won, and as Sheepstealer circles the battlefield, his flight low and slow, you survey the scorched ground below. The once fertile valley has become a field of death, bodies strewn across the smoldering remnants of what was once a mill and its surrounding woods. A grim sight, yet necessary.

But it’s then that your eyes land on a familiar figure sprawled amidst the dead. A streak of raven hair, dark armor, and the unmistakable sigil of House Blackwood upon his breastplate: Davos.

Your heart seizes in your chest. No, it couldn’t be… But the pang of fear pushes you to guide Sheepstealer down to the earth, sliding off his rough hide before running across the bloody terrain, weaving between fallen men and discarded weapons. You find him lying on his back, eyes half-lidded, face pale beneath streaks of grime and blood. His breaths are shallow but steady, a faint tremor in his body as you kneel beside him.

His eyes flicker open, a small, pained smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he meets your gaze. "Am I dead, then?" he murmurs, his voice weak but laced with a soft wonder. "Because I see a Stranger… or maybe just a ghost."

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "A ghost wouldn’t bother risking her life to bring you back to Raventree Hall."

He chuckles, though it quickly turns into a wince as he attempts to move. "Careful there, princess. I might just believe you."

“Stay still,” you murmur, inspecting his wounds. Blood seeps from a nasty gash along his side, and several bruises bloom across his skin, yet none appear fatal. Relief washes over you, mingling with a bitter anger at the state he’s in.

“Why did you do something so foolish, Davos?” you ask, your voice quiet but charged. “Riding to the front lines as if you were invincible…”

"Couldn’t let my men fight alone," he replies, managing a smile that’s both proud and defiant, even as the pain etches deeper into his features. “We all play our parts in war, don't we?”

You don’t answer, only lift him gently, securing an arm around his shoulders. "Come, let’s get you out of here."

He blinks, startled, as you half-carry, half-drag him toward Sheepstealer, whose immense form waits patiently. Davos’s gaze remains fixed on you, a bewildered look in his eyes as if he’s seeing you anew.

“Still lookin’ at me as if I were some apparition?” you tease, though there’s a softness in your voice that betrays your own worry.

His hand finds yours, grasping it weakly but with surprising warmth. “It’s hard to believe you’re real, here with me. You look like something out of a song, Y/N.”

Despite the grim setting, his words stir a warmth within you, one you suppress with effort. “Hold tight,” you say as you help him onto Sheepstealer, securing him behind you. He gasps, though whether from pain or awe, you can’t tell. He clutches you as the dragon lifts into the air, his grip growing tighter as the ground falls away below.

The flight is short, yet every moment feels stretched as the wind carries you swiftly to Raventree Hall. The sun begins to set, casting the land in hues of gold and amber, and as you feel Davos’s head rest against your shoulder, a strange, aching tenderness blooms within you. He’s quiet, barely moving, and you worry he’s slipped into unconsciousness until his voice murmurs in your ear, barely above a whisper.

"Thank you, Y/N… I thought I was lost… until I saw you."

His words linger, carried away on the wind as you hold him close, focusing only on the steady rhythm of his breaths as Sheepstealer descends toward the courtyard of Raventree Hall.

The smoky light of early dawn spills across the training yard of Raventree Hall. Davos swings his sword in practiced arcs, letting the rhythm and heft of the blade chase away lingering aches. It’s been weeks since that fateful battle, but a faint stiffness still lingers in his side, a constant reminder of how close he’d come to joining his ancestors.

A deep, booming laugh pulls him from his thoughts, and Davos glances over to see his friends, Gawen Rivers, Orwen Blackwood, and young Tomm Casker, approaching with wide grins and a glint of mischief in their eyes. Davos sighs, already suspecting where this is heading. Gawen, the bastard cousin of the Blackwoods and an incorrigible tease, leads the pack, his bulk casting a shadow over Davos as he claps a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Look at him, lads,” Gawen says, his voice thick with amusement. “Our own brave Blackwood knight, nearly taken by the Stranger himself—only to be saved by a Velaryon princess on a dragon. Doesn’t it sound like a tale for the bards?”

Orwen, the quiet but sharp-eyed archer of their group, smirks, shaking his head. “I don’t think the bards would be telling it right. They’d have to add in how he looked at her after, like some lovesick calf.”

Tomm snorts, barely able to keep a straight face. "He was probably half-dead, thought she was the Maiden come to sweep him off. Ain't that right, Davos?"

Davos feels the heat rising in his cheeks, and he scowls, pushing Gawen’s hand off with a grunt. “I thought she was a ghost or worse, if you must know. And I didn’t look at her like a lovesick anything,” he adds, though the denial feels weak even to his own ears.

“Oh, but you did!” Gawen presses, grinning like a wolf. “Orwen’s right, you were gazing at her like she was a fine Dornish wine on a cold night.”

Davos sighs, rolling his eyes but unable to stop the small smile creeping at the edges of his mouth. “I’ll have you know, my first thought was that I’d finally gone to the afterlife, because no living woman should look like that.”

Orwen chuckles, shaking his head. “You might be the only man who’d say he’d prefer death over looking at a woman like her.”

Davos shrugs, sheathing his sword. “I was half-conscious, in case you lot have forgotten. But you should have seen her…a dragon behind her, flames and smoke around her. It felt more like something out of a nightmare than a dream.”

“A nightmare you wouldn’t mind falling back into, though,” Gawen jests, winking as he leans in closer. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve been wandering around in your own mind ever since that day. Sighing at the moon, staring off into the distance—never seen you so quiet.”

Davos’s face grows hotter under their laughter. “It’s not like that,” he protests, though the words sound feeble. “She’s… She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known. Strong, fearless. And she saved my life when she had no reason to.”

Tomm snorts, giving Davos a knowing smirk. “I think you’d like to give her a reason, though, eh?”

Orwen arches an eyebrow, his expression one of playful seriousness. “Davos, mate, be honest with us. Are you planning to write a love song about the dragon-riding princess who swept you off the battlefield? Because if you are, we’ll help you rhyme it up right.”

Davos groans, running a hand over his face. “Enough of this,” he says, though there’s no bite to his tone. "The lady’s got her own path to walk, and it's a thousand leagues above us. You think someone like her would give any thought to the likes of me?"

The three men exchange looks, Gawen shaking his head with a grin. “Oh, I don’t know about that. From what I heard, she risked quite a bit to drag you back here. Seems to me she might just have noticed you.”

“Aye, seems to me she noticed,” Orwen agrees, his voice softer now. “But even if she hadn’t, it wouldn’t change how she’s got her hooks in you. I don’t think you’d stop thinking about her even if she never came back here.”

Davos lets the words settle in, staring out over the training yard, watching as the first of the sun’s light crests the rooftops of Raventree Hall. It’s true, he hasn’t been able to get her out of his mind—the sight of her standing amidst the battlefield, like some fierce warrior queen from the old tales, her hair wild, her armor stained with ash, and her dragon looming over them all.

There was something in that moment, something that went beyond the blood and smoke. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite name, but it had taken root in him, stubborn as any Blackwood loyalty. He hadn’t admitted it to himself fully, but he couldn’t shake the memory of her or the way his heart had raced when she looked at him.

“Aye,” he says at last, voice barely above a murmur. “Maybe she has her hooks in me. But whatever she may be to me, I’m nothing to her. And that’s enough, lads.”

“Is it, though?” Gawen challenges, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. “Is it really enough?”

Davos chuckles, his face softening. “Maybe not. But it’ll have to be.” He pauses, a smile tugging at his lips. “For now.”

The others let out a collective groan of disappointment, but he only laughs, feeling, perhaps for the first time since the battle, that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

The winding corridors of Harrenhal cast long shadows that seem to cling to every corner, giving the ancient fortress an almost ghostly air. Davos Blackwood feels each step echoing in the vast, hollow halls, his nerves a raw and pulsing thing within him. Lord Samwell Blackwood had been unable to come to the meeting, so the task fell upon him, a chance to prove himself to Prince Daemon and House Targaryen. A chance he knew he couldn’t afford to waste.

The doors to the hall creak open, and Davos enters, straightening his shoulders, trying to summon every bit of confidence he can muster. Prince Daemon sits at the head of the table, clad in dark leathers and fine cloth, his silver hair catching what little light seeps through the high windows. And beside him, with an almost ethereal glow, sit you, Y/N Velaryon, your gaze falling on him with a quiet intensity that steals his breath.

Swallowing hard, he tries to focus, feeling the weight of your stare, aware of every inch of distance—and the faintest, foolish hope that it might someday be closed.

“Lord Davos,” Daemon greets him, his voice a smooth rumble, almost amused. “I trust the journey here was not too troublesome?”

Davos bows, hoping his words come out steady. “A bit long, Your Grace, but… well, I mean, not that long, of course, just… a journey.” He falters, feeling his cheeks redden as he realizes how utterly inane he sounds.

Daemon’s mouth twitches with the faintest hint of a smile, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Davos. “A journey, yes. Much like the one we are on today,” Daemon replies, a glint in his eyes as if finding this moment far more entertaining than he should.

“Yes… precisely, Your Grace. We—uh, I mean, House Blackwood… we look forward to working with you. I mean, your family,” Davos stammers, mentally cursing himself with every garbled word. He tries desperately not to look at you, who sit beside Daemon with your hands folded, a serene expression on your face, though he catches a faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes as well.

“Good to hear,” Daemon says, leaning back, his gaze sharp. “Lord Blackwood has long been a staunch ally to House Targaryen. We have need of such loyalty—something… binding.”

Davos nods vigorously, hardly trusting himself to speak but feeling compelled to respond. “We’d be honored, Your Grace. To bind our houses, in… well, in whatever way you see fit.”

At that, Daemon exchanges a glance with you, and a smirk edges across his lips. “Very good, Lord Davos. I think you and my companion here would… complement each other well.”

Davos’s mind blanks momentarily, his cheeks reddening again as he tries to decipher the meaning behind Daemon’s words. “Yes… well, yes, indeed. Complement… Yes, Your Grace.”

Daemon inclines his head, his gaze piercing. “Then it’s settled. House Targaryen and House Blackwood will be bound, and I’m certain you’ll both find your paths much improved.” He rises, nodding to you, and you stand beside him gracefully. You send Davos a lingering look, and he feels his pulse quicken, though he dares not meet your gaze too fully.

“Until next time, Lord Davos,” Daemon says, voice almost lilting. He and you make your way out of the hall, leaving Davos standing there, his thoughts a chaotic whirl of half-formed ideas and inexplicable emotions.

Lord Simon Strong, a shrewd man with a knowing glint in his eye, approaches him, clapping Davos on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Lord Davos,” he says with a broad smile. “I can only imagine the festivities your family will prepare for such an occasion.”

Davos blinks, still a bit dazed. “Festivities? I don’t… I don’t follow, Lord Simon.”

Simon chuckles, shaking his head. “For the union, of course! You’ve just accepted the alliance with House Targaryen. I’d say a marriage to a Velaryon princess is something well worth celebrating, wouldn’t you?”

The words crash over him like a tidal wave, and Davos stares at Simon, his mouth slightly open as realization dawns. “Wait… A marriage?”

Simon only laughs, giving him a hearty slap on the back. “Yes, a marriage, my lord. I suggest you start rehearsing how to speak to her without turning as red as a beetroot.”

Davos’s face burns as the truth settles in. He had just—unknowingly—agreed to marry you, the woman who’d haunted his thoughts since that fateful day on the battlefield. He felt both mortified and strangely exhilarated, his heart racing as he replayed the scene in his mind, Daemon’s knowing smile and your quiet amusement.

All he could manage was a faint, “Seven hells…” as Simon roared with laughter beside him.

[impactedfates]

"You were...everything" - Archons + Wanderer x GN! Reader

★ Summary: Your immortal lover was a wonderful experience...and you were everything to them (i.e - immortal characters reaction to you dying)

☆ Characters Included (Separate): Venti, Zhongli, Ei/Raiden Ei, Furina + Scaramouche/Wanderer

★ Genre/Trope: Hurt/No Comfort (I tried anyways)

☆ Warnings: Major Character Death (You)

★ Extra: Some may know the audio, others may not. But I think it's angsty so here you go // Furina might be OOC as I haven't actually done the Fontaine story quest yet

As the anemo archon, Venti cared deeply about freedom. And he also cared deeply about you. He was a great boyfriend and was never that protective of you, he always believed you deserve to have freedom, not to be tied down by any restrictions.

But maybe he should've trusted his gut when you went away on one of your adventures, he always sent the wind to protect you and it would always bring you back into his arms. But when the wind could only return the sound of silence when you were meant to come back. He grew worried.

One day, a knock on his door came and he went to check. Jean stood there and looked at Venti before slightly bowing to him, she didn't need to utter a word. He knew what was going on.

You were gone.

Gone due to an accident. Gone because you wanted to protect others but that only got yourself killed.

After that day, after your funeral not many saw him. For days on end, when he did show his face though. He had a smile, continued on with his life as if nothing happened.

But people around him, even people who didn't know him well enough. Could see with each passing day, that this mask he put on would soon fall. He wouldn't be able to act like he got over your death, he never will.

But at least you had freedom right? Wherever you were. He just wished it was with him.

Zhongli was used to seeing people close to him come and go. He knew eventually you'll leave him too as many others did before. He knew he'd likely outlive you, so he wanted to make sure he spent as much time with you as possible. Telling you he loved you and making sure you felt loved.

He never wanted for you to be stripped away from him, and you promised you wouldn't. You two made a contract. A contract that stated you'll be with him for as long as you could, because even you knew he'd outlive you. A contract where he vowed to protect you.

You two truly loved each other, it's a shame he couldn't save you that day. The day where your contract with him ended. Too soon for the ex-archons' liking. He should've been the one to take the hit, he would've been just fine. But you cared about him too much to even see him hurt.

And all he could do was finish the treasure hoarders off before carrying you and running as fast as he could to a doctor. He wanted to believe you'll be okay, he just needed to get there faster, get your wounds treated.

But he knew deep down that no matter how much he hoped, the feeling of your body growing cold against his arms was enough to tell him he was too late.

He had lost you.

But what did he expect? He knew himself loving a mortal would be dangerous, he knew loving a mortal would mean he would eventually lose them.

Yet when he met you, he couldn't help but fall in love.

He was silent at your funeral, silent after that day. No amount of Hu Taos attempts at lightening his mood would work. Nor would anyone's attempts.

He had lost someone he had sworn to protect, and he couldn't even do that.

Eternity.

That's how long Ei wanted to be with you. For all of eternity, for as long as she's able to hold you in her arms, for as long as your mortal life would let her.

She never wanted to let you go. For you to go. She's already lost so many people she cared about. You couldn't be one of them. She didn't want you too. She did everything in her power to protect you.

But that didn't stop her finding your motionless body on the ground.

She knew she didn't have the best reputation after the Vision Hunt Decree. She knew people would be mad at her. She knew people may want revenge against her.

But why did you have to be the one hurt? You did nothing. You did nothing but love her and help her settle back in the life she once abandoned. You were so dear to her heart, you were so kind to her.

You didn't deserve the fate you received.

She never went to your funeral, only hearing from Yae Miko about how it went. The kitsune saw the look on Ei's face and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"They wouldn't like if you went back into isolation you know"

The archon knew that, and she wouldn't want to make you upset. Even if she couldn't see you, she knew that wherever you were, you wouldn't like it. She even promised to you she wouldn't.

She continued on ruling over Inazuma. Things were at ease, the culprits responsible for your death were punished. People were starting to warm up to her, though her actions were never forgotten.

And just as she wanted to, she'll be with you for all of eternity. Even if that was merely by your grave.

Furina always worried if she was a good archon, if she made her people happy despite how she may act around them. She knew she likely could never fully replace the past archon but she wanted to be liked.

Furina also worried if she was a good partner to you, yet despite how she may act to mask her insecurities. You stayed with her. You made her feel more confident in herself. She's truly so grateful for you. She never wanted you to disappear.

But you did.

The trail had to be rigged. It just had too. You weren't a criminal. But all odds pointed to you. But she knew you weren't the culprit for the crime.

It wasn't like you.

You wouldn't have done that.

You were with her that day.

She wanted to speak out, she had too. But her mouth went dry, no words could come out as you were taken away, to be detained. To be placed somewhere until the set day of your death.

And she could only watch silently as it all happened.

After that day, after the one she loved so dearly, the one who loved her despite her flaws was gone from her life. She was never the same. No one saw her act as she did before. She only sat in her seat silently as trails went on.

People of Fontaine, even the ones who weren't too satisfied with her. Was worried for her, of how she was going to be. If she was going to be okay.

But she won't be.

She had failed her nation. She had failed you.

"Get up!"

"Getupgetupgetup, GET UP."

Those were the only words that Wanderer could think to yell at you. He shook you, pinched you. Anything, just anything to wake you up. You were just asleep right?

Yeah, just asleep. Just taking a peaceful nap. Sure, your eyes showed nothing but it being unfocused.

But you were just daydreaming like you always do right?

Sure your body had become cold.

But that's just how your temperature is right?

You're not dead. You can't be dead. You told him you wouldn't betray him. Then why weren't you waking up? Stop messing with him. It isn't funny. It's not funny.

Please, just let him see your smile again. Just once.

.

.

. Please?

Nahida slowly came behind him and patted his back, trying her best to reassure him. Wanderer could only continue looking into your eyes as they slowly lost their light. His shakes to your body slowed down as he finally and quietly let out a faint sob.

You were the only one able to fully break down his walls, to fully see him for who he is. You didn't mind his words, you loved him. He loved you. People were thankful you two were together as the words that would leave the puppets mouth became much less harsh.

After the day you left him, betrayed him in his eyes. He got back to his usual self before he met you. He became much harsher though, to the point Nahida advised him to take a few days off. Just being alone. Just to cool down. It wouldn't be fair for others to be victim to his harsh words just because of how upset he was with what happened.

He wanted to hate you, he wanted to despise you for breaking your promise about not leaving him, he wanted to ignore you because you betrayed him like many others did before...but he loved you.

But he no longer could have you.

Teehee. I only based Furina on what I think she's like, I gotta stop procrastinating and actually start the quest fweooif (please don't spoil!!)

Also I am aware that archons can exactly die, however I'm pretty sure they can't from old age. So if all goes well, they can live for awhileeee.

Anyways! I hope you liked it :>> I might make a pt 2 with different characters if this gets enough attention.

Thanks for reading!!

[sssammich]

fic: let there be another day

inspired by this fantastically angsty gifset of a supercorp AU. happy supercorp sunday yall

thanks x

---

The days transform steadily, selfishly, into weeks. Until the weeks have amounted to six months of nothing. Nothing between them but a phantom line of what they’d been to each other, once upon a time.

There is a crater in Lena’s heart, a botched excavation of the way she’d willed herself to forget Kara, to protect the two of them from the ruthlessness of her family. So she’d cored herself first, hoping to beat her brother and mother to the punch. Yet Kara had dug herself further into her heart, straight into her marrow. 

So she failed, in the end, to rid herself of the woman she’d loved with her whole being. 

But it’s gotten easier, in a way, existing in this reality where she had to deny herself the chance for happiness if it meant her happiness could live. 

Her family has continued to terrorize her, but she’s acclimated. Expected it, really. Their efforts of trying to eliminate the few people who have been able to reach the fortress of her heart have now since changed to recruiting her into the fold of the family business. 

She now only functions to keep L-Corp as an entity of good despite her family’s best attempts at compromising her work. It’s fine, because she has accepted that her work will be her life. Her love—her grief—has become the shape of late nights in front of her computer, of half-filled decanters as she oversees expense reports, of dry-cleaned power suits and a lethal red lipstick as armor worn in superfluous business meetings. 

It’s worth it, she reasons, when she catches sight of Supergirl zooming past her window to save the day once more. 

—

Lena should have known that Lex and Lillian are simply biding their time until they strike. The last couple of months of relative quiet was not a sign of reprieve. So when the glass of her office doors break and splinter into tiny crystalline pieces, her heart aches not in fear, but in disappointment. 

She’s never had a death wish and would never wish this hurt upon herself, but the amount of threats to her life has surpassed her age. She thinks that maybe if both Lex and Lillian simply just got it over with, that she can get some goddamn rest. But she knows why she fights and why she keeps going. If only to spite her family, if only so that her sacrifice isn’t in vain. 

Another explosion erupts and throws Lena partway across her office, her head hitting the corner of her desk with a thud. She opens her eyes and her vision blurs, her head throbbing with pain, her body tense and sore all at once. Distantly, she can hear the fire alarm go off just as the sprinklers start shooting off water and flooding her office. 

She attempts to stand and find an exit, but her body betrays her intentions, buckling under her weight as she’s sprayed with water all around her. She falls onto her knees and subjects herself to crawling towards the exit with only but reckless determination and an almost-extinguished hope that she will make it out of this alive. 

Before she can take another step forward, there’s a whooshing sound that fills her already ringing ears and suddenly, warmth envelopes her. 

She sighs in resignation and gratitude when she feels the familiar weight around her. Lena knows before she opens her eyes what has engulfed her so safely, so securely. It cuts her heart just as it heals it, and she is in a loop of pain and joy. 

She wants to open her eyes, truly, to look into ocean eyes and a field of golden grass. But she is in pain and she is hurting. Her only course of action is to keep her eyes closed as strong arms grab hold of her—gently, always so gently—and whisks her out of her now compromised and ruined office. 

—

When she comes to, she finds herself in a secluded and private examination room of the National City Hospital, discretion of the highest priority as a prominent public figure. It’s one she’s been in before, from a past attempt at her life. It’s almost something like a comfort, this familiar space that has seen her bruises, cuts, and scrapes. 

The door swings open and she hears Kara behind her begin to make her exit. She doesn’t look up but when she catches sight of the red cape just by the bed, she holds up a hand and stops the movement altogether. 

She only lets go when the doctor looks down from her clipboard and settles on the rolling stool, the creak of the leather as she rolls closer to Lena. 

She allows the doctor to do what she does best, intently listening to the sound of the squeaking stool and the crinkling of the paper of the examination bed as doctor works.  

A mild concussion, some cuts and bruises. It could have been worse, she’s told. It always could have been worse and she wants to yell at Dr. Shapiro that this feels pretty close to the worst. Still, she listens carefully as her doctor explains how fortunate she is for surviving after the second and third explosions completely decimating her office. 

“Third explosion?” she asks, this information brand new to her. 

“Mm,” the doctor hums. “The second blast was the reason for your concussion, but according to reports, the third blast was close to you and would have knocked you prone and done serious damage had you not found cover.” 

Lena tries very hard not to twist her aching body and look over her shoulder. 

“Thank you, Doctor.” 

The doctor looks at her meaningfully before glancing over Lena’s right shoulder and placing a hand on hers, squeezing, and then letting go. 

The door closes with a quiet click, but instead of an exhaled deep breath, she holds herself tense. She shuts her eyes and listens to the way the superhero makes just enough noise so Lena knows where she is. First, from the chair she’d been occupying, then the sound of boots against the linoleum flooring, then the swish of the cape as it catches against the corner of the examination bed and back down again. 

“Where can I take you?” 

She opens her eyes to the setting sun, to saltwater ocean, to a small smile she hasn’t allowed herself to witness in six months. 

She doesn’t know what’s safest, what her family is planning, what the total damage is. She needs her phone, she needs access to her company, she needs—

“Can I go with you?” is what she says. 

Kara studies her, like the horizon staring back, and nods. She opens her hand, the thumb loop of her suit wrapping around her palm, and offers it to Lena. 

She takes it, sliding her unsteady hand in place and breathes when Kara clasps their hands together. 

—

Kara’s apartment smells the exact same. 

She does not comment on this, though it’s the most prevalent thought in her mind. Kara lets her walk in first, speeding to the lamps and switching them on until the apartment is bathed in faint golden light. Fitting. 

“Get cleaned up. I’ll have some spare clothes for you right outside the bathroom.” Kara passes her a towel, and she hugs it to her chest. 

The water scalds her skin, stings the open scratches and cuts. And she revels in it, her alabaster skin reddening under the downpour of it. She savors it until the shower sputters a little and the hot water becomes tepid then becomes cold. She squeals and jumps away, hitting herself against the side of the shower stall and knocking half of the soaps and hair products off the shelf. 

Kara is there in an instant, opening the door and getting soaked herself, trying to protect her. 

Naked and broken, she looks up to the setting sun that is Kara’s concerned face, and then she starts laughing. 

“I—the hot water ran out.” 

Kara exhales, that cold water matting down her hair on her forehead as she protects Lena from the downpour. “Sorry, I never did call the landlord about it.” 

She turns off the water behind her and steps out of the shower stall to pick up Lena’s towel for her. She opens the towel and turns away. 

You’ve seen it all before, she wants to say, but doesn’t. Instead, she takes the towel and wraps it around herself, the cold beads of water from her hair clinging to her neck, her shoulder blades. 

Kara steps aside, offers her a shy smile, and leaves wordlessly. Lena listens to the way she walks around the apartment, the clattering of the plates on the table. 

She steps out and smiles when she finds spare clothes placed on a stool right outside the bathroom door. 

When she next steps out of the bathroom, she is wearing Kara’s oversized shirt with a faded cartoon drawing of National City State Fair on it and a spare set of her pajama pants that she didn’t realize she’d forgotten, she'd thought Kara would have gotten rid of. 

The spread of Chinese food on the coffee table is modest, but familiar. 

She takes a seat in the spot she once proclaimed as hers, and accepts the plate from Kara’s grasp. They eat in silence with only the sound of the television playing on in the background. 

Kara watches her—studying her, Lena’s sure—but doesn’t say anything. She talks about her week because Lena had asked, and so she gives it to Lena. They clear their plates, then she trails after Kara to the kitchen, parking herself on the kitchen island. Kara seems to anticipate her and passes a pint of Cherry Garcia towards her with a spoon on the lid. 

“Good for concussions, I heard,” Kara offers, a twitch of a smile on her lips.  

She laughs at that, surprised, but accepts the ice cream, opening the lid and taking a spoonful. “That’s tonsillitis.” 

Kara shrugs but takes a spoonful of her own Rocky Road on the opposite side of the kitchen island. So much of right now exists superimposed to how things had been before, how their lives had been so entwined, so integrated. It is unnerving as it is comforting, and Lena accepts that for today, at least, she has to accept the disorientation. 

Eventually, “here. I charged your phone. I’d call Sam first, then Jess.”

There is distance between them, far greater than the kitchen island in front of her, and it shows itself for the first time now, here. After everything.  

“Kara, I—” 

“I need to fill Alex in on everything. Let her know you’re alright. I’ll be right outside.”  

She nods, glances at her phone and the laptop that Kara slides across the kitchen island, and watches as Kara walks out the front door. 

For a solid hour, she works through everything she can considering her mild concussion. She touches base with her assistant, with her team, and finds that they have taken care of everything for her. She sighs in relief, shuddering into her hands when Sam and Jess let her know that they have everything handled, that all they want for her is to rest, that the investigation into her family’s attempt at assassinating her might finally have some legs with some information they’d discovered during the cleanup. 

She sighs, sniffling into the back of her hand and tells them goodnight before she closes her phone and sobs into her hands, the day finally wearing her down. 

She doesn’t startle when arms wrap around her, the press of a strong body kneeling in front of her as she cries into the crook of Kara’s neck. She grabs fistfuls of Kara’s shirt as her tears soak through the cotton. 

Kara only holds onto her, rubbing her back and gently cradling Lena in her arms. Soft shushing filters through Lena’s ears and she sobs further into Kara, hoping Kara can just absorb her entirely, as if that’s the only thing that can protect her—from her family, from the world, from herself. 

Her sobs lasts and lasts, a never ending fountain of all the tears she’d shoved back in, a dam bursting now that she’s allowed herself.

—

Kara carries her to the bed, quietly ushering her under the covers just as she sits on the edge of it. 

“You saved me,” she says, her voice coming out slightly congested.  

Kara brushes her hair behind her ear. “That promise has never changed.” 

“They’re never going to stop, are they?” 

Kara shakes her head. 

“I thought by letting you g—” she huffs, turns away. “I thought I was protecting you. I was trying to do the right thing.” 

Kara grabs hold of her hand and places it on her lap, her fingers fiddling with Lena’s palm, but doesn’t quite look at her. 

“I’m afraid that the only times I will see you, I’m trying to save your life. And I—it worsens when I think that I can’t make it.” 

Lena watches Kara’s beautiful profile, the expanse of her forehead, the slope of her nose into the curves of her lips and down her jutting chin, trembling slightly in the faint light outside the bedroom curtain. Then she sees the bob of Kara’s throat, a single tear falling into the center of her palm. 

Kara’s facing her now, and Lena brings up her other hand to wipe Kara’s cheek. 

“I missed you, Lena. And I don’t know what I will do if I can’t make it to you in time, I—” 

This time, it’s Lena who pulls her close, wrapping the arm that Kara’s been focusing on around her front as she cradles Kara in her arms. “I’m sorry, darling,” she says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.” 

Kara then turns in her arms and they embrace one another, both hiding in each other. 

The tears stain and soak her neck, but she lets it, welcoming Kara’s weight after months of being so untethered. 

“Please, just come back to me,” Kara says into her skin, muffled words that hold so much promise. “Let me take care of you. Let me protect you,” 

Lena pulls back slightly. “You’d still—you’d still want me?” 

“Let me love you again, Lena.” 

Unable to hold her own tears back, Lena pushes forward until their lips meet. She angles her head and Kara kisses her back, the pair of them holding each other. 

There is an ache to their reunion, but there is healing, too. And Lena remembers, unbidden, Dr. Shapiro’s words. It could have been worse, she’d heard. 

But Lena wants it to be better. She deserves at least that, for all of her troubles, and if her family will aim for her and all that she loves, then she can’t hide herself in the shadows. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Tomorrow, she thinks, after the whispered declarations and the promises of more, of better, of a new day. Together. 

“I’m here. I’m here. I love you, too. I’m here.” 

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

shuro notes

upon rereading some of dungeon meshi, I got a better grasp on his role in the story and why hes in the main supporting cast along w kabru (main protag of the suporting cast), namari, and mithrun (main antag of the supp cast) . Contrary to most of the characters disliking eating monsters, he seems to dislike eating, period. In his first appearance he refuses to eat maizurus cooking (with maybe some mermaid eggs sprinkled in..?). His refusal to eat ties into his extreme passivity. He seems to dislike how his father does what he pleases with no regard to how it affects others, and his fear of doing the same seems to play a huge role in how he lets other ppl walk all over him. He ignores his own desires, including his own hunger, because consuming means taking another life. To live means something else has to die, so to desire is to want to take from others. To try to live up to the image of an impassive leader he tries to not participate in this process at all! But bc hes a human being he has to eat, so instead of never taking from others, he starves.

With Falin, I think he realizes there is a way forward where he could be himself and face the ugly realities of what it means to want. To be unabashedly yourself while not hurting everyone in your life. His love comes from a deep place of admiration! I think part of the reason why he's so dead set on saving her is bc he wants to be her equal—she saved him from his nightmares without a second thought, and part of it is to repay her kindness and to be able to reciprocate it. I think he foils nicely w marcille bc he proposes to her (asks her to choose her future) while marcille doesnt want her to move on from the time they were both children. I think this plays a huge part in why marcille hates him, bc its a reminder of how the time will pass and also he aims to take falin away from her. Interestingly, she also became fairly distant and withdrawn after falin left and they both formed their relationship w her bc dirt and bugs r cool. They both are the party members in Laios squad that fly off the handle the most. Socioeconomically, they both seem to be in the least dire straits and kinda prissy abt things as a result. On re-read something else clicked into place.

After his fight w laios that starts w legit grievances and devolves into him hitting all of laios’ insecurities like a game of whack-a-mole, shuro says he’s returning to his home country and after that he would never see any of these ppl again. Even before falin got eaten, he knew he was going to have to leave the party but couldnt bring himself to tell them. The way the convo goes, it seems part of the reason why he proposed to her so suddenly is bc he wants to take a part of his time on the island back home with him—i.e. that hes not ready to say goodbye. That the prospect was taken from him so suddenly is why this is the first thing hes asked for or wanted for himself. Interesting parallels to how marcille is not ready to live the rest of her 1000 year life without her friends now, and how falins death is a catalyst that brings her fear to the surface—that for both of them, theyll live the rest of their lives never seeing the ppl they love from this island again. I think part of the reason he is so nasty to laios in particular is bc his entire worldview falls apart at laios' actions

Both desire wise and literally, Shuro is starving. And like a starving person getting his first meal in a long time, I think he gets a little greedy—when he gives Laios the bell, he says if the party somehow makes it past thistle, to ring it so they can all escape to the East--where he's headed. Likewise marcilles solution is to bring everyone with her to the 1000 year lifespan. Thats surprisingly childish of both of them! Also not a solution to the problem that suits anyone but themselves. Theres so many solutions to this. He could write. He could call. He could communicate view morse code using that bell instead of attempting to blink in morse code to communicate to laios how he doesnt want to be here. Falin voice: I’ll go visit you, okay? He could set foot on the island again. Honestly. This is so embarrassing for him.

But I think it gets at a core theme of the work. Marcille, Laios, and Shuro all say their greatest desire is to save Falin, but once u get down to it, theyre pretty basic-to not be left alone, to be w monsters who u feel a kinship with, to not have to leave. Namari says she left bc of money but later on goes u must never let go of your fear. Kabru says he wants to get to know laios to prevent utaya from happening again but its much simpler-he wants to be his friend. Our base desires are petty, but they are what keep us going day to day, just like how every living being has to hunger and eat to achieve the goals they set out for.

Lets talk abt his relationship w his retainers.

Hein- theyre childhood friends that have drifted apart in adulthood. By the familiar way she talks about him when hes not around, I think she wants to be close to him again. I think the distance between them is probably intentionally imposed by Shuro bc hes afraid theyll turn out like maizuru and his father. She thinks hes unreliable in a way i think u can only rlly get when u know someone for that long. I wonder if some of that I thought wed always end up together and I want him to like me even tho I dont like him back is wanting that closeness in friendship again

Maizuru- Good god whats happening here. she loves him but also treats him like a child even tho hes a 26 year old man. I think its got fun connections to how kabrus adoptive mom treats him like a child, how marcilles not ready to see falin n herself as adults, thistles relationship w degal. Now these are all relationships where differences in lifespan come into play, but w maizuru n shuro i think u see something real banal in why these elves cant let the ppl in their lives go. She coddles him bc she loves him and tells him at the end he doesn't have to eat the dragon if he doesn't want to, but he rebukes her and says he has to eat it to accept his own failures. So like he doesn't need to be coddled he needs ppl in his life to challenge him so he can grow. And at the end he realizes it tastes good--that even tho his journey had so much conflict and in the end he failed to save falin he made friends! He grew as a person! He starts reaching out to his retainers again! He got to harrass the elf cops and give them migraines! Ties a lot into laios speech to marcille that if falin didnt die they wouldn't have met all these ppl and gotten to eat all this food.

Its wild she put that hag curse on him. Poor kid cant even take a shit in peace. Actually the fact that he couldnt even have that time for himself n grew up constantly feeling watched explains a lot. I think the fact his father nonchalently burnt it and then roasted mochi over it without giving him any explaination made him think oh this is just what everyone goes through and im the weird one for being frightened. And it takes him 20 years to find out that no, its not normal to be haunted by a ghost that chases you with a knife. Pretty apt metaphor for how rules have defined his life without him fully understanding why they're in place. I'll give it a crack tho--it seems like the time period his homelands based on the sengoku period bc its a period of heavy civil war where ppl below upsurped the ppl above them. The strict hierarchy is probably an attempt to exercise social control in an extremely precarious situation.

Also side note: kinda impressive he can do magic when he was six. Probs a combination of maizuru being a talented teacher and his own skill. The fire cast… close but no cigar. Also interesting is how the magic he casts seems more elf-y in nature vs maizurus gnomic spirit magic. I wonder if hes his partys black mage- the occupation his party is pointedly missing vs the toudens missing their white mage and kabrus party being well rounded at all points. If so thats hilarious that when the toudens lost their previous mage and everyone was panicking he was like well… im just not gonna say anything #OnBrand. I do wonder if the bell he gives laios is his own magic tho.

Also shuros mother is mad at maizuru for being shuros dads mistress but gives her her children to raise…. Lets unpack this contradiction. Incidentally my tin foil hat theory is Shuros a bastard child. maizuru n his dad have been fucking since 4ever -> one of these children is not legitiment -> probs the one w a strange distance from the rest -> whys shuro succeeding his dad so up in the air when his competitions a 14 and an 8 year old. It's not important tho.

izutsumi + inutade: the fact that he doesnt speak up is his defining moment of moral cowardice. Its tied to his passivity! Hes scared of saying or doing the wrong thing bc hes afraid of hurting others, and he does basically attempt to torch his relationship w laios like it was contaminated w anthrax. Like the first time he tries to be active it went horribly, but his involvement moves the plot forward enormously—with him kabru would not have run into Laios, izutsumi would probably not have been able to run away, he raises the stakes of the journey by indicating they probs cant return to the surface so they have to keep going. And even tho its messy, ugly, and embarassing, he can still pick up the pieces afterwards. Nothing he does is as harmful as his passivity on inutade and izutsumis situations which unequivically, he knows is wrong.

Also w all the references to buying people, I looked it up bc i was like.... like slavery...? it seems to be a reference to retainership as a social caste where people buy your services and as a result you owe the estate your service. You get paid and you have rights, but it seems like you are bound to your station, but depending on the time period japan is supposed to reference, some ppl took on these positions for the sake of social advancement. Regardless, it seems the caste system is also less rigid than stated and ppl can move amongst the positions. There doesn't seem to be an exact cultural equivelent to this, but I think the closest concept is like, being a vassal. I was like if this is slavery this narrative portrays izutsumis time w the nakamotos too ambivenlently and hien going don't you feel any gratefulness for them taking you in makes no sense. But I still think theres something pretty rotten going on here.

Allegedly, as a ninja, you ascend the ranks based on your skill. And yet izutsumi and inutade are at the bottom, and hien, the person that was born into this role, is at the top! Izutsumi and Inutade aren't even considered human in the island of wa--this distinction is given to tall-men only. Theyre both from positions where I feel like the other characters are like they should be grateful they got from one horrible situation to this one thats a system based on merit and skill, but like out of everyone, theyre in the least position of power to say no, to even appreciate what other options there are for them in the world. Like its deeply coercive and wrong. Whats up w shuros father collecting ppl like theyre trophies man. So we can see a system allegedy based on merit is not one at all. Also I feel theres undertones of japanese imperialism with izutsumi being from the equivelent of central asia and having a soul of a child stuffed into her like some kinda of science experiment. Maizurus constantly trying to "civilize" her by teaching her ettiquite such as using your chopsticks. Like the rhetoric of the elves ape pretty directly to imperialistic sentiments, it would not surprise me if theres intentional commentary about japanese imperialism in how izutsumis treated bc japans kinda known in the east for their imperialism... theyve just done it so many times like my parents were like we left our families, our culture, everything we knew behind to go to america.... but we kept our death grudge against japan tho!! #lmfao. Honestly fair. anyways i think theres intentional parallels between how izutsumi is treated as both as a child and a feral animal by maizuru and how the elves treate other races as children that need toys taken away from them. But also how fundementaly, maizurus unsuited to take care of izutsumi bc the tools she has are not suited to izutsumis needs! She has no understanding of izutsumis life. Her hag curse turns from a highly questionable child rearing tactic on shuro to outright a slave collar on izutsumi. Teaching shuro ettiquate and being able to fight gives him the tools to survive in the postion he was born in but is erasing the culture izutsumi grew up in and has been taken away from before she even knew what it meant. Bc she was treated like a circus freak she never got to choose for herself! Tho providing the basic comforts to shuro is a privilage, it's not to izutsumi bc shes never been able to choose what she wants in life. It's why shes set up as shuros narrative foil like so:

This is his pensive look btw its a consistant tic that he lookes like hes glaring when hes deep in thought. Maizurus is both these people's strange mother figure who feeds them in liu of their actual mother. She smothers shuro in love and doesn't let him face actual challenges in life while she intensely disciplines izutsumi. Shuro reacts to this by aquiessing and never making demands of his own while izutsumi constantly refuses to conform. This is probably why he doens't get her.

In the early points of the story, shuro either says leave izutsumi for dead or leave her so she can pursue her freedom. The ambiguity is intentional, because i think in this part of the story we are not supposed to have a good read on him. But it's also because because of his passivity he doesn't do shit for her! So he loses out on having any type of relationship w her even tho they were tormented by the same curse. But crucially he may have learned from this w inutade, who he explicitly aknowledges how her situation is fucked up and her worship of his father is due to an insane power imbalance even tho he has no clue how to talk to her about this. And at the very end of the manga, he gets into an eating contest with her at her prodding as equals. So maybe there's hope he can do better. But I think its important that his relationship w izutsumi is non-existent as a consequence of his passivity despite the things they have in common bc theres no excuse for it. Thier relationship probs deserves its own post.

benichidori - very funny amongst all these complicated relationships these two just straight up dont know each other n r too shy to do so. Is what I was going to say but then I realized benichidori has taken shuros place as hiens closet friend and I wonder if theres any jealousy abt that. But also she shares a lot of traits w shuro and isnt that just interesting:

but even more interesting is her comic:

this is beat for beat shuros conflict w laios.

We only care about one thing: the crushing opinion of everyone in the universe.

I didnt get this on my first read even tho laios was like hes smart but he is incredibly sharp. Hes good at making useful deductions when things dont add up. It rlly reminds u hes trained in espionage.

He keeps kabru on his toes! interesting for such a smooth talker.

He gets kabru to open up about his motivations here and how it affected him and kabru actually shares some of his own feelings on the manner when usually hes holding ppl at arms length. I think him getting a chance to recite this helps prep him to talk to the caneries where notably, hes a lot more clinical about it.

Its nice all three of these ppl can challenge each other and support each other. I think it would be funny if kabru hits em up in the future like do u wanna start some shit for old times sake

able to tell chilchuck was not a child

is afraid of marcille which tbh fantastic call

Everyone else horrified marcille just killed a man but he's like yeah #tracks.

Other things that reminded me hes basically a fixer:

Spends his screentime evading the elf cops.

Refuses to talk to the canaries even under threat of being interegated for 50 years despite threatening laios party multiple times that hes gonna tell on them. instead spends his time going tbh i've never known anything in my life. I'm stupid like that :pensive emoji:

Incredible bit of manipulation on his part-he pretends to be thinking out loud to cast doubt on the canaries judgement to appeal to the ppl in the dungeon that are not motivated by the goodness of their hearts. Reminds me of namaris relatively selfish reasons for leaving the party--needing to get paid, which is a need she was ignoring for far too long and also laios was also not paying proper attn too when namaris in dire straits, and how she says she left the party after the dragon bc she remembered to never forget your fear. That selfishness must also drive you forward. Then he uses that doubt to twist the situation to say all their information could be false so maaaybe the situation is not as dire as they claim and they have other motives (social control). And he pretends hes talking to the caneries but this is directed to everyone else. He and namari pretend to pick a fight so the leader's distracted and everyone else uses this opening to scatter, which causes enough chaos that it breaks the control the elves have. Which is wild bc shuro knows the dungeon is dangerous bc kabru told him about utaya. He also knows laios party can be dangerous w the amount of collateral they cause w the dragon. He puts a lot of ppl in danger that do not need to be even though multiple times he worries about people getting hurt. At his core, tho, I think he wants to see laios and his party again and that selfish desire trumps everything else in this moment. Namari and shuro are so ride or die TBH.

He never shares any of this when not prompted. Except notably at the end he interrupts when ppl think laios might be dead. Which as an aside I think its interesting his biggest contribution to saving falin is not thru his fighting prowess, but through the simple fact he reached out to laios. His compassions his greatest strength. Laios frestrautes him and kabru, and they both punch him and complain that theyll never understand him, but I think they dont have to. Love requires compromise—it requires eating things you really dont want to, you clash and you hurt each other, but what matters most is that you keep reaching out to one another, that you keep on trying to understand each other. Living requires you to hurt and be hurt, to give and take.

Once again stuck in the middle of an insane and ancient beef

low key funny that he remembered the last time he was here and he was like u know what.... ill just sit this one out....

If my son told me he spent the last week pissing off the elf cops, Id be like yeah thats what the nakamotos are all about TBH

Theres pretty juicy stuff abt how laios is interested in shuro because hes exotic like a monster and his own relationship with being othered by ppl and the fact that shuro is constantly referred to as a foreighner even to ppl hes known and has risked his life for for two years + how to laios monsterhood is a type of freedom while being othered is a type of dehumanization for shuro + how hes trying to show some kind of solidarity to shuro but hes microagressing him thru his attemps + how laios just is being explicitly saying the racist beliefs everyone else implicitly holds just like how mithrun says other races are inferior races which horrifies the rest of the elves but its honestly what they believe but I'm tired and need to think abt it a bit more.

Why do shuro and his party from an island primarily composed of humans and other ppl sometimes not classified as humans but have similair lifespan bc of sociopolitical reasons imitate so many interracial dynamics despite being of the same race? It's to show how marcilles wrong about how the inequality between races exists bc of lifespan differences. Her own fears due to fantastical reasons of being a half-elf and unable to relate any of her insecurities to other ppl are not exclusive to her! Tall-men - Tall-men relationships run along the same lines and have the same conflicts. All the things she fears are things that make her human, that other people have also felt.

in conclusion:

think abt the messiest person u know. Its a man

jk its marcille #feminism

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

4. John Fucking Marston

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: GUYS I GRADUATED MY FROM MY COURSE! i give you this chapter as a token of my celebration... now I just have to make sure I don't have any models fall off the runway in my line up lmao

Summary: The newest arrival makes his way into camp, and inadvertently becomes the reason that chaos begins to spread. Luckily, his new uncle Arthur is there to carry the woes on his broad shoulders.

Warnings: mild swearing, canon typical violence, birth?? mentions of past death and Arthur remembering his deadbeat dad days. drinking, mild alcohol abuse?? also Hosea is a real one we love Hosea

WC: 4.5k

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?”  “She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.” “But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he was the one who asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

A week after the heist, Arthur’s shoulder was feeling better… but his head was hurting like hell. 

In fact, on this specific night, nearly everyone’s head was throbbing on account of the wails and cries of terrible pain coming from the edge of camp. 

Abigail had gone into labor around five hours ago, and the little baby had still not come into the world yet. As of right now, the men were huddled close to the fire, passing around a fresh bottle of whiskey in attempts to pass out so they could get some sleep. Meanwhile, the women were rushing to and fro about the camp, working their asses off to bring a new life to the gang. 

You figured it would help you bond with the boys more if you sat with them, moaning and groaning about the noise… but you’d much rather be helping, making sure nothing went wrong in the tumultuous process of birth. 

It wasn’t until close to one in the morning that a tiny baby boy was born, strong as ever, with lungs so powerful they could blow a lark out of a tree. His cries replaced Abigails, but after all that time, everyone was pleased to know the delivery was over, and both parties were healthy and sound. 

The men did eventually pass out, all except two. 

Arthur and John were up till the crack of dawn arguing, and it didn’t look good from an outside perspective. 

You were about to take back towards your tent when you came across them, hurriedly getting out of their line of sight so you could listen without suspicion. You knew you had no right to eavesdrop, but with everything you’ve heard from Abigail concerning John, you were bursting with curiosity in a way that turned your stomach. 

“I don’t see why I need to be convinced otherwise,” John ripped into his dearest friend, and even from behind a wall of tented fabric, you could imagine the look on his face. 

“You’re makin’ a mistake right now, and you ain’t gonna see it until it’s too late.”

“How would you know? S’not like you did any better,” the tone of his voice was bitter, almost. John caught himself, taking a step back and breathing more evenly after his fit of anger. “I didn’t mean that, Arthur… but you oughta know where my head’s at.”

Arthur was silent, and you wished more than anything you could see the look on his face to determine how Marston had gotten to him. Was he saddened or angry? Maybe even confused? You didn’t know, but you didn’t have long to dwell on it. 

“You listen here, boy,” Arthur’s voice sounded threatening, intimidating. It was perhaps the scariest you’ve heard him speak. “You ain’t got no idea what’s comin’ to you if you leave. There will be no place in hell you’ll be able to hide from the decision you’re about to make. It’ll follow you the rest of your days, and haunt you when you’re dead, you understand me?”

John didn’t speak, didn’t answer or even mumble an excuse, he just walked away. He walked towards Abigail’s tent, ducking his head under and closing the front panel. You stood there stunned, afraid to move… but then Arthur came up around the backside of the area and scared the shit out of you. 

“You hear all that?” He asked, a slanted look in his eyes and a distaste for you in his tone. It might be the remnants from his past conversation, but you hate the way it sounds. 

“Arthur,” you caught your breath from the fright he gave you just in time to mumble out an apology. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be listenin’, but Abigail’s been telling me things and I just…”

He managed to huff out one silent breath of a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Don’t be fretin’ on my account, I ain’t mad at you.” 

You sighed in relief, stepping closer to him now that you didn’t feel so burdened. 

“I don’t know him very well, but what I’ve seen… he doesn’t know his head from his ass. Is he really gonna leave?”

“I don’t know,” he started, crossing his arms and letting out a small yawn. He’s just as tired as you are. “I think I just bought a few days, maybe more, but who knows.”

“You think he can change his mind?” You relaxed your demeanor in front of him, but kept your head on a swivel just in case

He was so tired, you felt bad for keeping him awake, but you figured these thoughts were weighing heavy on him, and it might be good to get it off his chest. “He’s far too stubborn to do it on his own. We’d all have to raise hell for him to think badly of his own choices.”

You frowned, turning towards the tent of the new, young family… There were already so many problems in their unit. 

“Poor Abigail.” 

She’d be alone, and with a child to take care of. And meanwhile John would be scott free and having the time of his life.

“She’ll be alright, her and the boy. I’ll make sure of it,” he nodded towards where you were staring. “Around the time he started acting up, I told her I’d marry her, be the kid’s father if she wanted me to.”

Your head snapped around to him, and you processed his words. Abigail told you about part of his offer, because you’d given her the same one, sans one detail…

“You’re gonna marry her?” 

“Only if she wants me to, if John leaves.”

Good to know… but not really. It looks to you like John is pretty set in his ways, even if he ends up staying through the week, or even more. 

You nodded to him, but you hated the notion that he could already be promised to another person, even if you had absolutely no plans on pursuing him yourself. It was a small little envious monster that crawled in the pit of your stomach, and for a split second, you felt yourself resenting Abigail, who thus far, had become your closest friend after Arthur. 

“I actually offered the same,” you laughed, shaking your head and kicking your boot into the ground. “Not that it would last, but I just wanted her to know I was willing to help.”

“The whole gang chips in here and there, bein’ a family and whatnot… She’ll never go without help,” he assured, his posture becoming heavier with each minute passing. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat and stretched your arms out, faking a massive yawn that looked real enough to pass you off. “It’s probably time we all turn in, huh?” 

For some reason he seemed vaguely sad for the interaction to be over. 

“Just about… I’ll catch you later, then,” he waved you off, heading back to his wagon and you to your tent. Even though they were relatively close, the entry points were on opposite sides.

You fell back into your cot with a heavy exhale. It’s been a long night, and with a crying baby in the camp, it’s looking to be a long next few months. 

-

The next few days were wonderful, despite the ill attitudes of a few grumbly men, Arthur not included. 

Dutch has been going on and on since the birth of the baby that the newest member should be given a worthy name. You assume he suggested his own namesake a few times, but since he’s been nothing but playful about the whole thing, you know he isn’t too bitter when they do finally settle on a name. 

Abigail picked it out, and you understand why. 

John Marston Jr, or as the two have taken to calling him already, Jack. 

You were surprised to see that waking up in the late afternoon the day of the birth, John was being… really different. He was putting in effort to help Abigail, he was making sure the others knew of all the information as it came, and most importantly, he was being positive about the whole situation. You suppose Arthur did knock some sense into him, and it was evident in how he was carrying himself. 

You weren’t sure how long it would last, but you felt relieved. Not only for Abigail, but selfishly, for yourself. If John sticks around and pulls his weight, Arthur doesn’t need to be tied down to a family. Not that he would ever see it that way, but still. 

You didn’t know where you stood with Arthur. He was a dear friend, you knew you could say that by now. You think that maybe the playful banter between you holds more than just friendship, but you can’t be sure, and you’re too damn chicken to test the waters. And obviously, a plain and simple conversation is entirely out of the question, because of ridiculous reasons you don’t care to list off. 

Maybe you’ll never know, and you’ll always be playing the game of ‘will we, won’t we’, unable to come to a sound conclusion. You think you’d be well enough with that, even if you never settle down with anyone. 

It’s a terrible absolute, and you should have never decided on it, but you think that being open ended and in this endless cycle of banter with Arthur is better than being in a committed relationship with anyone else. It makes the one on one interactions with him that much sweeter, though. Like today, when it was both your turns to watch baby Jack. The others were working on something in the town, and Abigail and some of the women were napping, having taken care of him through the night.

“He might be hungry,” you suggested, laughing at Arthur’s attempt to sooth the wailing infant. 

“I get hungry too, y’never see me cryin’ about it,” he was joking, clearly. He shook his head and reached for the glass bottle Miss Grimshaw had prepared this morning. 

Jack fed on the bottle and stopped crying, and in the aftermath, you paused to watch the scene before you. A big, gruff outlaw, with his hair tousled and shirt out of place from tiny hands fisting at it, and relaxed in his arms, a tiny baby being bottle fed. It was such a contradictory picture, but one you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. 

“Cute,” you mumbled, nearly under your breath, but he heard you. 

“He’s somethin’,” he chuckled, a small smile on his face when mentioning the boy he held so close. Arthur was many things, but amongst them was gentle. He was a kind creature by nature, that had only been hardened by experience, and these soft moments let his internal goodness show. 

“I meant you,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t even know how to respond for a second. 

“I’m quite the opposite, but I’ll thank you for the thought.”

As tough as he was, and as rightfully boastful over his skill with a weapon or with his bare hands, he seemed to negate himself often. His intelligence, his artistic talent, his looks, even his presence during group gatherings. It saddened you, and you didn’t even know the root of his struggle.

“Why you always doin’ that?” 

“Doin’ what?” he asked, his head tilted to the side and a narrow look on his face. 

“Bein’ mean to yourself…” you answered, sitting down on the other end of the log he was relaxing against. 

What a treat it would be for Arthur to see himself through your eyes. He’d never think poorly of himself again. 

“M’not, just the truth.” 

And that was even sadder. Who on earth ever convinced this man that he wasn’t good enough? Whoever it was, you’d like them to be on the other side of your pistol’s barrel. 

You huffed out a sigh, leaning forward so he didn’t have to strain his neck to look back at you. 

“Y’know it’s too damn bad, I happen to think you’re a pretty decent person. I pity anyone who thinks otherwise,” you spoke firmly, laying it on thick so that maybe he can come to terms with believing you. 

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm, very much so…”

He looked back down at Jack, trying to distract himself from your complimentary onslaught. He didn’t much care for compliments, so he wasn’t even sure how to receive them, if he accepted them at all. He has a very strong belief system, and it’s constantly just a mantra of things like ‘I am a bad man, I do bad things, I am dangerous, I am getting old, I am ugly,’ and so on. He didn’t understand how much he had hurt himself by forming those beliefs in the first place. 

You sat with him in silence for a few minutes, just watching Jack finish the bottle and settle into Arthur’s arm for a nap. He slept a lot for someone that cries through the night. Hearing the soft cries in the night isn’t peaceful, but it’s better than the anxiety and feeling of dread his cries brought you the first day, when John was set on leaving. 

You keep replaying a moment from that morning in your head, when the sun was just over the ridge, and you were heading to your tent… 

“Arthur?” 

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

“The day he was born… that argument between you and John,” you wanted to make sure you phrased this correctly, unsure if it was a sensitive topic. “He’d apologized for sayin’ something… Sayin’ that you didn’t do any better? What was he talkin’ about?” 

Arthur took a deep inhale and shifted around in his seat, the ground beneath him feeling like it could cave in just at your words. John had struck deep with what he’d said, but having to rehash it, and with you… it wasn’t a thing he’d ever do for fun, to put it nicely. 

“I mean, him talkin’ about leaving Abigail, and you givin’ her your offer… You’re already better than he is.”

“I wasn’t always,” he shook his head. “Holdin’ him like this, it makes me remember just how terrible I am.”

You sank down from the log and scooted closer to him. No one in camp was around to see, so you didn’t bother looking. His eyes got foggy without even going into detail, so you didn’t push… but he seemed to open up on his own. 

“I had a boy when I was John’s age. Same situation n’ all,” he shook his head, trying to keep his sights on the ground in front of him. The longer he held Jack, the worse this feeling got, but he knew it wouldn’t ever go away, not really. Not with a new and constant reminder of his past. “His momma and I, we didn’t get on too well, so I kept with the gang. Didn’t ever come around except when we passed through that town. Could count on two hands the times I saw my own son…”

You didn’t know what to make of this. He has a son? Does he keep contact with him? You’re unsure if you want to know all the details, because hearing it as is, sounds messy. 

“Where does he live?” 

You had no idea that you’d just asked the worst question in response… but how else were you supposed to know? This was the first you’d heard of Arthur’s son. 

“He uh… he died, about three years ago,” Arthur shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat, though his teary eyes persisted. “They both did... I came back one day, and found two crosses in the yard. I asked around, townsfolk said a group of robbers came through and raided several homes.”

“Arthur…” you grabbed his arm gently, trying to convey your sympathy, and your sadness. 

“I knew it had been my fault. If I had been there, my son would be alive, his mother, too.” 

A cloud had rolled over the sun, and shrouded in a temporary shade of darkened light, the mood felt heavier than even his words could convey. This man and his layers, being peeled away before you… it was both touching, and terrible. You had no idea a man was capable of feeling so deeply, of being so open about his past and regrets. You’d never seen a man cry before. 

“Issac and Eliza were their names,” he finally looked at you, tears escaping his eyes at a rapid pace. He let them fall, somehow knowing you wouldn’t judge him for it. “And they aren’t here because of me.” 

You gently raised a hand and wiped his cheeks with your thumb, leaving your hand there for as long as he would let you. 

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…” 

Nothing you could say or do would help to heal his wounds, but you wanted to try. Wanted to be there for him, whatever that meant. You and him got on well. You were friends, but there was competition between you, all a part of your banter. You supposed you’d feel inclined to let him win in any circumstance from now on, just because you couldn’t bear to make him upset. Seeing him this way broke your heart, but it also empowered you in some way. To be more empathetic, and kind, and to not let your anger get the better of you. You’ve proven to him in the past that you were a hot head, no pun intended. You would have to be mindful of letting yourself fly off the hinge to him in the future. 

“Even if John doesn’t leave… I swear I’m gonna do right by this boy,” he let out, his voice trembling but his words were of certainty. 

You felt a tear roll down your own cheek, and did nothing to stop it. This moment, whatever it was, you wanted to feel it. Wanted to keep it buried within the depths of your soul. 

You’ve been on the run for four years now, and in those four years, you’ve been on your own, making some sort of fantasy world for yourself where death was just the thing at the end of a duel, and you never had to pay the toll of those losses. 

You’d not been living in reality, and coming to this gang, meeting Arthur… it must have been preordained. It must have been fate. He himself, day by day, was restoring your humanity, and your ability to feel something that wasn’t just a farce.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, but being so close, he heard you clearly. 

He let out a huff that you suppose was meant to be a soft laugh. “You don’t just hear me, Red… you listen to me. I guess I’ll keep on tellin’ you things.”

And soon both your attentions were pulled back to Jack as he stirred slightly. 

You took a turn holding him while Arthur went to grab some food, and you found you rather liked this particular baby. He was a sweet little thing, not so bratty like the tiny cousins you grew up around. You can only hope he’ll stay this sweet as he grows older. 

-

A month had passed, and John was getting more angsty. 

Arthur was honestly surprised he had lasted this long. It seemed impossible that he stuck around, especially when he had to be the one to take a turn with the baby during the night. 

Fights had broken out with various members of the camp, mostly over John and his unwillingness to help anymore. Dutch had chewed him up and spit him out, and after that, John had made up his mind, for certain this time. 

“You ain’t leavin’, just sit down,” Arthur pulled him back by the shoulder, trying to stop him from packing up and saddling his horse.

“What makes you think I would stay with a bunch of folk who hate me?”

“We don’t hate you, you’re bein’ ridiculous. Sit down, we’ll talk about it.” Arthur tried to reach out for him again, but John pulled himself back and out of the way, two steps from the hitching post. “Boy, you’re not goin’ anywhere-”

“I’m leaving!” John burst out, taking Arthur by surprise. This wasn’t just another hissy fit or tantrum where he would eventually let it stew over. He was really gonna do it. “The kid ain’t mine, I counted back. She’s just try’na tie me down, Arthur... I feel for her, but I ain’t stayin.”

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?” 

“She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.”

“But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

“You don’t need me, Arthur. You’re the better one, always were…” 

“C’mon now, you know that ain’t true. S’just another excuse,” he waved his arms around, trying to emphasize just how stupid it sounded. Yes, it’s all Arthur’s fault that John is leaving. 

John doesn’t even answer Arthur, he just turns heel and readies his horse, all while the older of the two stands by and ridicules him for what he’s about to do. All John can do is tune him out, and pretend he doesn’t hear the distant crying at the other edge of camp, where Susan is trying to console a tired and emotionally devastated Abigail. Their son sleeps in Tilly’s arms, oblivious to anything happening around him, but what’s to come will put a damper on his previously bright future. 

By the time John is on his horse, loaded up and ready to head out, Arthur grabs hold of his leg, yanking it back from the stirrup. He looks to his eyes one more time, to see if there’s any guilt, any resolve, anything that might show he knows what he’s doing is wrong… but he only sees annoyance and pride. Two things John Marston usually wore on his face. 

“If you leave this camp, you best never come back again, ya hear?” 

And for the first time that night, Arthur saw just a shred of fear in the younger man’s eyes. 

“I hear,” he nodded, the fear turning into sadness in this last moment. “It just ain’t worth it no more.”

And with that, he turned his horse, and left the camp. 

Arthur went storming through the camp after the interaction, needing to find himself a drink. 

-

You were angry and rightfully so, stomping back into camp like a bear hunting its prey. Walking up to the campfire, there were only a few left awake. Pearson and Hosea sat, hunched over and with half full whiskey bottles in their hands. Probably from the stolen stash, the brand was decent.

“Anyone seen Arthur?” You asked them both, knowing that at least Hosea could tell you. 

“He passed out ages ago,” He nodded towards his covered wagon near the trees and rocks separating your space. “John left camp tonight.”

“I know, I caught him outside the saloon,” you sat down by them, reaching out for either bottle they were willing to hand over. “Gimme some of that, will ya?”

And of course, drinking was the solution at the end of the day. 

After a while, Pearson dragged himself to bed, leaving you and Hosea to sit and stew by the fire, milling about your tumultuous thoughts. You should have known he’d ask for details of your run in with John. 

“I was out scouting today… realized I needed to go to town for a pair of socks, mine got holes too big for sewin’,” you began, gaze trapped on the fire, the alcohol making it harder to focus on anything else at once. “Came outside and found him hitchin’ his horse.”

“You were the one who approached him, then?” 

“I thought about just wavin’, I thought I’d be seein’ him back here… but then I looked at his saddle. He was packed up for the trek of a million miles,” you sighed, taking another big swig of the pricey whiskey in your hand. You would finish the bottle in no time if you kept up like this, trying to quench your raging thirst for something strong and potent.

“What did you say to him?” 

“Nothing really, not at first. Just asked how the day had been, how Abigail was. I haven’t been here since this morning. I guess they started fighting real bad after I left. Dutch tore into him, too,” you spoke heavily, suddenly the swigs you were slamming back were making you a bit less understandable. Hosea though, was easily able to listen, because after years of Arthur’s drunk slurring, and having to make out sentences between, he was practically an expert. “All I said was that he shouldn’t leave, because he’ll regret it.”

“And I suppose that didn’t help.”

“Nah, he just told me where to shove it. I think he’s scared… not of the kid, and not of Abigail. I think he doesn’t wanna end up like his father. Arthur’s told me something about it, but in my opinion, he’s trying to get out before the resentment turns to abuse n’ all that.”

“I reckon you're right. We all told him time and again he’d be a good father, but he’s stubborn as they come, and when his mind’s made up… there’s no stopping that boy.” Hosea shook his head once more, his sadness reflecting in the light of the fire. 

“I guess Arthur’s gonna marry Abigail, now…” you knew you were just trailing into your thoughts, and that while getting more drunk, you shouldn’t be saying them out loud… but you couldn’t help it. Selfishly, on your ride back to camp, this is all you thought about. 

“He offered, it’s up to Abigail to accept,” he said gently, raising his brows in thought as well. He doesn’t see it as a good match, but he thinks it’s honorable that Arthur would do such a thing. 

“I hope she doesn’t,” you murmured quietly, but it seems he still heard you. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, m’just gettin’ drunk.”

He chuckled under his breath, his side eye remaining on your features just a while longer before he stood up, patting you on the shoulder. 

“Don’t drink too much more. You’ll pass out before making the trip to your tent.”

And then he left you alone. With your thoughts and a bottle of whiskey in hand, who knows what more you could do in a situation like this. It was better to cut your losses and just turn in… so you did. 

Laying down on your cot, you expected sleep to take you. It should have, given how tired you were, but the single notion kept echoing in your head over and over…

Arthur Morgan isn’t mine, and he never was.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

[graceshouldwrite]

The Most Powerful Hack to Make Your Readers Cry

You’ve seen it all: show, don’t tell, plant a visceral image in the reader’s brain of the environment/character, write a complex character arc with lots of growth and setbacks, establish deep relationships, high stakes, etc. 

All the advice for making readers cry I’ve seen so far is basically that list. But, while those things are absolutely important, I find that the thing that always does the trick, whether as a tipping point or in and of itself, is this: 

THE CALLBACK! 

Before we move on, this is an ANALYSIS heavy post, so all the book + show examples contain spoilers!!

So, what do I mean by a “callback?” Think of Chekhov’s gun, but, here, you use the gun to pierce your reader’s heart. As a refresher for anyone who needs it, Chekhov’s gun is just a rule in writing that anything you introduce in the book should play some role in the plot.

Specifically, the name comes from the example that if a reader introduces a gun in the first act, it MUST go off later, (maybe, say, in the third act). For example, in the TV show Breaking Bad, the protagonist Walter White prepares a vial of poison (ricin) that he wanted to use to eliminate an opponent early on in the series. After the assassination attempt falls through, the ricin makes an appearance again in the very last episode of the show, when Walt finally uses it to kill another opponent. 

Got that? Alright, onto the examples of successful, tearjerking callbacks: 

1. The Last Olympian (Rick Riordan); “Family, Luke, you promised.” 

Context: The character Annabeth says this line. Years ago, Annabeth had run away from home, and Luke had effectively adopted her into a found family with another kid named Thalia. Common reason for leaving home = parental trauma! Yay! He promised Annabeth that they would be each other’s “family” from now on. 

Now: Kronos, the antagonist titan, has possessed the demigod Luke and uses his body to strike Annabeth, injuring her. She’s also holding a dagger that Luke had given her when she joined his “family.”

Significance: her words + the dagger are a mental + physical reminder to Luke of his promise. They force him to recognize the sheer degree of his current betrayal by bringing him back to a different time. The fact that their found family only happened because of parental trauma bringing them together makes it worse—Luke felt abandoned by his Olympian father, Hermes. Now, he realizes that he basically did the equivalent to Annabeth by joining the titans. 

2. Les Miserables (Victor Hugo); Jean Valjean’s death 

Context:  At the beginning of the book, the bishop had caught Valjean trying to steal candlesticks to sell. Instead of handing him over to the police, the bishop told the police that he had given them to Valjean, saving him from arrest and showing him mercy. This changed his life forever, kickstarting his character redemption arc. 

Now: Jean Valjean dies surrounded by his loved ones, remembered as a benevolent man who bettered thousands of lives. He’s surrounded by light from candlesticks that once belonged to a bishop.

Context: Valjean had once taken in an impoverished woman named Fantine, showing her mercy and promising to take care of her daughter, Cosette, after Fantine died. Valjean then rescued Cosette from abusive quasi-foster parents (it’s a long story), raising her as his own daughter. This furthered his arc by allowing him to finally understand how unconditionally loving someone feels. 

Now: Valjean describes Fantine to Cosette, who never knew her mother. 

Significance: Both examples throw readers back to much earlier points in the story before the completion of Valjean’s character arc. In a way, this final scene feels like an external manifestation of his kindness paying off; both he and the reader feels a sense of accomplishment, relief, and just a general “OMG WE MADE IT.” Readers don’t feel cheated, because they were with Valjean every step of his 1,400 page arc. The weight of it all just crashes down on you...

3. Your Lie in April (anime); Kaori’s letter after she dies

Context: Kaori’s entire plot significance is that she helps Kousei, a piano prodigy who can’t play piano anymore due to traumatic parental memories associated with it, play again—but also, just to help him enjoy life again after a turbulent upbringing. She meets him a year before she dies of a medical condition, and her free spirit + confidence influences him to find beauty in life and music again. They basically do a crap ton of crazy funny stuff together lol

Now: Kaori has died, and she leaves a letter to him. Among other general confessions and thoughts, she references things they did and memories they shared: she says, “sorry we couldn’t eat all those canelés,” reminisces about  jumping with him off a small bridge into the stream below, “racing each other alongside the train,” singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as they rode the bike together, etc.

Significance: Yes, the nature of the letter is just sad because she’s revealing that she loved him all along, apologizing for not being able to spend more time with him, lying that she didn’t like him (to spare his feelings b/c she knew she would die soon), etc. BUT, these small details highlight exactly how many experiences they shared, and the depth of their relationship. Thus, they emphasize the significance of her death and the emptiness it leaves behind. 

4. Arcane (show); “I thought, maybe you could love me like you used to, even though I’m different.” 

Context: Character Jinx says this in the last episode to her now estranged older sister, Vi. Without going into the crazy complex plot, basically, orphans Vi and Jinx used to care for each other before a bunch of crap went down that got them separated. They then grew up on opposite political sides; Jinx grows up on the side of the underbelly city rebellion, and Vi grows up working on the side of the richer city that essentially oppresses the undercity. Thus begins the development of their opposing viewpoints and work environments, to the point where they always meet on opposite sides of a political battle, never able to come together as a family or understand each other again. 

Now: After a super dramatic confrontation, Jinx reveals that although she wants Vi to love her like she did before their separation, she knows it’s not possible because “[Vi] changed too.” She finishes with, “so, here’s to the new us” before blowing up a political council meeting a few blocks down filled with people Vi sides with. Oops! This cleanly seals the fate of their relationship as something basically irreparable.  

Significance: This callback isn’t through literal flashbacks or items like in the previous examples. Jinx’ lines are enough to bring back images of their childhood to the audience’s mind. Now, the audience subconsciously places this image of: 1) two sisters so different, hurt, and torn apart, right next to 2) the image of two sisters as innocent children who loved each other and would care for each other no matter what. 

Why do callbacks work so well? 

If you’ve noticed something in common with all of them, you’re right: they remind audience of a time BEFORE the characters have come so far on their arcs, developed, and put on so much more emotional baggage. 

Callbacks force the audience to SUDDENLY and IMMEDIATELY feel the weight of everything that’s happened. The character’s anguish and overwhelming emotions become the audience’s in this moment. Callbacks are a vehicle for the juxtaposition of worlds, before and after significant development. 

This works because we, as mortals, fear IMPERMANENCE the most. We fear LOSS. For us, time gone is time we will never get back; callbacks make us face that exact fact through a fictional character. A lost moment, time period, or even part of oneself may hurt as much as losing a loved one, and nothing makes humans grieve more than the realization of a loss. A callback slaps the audience in the face with the fact that something was lost; loss hurts so much because almost 99% of the time, what’s gone is gone forever. 

Of course, a good callback requires good previous character development, stakes, imagery, and all that jazz, but I thought I’d highlight this specifically because of how under covered it is. 

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

I’ve been binging general media lately: I finished Death Note, Your Lie in April, and Tokyo Ghoul all within like a month (FIRST ANIMES I”VE EVER WATCHED!!), reread lots of Les Miserables, analyzed a bunch of past shows like Breaking Bad, watched a bunch of My Little Pony, worked to fix up my old writing... and that’s not even all! The amount of times I’ve CRIED while enjoying the above media and so much more honestly just inspired this post. 

Like, no joke, my eyes were almost always swollen during this period whenever I hung out with my friends and it was so embarrassing help 

Personally, I just find that this method works super well for me, and I watched a bunch of reaction videos to these above scenes (and read book reviews on the book scenes I mentioned), and it seemed that just about everyone cried during these parts. That’s when I realizes that the callback might also just be a universal thing. 

Anyway, this post is long and dense enough as is. SORRY! As always, hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated <3333

Happy writing, and have a great day,

- grace <3

[contumacious-arcadia]

oooo ooooo OOOOOO!

What if Al was actually the original redeemed sinner and *that's* where he was for those 7 years? What if he actually did die again 7 yrs back but was appalled when he reincarnated in heaven and immediately started a campaign to be sent back? What if he accidentally redeemed himself by murdering all those other Overlords?

We can see just how abusive and sadistic Overlords can be towards the souls they own by looking at Val's character. If you contrast that with what we've seen in Husk/Nifty/Al's interactions, despite owning their souls and being a snarky little shit towards Husk (and scaring him a bit when he brings up Al's deal), Al never once actually hurts them and arguably provides them with a comfortable, relatively safe, and happy life in the hotel. These interactions are in present day, but we have been given no evidence to show that he ever treated them differently. On the contrary, when Al shows back up in the pilot, Husk immediately bitches at him when he is ordered to bartend - back-talking to his soul's owner with no hesitation and no fear. It stands to reason that he's comfortable doing so because Al's treatment of him has been the same since they made their deal.

In the context of hell, Al's rise to power seems to have had an accidental side effect of killing the super bad guys, saving sinners from an eternity of abuse and torture, and providing them with a much better contract. Like, *MUCH* better. No more rape, torture, druggings, mind control, etc... Al's obviously not a saint, but in this context, he may have been pretty close to hell's version of one.

If this is the case, Al obv would have *hated* being in heaven and likely immediately took it upon himself to attempt returning to hell BUT heaven obv wouldn't be cool with just letting him fall because they would *not* want hell finding out that redemption is possible. (Remember, in this scenario Al was redeemed 7 years prior to the show's pilot.) What if THAT's what his deal was? What if the deal was: either heaven just murders him on the spot -or- they allow him to fall back to hell in his original sinner form BUT ONLY if he agrees to have his angelic powers bound and is contractually sworn to silence about anything that happened during those 7 years?

This would work SO well. It would also answer a lot of questions about Al's character and actions. For example:

-Where was Al during those missing 7 years? Heaven. Likely imprisoned. -Who owns his soul? Again, heaven. Likely either Sera or an Archangel like Micheal. (I like the idea that it's Micheal, and that Mikey is Luci's twin, pouring more fuel on the fire on the immediate Al x Luci hate train.) -Why does Al state redemption is impossible as if it's a fact and not just an assumption? His deal forces him to keep redemption a secret so he is literally contract-bound to verbally disregard the idea. -Why does he still help the hotel then? Because he's pissed that heaven roped him into a deal WAY more favorable to them. Even though he can't outright state that redemption is possible, he can push Charlie's project along and hope she is the one who blows up heaven's big secret for him. It's revenge, baby! -Why does Zestial make comments about Al falling into "holy arms" when this is seemingly the first interaction between the two since Al's disappearance? Zestial suspects what happened. Maybe he witnessed Al's double-death 7 yrs ago, maybe he overheard some gossip from exorcists during an extermination, maybe something else. -Why doesn't Al use angelic weapons during his battle with Adam, especially since HE is the one who brought that knowledge to the hotel in the first place? He is overconfident because he too is actually a fallen angel, but he fails because his angelic powers are still bound. It is the pride ring after all. -Why does Al sing about "unclipping his wings" during his panic attack/loss to Adam? It's literal. He's pissed that he's been stripped of a massive boon to his power set and double-pissed that heaven seemingly has "beaten" him again. -Why does Al claim that he will be "pulling all the strings" once his wings have been unclipped? Because he is literally proof-positive redemption is possible and therefore, to his knowledge, would basically be a living weapon against heaven's authority. Remember, at this point no one is aware of Pentious' redemption.

I'm sure there's more! Anywho, my brain ran off on this tangent for some unknown reason. Al's just such a fun character to theorize about. Now, I don't believe this will actually happen in the show (it's probably a simple answer like "Lilith owns his soul, duh"), but we can dream! If any writers out there are looking for fic ideas and find my little rant interesting, PLS take this and run with it! I would LOVE to read something like this <3

[bubblybloob]

Whoop I finished my reverse Damsel idea. I briefly discussed her in two other posts but I’m going to go further into her here with a better grasp on what she’s about

Pretty long ramble below, so watch out.

Basically, instead of warning her/resisting the Narrator in chapter 1, you, thinking you can’t overpower him, attempt to slay yourself. The Princesses stares at you in horror as you cut into your own neck (this is the route where you don’t initially bring the knife so she’s the more sympathetic version).

She attempts to wrench the blade from you because she has no idea why you’re doing this and doesn’t want you to die. Whether or not she gets the knife though doesn’t matter, because it’s too late and you die.

(Still am stuck on what sort of voice I want. Had a lot of suggestions on stuff like a Martyr sort of voice or one similar to the old Meek voice but the problem mostly stems from characterizing them in a different way to the other voices, which is something I can’t figure out given the situation).

Chapter 2 is titled “The Fae”.

The main room is primarily made of stone, with many unidentifiable chiseled metals and rock, but you don’t stay here for long, nor get given the option of taking the blade, as choosing to approach the blade or the basement will activate a trapdoor that will send you falling to your death. Just as you’re about to meet your demise, something grabs your palm. Looking up, you see the princess, swinging from the ceiling with you in hand.

The Fae is strange, originally she was going to be similarly shallow in nature like the Damsel, but I would compare her uncanniness more to the Razor, with a constant smile, eerie stare, and maybe an off putting voice.

She’s pretty blunt on what she wants, the satisfaction of saving you from this awful cabin and leaving together! Despite her more than ginger attitude towards you (she acts like you are made of glass), she’s actually quite egotistical, with her occasionally praising herself and puffing up whenever she receives applause from you.

She makes unintentional jabs at your incompetency and reminds you “it’s not your fault you’re not cut out for this, really! I’ll get us out of here my handsome corvid!” and sort of talks down to you and always acts like she’s the smartest in the room (and she probably is depending on what voice I make up for the route). She’s also weirdly fixated on your safety and goes above and beyond to protect you from even the smallest splinter, she’d act like you were dying if you got so much as a scratch.

(All of her traits are exacerbated to a worse degree in chapter 3).

Edit: I forgot to mention all of her behavior is inspired by the fae. I forgot that some people aren’t as well versed in fae lore. Fae are, from what I have heard, pretty selfish, manipulative, and possessive all while being downright ethereal, so I gave her a dose of all of those traits and toned it down a smidge.

Her appearance is also meant to be slightly unnerving. She has long elf like ears and eyes that are surrounded by shadow, with large black pits in the center of her eye that are impossible to tell if they are part of her pupil or not. She also gives off a very faint, white light, it’s almost imperceptible but it’s there.

Her dress is more of a skirt than anything with a sash that has long ribbon like ends that are every length all at once at any given time. They easily wrap themselves around objects even if it shouldn’t be physically possible, and she uses them to swing from the ceiling (spider princesses). Her “crown” is made up of a few translucent butterflies that seem attracted to her like magnets, occasionally they flutter about but usually they sit on her head.

I like to think that there are hints to the fact her butterflies aren’t real, just extensions of herself. They might flicker in and out of existence if she’s upset with you or stressed about something.

Another thing of note, like with some other princesses like Nightmare or Thorn or something, she has no chain. (Maybe there’s some creepy dialogue option where she reveals she broke it with her teeth or something more crazy).

Anyway, the princesses states that everything is fine and that this time around she’s going to be the one to rescue you. She fully intends for both of you to escape, and for you to just follow her lead, because she’s going to make sure you’re alright and that nothing will hurt you.

If you follow along she will save you from the dangers ahead, the basement of the cabin has been increased in size and there are rooms with rolling boulders, pits of spikes, etc. These sections aren’t too long, there’s probably like five explore options along with two or three choices you can make per room and there’s only like three of said rooms.

At the end she literally carries you out of the cabin and swings you around all like “We did it! I’m out and you’re safe! Not even a scratch on you, didn’t I do a good job?” Before mentioning how cold it is and getting taken to Ohio by the Shifting Mound.

There is another way this can end however. There are two potential ways to get to this I think.

If you keep questioning her when shes says something’s wrong at some point you get killed by some random trap while you’re distracted. You get killed and probably end up with the Skeptic.

If you don’t let her do the work and instead try to do too many things yourself you also eventually get killed by a trap and probably end up with Stubborn or Contrarian depending on your actions.

There might be a different third chapter that you can get to from another princess but idk what it would be so I’m sticking with the more direct continuation chapter.

You still don’t get the knife here and fall through another trapdoor. This time she doesn’t catch you and instead has already prepared something beneath where you fall to catch you. It’s probably just a plush room, somewhat reminiscent of the Stranger route’s soft stairs, but less existentially horrifying.

Here the princess thinks that maybe leaving the cabin with her is why you keep dying and so tries to convince you staying is the only option and that something bigger is trying to kill you off when you try to leave with her (she’s not wrong that there’s something bigger at play but she isn’t exactly right either). She’s too selfish to just let you leave without her even if her weird logic states that you’d be fine as long as she doesn’t leave with you, so all protests are shut down and she tries to force you if you complain.

If you got Skeptic there is the option of actually convincing her and that no matter what you’ll listen to her every word and you’ll escape together. She’ll listen and similar events to last time will play out, only this time the traps are deadlier but are made much more traversable due to the fact that she gives no fucks and will destroy every obstacle with ease. This time you actually leave and once again Ohio comes and gets her (I like to imagine The Narrator pulls the locked basement door trick and here she just punches through it and stares expectantly at you to turn handle from the other side with the newly created hole).

If you have Stubborn you can attempt to fight her. It probably won’t work at first because she’s the literal fae. But the Narrator, knowing you’re trying to fight now, will make the blade magically fall from the same trapdoor you fell from. And its iron touch can sizzle faerie skin. She doesn’t necessarily want to fight you, but if she has to rough you up some to get you to see things her way, she’ll do it. If you fuck up you’ll probably break something that you need to move or attack with and lose the fight, and she gets taken. If you don’t fuck up and win, same result except she’s got a knife in her chest when the mound comes and nabs her.

With Contrarian you choose to stay with her because funny boy wants to mess with the Narrator. I think maybe one of the traps somehow ends up infiltrating whatever “safe room” you’re in (probably because you’re thoughts spiraling on the thought of not actually being safe and dying again because that’s all you’ve done so far, so your perception kills you. Not sure what trap would kill you, maybe the rolling boulder crashes through the roof or something idk) and ends up fatally wounding you, making it the third time she couldn’t protect you, she stands over your body because “I had this planned, you should’ve been safe, how could this happen???” Before Ohio comes.

Whatever ending you get, she will make for a courageous heart.

I like to think you can kill her with Contrarian and get stuck with her with Stubborn, it’s just that they’d prefer and encourage you to do the opposite. The Skeptic is the only one where you can actually try to leave with her, again you can do the other options but having him is the only path where you can try to escape in the 3rd chapter.

I do have a 3rd chapter design in mind, but I’ll probably need to work on it some.

[thatanimeramenchick]

I just thought of somethin(I’m sorry if I’m spamming or anything. I’ve got ADHD so my brain is constantly making ideas that I have to share. I do not wish to overwhelm you)

What about a Yandere Lucifer(Hazbin) with a immortal human reader? They were cursed from a young age with immortality because of a mistake there mother made. They can die but don’t really stay dead. Every time they die they get a scar so there covered with them both large and small. They go to university but was supposed to be sacrificed by a cult to Lucifer but obviously survived but now there stuck with Lucifer always being around?

Yandere Lucifer x Human Sacrifice Reader Pt. 1

You’re fine! Definitely not spamming. I just might take some time before I get to writing it. Lucifer has me in a choke hold, but so does Vox. I also wanted to do this idea justice, as it actually has a lot of potential, so it took me a little while before I finally felt like it sounded kind of decent. Also it was getting long, so going to be a two parter.

Part Two

Trigger Warning: Graphic Violence

Word Count: 2,431

---

You first realized something was wrong when you were twelve.

It was a warm August afternoon, perfect for a day on the lake. Only a week left before school, your extended family was having a last little hurrah camping trip. Water brushed against your shoulders as you waded through the water, looking for small fish and crawdads. Your cousins were on the shore, half asleep as they rested from swimming.

“Kids! It’s time for lunch!” you heard your Aunt’s voice fill the air.

Eager for food, like any other over-exhausted child, you turn quickly on the slick rocks, ready to run inside.

“Wait for me!” you cry out, taking no care in how fast you were moving.

And down you went. Your slipped right out from under you and sent you crashing beneath the waves. A roar filled your ears as your body ripped through the water and sent your head against the stone ground. Along with the cold water, you felt a hot liquid bubbling from the crown of your head.

Whether from shock or pain, you were unable to swim. You thrashed and attempted to scream, only letting more water into your throat. Surely someone had heard you falling and would come to save you, right? There was no way they hadn’t heard you.

Yet as seconds passed, you started to think that maybe no one had heard you. Every passing moment felt like an eternity as you were unable to hold your breath and water choked down your throat.

You swore that you felt your lungs literally ripping apart, splitting at the seams in a pain that was so intense you felt like you would black out. You suddenly knew what it was like to be the balloons you and your cousins had blown up with a little too much air and watched pop into a million pieces.

The oxygen must finally have evaporated from the combination of fluid filling your lungs and blood leaving your body. This was it.

You were going into the arms of the angels.

---

To this day, beneath your hair, was the large scar from “the incident” as your family referred to it.

Well, when they referred to it at all, which was almost never.

All you had remember was awakening in the hospital, gasps, tears, and even a scream filling the air as you sat up.

“I-impossible!” your aunt had said, gazing in shock at you, “She was… She had to be….”

“I told you, the doctors had made a mistake,” your mother had said calmly. She had been sitting beside you, squeezing your hand. Though her words were soft and controlled, there were tears on the edges of her eyes.

Your cousins started crying as well, coming forward, looking just as stunned. The only one who had seemed unsurprised was your mother, who held your hand in a death grip.

That day lived in infamy in your mind. Though nothing had ever been explained, small snippets from conversations you hadn’t been meant to overhear had formed an image of what had happened.

Finally, it had been noticed that you were not there, and your eldest cousin had been the horrified witness to your body in the lake, water red from the massive loss of blood. Though they had called the ambulance, it was clear to everyone that you had died before they had even got there.

Or so they had thought.

You had been laid in the hospital, check on, with no pulse or breath in you. Your family had been in the room crowding around you, all saying final goodbyes. All except your mother, who had simply grabbed onto your hand and insisted that you weren’t dead. The doctor had made a mistake, you would be fine. Naturally, your Aunt and Uncle thought that your mother was simply confused after the traumatic experience.

But you had woken up. Suddenly, something had changed. The machines detected life, and you had taken a gasping breath before groggily opening your eyes.

The nurses and doctors had seem just as spooked as your extended family, but once it was determined that somehow you had survived and your lungs were intact, they let you go. Someone must have made some kind of mistake at some point.

There had been no explanation, logical or otherwise for your salvation. Your mother said that you must be under divine protection, and you had accepted the answer, as much as you weren’t really convinced of it. Convinced or not, you were alive, and you supposed that was what mattered.

That had been nine years ago. It was something you rarely thought about anymore, though recently, you had been wondering about it. The whole thing was weird, and your studies in medical school only made it weirder.

You didn’t have time to think about it these days though. You were short on two things, money and time. Which is why you were now looking at the posters hung in the cafeteria for an opportunity to make some quick cash.

You had some cash flow from your repeated donations of plasma and blood cells, as well as the occasional babysitting gig in between studies. You needed more though, and the flier you were looking at was promising a lot of pay if you went to this interview and were accepted as a participant for an experiment that some seniors were doing. So many of you had participated in a couple of experiments for professors and students to earn a buck here and there. You could do it again. You ignored the vague wording, thinking that it was probably some experimentation that involved the subjects being in the dark.

So now, you were sitting on a park bench with the interviewer for the program, being drilled harder than if you had stayed out all night as a teenager.

“Do drugs, smoke, alcohol?” the interviewer asked.

“No,” you said.

“All right,” she said, "And... we'll need to know you're relationship history as well. Any boyfriends, girlfriends?”

“I had one boyfriend in high school,” you said, "Been too busy last few years though.”

“Just one boyfriend... Ok, and any hookups?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Like, you know, bar or party hookups. Casual sex.”

“I-I- Uh... No,” you said.

“So you're a virgin?” she asked.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t see how this is relevant,” you said, feeling uncomfortable.

“It’s necessary information for dividing the groups in our experiment,” she said, “Your personal name isn’t going to be connected to any of this. But we need to know as much personal information as possible if you want us to consider you for this. We need to know our subjects on a deep level.”

You sigh in irritation, “Fine, whatever. Yes, I am.”

“Ok,” she said, scribbling something down.

After a few more minutes of interrogation, she stood up.

“All right then, I think I have everything I need to know. We will be in touch if you pass all right? If you do, you'll be contacted on the meeting place for the experimentation,” she said.

---

A week later, you had gotten a call back from the same interviewer, saying you had passed initial testing. They assigned a day for you to show up at the lab. After you had arrived on the appointed day and signed some wavers, they took you aside and gave you some medication, saying they were conducting a test on REM sleep in three sessions. The first two had gone typically, and you had awoken, mind numb and fuzzy after the sessions. But something was different when you woke up the third time. You weren't in the lab.

You awoke, foggy eyed, your mind still grainy. The room was freezing, even more so than the normally cool temperature it was kept at. In a few seconds, you realized you weren't in the lab at all or likely the university. Your surroundings were totally alien as you realized where you were and who you were with.

You were looking up at a circle of men and women in black and red cloaks. A sickening smell of incense fills the air, and you feel something right digging into your wrists and ankles. In moments, you realize you have been tied down to a stone altar, somewhere dark and damp, like a cave or temple. Directly over you stands a middle aged man, holding a knife.

“She’s perfect,” he said, “A beautiful young virgin. Not tainted in any way, in good health. The ideal sacrificial lamb.”

The day of the incident was swarming back into your mind as you now struggled against the rope tying you own, as futile as you had felt slapping against the water. You couldn’t even attempt to scream, a cloth was shoved so far down your throat, the scent of whatever chemical they had dipped in it making it burn. Part of you wondered if you would vomit and repeatedly suffocate before he could even stab you.

“Oh Lucifer, we call upon you to accept this sacrifice,” the man called out, raising the knife, “May you be pleased with this offering, and in exchange bless our work. May we be more prosperous and rich than any others! We bow down to you!”

With his final words, he sliced the knife into your chest, so fast and swift that you didn’t feel it at first. It was as subtle as a breeze rushing past your cheek or hearing a whisper in the hallway. Small as it was though, you couldn’t deny that it was there. Within a split second, as he ripped the knife out, you felt some of that pain materializing. A muffled scream is silenced, and you feel the cloth sink deeper into your throat, choking you. Even if your mouth can not let out a sound, the surrounding flesh is painful enough that it feels like it is screaming in silent agony.

He continues to stab at you. The pain worsens as he tries to push the knife deep into your heart, but manages to instead stab into your ribs multiple times. Each removal of the knife releases a fountain of blood. Warm, fast, sleek streams bathe your skin and clothes as he drives the knife through you over and over again, without mercy. Penetrating, forceful, as if you were being violated in the worst possible way. The physical pain of the experience is nothing compared to the mental anguish of helplessness and terror you feel.

Finally, mercifully a few cuts sink between you ribs and pierce your heart. Within minutes, your world begins fading to black.

This is it. Finally.

At least that was what you hoped. No more pain, only peace.

---

Hell was real.

You hadn’t died, but you didn’t need to for you to experience a pure torment worse than death. Some twisted miracle, curse, whatever the hell it was, had saved you. You awoke who knows how long after the attack, alone and still strapped to the stone altar. You couldn’t lift your head, it roared with pain. The pure torture of regenerating, something you hadn’t felt in years. Your body burned and itched as it restitched itself back together, slowly. The process of regeneration was in some ways more gruesome than the actual attack had been. Every inch of your chest felt like it was on fire.

The cloth was still stuck deep in your throat, making it impossible to call for help, but part of you knew that even if you could have it probably wouldn’t attract attention from anyone you would want. Your only fear was that it would remain stuck in your throat for ages. The image of it resting there until your spit somehow dissolved it and allowed for you to breathe normally haunted you, as well as the image that you might die from an infection or suffocation like this a couple of times before that happens.

Your mind was so focused on this that you didn’t notice the glowing light walking around you. Sight fuzzy, you winced as the light fully entered your focus and before you stood a man, radiating light from his crimson and white body. Wings on display, emanating from his back. No further details could be caught though, as you were in too much pain to really pay attention. Despite this though, you had no doubt who this was.

Lucifer.

You were surprised. Always, your imagination had painted the devil as a creature of darkness. Even if he wasn’t a red horned creature, you had expected a creature that radiated evil and smoke. Yet Lucifer stood before you with an almost ethereal glow about him. While there was a certain flame about him, it burned with a cool, almost glorious light.

Well, you had heard someone once say that the devil portrayed himself as a creature of light. Perhaps the brightness of his form should not surprise you. A mask of goodness over his true evil intent. He leans over you, gazing at your half-alive form.

Finally, the devil reaches over to your face, gazing at you with a look that you decide must be curiosity. There is no way that it contains the pity that your mind at first thinks it glimpses. If this is the devil that the group worshiped, then there was no way any sympathy could be found in his eyes. He lowered his hand to your face, causing you to flinch, the pain exploding at your brief movement. Instead of the expected violence though, he caresses your cheek with tenderness.

“Poor little thing. Humans are such fools,” he murmurs, “The way they treat their own is downright atrocious.”

While you would push his touch away if you could, you find it impossible. The pain is too great to bother defying him. It is nothing compared to the torture your body goes through though when he lifts you into his arms. Chipped bones feel as if they are shifting through your sliced muscle and ripped flesh. You feel more blood flowing out of your body, like the lake sand would flow between the cracks in your fingers as a child. Even though you are unable to scream, you must have at least attempted to make some kind of noise as the demon holding you makes an effort to soothe you.

“Sh… It’s all right now,” you heard, “You’re going to be just fine. There’s no need to be afraid.”

It was the last thing you heard before pain consumed your mind and took you from consciousness.

[atlabeth]

i'm with you | nikolai lantsov

summary: everything is falling apart around you, but the world is quiet for a moment as you and nikolai share a sunrise together.

a/n: this is a lil sequel to bad luck! it takes place 3 years after at the beginning of siege and storm, after rusalye is killed and the darkling is mutinied off the volkvolny lol. idk where this came from but i really wanted to write something for nikolai because im done with finals and kept my 4.0 and he makes me happy! so i hope you enjoy this short lil thing

wc: 1.5k

warning(s): fem!reader, slight bit of angst, mentions of death and fighting, but this is very light hurt/comfort so nothing really bad goes on

“I should have known this is where I’d find you.” 

Nikolai’s voice rang out from behind you, clear and strong in the silence of an early morning. Nothing but you, him, and the sea, the way it had been for nearly three years now. 

You weren’t ready to lose it.

“I needed some time,” you said, gaze remaining on the horizon, sunrise on the brink. “A lot has been going on.” 

“An understatement,” Nikolai said wryly. His footsteps could hardly be heard against the wood as he walked over to you, choosing to lean his back against the railing in opposition to you supporting yourself with your forearms. He didn’t look at you, but his presence was more than enough. “How have you been holding up?” 

“Better than most can say,” you said. “Certainly better than our guests.” 

He chuckled. “I believe the Sun Summoner has wished death on me more than once.” 

“Have you seen the way her tracker looks at you?” you asked. “That man wants you dead.” 

You could see his grin out of the corner of your eye. “A spirited pair, to be sure. I’m lucky they haven’t actually made an attempt.” 

“As if I would let them get close,” you said wryly. “I take my duties as your second-in-command very seriously.” 

This time, you felt his eyes on you. “A misfortune you’ve been only my second for these past few weeks.” 

You sighed. The vast expanse of the sea, just beginning to glow with the light of the sunrise, seemed much lonelier. 

The past month had been… difficult, to say the least. And certainly lonely. 

The Darkling—General of the Second Army, Grisha of the greatest renown, and one side of the Ravkan civil war—had hired Nikolai’s crew to take him and his Grisha through the Bone Road in search of the mythical sea whip Rusalye. Nikolai decided to go along with it, but the plan he’d cooked up with you and the crew was something truly idiotic. If you all could pull it off, though, it would be the start of Ravka’s saving grace. 

The general was not a generous man beyond the coin he put up. He practically took over the ship, ruminating with an imposing power everywhere he went. You supposed it wasn’t difficult to lead an army when you could intimidate your way through everything in your path. 

And he recognized you. Looked you over in a way that made your skin crawl, greeted you by name, asked if your parents knew where you were. You resisted the urge to spit in his face—years of etiquette lessons worn into your bones were the only thing that kept a practiced smile on your lips. 

He just wanted to get under your skin, try to unsettle you, maybe hoped he could reveal your truth to anyone who still might not have known to sow division in the crew. You lied to his face and all he did was chuckle and move on. 

The Darkling left you alone from then on, but Nikolai refused to take any chances. He made the decision to hide your relationship, to hide any form of closeness beyond your being his second—”the last thing I need is you being targeted for any mistakes I make,” he’d said, and you had no objections. 

The Darkling had unnerved you since the first time you’d met him as a teenager. The insanity that flickered in his eyes any time his hunt for the Sun Summoner was brought up—the insanity fully displayed when he finally had her in his grasp—was enough to make you keep your head down wherever and whenever possible. 

That was not to say it wasn’t difficult, though. The first night you spent alone rather than in his cabin was difficult, and you’d wondered if the ship had truly always been this cold. Your finger felt bare without its ring, and you always worried the necklace would somehow slip into view. Your hands itched for your dagger each time the Darkling threatened Nikolai, and you were sure his calming words afterwards were the only thing keeping you from doing something truly foolish. 

And now he was fully your enemy, Rusalye had been turned to fetters, and the Sun Summoner and her mystical tracker were below deck in a very shaky alliance. 

Things were certainly never boring with Nikolai, at least. 

You were snapped out of your thoughts when he said your name, and you finally looked over at him. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, milaya?” he asked softly. “Tolya did patch up all your wounds, didn’t he?” 

“Perfectly,” you confirmed with a nod. “It’s just…” 

“Talk to me, my love.” Nikolai reached out and took your hand, the callouses from years spent as a privateer a comfort by now. “You know I’m here for you, more now than ever.” 

Your gaze dropped down to your joined hands, and you let out a loose sigh. “We’re going back to Ravka,” you finally managed to say. “Back to the noble world.” 

“It does feel strange,” he murmured. “After years on the sea, free from any expectations. Free from being a Lantsov.” 

“Years away from my parents,” you said quietly. “They probably think I’m dead.” Your gaze flitted back up to meet his eyes, and you were struck by the warmth in them. “And I would have been, had it not been for you. Dead or much, much worse.”

“You can’t think like that,” he urged, pulling you closer. “You made your choice—we both have. And they brought us back together. That means they couldn’t have been wrong.”

“I left them, Nikolai.” Your chest tightened and you looked back out to the boundless waters. “Without a single word.” 

“I did the same,” he said wryly. “You somehow managed to forgive me.” 

You huffed a laugh and shook your head. “I’m just not the same girl I was when I left. I don’t want to be that girl—that duke’s daughter that smiles and curtsies her way through everything. I’m worried that they’ll try and push me right back into that box.” 

Nikolai scoffed. “As if they could even try.” 

In your silence, he gently tipped your chin so you could meet his eyes. 

“You’re my second in command,” he said. “You’ve taken quicker to all of this than any member of any crew I’ve seen. And when you’re focused on something, you’re a sure sight to see. You’re not the girl that they raised—you’ve forged yourself into your own woman. If they have any sense at all, they’ll be the proudest parents in all of Ravka.” 

“I hope so,” you admitted, “more than anything. All of this— learning to sail and command and fighting by your side— it’s made me feel more alive in a few years than a whole childhood in Ravka’s court.” 

“And I consider myself immensely lucky that you somehow find enjoyment in all of this the same as I do,” Nikolai said with a slight laugh, taking his hand away from your chin. “Truly, I don’t know how I was fortunate enough to find you again after messing everything up once.” 

Your lips quirked in a slight smile. “And I consider myself immensely lucky that you stayed in love with me after all that time.” 

“The only thing easier than falling in love with you is staying in love with you,” Nikolai mused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I could sail the Bone Road for a thousand years and that would never change.” 

“That’s another reason I don’t want to go back to court,” you said, heat blooming in your cheeks. “You’ll charm every person you come across with those honeyed words.” 

Nikolai smiled. “And yet I could only ever mean them for you.” 

“I just don’t get how you’re still so confident,” you said. “We’re going back to Ravka in the midst of a civil war. The Darkling’s on our tail, and he won’t stop until he’s gotten his very bloody revenge.” 

“But we’re going back together,” Nikolai clarified. “As far as I’m concerned, anything is possible so long as we’re together.”

“How are you always so sure of yourself?” you marveled. 

He shrugged. “It’s very difficult not to believe in myself when I’ve got you by my side.”

“Saints,” you murmured, your smile growing, “I’ve missed you more than you know.” 

Nikolai pulled you into a kiss and your eyes fluttered shut as his lips met yours, your hands falling into familiar places on his body as you all but fell into him. It had only been a few days since your successful mutiny against the Darkling, and open affection still felt slightly strange. Any remaining qualms were fully kissed out of you, though, and when you pulled away, out of breath but glowing from the inside out, you could hardly contain your smile. 

“Trust me,” Nikolai breathed, “I know.” 

You grinned as you leaned against his side, and he pulled you in close with an arm around you. You rested your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, the countless voices of doubt inside of you fell silent as you watched the sunrise together. 

“We’ll figure it all out. I promise.” His voice was little more than a whisper in your ear, and yet it warmed your body just as much as his touch. “I’m with you until the end, milaya. No matter what.” 

And you believed him.

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Hey friend!!! Ive been loooving, devouring and reblogging all your fics! I was wondering if i could request azriel x reader where reader has a visible scar on her face, maybe through her eyebrow down to mid cheek from an attacker that tried to kill her. She has a mini crush on azriel but she sees how hes attracted to Elain whos the definition of beauty so reader just gives up even attempting to like him. Angst with happy ending pls. ❤️

Forever

Azriel x f!Reader

Warnings; mentions of abuse and death.

Masterlist

Not one of my best writings but I really didn't know how to write this. If you don't like it please let me know so I can rewrite it! Thank you so much for your kind words and I really hope I didn't let you down with this.

You joined the inner circle when you were still a teenager. Rhysand had found you in Hewn City when two males tried to force themselves on you after a party. You watched wide-eyed as he made a public display of power by crushing their minds and flinched when he grabbed you and winnowed away. He took you to Velaris and you met the rest of the inner circle who instantly welcomed you and made you a part of their small family.

The shadowsinger immediately caught your attention and you found yourself falling for him as the years passed. Your close relationship with them though pissed off your father and one of the days you visited Hewn City with them he paid someone to end your life. Your attacker managed to find you alone and pounced on you with a dagger in hand. You quickly jumped back and let a scream when his dagger scratched your face from your eyebrow to your cheekbone. Azriel heard your cries and emerged from darkness next to you, he immediately disarmed your attacker while his shadows caressed your wounded skin, their coldness soothing the pain. He called Rhys to take you to Velaris and then disappeared with your attacker.

Madja did everything she could, and she managed to save your eye, but the scar remained, a constant reminder of your father’s resentment. Azriel remained by your side helping you get past your trauma and teaching you how to defend yourself in a similar situation. You really enjoyed the attention he gave you and once again you started hoping that one day he might fall for you.

Then the Archeron sisters came into your life and Azriel became distant as he started spending time with the middle one. He would disappear for the whole day and when he would come back to the house of wind to sleep, he would reek of Elain’s scent. Your heart broke every time he would pass in front of you with a quick nod as a greeting and then disappear into his room. Elain was the definition of perfection, long golden-brown hair, rich brown eyes and most importantly a face without any scars. You could see why Azriel fawned over her, and even though it hurt, you remained silent thinking that he deserves a beautiful female like her by his side and not a sullied one like you.  You stopped trying to get his attention, stopped making him tea every morning, stopped tidying his daggers and books knowing that he wouldn’t even notice.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You were sitting on your bed reading one of the books that Nesta gave you when Azriel strolled in with a worried expression.

“What’s wrong?” he asked and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What do you mean?” you furrowed your eyebrows.

“You are avoiding me.” He exclaimed.

“No I am not” you lied. “I’m not stupid.” He growled “I don’t have to avoid you since you are never here” you snorted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Listen, I get why you spend so much time with Elain, she is perfect, and I really hope you two will be happy together but please give me some time to adjust.” You sighed.

“What? There’s nothing going on between me and her. I’m just following Rhysand’s orders.” He was staring at you with a panicked expression.

“Az I know you, this is not just an order you’re following, you’re falling for her.” You said softly. “I really hoped that one day you would fall for me, but I get it… I’m not perfect” you pointed at your scar and Azriel’s breath hitched.

“Don’t you ever say that again” he growled “you are perfect, and this scar makes you even more irresistible.” He sat next to you on the bed and cupped your face “I fell for you the moment I saw you. I couldn’t believe that a female like you could ever want someone like me, and then the attack happened, and I realized that I can’t even protect you, so I kept my distance.” You blinked and opened your mouth to speak but he held a finger up stopping you.

“I spend my time with Elain because I want to help her, to keep her safe because I failed you. I thought that if I could do that with her I would become worthy of you”

“You never failed me Az” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke. “You couldn’t know that my own father would hire someone to kill me, and even though you weren’t expecting it you came just in time to save me. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

He sighed and pressed his forehead against your own. “Can you forgive me?” he whispered. “There is nothing to forgive.” You smiled.

He returned your smile and slowly captured your lips with his own, his kiss was soft yet needy and his thumbs caressed your cheeks.

“You have my full attention angel… forever” he said when you broke the kiss. “I love you” you sighed.

“I love you more” he replied and kissed you again.

[samfkiszka]

Paper Bag: Chapter One

Vampire!Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

Hunger Hurts, and I want him so bad, oh, it kills…

★・・・・・・★

Forced to move back to your father's hometown the summer before your first year at college, you had resided yourself to the fact that the next few months were going to suck.

But that was before you were reacquainted with Danny next door. And before you got a brand new job at a dusty old bookstore run by an eccentric old woman. And before Jake walked into said bookstore, poised to turn your entire world upside down.

Word count: 7,169

Warnings (for this chapter): Light cursing, very vague mentions of a grandparent's passing, maybe some slight spelling errors… (that's literally it)

Chapter 2

Master list

taglist form if you’re interested <3

★・・・・・・★

The incessant whining of a nagging mosquito awakens you from your daydream of sunnier places and brings you back to reality; the reality that you were moving thousands of miles away from your quaint beach town to the vast green that sped past you now. Your father was busy droning on and on about how good this change was going to be. You had to stick your head out the window to stop from losing it inside the interior of his brand new car, a gift from his equally brand new job that had moved him back to his hometown. Sure, you knew deep down you were only going to be there for a summer, and then thankfully it was off to college. Three grueling months of living in this damp swamp that was being passed off as a town. Smacking the side of your neck, you pull your hand back to glance at the gruesome sight. The mosquito twitches involuntarily in your palm, surely a reaction to its untimely and swift death. You could already feel the tingling itch rising up, and by the splatter of blood drying in your hand you knew it was too late. With a sigh, you roll your windows up and turn back your dad who was grinning entirely too much for your liking. 

“Can you at least pretend to be happy about this? I know you’re only going to be here for a few months, but I would appreciate it if you tried.” 

“I just don’t see why you couldn’t have waited until after I moved out,” you grumbled. This had been a source of tension between the two of you for quite a while now. It wasn’t like you were going to make any friends. Without the help of school you were going to be utterly alone for the next summer. You already missed your friends deeply, longing to see them as soon as possible. But unless they could somehow save up enough for the cross country flight, it seemed to you that you were doomed to a summer of absolutely nothing.  

“I know it’s tough. But try to be a little understanding. You used to come here all the time with me to visit Grandma and Grandpa, remember?” He looks away from the road for a second, his face painted with hope. His smile falls when he sees the angry look you’ve been sporting for the entirety of the ride from the airport. “Come on, please, just… cut me some slack. This is going to be great for both of us.” 

You hum in response, not knowing what else to say. He sighs, gripping the steering wheel and clearing his throat as the car pulls into a gravel driveway leading to a house that is simply too big for the two of you. It was the kind of house meant for a much larger family, and in its youth that was exactly what resided between its brick walls. Your father, along with his many siblings, spent their youth terrorizing your poor grandparents until they grew up, leaving them alone. Your grandfather’s bird feeder still inhabits the front porch that you had spent many a summer afternoon occupying. You were certain that the room you had always slept in when you visited, the room that was now expressly yours, would be the exact same as it was in your childhood. Just as this house had seemed untouched by time, as did every neighboring one. 

Your father, obviously attempting to get back on your good side has hauled what little bags you had packed up the porch steps, setting them down to unlock the door. Thanks to his arrival merely a week before yours, mostly everything had been unpacked. You were silently grateful that you would not have to spend days unpacking painful memories. Not that you were in the mood to thank your father for anything in particular right now. All that was left to do was sulk in your new, yet familiar, bedroom. But before you had the chance to angrily stomp up the stairs, the old doorbell that you didn’t even know existed rang out through the house. You peer past the entry way as your dad heaves the heavy oak door open, revealing a slightly familiar face. 

“Hello, Daniel.” Your father welcomes the boy in, seeming exasperated at his appearance. If this Daniel had noticed it, he simply ignored it, grinning ear to ear and surveying the room. 

“Danny,” he corrected swiftly before continuing, “I was just wondering if-” 

As if your father could read minds he waves in your general direction, answering Danny. 

“She’s here. Not in the best of moods, but-” 

“I can hear you.” You interject, striding into the room and taking Danny’s appearance in. He was wearing a shirt that seemed too small for him, and his remedy for this was clearly chopping the sleeves off. He was too tan for the apparent lack of sun in this town, and he took every opportunity to flash his perfect teeth at you. 

“Hey! It’s nice to finally see you again!” He reaches his hand out and you take it hesitantly. His skin is far too warm considering it was barely sixty degrees outside. 

“Again?” 

“You remember the Wagners, don’t you honey?” Your dad casually drops the name as if it would enlighten you any further. It’s not like you had ever spent longer than a week here. Of course you didn’t remember the Wagners. 

“I’m Danny, I live across the street from your grandparents- well, from you guys,” He offered, dropping your hand and casually stuffing his back into the pockets of his shorts, “You used to hang out with my sister when you were younger.” 

You rack your brain, trying to pull up any memory that would help. You get vague flashes of a boy your age, somehow recalling a sister slightly younger than the two of you that you always preferred to play with. 

“Oh!” You gasp, feigning surprise and hoping it satiates both him and your father, “Yes Danny and Josie. Of course I remember you two.” 

“Daniel has been stopping by all week asking when you’d be here,” Your dad mumbles to you, and if this information embarrassed Danny he surely doesn’t let it show.  As if tired of this boy’s presence, your father drifts out of the room leaving just the two of you to talk. 

“Sorry about all that,” you mumble apologetically, “I’ve been in a shitty mood all day, I think I set him off.” 

“No, It’s definitely my fault. I really have been bugging him all week,” Danny laughs so effortlessly that it almost puts you at ease. Maybe you weren't as friendless as you thought you’d be. “Josie went to summer camp this summer and I’ve been insanely bored,” he explains. 

“You didn’t go with her?” 

“Nah, too old. Kinda thought I’d stay here and cause a bunch of trouble,” he laughs easily again, “Plus, I’ve got a summer job down at the golf course. Certified cart boy,” he finished with a sense of unearned pride and you bite back a laugh that was sure to come off as harsh. 

And in all honesty, a summer job didn’t seem like an awful idea. Sure, you knew it was a bad idea to set down roots considering you were leaving soon enough; but, could it really hurt to make a few friends?  To have a reason to get out of the house every day? And it’s not like a little extra cash wouldn’t help. 

“Are they still hiring?” You ask, your voice laced with hope. 

“No,” he frowns, looking sincerely sorry that he won’t be able to offer you a job. “But I heard the bookstore down on Sun Avenue is looking for a cashier, ” He added with another pearly white grin. 

Sun Avenue. How ironic, you think to yourself, mulling over the idea. A bookstore doesn’t sound half bad anyway, in fact it seemed a near perfect fit for you. 

“That would actually be great! Is there a number I could call, or-” 

“No, don’t worry. I know the owner!” He beamed. Of course he knew the owner. Danny seemed like he knew the entire town. “If you want to meet me there tomorrow, I can introduce you to Mrs. Palmer. I’m sure she’ll love you. She’s pretty desperate too, most people leave during the summer. I bet she’d hire you on the spot.” 

“Yeah, trust me, I’d rather spend my summer anywhere but here too.” 

“It’s not all that bad,” he mumbled, a look of hurt crossing over his otherwise overly joyous face, “You can always hang out with me.” 

You felt bad for a moment. For a boy you barely knew you were eager to make him smile and laugh again. It was nice to have someone in your corner despite your unwillingness to be here. 

“That’s true. I’d love to hang out with you. And, yeah I can meet you at the bookstore tomorrow. I really appreciate it,” you reply earnestly, unable to stop the smile that spread across our face mirroring his own. His positive energy was honestly infectious.

“Great! I can meet you there tomorrow around noon!” He beams, bouncing with excitement and making his way to the door. Your dad reemerged from wherever he had been hiding as soon as Danny left. 

“That kid has got to be on something,” he shakes his head, eyeing the door like Danny could bust in at any moment. “Or maybe I’m not used to someone smiling that much.” He nudged your side, attempting to get back in your good graces.  

“Hah hah hah,” you mumble sarcastically, rolling your eyes and beginning your trek upstairs to your room. The door creaks open and you are pleasantly surprised to see your dad had decorated it in an almost identical fashion to your old room. Staring at the posters that adorned the walls, you started to feel like maybe you had never left home at all. The bed was even slightly bigger than your old one, a concession you were pleased to make. Flopping down with a huff, you glare at the ceiling, noticing the glow in the dark stars you had foolishly placed up there one year were still stuck to the ceiling. 

Exhaustion from your early flight washed over you. You were never really a morning person. Fighting the urge to fall asleep you gently lift up, staring out the window at the setting sun. The clouds covered up what could be a beautiful scene, the usual pink and orange hue you were used to back home suddenly replaced by gray and green. You pull the purple curtains closed, grimacing at the ugly hue you had picked out when you were younger. Maybe you’d be able to convince your dad to replace them with newer ones. You were, afterall, displaced and depressed. 

The floorboards were awfully loud as you went from room to room, making a mental map of each one. Your father had left his parents’ room untouched, evident in the fact that your grandmother’s glasses still sat on her nightstand. You smile softly, not lingering too long before you make it to the bathroom to ready yourself for bed. Everything in this house seemed to make unnecessary noises, the knobs on the sink squeaking as you turned them around to allow the water to flow out. After a confusing few moments of trying to find where your father had put everything, you were ready and back in your room. Your bed was a lot more comforting than you recalled, lulling you to sleep quickly. Not even the nervousness of meeting up with Danny could keep you up. Soon enough you were gone, dreaming of home. 

But the good dreams didn’t last as long as you had hoped. What started off as a pleasant image of your old backyard full of friends and sunshine was soon replaced with something much darker. You can’t quite make out the scene, but soon you were thrashing against the covers and slamming a hand to your neck. When you pull it back a speckle of blood is adorning your fingers. You realize with a groan that you had scratched the mosquito bite so hard in your sleep that it had begun to bleed. You had dark blood under your nails and you wince at the faint burning feeling that now plagued your skin. Shaking your head as if it would expel the dream, you lean up to peer at the alarm clock settled on the bedside table. 

Despite your rowdy dreams you had managed to sleep in well past when you had planned to wake up. Massaging your temples you remember your promise the day before to meet Danny at the bookstore. 

Ambling sleepily across the expanse of your new room you tore your curtains open to reveal another gloomy day. Somehow you managed to get ready with clothes scattered around several open suitcases and your vague remembrance of where your dad had put everything from the night before. Traipsing down the stairs, you peer into your dad’s office, mumbling a good morning that he barely acknowledges as he continues to work on something clearly more important. The kitchen is all but barren and you wonder how he had been surviving the week before you got here. You make a mental note to stop at the grocery store after the bookshop, and you leave a note on the fridge for your dad telling him where you were going.

The walk into town is uneventful, but you are shocked that you somehow remember how to get there. It’s like your feet carry themselves, subconsciously remembering this area from when you were younger. Your odd dreams from last night are distant in your mind, and you ignore the nagging thoughts that urge you to go back to it. Soon enough you’re standing outside Palmer’s Books and More!, greeting an always cheerful Danny. He had traded his sleeveless tee for a somewhat more appropriate outfit, one that you soon realized was his work uniform, yet he still sported his pearly white grin. 

“You okay? You look a little tired,” he teases, poking your side and earning a glare from you. 

“Gee, thanks,” you grumble, smoothing out your shirt and suddenly feeling very nervous, “I didn’t sleep great last night. Do I really look that bad?” 

“No! You look great!” He flushed, but came back quickly. “Mrs. Palmer is gonna love you, I swear.” 

You frown, anxiety coursing through your body. He pushes through the door and the two of you are immediately greeted by an older lady, who you assumed to be Mrs. Palmer. She was smaller than the both of you, her stature swallowed by the oversized white sweater she was wearing. Everything else about her seemed too big in comparison to her height. Her glasses covered half her face, magnifying her piercing eyes. She grinned at Danny, eyeing you suspiciously. 

“Hello, Daniel! You brought a visitor?” Everyone in this town was entirely too cheerful for you, you decided. 

“Yes ma’am. This is my friend I was telling you about! The one that just moved here.” 

You don’t have much time to wonder when he had had the time to talk to her about you specifically. You introduce yourself, leaning down to shake her hand. You are thoroughly surprised when she pulls you in for a hug instead, knocking the wind out of you. Danny stifled a giggle and you mentally prepared to kick him as soon as you were out of view from anyone who could chastise you for it. 

“Oh, you have no idea how happy I am to meet you,” she began rambling, “I knew your father when he was just a baby. I went to school with both of your grandparents. Well, it was just a tragedy when they- But, of course… Yes, that is simply the passage of time. I missed your family dearly, I am so pleased that you’re back.” 

Not knowing what to say in response to all that, you simply smile as she pulls back and wipes a lone tear from her eye. 

Was everyone in this town crazy? You wonder, as she leads you and Danny around the store. Despite obviously being here a thousand times before, Danny listened in awe as she explained the history of the store and where everything was located. She never once offered you the job, seemingly operating under the conclusion that you were without a doubt the newest- and only other- employee of her shop. Not that you minded in the slightest; the idea of a formal interview was much more frightening than whatever this was. 

“So… Can you start today?” She asks, wringing her hands together. She had a curious habit of pausing as she spoke, starting sentences and never quite finishing them. 

“Today?” you try to hide the shock in your voice. It’s not like you had planned much today besides restocking the empty kitchen, but you wouldn’t mind the mind numbing tasks. The job didn’t seem very hard, and not a single customer had walked in since you and Danny had begun your little tour. 

She stared up at you hopefully, and you felt your stomach twist. How could you say no? 

“Uh- Yes! Yes, of course, I can start right now!” You try to sound as excited as possible, eyeing Danny nervously as he continues to sport his all too familiar smile. Surely this wasn’t how real jobs operated.

“Amazing!” He clapped his hands together loud enough that you almost jumped, “I’ll come visit you after I get off and we can walk home together.” He bounces out of the store, waving at the both of you. 

Mrs. Palmer vanished for a moment, coming back with a name tag that she had hurriedly scrawled your name on. She explained how the cash register worked,  and although it was very intuitive, you were grateful for the extra explanations. The longer you focused on menial tasks the less time you had to dwell on everything; your new home, your new friend, your strange dreams. Of course as soon as she realized you understood, she vanished once again. 

Your shift passed by slowly, only a handful of people stopping by to purchase new arrivals you had never heard of. A few of them recognized you, reaching across the counter to hug you or shake your hand. You were almost ashamed to admit that you did not know who any of them were. Your theory that everyone who lived here was entirely too gleeful was proven even more correct with each passing hour. Despite the gloomy weather, everyone brought in the same cheery disposition, and as the sun began to set you wondered how you could ever fit in without radiating the same sunshine they all did. The store was mere moments from closing when the door rang once more, causing you to look up from the paperwork Mrs. Palmer had asked you to fill out as part of your unofficial application. 

This customer seemed different from the rest of the earlier visitors. For one, the grin that graced his face was nowhere near as ear splitting as everyone else’s. It was better described as a smug smirk. Secondly, the almost blinding paleness of his skin felt more fitting for this weather than the tan everyone else was sporting. He almost floated around the shelves, and you tried not to stare as his long fingers danced over the books. He chuckled at seemingly nothing, and you shook yourself out of your stupor. You hadn’t meant to look for so long; well, you hadn’t planned on getting caught. Surely, no one could blame you for being unable to pry your eyes off of him. You have never seen someone more beautiful. His long brown hair fell in slight waves past his shoulders, framing his nearly bare chest. He was wearing a black button up, opting to leave only the bottom two buttons fastened. His neck was adorned with several silver necklaces, and despite the setting sun he had a pair of circular black sunglasses covering his eyes; which you were sure were just as gorgeous as the rest of him. His face was nearly indescribable and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from attempting to take in every detail. In fact, every prior thought had left your brain; you were absolutely consumed by this man. You take him in again, trying to drink in every small feature that made him up. You slowly realized he couldn’t be much older than you. Once the haze wore off you were able to digest his almost boyish face. You were just wondering if Danny knew him when you heard him let out a sharp laugh at absolutely nothing. 

The sound jolted you from your thoughts and you suddenly felt the need to pay attention to anything but him. You fix your eyes on the old cash register, pretending to be extremely occupied with the amount of money in it when he suddenly clears his throat. You jump back, wondering how he had made it across the store so quickly when he smirks again. Any other person would have you rolling your eyes at their superior attitude, but something about him made you shrink back. 

“Hello. I was wondering if you had Candide in stock yet?” His voice was sickeningly sweet, as if his tongue was dripping in honey as he spoke. 

“Candide?” 

“You know… Voltaire?” He continues, pulling his sunglasses off to reveal a pair of striking ochre colored eyes. 

“I.. I literally just started today. Um, I could help you look… I-” You stammer out as Mrs. Palmer comes ambling out of her office. 

“Jacob!” She exclaims happily, holding a rather worn book gently in her frail hands. 

He slightly bows to meet her, graciously accepting the book from her and gently tucking it under his arm. 

“Thank you, Evelyn. How much do I owe you?” 

You couldn’t help but huff out in annoyance at his dismissal of you. For some odd reason you felt the need to prove yourself to him. He grins again, letting out a quiet chuckle you were sure Mrs. Palmer didn’t hear. 

“Absolutely nothing!” She waved dismissively, quickly turning back to her office. 

“Don’t be silly!” he called, pulling a black leather wallet out of his pants. He pulled out several bills, pulling her back and slipping them into her palm in a discreet handshake. “I have more money than I need and nothing to do with it.” He smiled sweetly, his pink lips stretching across his rather pale skin. His soft, yet alluring, voice seemed oddly familiar to you. Maybe you had met him before, years ago. It’s not like this was a very large town. Mrs. Palmer flushed, waving him off but still pocketing the cash he had handed to her. She waves a quick goodbye, fluttering back to the office she so enjoyed to disappear to. 

Yet, Jacob stayed put, only turning to you once you both heard the slam of the office door. 

“I don’t think I know you,” He whispers, his boots making quiet clicking noises on the linoleum floor. 

“I… Well my dad and I, we just moved back here. Um, I used to come here every once in a while though. My grandparents live here, or they did before-” you cut yourself off, feeling like you were telling him entirely too much.

“Hmm.” He hums as he flips through his recent purchase. He was much too nonchalant for your liking. Usually, you would prefer this kind of behavior, especially after spending a day interacting with some of the most cheerful people you had ever met. But you wanted, no you needed, him to like you. “And, you are…?” He inquires, and you quickly respond with your name. 

“And you’re Jacob.” You posit. 

“Mhm. Just Jake is fine.” 

Jake didn’t seem as fitting as Jacob, which truthfully didn’t seem to fit him very well either. He seemed like he belonged in a century much earlier than this one. The way he spoke, the way he held himself, he just simply did not seem real. 

“You’re not walking home alone tonight are you?” He wondered aloud, barely addressing you, and you immediately felt defensive. 

“No, my friend is walking me back.” 

“Good. You have no idea what kind of… monsters are lurking these streets,” He leans across the counter slightly, his face inches from yours. The teasing lilt in his voice only served to intrigue you more.

As if you summoned him Danny comes sauntering in, his usual grin fading as soon as he spots Jake. Jake had pulled back the second the bell attached to the door rang, and he turned gracefully on his heel. 

“Ah, Wagner. Nice to see you again,” Jake’s smug smirk was back, and Danny grimaced at his words. 

“Kiszka,” he grumbles, skirting past Jake. Jake glides out, and Danny follows him with his eyes until he is fully out of the store. “God, that guy gives me the creeps.” He shivered to emphasize his point.

“You know him?” you ask as you gather your things, shooting a quick goodbye to Mrs. Palmer. 

“I know of him. He moved here like two years ago with his brothers. They’re all really weird. Their younger brother went to school with us but he never really bonded with anyone. They kind of all just stick to themselves. Well, Jake goes out and about a lot, mostly at night,” He begins, holding the door open for you as you both start down the sidewalk and towards your houses. He glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot before continuing, “I kind of feel bad for them. No parents, no other family, just each other. But, they’re kind of… freaky,” he whispered the last word and you giggled at his reluctance to speak freely. 

“Don’t laugh! I swear, that guy is everywhere.” He glanced around him as if to emphasize his point.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were scared Daniel.” You tease him, nudging his side. But he didn’t laugh back. 

“I'm serious. I’d stay away from that guy, there’s something super off about him.” 

“He seemed okay to me.” You shrug, more intrigued than put off. “What do you mean they have no family?” 

“I don’t know a ton about the story, just what I heard from around. But… I think their mom and dad died a few years back. Maybe a car accident or something? And as soon as Jake was old enough he adopted Sam, even though they aren’t much older than him. I’m not sure how it works honestly. They live in this huge house just outside of town. No clue how they afford it, none of them work,” he scoffed, obviously annoyed by their mere presence in his town. 

You hummed, taking in all that Danny had said. And yet all you could think about were his striking eyes… and how beautiful his face was. You didn’t really care if Danny thought he was dangerous. From what you learned, he seemed like he had been through a lot, especially for someone so young. 

“I know I can’t control you, but just be careful, okay? He really gives me the willies.” 

You had arrived at your front door. The glow from the porch light illuminated his face, which was creased with worry. 

“The willies? I can protect myself, I promise.” You take his hand and wrap your pink around his, “Pinky promise,” you emphasize. 

He smiled softly again, squeezing your finger and reluctantly letting your hand go. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Can’t let you walk to work alone.” 

“Not with all those monsters, huh?” You tease. 

“Yeah, yeah. No monsters. See ya,” he calls, already heading over to his house. 

“Night, Danny.”  

With a sigh you heave open the heavy front door, waving goodnight to your father who was so entrenched with work he was barely able to acknowledge you. Trudging up the creaky stairs, you wondered how so much had changed in the span of twenty-four hours. With the prospect of a biweekly paycheck and a slightly overbearing new friend, living in this sunless town seemed slightly more bearable. Not to mention your meeting of a rather… interesting stranger. You tried to push all thoughts of Jake out of your brain, to absolutely no avail. Something about him invaded all your senses from the moment he stepped into that damn bookstore. 

You fall onto your bed rather ungracefully, shoving your face into your pillow and groaning. Barely a day in this town and you’ve already developed a slightly unhinged and rather unhealthy obsession with a stranger you barely just met. Part of you hoped that he would be a regular customer, and from his interaction with Mrs. Palmer, you were sure he would be. You’d be sure not to mention your secret hope to Danny, considering his reaction to the very short interaction he shared with Jake. Danny’s odd prejudice aside, he hadn’t said anything truly worrying about the man. 

You slept peacefully that night, no more strangely vivid dreams to plague your mind. In fact, when you woke up you had absolutely no memory of dreaming at all. 

Work was agonizingly slow the next morning. Even the walk to the store with Danny was surprisingly uneventful. It didn’t help that the entire day you had been hoping to catch a glimpse of Jake. Even just his passing silhouette in the street would ease the slight ache in your chest. You weren’t one to obsess like this, especially not over a man you didn’t know. But you longed to get to know him, to learn what made him so intoxicatingly alluring,

And to your surprise, and satisfaction, he did show. In fact, an entire week passed and he visited every single night you occupied the space behind the register. 

Nothing out of the ordinary happened. He would come in, speak to you softly, purchase a worn book, and leave the store as soon as Danny popped back in to escort you home. You had grown increasingly fond of this routine. Deep down, you assumed this is all you were going to get from him anyway. 

That was until Saturday night.

Of course, he caught you entirely off guard when he arrived. He glided in gracefully, once more at night, all while you were absentmindedly stocking a dusty front shelf. He cleared his throat calmly when you failed to notice his arrival, and you nearly jumped ten feet in the air at the abruptness of it all. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,”  He murmured casually, his voice just as velvety as you remembered. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m pretty easily startled,” You chuckle nervously, wiping your hands on your pants and turning to give him your entire attention. “Can I help you with anything?” You try to ignore the slight shaking in your voice as you fail to look him fully in the eyes. 

He had opted to forgo the pair of glasses he usually wore when you crossed paths, leaving his extremely vibrant eyes on full display. Once again he was wearing an almost completely unbuttoned shirt, allowing you to take in the expanse of his bare chest. He was close enough now that the barrier of  the front counter was gone that you could make out the dangly pendants that decorated his neck in extreme detail. 

“Maybe,” he mused, a pleasant look washing over his features, “I’m looking for another book.” 

“Yeah, most people who come in are looking for books,” you try to tease, failing to do so when your voice shakes slightly. “Anything in particular?”

���No. If I'm being quite honest I came in here to see you again,” he professed, grabbing a book and flipping through the pages before sliding it back into its proper position. “I seem to have failed to come up with a good enough lie in time though… I had more than enough time to.” 

“Honesty is usually the best policy.” You steady yourself, trying to ignore the quickening pace of your heart at his admission. He smiles widely, and you wondered if he could somehow hear the palpitations. 

“Usually. Sometimes it’s much more appealing to lie,” He paused for a moment, seeming pensieve, “I wouldn’t mind rereading something by Camus.” 

“You’re really into French literature, huh?” You ask, leading him down to the aisle where you were sure to find something by his requested author. “You know, most people come in here looking for a good romance novel. Maybe a really bad mystery. You might be the only person who’s ever seen this part of the store.” 

“I find that most people here don’t look that deeply.” 

You wondered if this had something to do with how people thought of him. Throughout your morning walks with Danny you had come to learn that he wasn’t the only person in the town that harbored negative feelings towards the elusive Kiszka brothers. You still couldn’t quite understand why. He seemed more than perfectly fine to you. 

“Ah…” he whispered, pulling a battered copy of The Stranger off the shelves. He blew the dust off the cover and turned it over in his hands. “I always enjoyed Camus' perspective on life.” 

“Really? So, ‘life has no meaning and death is the only certainty in life?’” 

“I said I enjoyed his viewpoints, not that I agreed with them. I simply find them entertaining. Death is never guaranteed, and life certainly isn’t without purpose.”

“So what do you suppose is the purpose of life?” You continue, choosing to ignore his claim that death isn’t everyone’s promised ending. 

“Isn't it all about creating your own purpose?” he observed, finally looking back up at you. He studied your face for a moment, and you felt overwhelmed by the sudden attention. You thought, for just a mere moment, that his eyes flickered down to your lips before they skirted back up to your eyes. You shied away from his eye contact, coughing nervously and turning back to face the shelf. 

“Very philosophical Jacob.” 

“Jake,” he corrected. 

The two of you stood in silence for a beat, and you were completely unsure of what to say next. You had glossed over his profession of coming in to simply see you, and now you wished you hadn’t. On a better day, with someone who was easier to talk to, you would have teased him. Maybe even mustered up the courage to flirt with him. But something about Jake terrified you.

He cleared his throat again, and you were pleased to find him looking ever so slightly nervous himself. 

“I was… I was wondering if you would like to go out with me one night.” The words lacked his usual self assuredness, which shocked you slightly. 

You tried to stop your jaw from completely detaching from your skull. Surely you had gone so far past the point of delusion that you were now hallucinating- rather vividly, you might add- that Jake was… asking you out. He seemed to grow impatient and slightly frustrated with your lack of a response, and yet he composed himself better than you could dream of. 

“Go out? Me?” You mentally punch yourself for not being able to come up with a better response. Your desperate need to make him like you only grew stronger with each interaction. You wondered if he knew how he affected you, and by the way you could barely look at him you were sure he did. 

“Preferably. I’d hoped I made that clear,” he laughed, and your heart skipped a beat. You wondered if his was pounding quite as hard as yours. He smirked again at absolutely nothing. 

“Um,” it was like you had forgotten every word in the English language. This was so thoroughly unlike you. Usually you had more than enough to say. 

Say something! Anything! 

Your brain was positively screaming at you in a voice that surely didn’t belong to you. 

“Yes. I would love to,” you say definitively, unsure how you had even gathered the ability to speak when he was staring at you so intensely. 

“‘Perfect. Tonight?” His tone was eager and you wanted to soak in the hopeful look that knitted his brows together. 

“I- Danny. Danny’s already walking me home tonight…” 

Goddamn Danny. 

As if on cue, he sauntered through the door of the building. He was less than pleased with Jake’s nightly visits, and he didn’t bother to hide it. He was never anything less than frustratingly punctual to interrupt your conversations. It seemed his slight distaste surrounding him had grown to near hatred. He always seemed to grimace when you brought him up, despite your attempts to not sound too interested when you spoke his name. 

“I’m sure he won’t mind walking home alone without you for just one night.” Jake’s usual velvety voice was back in your ear. 

You began to say something before Danny had fully made his way to where you and Jake were standing. You instinctively stepped away from Jake, not really understanding why. Danny’s usual grin slowly faded into a scowl, and you wished you could understand why he harbored such a strange resentment for him. 

“C’mon, I wanna get home soon. I think it’s about to start raining,” Danny mumbles, reaching for your arm. He was staring daggers at Jake while he spoke. 

“Wait- Just one second Danny,” you give him a sympathetic look, hoping he can sense that you need a moment alone. He grumbles under his breath and steps away, just enough that you can still see his tense shoulders as he leans against a wall opposite you and Jake. 

“I’m sorry, he’s just…” you pause, searching for the right words, “How about tomorrow night? I’m off, you can pick me up at home?” You suggested, worried he would hate the idea. 

“Of course.” He smiled as you rushed to the front, scribbling your address down on a scrap of receipt paper. 

“Beautiful,” he says, staring down at the smeared red ink, “I’ll see you at 6.” 

That’s all he leaves you with as he walks out of the store, not bothering to bid Danny a passing glance. You suddenly feel like you’re going to pass out as Danny turns to face you, the anger on his face replaced with a pleased look. He was always happy to see you. He gives you a moment to gather your things and you walk in silence for a while. You can tell he’s itching to say something by the way he’s bouncing around and refusing to meet your face. 

“Danny, if you don’t spit it out I’m going to go crazy,” you eventually announce, surprising so much so that he stops in his tracks. 

“I just… wanted to know what you guys were talking about is all.” 

He sounded like a dejected child, and any other night you would have laughed at his immature tone. But tonight your nerves were entirely too ramped up to indulge his antics. 

“He kind of asked me out,” you state matter of factly. 

“Kind of?” 

“Okay, not kind of. He’s- he’s taking me ... somewhere tomorrow night.” You winced, scared that he would… Well, you couldn’t imagine him angry. But you were more than aware that he didn’t like Jake, and he certainly wouldn’t enjoy you going on a date with him. 

To your surprise, he didn’t say anything. This was more than shocking considering he had spent the past few nights on a nonstop tangent about the Kiszka family. You learned about the three brothers: Jacob, Joshua, and Samuel. You learned about the big house that was occupied on the outskirts of town, the big house that no one had ever really visited. For someone who seemingly couldn’t stand the family, Danny knew quite a bit about them. You figured it was unfair that you knew so much about Jake, regardless of how true it was, when he knew nothing about you. You supposed that would be amended tomorrow night, though. 

Danny told you about the youngest, Sam, and how he had excelled in school. According to him, Sam was smart enough to be accepted into any Ivy League college. And yet, he stayed in this little town that had nothing to offer. You found that endearing, though you were sure not to reveal that insight to Danny. He never shared a single piece of information that would allow you to understand why he distrusted them, and you had begun to wonder if he ever had a real reason. 

And despite all this, he stayed silent. You had spent those earlier nights wishing he would shut up about Jake, and now you found yourself silently begging him to say something again. Even if he screamed, cursed you out, begged you not to go out with him. 

Why do you care so much? The little voice from earlier whispered in your head. You didn’t have an answer. 

Danny walked in stunned silence until he stopped at the last lamppost before reaching both of your houses. When he finally spoke it startled you. 

“I told you I have no control over you. It would be insane of me to want that. Look, I really just want you to be happy. And… I don’t really hate the guy. Just freaks me out a little. That’s it. Seriously.” Though he didn’t sound like he actually believed the words coming out of his mouth. 

“Thank you,” you start, shifting on your feet as you whisper, “I mean it. I know it’s stupid but… you're my only friend here. I wouldn’t wanna piss you off or anything.” You try to laugh but it catches in your throat. Why do you care so much? This time it was your voice screaming at you. “If it makes you feel any better it’s not gonna be anything serious. I'm only here for the summer,” you reminded him, much to his dismay. 

“Yeah. I know. Only for the summer. G’night sunshine,” he breathed softly as he led you to your door. 

You watched him make his way into his own home, but you stayed glued to the porch long past his departure. Staring at the cloudy sky that was beginning to pour down, you were able to make out one star that was shining a lot brighter than the others. You were too old to believe that wishing on a star would do anything, but that wasn’t going to stop you. You pushed down the embarrassed version of yourself that was screaming at you to not believe in something that foolish, and you silently mouth a single wish before heading inside and collapsing in bed.