#spoiler it’s usually dead organisms

[koranika]

I hate to be the one to say this but where do y’all think a lot of the nutrients in soil comes from?

i think it's fucked up that there are plants that decided they wanted to eat meat

[demigodofhoolemere]

Me through most of Boom: Wow, this is a really solid dramatic episode.

Me when Moffat needlessly sprinkles in anti-faith sentiments without specifying that it’s blind faith in bad things that the Doctor doesn’t like, which makes it come off like the Doctor is just against religion generally:

[atlabeth]

come on back to me - nikolai lantsov

summary: five times you save nikolai and one time he saves you.

a/n: if you've seen my thoughts as i read through siege and storm and ruin and rising then you know that i am deeply in love with nikolai lantsov and since ive finally finished the trilogy i finally feel qualified to write about him lmao. i actually don’t think i’ve written a 5+1 which is crazy so here you go. i wrote this in like 2 days in a spurt of inspiration and im absolutely in love with it, so i hope you all are too!!

title from you’re the one by greta van fleet

wc: 7.3k

warning(s): fem!reader, canon typical violence, siege and storm & ruin and rising book spoilers (i have not watched the show), medical inaccuracies, nikolai's volcra era, hurt/comfort and a happy ending (as usual)

Os Alta

It all happened rather quickly. 

One moment, you were in the infirmary mending a poor soldier’s broken arm. The next, screams were erupting everywhere. 

You and the soldier locked eyes, and you did a final bit of healing on his arm before you nodded at each other and darted off. 

The soldier grabbed his gun and went further into the palace, no doubt to find the royal family, and you adjusted the collar of your kefta before you ran out into the fray. 

Nichevo’ya had surrounded everything, attacking anyone they could find, and their shadowy bodies were like a void’s blight on the land. You knew the sight would be forever burned into your mind.

You knew the Darkling was going to march on Os Alta, that he would have to do it directly to use his shadow soldiers, but this was so much earlier, so much worse than you’d expected. Enforcements were meant to come from Poliznaya. You guessed that was off the table. 

You were fine at fighting—alright with a pistol and better with a dagger—but you were a Healer. You spent more time dealing with the aftermaths of battles, more skilled at setting broken bones and mending bullet wounds than inflicting them. 

Times like these were the ones when you normally questioned your decision to not hone your abilities into a Heartrender, but now you would at least be a dead man either way. Nichevo’ya didn’t exactly have hearts to stop and organs to manipulate. 

You had to get to the other Grisha. You had to make sure the Sun Summoner made it through this attack, even if it meant you wouldn’t. 

You broke into a sprint, trying your best to ignore the crippled and broken bodies in the carnage. Your instincts tugged against you, but you knew there was nothing to be done. If you stopped to help a dead man, you would soon join them. 

You nearly battered into a group of people from your speed and lack of attention, and you reeled to the side seconds before a head-on collision. When you looked up, drawing in ragged breaths in the one second of rest you’d gotten, your eyes widened. 

You were face to face with the royal family. The King, the Queen, and Nikolai Lantsov. The absence was glaring. 

“Grisha,” Nikolai breathed, and he grabbed onto your shoulders like a madman as his fingers ran over the embroidery. He might as well have been one, the way wildfire flickered in his eyes. “You’re a Healer? One of Alina’s?”  

You nodded rapidly. “Are you—” 

“I’m getting them to safety on the Kingfisher,” he cut off, “and she wants me to get that old woman as well.”

“Baghra—?”

“You’re a Healer?” the King interrupted harshly. Your heart stuttered—you’d never been directly addressed by the King, but you supposed circumstances like these called for different standards. 

“Yes,” you nodded. “Are you hurt?” 

“My wife,” he said, and your attention turned to the Queen. Genya’s absence had taken a toll on her, and the shards of glass sticking out of her side weren’t doing her pallid frame any favors. 

“Madraya,” Nikolai whispered, his eyes wide, “I didn’t even notice.” 

“Alexander—” her voice was ragged, her entire appearance pallid— “we’ve much bigger concerns.” 

“Nonsense.” The King’s gaze bore into you. “We have time. Heal her.” 

You screwed your eyes shut, your hands closing into fists for a moment before both opened and you nodded. “Keep an eye out, moi tsarevich,” you huffed, and you moved to the Queen’s side. Nikolai’s head perked up for a moment at your words, but it disappeared just as quickly as he adjusted his grip on his pistol. 

“Of course,” he said wryly. “Not that I don’t trust your work, and not that I don’t trust my abilities, but it would be grand if you could do this quickly.” 

“Working as fast as I can,” you muttered, ignoring the noises the Queen made as you pulled the shards of glass out with little care. Your mentors would be rolling in their graves if they could see you. 

“Vasily is dead, by the way,” Nikolai said, attention focused on the nichevo’ya all around. Thankfully, you’d run into each other in a spot relatively hidden from view. Hopefully it extended to shadow creatures. “I know you were wondering.” 

Your hands faltered for a moment, but it was hardly noticeable as you continued to work. He wasn’t wrong. “I’m so sorry.” 

The Queen choked back a sob, and the King’s face betrayed the slightest bit of emotion. 

“An awful way to go,” Nikolai muttered, more to himself than anything. “But fitting that he brought about his own end.” 

His parents said nothing to your surprise, but you stood up from your knees and nodded at the King and Queen. “She’s healed enough. No internal bleeding, at least.” 

“Healed enough?” the King repeated. “That is not—” 

“It’s the best we can hope for,” Nikolai interrupted sharply. “We’ve already wasted too much time out here.” 

He then nodded, grasping your hands with fierce desperation. “The crown thanks you, darling.” You’d never seen him like this—you’d never seen him fear anything. The Darkling and his creations were a good start. “I thank you, truly.” 

“Just doing my duty,” you assured, and you pulled a small container out of the pocket of your kefta, leftover from your work in the infirmary before it all went to hell, and pressed it into his hand. “She should be alright, but I’ve been slightly rushed. Rub this salve on her wounds when you’re out of danger just to be sure.” 

Nikolai nodded again, slipping it into his own pocket. “Keep our Sun Summoner safe,” he said. “Or else this’ll have all been for nothing.” 

You nodded. “With my life.” 

Nikolai’s eyes met yours, and something unsaid passed between you. Then his hands slipped off of yours, and he continued to herd his parents away from the chaos. You muttered a quick prayer to any Saints that would listen for their safety, and then you head off on your own way. 

2. The Pelican 

You thought either the bones in your hands or the wood was going to crack with how tight you were holding onto the side of the ship. Your heart was still hammering away in your chest—the adrenaline from the battle and Nikolai Lantsov’s sudden appearance and being shot at a thousand different times by a thousand different militiamen still had you quite shaken. 

You knew the sort of chaos you were in for when you made the decision to travel with Alina Starkov rather than stay in the White Cathedral, but you think you hated being in the air like this even more than you hated being trapped underground with those zealots. 

Someone called your name, and you turned to see Adrik a while away with wide eyes. You huffed a sigh as you reluctantly let go and hastened your pace to catch up with him. If he was sent to fetch you, then someone needed healing, and you couldn’t exactly hold off on the one thing you were good at. 

Adrik led you over to a corner of the Pelican where a large portion of your group of Grisha were gathered. Tamar was kneeling next to whoever was injured, one hand splayed above their chest, and you took a deep breath as you forced calmness to wash over your mind. 

“What are we dealing with?” you asked Tamar, but it was clear enough when he spoke up. 

“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” he insisted. “Just a flesh wound.” 

“He was shot,” Tamar said dryly, “and he refuses to accept its severity.” 

“So we meet again,” you said placidly. 

Nikolai seemed to perk up when he saw you, any prior frustration absent from his face as he grinned at you and said your name. “If you’re the Healer here, then I guess I’m not so fine.” 

“Am I ever going to be around you when you’re doing important princely things,” you said as you crouched on the other side of him, Tamar continuing to keep his heart rate steady, “or only when you’re injured?” 

“This is a very important princely thing,” Nikolai said. “I’m showing my soon to be subjects that I’m just like them.” 

“You were shot and you thought you were fine?” You let out a loose sigh and shook your head—it wasn’t worth getting into it. “Keep it steady, Tamar.” 

She nodded, and you reached out to begin unbuttoning his outer coat. He wouldn’t stop shifting around, and it made it infinitely harder. 

“Will you sit still?” you snapped. 

“I am,” Nikolai said. 

“You are not,” you asserted, and you undid the final button on his coat after a struggle, “and you are making this much more difficult.” 

“My apologies,” he said. “Usually women that are taking off my clothes aren’t this angry with me.” 

You scowled, only making his smile grow. 

“You do it yourself if you want to be like that,” you said, letting your hands fall back to your side. “I’m sure the rest of your soldiers will listen to a Healer.” 

“Ah, but none of them bravely threw themselves into danger for you,” Nikolai remarked. “I’m sure that earns me a few points.” 

“Points that you’ve immediately lost by being this difficult with me.” You crossed your arms. “And you did not throw yourself into danger for me—you were in the battle and you got shot.” 

“We came to save you all, and you are a part of it,” Nikolai said. “I’d say I definitely threw myself into danger for you.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Will you not even allow a dying man some honor?”

“You are not dying,” you said, “but you will be if you continue talking. Now take off your clothes and stop being so difficult so I can fix this up before you do die.” 

He tutted as he shed his jacket and worked on the rest of his clothing. Princes were apparently fond of multiple layers. “For a Healer, your bedside manner is remarkably poor.”

“Don’t worry,” Nadia piped in, “she’s always been like this.” 

“I have very fond memories of you healing my broken ribs,” Alina said dryly. 

“All of you are still alive,” you said tartly with a glance back at your fellow Grisha, “aren’t you?” 

“I think you made me wish I wasn’t,” Harshaw mused. 

You scowled again and Nikolai laughed. “That bodes very well for me, considering how much I seem to irritate you.” 

“You’re going to be fine,” you grumbled. When you turned back to him, he’d gotten down to his undershirt and unbuttoned it. Blood had spread across the white fabric, but apart from being shot, the wound wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. It’d had the chance to fester for a bit, but with Tamar’s aid it hopefully wouldn’t be a problem.  

You took a deep breath as you placed your hands on his chest—lucky as always, you could sense the bullet missed all his major organs—but Nikolai grimaced before you could even do anything. 

“Are you alright?”

“Your hands are very cold,” he said and you just shook your head. 

“How no one has wrung you by the neck is beyond me.” 

“Many have tried.” He flashed that smile again. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add your name to the list.” 

You ignored him, taking another deep breath before you closed your eyes. You felt your power within you, the tug you’d grown accustomed to over the years, and you focused it into a single point. 

You slowly worked on healing Nikolai, making sure you went from the inside out to stop any internal bleeding before you carefully wedged the bullet out with your knife. Surprisingly, he managed to keep his mouth shut for the most part. He watched you the entire time though, wholly unyielding, and it was unnerving. 

Nikolai covered up his pain remarkably well, but you still caught the slightest grimace when you practically stuck a dagger inside him.

“Do you always try to injure your patients more when you’re healing them?” he asked innocently. 

“You typically don’t make fun of the person fixing you up,” you said, and you held up the knife, “or the one holding the blade.”

“Surely you could’ve used David to get it out,” Zoya offered lazily. “Better than practically stabbing the King of Ravka.”

“I’m not the king,” Nikolai said. “Not yet, at least.” 

“And I’m not stabbing him.” You held up the bullet with your other hand, then let it fall to the floor. “I just didn’t feel like digging around inside him.” 

Nikolai picked up the bullet, and you frowned in question. He just shrugged. “To hold onto the fond memories of this battle and the kindest, prettiest Healer I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Someone snickered behind you, and you turned to see all of them just standing around—Zoya, Harshaw with Oncat perched on his shoulder, Adrik ignoring his sister to watch, even Alina and Mal were still there. At least Tamar had enough sense to stay quiet while she helped you. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you snapped. “It’s hard to focus with you all watching me.”

Alina blinked, seeming to come back to her senses. You almost didn’t blame her—she had so much on her shoulders, it made sense to just want to stand and stare for a minute.

“Right,” she nodded, and she gestured at Zoya and the Squaller siblings as she started walking across the ship, “Adrik, Nadia, I need you all over…”

Alina's words trailed off as she got farther away, and the small crowd dissipated to find duties to carry out without their Sun Summoner to indulge their whims. 

“Thank you for your help, Tamar,” you mumbled. “I can take it from here.” 

She nodded and went off to join the others—the controlled state Nikolai had been in dissolved as she let go of the hold she had on his heart, and the slight daze in his eye went away. 

“Are you always this mean?” Nikolai asked. You turned back to find him with that same unshakable confidence, same lazy smile even in the face of it all. It was no wonder noble and commoner girls alike tripped over themselves when he returned to Ravka. 

It was no wonder Alina fell for his charms despite the tracker by her side—he always knew the right thing to say to make you feel like everything would be okay, and in the midst of Ravka’s endless war, that was a valuable quality indeed.

“I save it for irritating princes,” you remarked. With a final flourish, his wound was sewed up, and Nikolai raised his eyebrows as he touched the newly healed skin.

There was another slight wince, but he still smiled up at you. “Excellent job.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Grisha handiwork,” Nikolai said as he pulled himself up from the side of the ship. “Especially the healing kind.”

“It would do you good not to get used to it,” you said. “You may not be king yet, but Zoya is right. I’d appreciate it if you tried to stay out of my infirmary.”

“Do you not enjoy my company?” he asked. 

“I don’t enjoy bringing Ravka’s only heir back from the brink after every battle,” you corrected. “You’ve got a lot more weight on your shoulders now, moi tsarevich.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your Ravkan. “Say that again.”

You frowned, wondering if you’d heard him correctly. Nikolai continued staring at you, so you sighed. “Moi tsarevich?”

He laughed, and that only soured your mood further. “What are you laughing about?” 

“I recognized it back during the attack but I didn’t fully think about it,” he said. “It comes out the most with your R’s. You’re not Ravkan, are you?”

You paused at his sudden subject change. “You were focusing on my accent when everyone was dying around us?” 

“Answer the question.” 

Your frown deepened. “I am in most senses of the word.”

Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Kerch.”

Your lips twitched. “Yes, but I don’t—”

“You still haven’t lost the accent somehow,” he continued. “At least, in how you speak certain Ravkan words. Is it Ketterdam?”

“Don’t you have better things to do than quiz your Healer on her childhood?”

“Perhaps,” Nikolai said, eyes twinkling, “but if you’re really my Healer, as you said yourself, I’m surely allowed to ask as many questions as my heart desires.”

“Your heart desires no more,” you said wryly. “I have other injured to attend to. Call if you find yourself actively dying.”

To his credit, he didn’t try to fight it. Just offered that same smile that weakened knees from the Kaelish to the Shu. “I’ll be sure to ring before I’m dead and buried.”

“Put your clothes back on before you do,” you said.

“Ah, but isn’t this your reward for putting up with the irritating prince?” Nikolai asked with a slight gesture at his chest. “I’d imagine you’d want to keep an eye on your handiwork.”

That sparked a rare smile of your own, and you bowed your head. “Moi tsarevich,” you said before you walked off.

You felt Nikolai’s eyes on you even as you approached an injured First Army soldier, and after the first few preliminary questions you couldn’t help but look back. 

When you did, he was gone. 

3. Monastery of Sankt Demyan

You sat on the Spinning Wheel, off to the corner so you wouldn’t be disturbing anyone, staring at your hands as you tried to ignore the thousands of things bumping around in your mind. You’d been on the run with the Sun Summoner and a smattering of other Grisha for longer than you would have liked, but you had to accept that this was what life would be like until the Darkling was either defeated or destroyed you all. 

It was a damning sort of fate, knowing what awaited you unless the impossible was done. At least it would be quick if the nichevo’ya tore you apart. 

You grimaced. That was one thought that would do you no good—if you’d made it this far, from Os Alta under the Darkling’s control to Os Alta under Lantsov control to the White Cathedral and now to Fjerda of all places, what was one more piece of the puzzle? 

A very big piece of the puzzle, of course, and there was still the intrinsic distrust that some soldiers—and even Alina at moments, flickers of it you could see in her eyes against her will—had towards you. You, like the rest of the Grisha here that hailed from the Second Army, served the Darkling until you’d switched sides. You wanted nothing more than to see the Darkling to his grave, for Ravka to be restored and for all of this to be over. 

But you had switched sides in the first place, and you knew enough from the looks of those soldiers—they still believed that if you could betray the Darkling, you could always still betray the Sun Summoner if given enough cause. 

You didn’t try to dissuade their views through words; it wouldn’t do any good. You just hoped the long hours you spent holed up in the infirmary healing the injured would. You missed Maxim if only so you wouldn’t have to do it all alone. 

“Vlachka for your thoughts?” 

You looked up, surprised to see Nikolai Lantsov of all people. You hadn’t held a true conversation with him since you healed him after his bullet wound. He’d been busy with princely things like banishing his parents and saving Genya’s livelihood. 

You were thankful for that, at least. She’d suffered too much at the hands of the Darkling and the King. 

“You’d need a lot more than that,” you said. 

He smiled. “I’ve got quite a bit. Have you seen this place?” 

You chuckled and shrugged. “Just thinking. About our next move, about the Darkling, about what will be after this.” 

“You certainly aren’t the only one,” Nikolai said. “Lately it seems to be all anyone can think about.”

“I’m sure you’d much rather have them thinking of you,” you said wryly. 

“Oh, there’s plenty of that going on as well.” Nikolai smiled. “An even balance, I’d say.”

You chuckled again. “What brings you here, Nikolai?” 

He shrugged. “I wanted to get to know my Healer.” 

You huffed a sigh and looked away. “Why do you call me that?” 

He was awfully good at feigning innocence. “Call you what?” 

“My Healer,” you repeated. “Your Healer. I don’t understand it.” 

“I like the sound of it,” he said. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it.” 

You felt your cheeks heat and you felt his eyes on you. “It’s not that. It’s just—” 

“Because I can,” he continued. “Would you prefer lapushka? Milaya? Perhaps babya.”

You scowled as you turned back to him, and you hit him lightly on the shoulder. “You should stick to the seas and the throne, moi tsarevich. Comedy is not your strong suit.” 

“I like it when you call me that,” he mused. “I like your accent, your voice.” He sat down next to you, mildly unexpected, and you hoped you did better at hiding your surprise than it felt. “There’s something soothing about it.” 

“I am from Ketterdam,” you said after a moment. “You guessed right. Born and raised. When my abilities started showing, my parents put me on a ship to Ravka with a map, some vlachki, and the clothes on my back. I made my way to the Little Palace, pleaded my case to the Darkling, and I haven’t seen them since.”

Nikolai was silent, and you fully turned to look at him. “You wanted to know more about me. That’s who I am. A girl from Ketterdam in over her head.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Nikolai said. “You’re a woman from Ketterdam in over your head.” 

You huffed a laugh, and Nikolai’s expression softened a bit. “Why did they send you away? If that’s alright to ask, of course.” 

You shrugged. “Being a young girl in the Barrel is bad enough. If anyone figured out I was Grisha, I would either be dead in the streets, indentured before I could blink, or worse.”  

“They thought it would be safer in Ravka,” he guessed. “In the Second Army.” 

You nodded. “They couldn’t have known any of this would happen,” you said dryly. 

“Do you miss your parents?” he asked. 

“Every day,” you said quietly. “We sent letters when we could, but it was never enough. And those stopped after Alina left the Little Palace, obviously.” 

You didn’t need to recount the months of the Darkling’s madness as he searched for his Sun Summoner. Nikolai might have been Sturmhond at the time, but you didn’t doubt that he had contacts in the Little Palace. You didn’t exactly want to remember it either. 

“How about this?” Nikolai adjusted his position so he could look right at you, those smart hazel eyes enough to get lost in. You forced yourself not to. “On the slim chance that we make it through these next few weeks, when the dust has settled and I’m officially King, I’ll charter a ship for you back to Ketterdam.” 

Your head whirled back to look at him, eyes widening. There was no sign in his eyes of a false promise, only that soft smile, charming as ever. You had the sudden, misplaced urge to wind your fingers into those blonde curls and kiss him. 

“You’d do that for me?” 

He nodded. “Of course. Only the best for my Healer, right?” 

That got a laugh out of you, but the heat rose to your cheeks all the same. “That would be incredible, Nikolai. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

He looked—gazed— at you for a touch longer than usual before he spoke again. 

“There’s going to be a meteor shower later tonight,” Nikolai said. “One of my crew figured it out—he’s very fond of the sky, and he told me it would be… quite the sight.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. Was he—

“I’d like to watch it with you,” Nikolai continued. “Of course, I have to put on a display with Alina, but after that,” he looked over at you, hazel eyes gleaming, “I’d like to spend the night with you.” 

It took a moment for your brain to fully process his words. “Moi tsarevich, are… you asking me on a— a date?” 

“Just Nikolai, please,” he said with a grin. “And yes, I am.” 

It seemed so trivial in the scheme of things. You were leading an impossible battle against the Darkling, and as a traitor to his throne, you would end up dead or worse if he caught you. The near entirety of the Second Army was dead, friends you’d grown up and honed your power alongside with ripped apart by nichevo’ya. Your chances for victory relied on the firebird, and no one knew a damn thing about it. 

It was trivial. It was frankly ridiculous, for the prince— the King of Ravka—to be asking you on a date, especially when it was imperative for him to present a certain image with Alina. 

But for all the triviality and ridiculousness and idiocy, you found that you’d never wanted to accept something so badly. 

So you did. You nodded, smiled, brighter than usual. Nikolai seemed to have that effect on you. 

“I’d love to.” 

“Wonderful.” Somehow, impossibly, his grin grew bigger. Nikolai took your hand and pressed a delicate kiss to it before he stood back up—you’d never been so thankful for his confidence, because you found yourself at a loss for words. “I’ll see you tonight, darling. Try not to get into too much trouble without me.” 

You nodded again, and you knew you looked like a dazed idiot. The better half of a decade spent training as a Grisha and all it took was a kiss to your hand for your brain to stop working. You really had been at war for far too long. 

Nikolai could tell every thought—or lack thereof—in your head by the overly pleased expression he wore as he walked away, and your entire face burned as you bit back your smile. 

He knew exactly what he did to you. 

4. The Bittern 

Sergei sold you out. 

That son of bitch had betrayed you all to the Darkling the first chance he got, and he’d been rewarded with a quicker death than any of you would get. 

You’d been left fighting for your lives against the Darkling’s oprichniki, Grisha, and nichevo’ya alike, and as usual, you were hopelessly outnumbered. You knelt over Adrik as Zoya, Nadia, Harshaw, and David kept the crowd of enemies back, doing your damnedest to keep him from bleeding out from his nichevo’ya bite. 

His arm hung at a bizarre angle, and you didn’t know how you would tell him and his sister you didn’t think you could save it. You were sure Genya’s whispered words were the only thing keeping him even slightly calm.

By the time the Bittern was in the air, precarious but afloat, you were about ready to collapse. It had all been too damn much, with the Darkling and Baghra and Nevsky, and now the poor schoolboy lying beneath you with an arm you couldn’t save. 

“He’ll be okay,” you murmured to nobody but yourself, wiping beads of sweat from your forehead as you laid against the side of the ship. As okay as any boy who lost his arm to a shadow monster and went through what he just did. 

Thank the Saints for Tolya keeping both Adrik’s and your heart steady during that ordeal, because you were sure your panic would have won over. 

Everyone in your motley crew was injured in some way or another, and you were the only Healer. Soon you were back on your feet, pushing the horrors of the night out of your mind as you mended lacerations and fixed up bullet wounds. 

Every so often, your eyes would drift over to Adrik. You’d healed him the best you could, but it wasn’t enough. 

And then your mind went to Nikolai. 

Nikolai. 

In the chaos of the battle and the subsequent healing haze, you hadn’t even realized he wasn’t with your group. The Pelican had taken off before you all got to the Bittern, but Nikolai wouldn’t have left Alina on her own after all he’d done to ensure her safety. 

You were almost too scared to ask, but you did anyway. 

“Alina,” you asked, slightly surprised at the sound of your voice in the silence of the night, “where’s Nikolai?” 

Her eyes were unfocused, arms crossed around her midsection for warmth despite the light that glowed beneath her skin. “The Darkling,” she murmured. 

“Wh— what did he do to him?” you continued. “What in the Saints’ name happened to him, Alina?” 

“He ruined him,” she whispered. “He turned him into a monster.” The look on Alina’s face broke you into even smaller pieces. “He turned him into a monster all because Nikolai dared to stand against him. He’s gone.” 

Your grip tightened on the side of the ship as she explained what she had to watch, and your knees threatened to buckle. 

Maybe it was stupid, but you hadn’t even realized you cared this much about the prince. The king, you had to keep reminding yourself. But the thought of him hurt—a hurt that you couldn’t heal—it tore your heart to shreds. 

Only last night you were laying on a blanket next to him, staring up at the meteor shower through the glass dome. He’d never looked more beautiful than he did then, with the streaks of light illuminating his handsome features and those hazel eyes you’d grown to appreciate. 

Few words had passed between the two of you, but once Nikolai had taken your hand in his, neither of you let go for the remainder of the night. That urge to kiss him came back in spades, but you never acted on it. 

Saints, you wished you had. 

“Do you think you can heal him?” Your voice sounded oddly foreign, but you didn’t even feel like you were in your body. Like you were watching it all happen from above, because this couldn’t have been happening. Not to Nikolai— to your Nikolai. 

You were his Healer, and he was your Nikolai. That was how it was supposed to be. 

“I don’t know,” Alina admitted, her tone strained. “My light might be able to help, but… but whenever I’ve used it against the nichevo’ya, against the volcra, I— it kills them.” 

Her voice broke on the last few words, and you wanted to hug her. Alina didn’t love him, you knew that much, but anyone could tell she’d grown close to Nikolai over the months. She was hurting just as much as you. 

You didn’t. You found that you couldn’t do much but stare into the night sky.

He was all alone. Forced into a monster, and now he was all alone. 

It felt like ages before the Bittern finally landed, everyone’s teeth stained rust-orange and bones run deep with exhaustion. Everyone was still alive when you woke up the next morning, and after another check-up on Adrik, you went off into the woods under the guise of searching for kindling. 

Really, you needed some time to yourself. After what had happened—Sergei’s betrayal, losing even more Grisha when you had little to start with, Baghra’s sacrifice, Adrik and his arm, and— and Nikolai—

It was too much. It was just too damn much. 

You’d never gotten close like this to anyone before, never moved further than some useless flirtations and a few stolen kisses with various Grisha when you were bored back at the Little Palace, and when you finally did, with the damned future King of Ravka, this is what happened. 

Guilt tore away at you as you plodded through the woods, and you let the tears you’d been holding back all night fall. You wished you’d been there for him. You wished you’d kissed him. You wished you were strong enough to take the Darkling down on your own for what he’d done. 

The hairs stood up on the back of your neck, and you heard the rustling of branches. You whirled around to the source of the sound, taking a few steps to peer through the trees, and that was when you saw it. 

Your eyes widened and your heart cracked all at once. 

“Nikolai,” you whispered. 

You’d have recognized him anywhere. Despite the shadowy veins splintering across his chest, the wings furled behind his back, claws and fangs in place of fingers and teeth—he was still your Nikolai. His blonde curls remained, his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, even his clever eyes—even if they were black instead of hazel. 

The smear of blood around his mouth was a sharp contrast to it all. You wondered what—or who—had become his unlucky victim when he could no longer control his hunger. 

Nikolai didn’t move as you stepped closer. His dark gaze was unreadable and you wanted to sob for what the Darkling had done to him. 

“It’s me.” You continued to speak softly as you moved closer, saying your name in hopes of even a spark of recognition. “Your Healer.” 

His eyes followed your movements, his gaze falling down to your hands. He pointed at them with a clawed talon.

You held them up. “My hands?” 

You realized the blood around his mouth wasn’t the only bit of it on his body as your eyes trailed across his bare chest. There were cuts all across his arms and chest, most small but some deeper. He pointed at a thin scar near his abdomen, the only sign of the bullet wound you’d stitched up. 

He wanted you to heal him. He knew who you were. 

This time, a small sob escaped you, and your hand flew up almost on instinct to cover it. You brushed the tears brimming in your eyes as you moved closer to him, and you gently placed your hand on his arm. You felt his limb stiffen for a moment before they relaxed, and you couldn’t help your small smile. Your Nikolai was still there. 

The thin cut vanished as you healed it, and you continued to do the same for the myriad of other injuries on his body. You felt his gaze on you the entire time, and some part of it was comforting. Nikolai was still there—his humanity was still there. This was the least you could do to make him feel the part. 

Once you’d healed up the last of his wounds, you felt the glow of Grisha power inside of you. Nikolai grabbed onto your hand the moment you’d finished, and you looked up into his dark eyes as your fingers clasped around his talons.

“We’ll figure this out, Nikolai,” you whispered. “I promise.”

The corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly, the barest sign of the old smile you’d grown to love.

And then he let go of your hand, and he shot up into the air. It took only seconds for him to disappear, but your gaze remained stuck in place. 

All you could think of was Nikolai’s dark eyes and the shattered shadows beneath his skin, the feel of his taloned hand in yours.  

You would find a way to bring him back. You knew that much. 

5. The Shadow Fold 

“For Saint’s sake— catch him, Zoya!” 

“You screeching at me isn’t helping,” she snarled, her hands held out above her as she summoned wind to break Nikolai’s fall. 

It was almost laughable, how Alina ended it all with a bit of stabbing. First Mal, then the Darkling—now Soldat Sol and oprichniki alike were glowing like human lamps around the Fold. The nichevo’ya dissolved with the Darkling’s power, the same thing that created Nikolai’s monster—you screamed in general when you first saw him falling, and then you screamed at Zoya. It was a credit to her growth that she didn’t slap you first. 

Thankfully, the updraft did its job, and he only landed in the sand at concerning speeds rather than very concerning. 

You ran for him without thinking, not even feeling the jolt in your ankles as you lept from the skiff onto the sands. You no longer had to fear the Fold—the various Sun Soldiers that had gotten Alina’s powers had done away with the remainder in no time—and even if you did, you would brave a thousand volcra for Nikolai. 

He looked so small, so vulnerable laying there in the sand, only clad in torn pants and a myriad of bruises. The last of the shadows receded when you finally reached him, and you didn’t try to stop the tears as they flowed freely down your cheeks. 

“Nikolai,” you whispered, falling to your knees in the sand next to him, “Nikolai, can you hear me?” 

You cradled his head in your hands, tears splattering in the sand around you, and then his eyes opened. 

His beautiful hazel eyes opened and looked right at you, his lips tugging into a smirk as he said your name. 

“Would you say this is an important princely thing?” His voice was husky, damaged from whatever dark thing that had taken a hold of him, but the usual lilt was there. “Or just another injury?” 

You broke into full on sobs, unabashedly and unashamed as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a hug. You felt his arms around you as well, and he rubbed circles on your back. 

“I had time to think,” Nikolai murmured, “and I think I’ll settle on lapushka.” 

Darling. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, and you moved away from him just so you could look at him, gaze at him, never forget his beautiful features. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

“I knew I would be,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I had you looking out for me.” 

“Stop,” you said, your voice watery. “I can’t keep crying in front of you.” 

“I think you’ve more than earned it, lapushka.” 

You laughed again as you shook your head. “How do you feel? Can you still move all your limbs?” 

Nikolai took his hand in yours, fingers intertwining with yours. His gaze didn’t move from you. “Limbs are fine.” 

You let your smile shine unabashed as you squeezed his hand, thankful for the lack of talons. “Can you sit up?” 

Nikolai visibly winced at the effort, but he managed with your help. “My chest hurts quite a bit.” 

“You’ve definitely broken some ribs,” you murmured, “but it’s nothing I can’t fix up.” 

“There’s nothing you can’t fix,” Nikolai said. 

“Careful with all the praise. I might get used to it.” 

“Good.” 

You glanced over to see Tolya and Zoya moving across the sand towards you and you looked back at Nikolai. 

“We’re going to get you back on the skiff, Nikolai,” you said. “I’ll get you healed up and then we’ll get you some clothes. Alright?” 

“I told you,” Nikolai said, “this is your reward for putting up with the irritating prince.” 

“That was for the prince,” you said, running a hand through his blonde curls to untangle them. “My reward for putting up with irritating kings is to make sure they’re clothed and healed.” 

His smile shone brighter than anything Alina could conjure up. 

The Darkling’s Skiff 

You ended up below deck with Nikolai, Tolya, an unconscious Alina and Mal, and the Darkling’s body. It normally wouldn’t have been a cheery atmosphere, but you were just thankful to be alive after all you’d done. Thankful that Nikolai was alive and himself and that the Darkling was dead. 

A First Army uniform was folded next to Nikolai’s makeshift cot where you sat next to him, and Tolya’s companionable silence was appreciated as he stayed by Alina and Mal to ensure they stayed alive. 

“You broke a few ribs in your fall,” you murmured, your hands placed on his chest, “but overall, I’d say you made out pretty well.” 

“Yes,” Nikolai said wryly, looking at his hands. Faint black lines ran across each of his fingers, where claws had torn through his skin. Though the other shadowy marks had faded, these appeared to be permanent. “Pretty well.” 

“You know what I mean, Nikolai.” You moved your hand over his ribs and focused your power—by the slight grimace on his face, the itch that came along with Grisha healing, you knew they were mending back together. “You’re still alive. You’re you again. That means everything.” 

“And your hands are still freakishly cold,” he mused. You smiled. 

A moment passed before he spoke again. 

“You know,” Nikolai said, and you felt his eyes on you again, “I remember everything. Everything that I did when I was that… that thing.” 

Your throat bobbed, but you nodded, encouraging him on. 

“I went to you,” he said, “and… you helped me. You weren’t afraid—you understood what I meant, and you healed me.” 

“Of course I did,” you said softly. A smile tugged at your lips. “I am your Healer, after all.” 

Nikolai placed his hand over one of yours, and your power wavered for a moment as your heart stuttered. 

“One of your ribs is still broken, Nikolai,” you said. “I have to—” 

“I love you,” he interrupted. Your eyes snapped to him, and you thought you misheard him. 

“What?” 

“I love you,” he repeated, as if it came as easily to him as breathing. “Forgive me for the lack of ballads and sonnets on how to express it—I plan to remedy that as soon as we’re back in Os Alta. But I love you, and it’s the one thing I’m sure of at this moment.” 

You continued to stare at him, as if you’d suddenly forgotten how to speak. Nikolai was no Corporalnik, but you were sure he could hear how loudly your heart was beating. 

“It’s alright if you don’t feel the same,” Nikolai said, “or if you’re not ready. I’m a very patient man.” 

It was like your limbs had suddenly regained the ability to move, because something clicked in your mind. You took his face in your hands and you kissed him with a brazen fierceness you didn’t even know you had. 

For a man with two bruised ribs and one broken one, he kissed you back with the same intensity, if not more. You poured all your fear, all your anxiety, all your worries about him into the kiss, reveling in the warmth of his lips and his hands and—

Tolya cleared his throat. “We’re nearly out of the Fold.” 

You pulled away as quickly as it had started, Nikolai looking very pleased with himself as you fixed the collar of your kefta and looked over at him with eyes that were surely more pupil than iris. 

“Thank you, Tolya,” you said, and you cleared your throat as well. Good of him to ignore the two of you. Embarrassing of you to nearly forget about your surroundings when you looked at Nikolai. 

“Yes,” Nikolai said, mirth in his voice, “thank you, Tolya.”

You rolled your eyes as you turned back to him, your lips still burning from his kiss, and you settled your hands back on Nikolai’s chest. 

“No more interruptions,” you said. “I’ve got to get you healed and dressed before we’re off the sand.” 

His eyes twinkled. “Whatever you say, lapushka.” 

You had no idea what was next. The Sun Summoner died on the Fold, the Darkling’s reign of terror was finally over, and Nikolai was to be King. You didn’t know where you would fit in, though you were sure he would find a place. 

But you loved Nikolai, and by the Saints, Nikolai loved you. 

And for now, that was more than enough. 

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Trick or treat!! (Spoiler: it's a treat :3)

I had the pleasure of taking part in the Love Of My Afterlife server collaboration, celebrating Payneland's First Halloween — thanks to @manicpixiedreamedwins for organising!! And I had the absolute DELIGHT of illustrating the gorgeous, soft autumnal hug of a fic that is Season of Mists by @laiqualaurelote !!! Thank you darlin', working with you has been a joy and an honour 💛

Due to time constraints etc. I couldn't even do half the scene illustrations I wanted to do, so I may be back at some time in future with a few bonus sketches! In the meantime here's a soft little portrait of one of Edwin's several oh moments, and a snapshot of The Attic, his beloved and esoteric book warren!

Go forth, and experience the most perfect, gentle, lovely and loving autumn romance read this fine October day 🍂

Some art process pics (as well the Actual Size of the bookshop illustration) under the cut!

Started by very roughly sketching out the shop layout (I imagine it has a more warren-y shelf arrangement than this, though!) And doing a quick sketch. Of course then I liked the quick sketch so much I decided to try and recreate it but better!

Basic pencil layout (amazed at my accidentally decent perspective)

In with the detail sketch — trying to incorporate a load of esoteric little trinkets from the Agency! Although based on the fic I really should have honed in and done even more whimsical shelf decorations!

Sketch over the top in biro so i have something less messy that won't rub away to colour in

Basic colour with watercolour pencils. Looking at this stage makes me wish a bit that I'd not gone in as hard with the ink wash, as the colours are brighter and more autumnal, but you live and learn!

And finally, in with outlines and ink wash, aka my usual art style/medium!

Behold!! A very tiny and fussy work of art 😊

[finishwhatyoustarted-event]

Finish What You Started 2024 - Event Rules

[ID copied from alt: Event Rules on a blue background. ⬒ No new projects ◨ Any medium and any fandom welcome ⬓ NSFW inclusive, warnings must be tagged ◧ Tag #FinishWhatYouStarted2024; boosting/retweeting starts September 13th ◼ Event ends October 31st, 2024]

The goal of this event is to get things done that you’ve already started. We all have unfinished projects whose incomplete status haunts us. Those are what we want to tackle!

The structure is loose, as this is a multimedia event. While primarily aimed at writers, this event is open to any kind of creative fanwork. Fics, translations, podfics, fanart, animations, cosplay - if you started it and never got it done, it qualifies. There is no sign-up required. I will not assign beta readers for writers, but I can boost requests for those who want them! And I can boost messages of those who would like to beta read.

The mod is a danmei fan mainly, but your work can be any fandom. Maybe something you started before your current fandom excitement took over, or one you keep putting off in favor of compelling new ideas.

Feel free to pass this event info along! The more the merrier!

Further rules and clarifications:

Alt text is very encouraged, especially for boost posts or artwork!

If your work is NSFW, I will only boost it if it has appropriate content warnings. Spoilering images is recommended but not required as long as it’s tagged. Do not letter-swap or abbreviate content warnings. These are so people can mute them as needed. Example: "gore" not "g0re"

Remember Tumblr can mute phrases, but each warning should be its own tag as well as in the body.

Please use genderbend or genderswap for characters depicted not as canon genders. Example: "#NSFW #genderbend #gore”

Please use Omegaverse or A/O/B for that content. The original letter order is a slur against Aboriginal peoples and will not be tolerated here, even with the slashes. It, like other racial or identity-based slurs, fall under hate speech and are thus not permitted.

This account will post weekly morale-boosting messages and helpful resources. Every Friday, starting September 13th, will be Finished It Friday. All the completed works posted that week will be boosted together in a big thread, so we can celebrate your accomplishment!

Halfway-point check-in is October 1st. Final event deadline is October 31st. The last Finished It Friday is November 1st.

FAQ:

Q: Are original works acceptable?

A: This is primarily a fanwork-focused event. If original work is the only WIP you have to work on, it's certainly fine to work on it during the time frame of the event. If it is posted publicly when finished, you may tag it for boosting.

Q: Are there any restrictions on topics?

A: No, so long as your event # post is properly & fully tagged for content (see rules about tagging above). "Dead Dove" topics are allowed. Some submissions will be 18+. For me, this is less about the content and more about finishing it. 

The usual restrictions based on laws and Community Guidelines of course apply, so you may need to tailor how you post to which event space your interacting with. Twitter, Tumblr, and Discord all have their own rules. There are also some topics that are in poor taste to make fanworks around. The event organizer and mods reserve the right to not boost your work if they decide it is rage-baiting or trolling. They are not responsible for negative reactions to your works. Please be respectful of those you share a digital space with. 

Keep in mind that when I link to your finished work during a Finished It Friday, it may reach a wider audience than you may be used to.

Q: Are there any restrictions on media that can be submitted?

A: Machine Generated or "AI" images and writing are not permitted. If you are found in violation of this rule, you will be removed from the event. All images, writing, or other works must be your own.

This is a positive, shared space. Do not belittle other creators' medium of choice. Please no fandom/character/ship/creator bashing, and don't berate artists or authors for not being done with something, even if they don't finish by the end of the event. Also, please don't passive-aggressively send this event to the author of an unfinished fic you want to see done faster. 😥 Be cool, respect each other, and keep any interpersonal disagreements to your own tumblrsphere.

All posts and boosts will be crossposted to the event Twitter (finishwatustart) and Discord. Expanded rules, explanations, and Dead Dove guidelines can also be found on the Discord. (invite link in pinned post) 

Fics can be posted to the AO3 collection (archiveofourown(dot)org /collections /FinishWhatYouStarted2024_Fall)

Work-in-progress posts should be tagged #FinishWhatYouStarted2024 . If you complete a wip within the event, tag it #IFinishedWhatIStarted2024 for boosting so we can all celebrate!

Find more information and community on the Discord, if you want! Joining the Discord is not required for the event. As always, if you have questions, don't hesitate to reach out!

[syrena-del-mar]

Dead Friend Forever Is More Than Just A 90s Slasher Film Imitation

Oh man, I went in thinking I would just get a whole lot of gore and murder, and instead I'm getting a buttload of social class distinction, parental issues, mental health crises, organized crime, and a highly-likely revenge plot line.

The thing about Dead Friend Forever is that it starts unassuming, almost like an copy of all other teen slashers from the 90s. A group of friends, up in a cabin and suspects to a potential murder, become hunted one-by-one. A cliche slasher plot if I ever heard one. Until it’s not. This show is taking up a very big corner of my brain, so I’m going to delve deeper into it.

If you haven't watched episode 6 yet, spoilers up ahead.

Pulling inspiration from 90s slasher re-inventor, Scream

The first four episodes really set up the expectation that DFF was going to be another slasher, seemingly particularly influenced by Scream (1996). Scream was a turning point for slasher movies, signaling a shift in from the movies of the 80s to that of the 90s. It was the first of many movies to allow for the characters to be self-aware of what genre they're working in, where the characters knew of the slasher-movie tropes and attempted to do everything right to survive. Scream is also the first slasher to truly humanize the killers, and I don't mean by making them empathetic, but rather the killers were human, so they made human mistakes. Prior to Scream, the antagonists in slasher films were usually this supernatural villain that was just murder-hungry. But in Scream, the killers are all just regular people and would often make mistakes on their way to kill the protagonists, like a normal human would. It's why Scream was scary, the killer could be anyone, it wasn't this supernatural being. And even when you're making the right choices to escape, you still end up dead.

In Dead Friend Forever, we're getting so many of the same tropes that Scream had subverted. The group is working understanding exactly what they're facing; Fluke warning to not pull out the stake inside Por, Top wanting to split up in the temple while Phee, Jin and Tan veto against it expressly stating it would be like the horror movies, White not wanting to be left behind in the cabin. They all know what they shouldn't be doing while there is a killer on the loose. Also, it's why there's these funny little moments of the killer in DFF (i.e. having to steal the motorcycle to get back to the cabin). I'm not completely convinced that there isn't any paranormal activity or at least some type hallucinogen-component at play, but the way the killer acts is very human-like. Not to mention the parallel of Barcode (arguably the most popular actor in the show) getting slashed in the first minute of the show, eerily similar to how in the opening scene of Scream, Drew Barrymore (the most well-known of the cast) gets killed immediately.

The Benefits of Series Format versus Movie Format

The series format is where I think Dead Friend Forever is really shining the most. @wen-kexing-apologist made an awesome post on the directorial direction this show is taking, particularly in how since the first four episodes we have very little context as to why the killings are occurring or even the state of everyone's relationship, we're freely able to form opinions on each character. Similarly, prior to getting to know what happened to Non, I also thought Tee was the better one of the group. But here we are, two episodes later and I find him to be the most detestable of the bunch (which says something, when Por and Top are competing in this category).

We're seeing and experiencing the absolute hell that this friend group had actively made (sans Jin and Fluke that suffer from the bystander effect) Non's life out to be. In a regular slasher movie, especially ones that model themselves after Scream, we find out why the Killer is doing what he's doing to the victims in the last quarter of the movie, but the emotional value is a little skewed. The little amount of time we spend learning about what the victims did to the Killer usually still leaves you feeling at least a smidge of pity for the victims and some joy that the Final Girl made it. Here, the mass consensus is that each and every one of them should die.

And it comes back to the luxury of spending several episodes in a flashback to what lead up to the killings after the game of cat-and-mouse has begun. We're introduced to Non as an outsider, where everyone, but Jin, has already formed a bad opinion of Non. They already have a brutal nickname for him (read @forkaround's awesome analysis on the term 'Greasy'). They already established that he's an outsider in the classroom, but they make an active point of only referring to him as 'Greasy' and Non just accepts it. We see the friend group frame him, causing him to spiral twice to point of suicide, proceed to prey on him into a money laundering scheme, get him caught in a criminal investigation, all while already undergoing mental health treatment. We're given that time to know and see the pain that Non is caused, the manipulation that he is put under, and ultimately the devastation that they've caused.

Dead Friends Forever is more than just another teen slasher, because it has time. And it's using its time wisely, giving us bits and pieces of information in the beginning before delving into something more sinister than the killer on the loose, the original five. Run-of-the-mill bullying has turned into framing, assault and other criminal activity, even murder. And yet, while Non is the one that has disappeared (or died), the other five have been able to make a life for themselves without suffering any of the consequences. It's showing exactly what they have done to deserve everything that is coming to them.

Final Thoughts

Man, Be on Cloud is truly blowing it out of the water with this show. I'm actually a bit sad that it's only barely starting to get the recognition that it deserves, because in my opinion, it's just that good, BUT I also understand why it's had a sleepy start. It's in an place, a BL in one sense, but not exactly a BL in any other. I've said it before, but no matter what you think of BOC as a management company, the stories that they tell are unique and they have the artists that are competent enough to deliver. Be on Cloud has, allegedly, allowed the writers take the reign on the show, even if this means messing with the couples, so even more chaos is going to occur. This is, frankly, exciting to see and experience the story as they want it to be told.

I said this when I first saw Barcode in KinnPorsche deliver that heartbreaking cry, that boy knows how to cry. He was a newbie and his stole that scene. Now this is his third show under his belt and his acting chops only continue to improve, I truly can't wait to see what more he is able to do here in Dead Friend Forever. I love that Sammon is also enjoying what Barcode has able to bring forth in Non and that all her worries have been eased. I truly think that Barcode is going to have an incredible career ahead of him, whether in music or in acting.

Ta, on the other hand, also deserves his share of accolades. I wasn't sure of how to read to Phee in the first four episodes, but with the information that episode 6 has given us? The picture has cleared significantly and now, having rewatched his scenes, everything makes sense on why he seemed to be conniving. Episode 6 had some of the strongest performances and yet the biggest gasp I made was in the last minute. The singular tear rolling down Phee's cheek after having to perform the two-finger method, to have Non throw up the pills, and holding him in his arms? Quite literally jaw-dropping.

Sammon has a strong repertoire of shows, so I have complete faith that she knows what she's doing for Dead Friend Forever. I hope this becomes as much of a cult favorite, much like Manner of Death and Triage.

Anyways if you need me, I'll probably be stuck thinking about PheeNon for the next week until episode 7 airs.

[jazeswhbhaven]

An Unslighty Guy | React | SPOILERS

WELCOME BACK TO GEHENNA LOVELIES. Let's jump right in by me saying that I love the fact that Paimon is a social media content creator. It makes complete sense for him to be. This also reminds me that it's canon that Orias is also a content creator trying out facial products/makeup etc. I wonder if he links up with Paimon and Eligos at all.

Anywayssss he's filming for the meeting that happens every 5 years, and everyone is like yeah it's noisy around this time because of Sitri and Amy....lmao

and pointing out that Eligos follows Paimon's channel is very cute. However from Mammon's event it's possible that Eligos is older than Paimon (so he'd be the senior to Paimon's junior)

so ya'll remember when Ppyong was annoyed as fuck during Chapter 6 with all of those girls at the cafe wanting a picture with him and wanting autographs, etc. It seems the same thing carries over to Hell and he can't stand popularity but he's popular anyway. He's even rude to the fans and they don't even care they just eat it up and say they'll drink toilet water for him at this rate. I'm just like HELLO? lmao

Leraye is concerned, but Paimon teases him by telling him "when you're older you'll understand why they like him so much" and that confirms Leraye is possibly the youngest out of the Gehenna nobles. I really do wish they'd come out with an age chart or something to make this shit eaiser I STG.

Then here comes these two cuties, and Astaroth tries his hand an interpreting what Zagan is saying, but he got it wrong like completely wrong lmao

It's cute because he even gets bummed about it and has to pet Apophis for comfort and I'm just like AWH HE WANTS TO TRANSLATE FOR THE BAB.

I wonder if it's just something he wants to be able to do just because or if he truly wants to help Zagan and they are close like how Paimon and Leraye are usually hanging out together all the time.

But the meeting is about to begin and Ppyong asks if Amy is showing up and well....

Sitri is great at fucking acting because the way I thought he was being foreal for a second like how everyone thought Belial was dead at the beginning of Chapter 1 lmao

Amy came in like "the fuck I am, what's good?"

I feel like personally Amy would use any and every insult known to man to throw at Sitri because he just has that much of disdain toward him and I really am itching to know why that is. I swear it's probably over something super fucking petty or small.

So we're all like omfg Sitri just sat up here and wished death on this man. Yes. Yes he did.

But they give us some insight on Amy's importance to Gehenna's army. He handles a lot of the localized battles to make sure that there's no help needed from the capital. I'm not very familiar with battle jargon so as I see simply...he's the guy that handles the little stuff so the larger scale battles can be focused on more by the other nobles and their subordinates. This sounds way more organized and detailed than our little battles don't it? Since we only have like six characters to work with lmao

But he wears Satan's jumpsuit design and so do the others in his company, so everyone knows him that way. And it turns out he's quite well liked. Sitri too.

Is it just me or is Amy taller than Sitri? I need age and height charts n a o.

But as per usual the wording always throws me off, because "hot rough older brother" should only be used if it's the friend that's calling your brother that or something because if his peers see him as a brother but also hot??? idk whatever I'm thinking too deeply.

Point being. they both hot. they both do the thing.

So Sitri is quite pissed and pretty much ignores Amy's presence and asks Astaroth why it didn't work cursing Amy to die and it's explained that you have to say it more than once for the curse to work. (cool that Astaroth knows stuff like this). So Amy starts his little mantra of wanting the poor guy dead

Since I know what he sounds like, it's funny to try to read this in his voice in my head.

Sitri ain't never missed with his clapback. I swear he was just born with the ability to roast anyone at any given moment.

(it's funny because when my cat was in heat before I got her fixed she was LOUD asf like that shit would keep me up at night)

And even more so Amy tries to tell him he was gonna sit down anyway without taking orders from him and Sitri clocked him again by saying that those who cum early talk too much and those who don't talk very seldom. Out here calling him a one pump chump.

now how do you know which one he is Sitri hm???? care to share with the class??

Anyways, Satan shows up and sees the table all fucked up and he's just happy.

He really said he here for the chaos.

He is definitely here to start some shit and it makes me laugh because that's his entire focus. He doesn't even hide that he's trying to do it. He even told Amy to break the chair from stomping around and Sitri took it as Satan getting onto him. What's funny to me is that I think Satan literally just wanted him to break furniture so Sitri has something to say about it. I'm crying.

Amy was ready to go ya'll he told Sitri to meet him outside, square up, grab his guns, saddle up, the whole nine yards. Sitri is just like well no the meeting comes first and Satan and was like "ugh fine" and decided to pay attention to important stuff lol.

Amy apparently lost this round to Sitri because Satan forgot all about the fight and focused on the meeting instead.

Also from that screencap above I'm definitely not trippin' Amy is taller than Sitri and Satan like WHAT is his height hello?

SO it's five years later and the meeting happens again, and Amy kept that energy because once Sitri came through that door?

it was on sight. lmaoooooo

Also wtf Amy why is your bosoms so big and taking up the screen. Maybe that's why you're mad because Sitri's got the badonk booty and you don't because it's all in your chesssttt.

anyways

There's more banter between these two and the other nobles are just standing by watching as per usual until Ppyong genuinely wants to know why they hate each other so much if they were in the same class when enlisted.

It also sounds like Sitri knew Satan before that and decided to become his right hand devil at the same time. Hm.

So in other words "if they keep at each others throats like that they actually like each other they just don't know how to show it"

Satan even does the "hehe now kisssssss" move

Now this little CG is adorable. Astaroth pulled out his 3D glasses, Paimon has his camera ready...I love them so much this is hilarious.

Awh grumpy Paimon is grumpy. He wanted the picture because it was gonna get a million views lmao

And Leraye is right on the money, because how did Amy and Sitri know to turn their heads at that exact moment?

clocked 'em

Satan is thirsty now because he's blissfully unware that he almost made them kiss. Sitri wants to brew tea, but Amy is like "nah we ain't got time for that I'll go on a drink run <3"

Then...

they literally became my favorite gif

So while they have their stare down, Leraye saves the day by saying it's too hot to have Sitri slave over a hot stove making tea so having Amy go on a drink run is much faster.

So he orders iced tea (iirc), Paimon wants orange juice, Astaroth???

sir wth does this even mean? like? 😭😭

Anyways while Sitri was kinda ticked off that Amy went to go fetch the drinks instead of him, he didn't really fight it that it would be faster. Amy also appreciated that everyone had his back on this decision.

Which btw he got those drinks quick asf, like where did he even find all of this?

purified water from the golden river of tartaros??? Where do they sell that? cold ade sounds like gatorade/kool-aid or something and juice yeah you can get that anywhere and cold coffee for belial and Astaroth

oh no what about my bby Zagan :(((( no drink for him?

but he even got Sitri a drink....except...

He done got this man a bottle of fucking sesame oil dressing...two fucking liters of it.

"Don't be frugal" he says.

What kinda petty ass childish shit LMAO I'd literally pour it on his head for bringing that to me. Satan laughed though so I guess that's his kind of humor, and everyone else tried to not laugh either. Sitri ofc was not amused lol but I guess Amy won this round.

So it sounds like tomorrow we will FINALLY know why they hold these meetings and why it's spread out by five years each time.

So far I'm really liking the banter between the two. It's really something. it also makes me want to really write them together b a d l y. Like there's so many things I could give the reason for why they hate each other so much.

But that's day one and two ya'll. Thankfully nothing has me off track so I can follow each day at a time ^^

See ya'll at the next react lovelies <3

[mullermilkshake]

Pseudo Suguru Geto

SPOILERS

Appearances aren't always what they seem.

“Prison realm. Gate open.”

The giant square of skinless muscle opened, its singular eye wide open, showing you your fate. It glared at you, staring straight into your soul. It convulsed, vibrating like a quivering leaf.

“What- what is this?” You took a step backwards, unable to avoid its gaze, still and unnerving.

“It took so long to find you. You've been quite a nuisance.”

You recognised the voice, but it was laced with uncertainty. Would you dare to turn? Could you entertain the idea of any other eyes than the giant, ominous pupil sat in front of you?

You turned. “W-wait. No way. This can’t be-”

Suguru Geto. 

You saw him die, watching on from the sidelines, his wrist going limp and drawing last breath. There was no way he could have been standing in front of you now.

But he was.

“Long time no see.” Suguru smiled, his hand moved in a gentle wave.

Geto’s eyes were there, but then, they weren’t. They didn’t have the same love they usually had. He looked the same as he did when you last met, but the line of stitches on his forehead said otherwise. 

“It can’t be you.” You said, stepping back a fraction. “I saw you die I- Satoru killed-”

“Satoru isn’t the best at commitment is he?”

Suguru took a step getting much closer now, he was in arms reach. You could touch his cheek if you wanted. But this time wasn’t like those other times. 

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“No. Even up to Suguru’s death, he never gave me the unease you’re giving me now.”

He chuckled, fiddling with his forehead. “ You were always so clever, weren’t you?”

You gasped, putting your hand to your mouth to stop the sickness. The top of his head came away, clean and precise. His maniacal smile never faltered. 

“That’s exactly what Satoru Gojo said too. It seems I can’t fool everyone.”

A brain. His brain smiled with him, transparent goo dripped down his cheeks like it was being preserved artificially. It looked painful. You heaved and your hand clenched at your stomach in hopes to stop the chain-reaction. 

Everything was fucked. This thing was parading a dead man around you, a carcass of someone you loved. Your retching turned to sobs, you pushed him away but he stayed where he was.

“Where is he, where is Satoru? What have you done with him?!” 

“He’s in a safe place.” He paused, his smile still remained. “Now it’s just a matter of where to put you.”

Read more on my Ao3! <3

Minors DNI —-

[k0iy0]

Don't Leave(You Always Do)

Trafalgar Law x Reader

4,181 words

Fair warning this is pure angst/no comfort and highly self-indulgent.

Some swearing, spoilers, a brief panic attack, and grief/mourning. Reader is a Heart Pirate, has passed away and has female pronouns.

Cross posted on Ao3:

-----------

Summary:

Law hates you. He hates the way you smile, hates the way your laugh sounds. The way your eyes twinkle in amusement, how observant you can be. He hates it when you make him the butt of your jokes, something the rest of the crew wouldn’t dare, and he hates how easily he lets you get away with it. How easily you’ve crept into his heart, chipping at his walls and settling in, with no intention of leaving. You’re pirates, and yet, the way you gaze at him with that knowing look, as if Law was some open book, always being considerate of his space but somehow just knowing when he needs someone-needs you. Law doesn’t deserve it. He hates it, really. The vulnerability, your kindness, the truth.

The truth is that Law loves you, that he will always love you even when you’re dead and gone and Law hates that once again, the person he loves had died without ever hearing those words from him. 

Law hates that he never realized until it was too late.

-----------

This is a dream. Law knows this, he’s been through these so many times he can’t even count. But he doesn’t care. Not if it means he can see you again. Law stands there, just watching you, as if afraid moving an inch will make the dream fade. You’re as short as he remembers, something he’d poke fun at just to start your usual playful banter. He observes your features, letting you approach him instead. He doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you again, the dreams of you are fleeting and only return in what seems like once a year. In typical dreamlike fashion, the fine details are fuzzy, but he can still make out the things he remembers, like the curve of your nose, the kind look in your eyes, and the curl of your lips that he’s come to love oh-so-much. A smile you’d show only to him.

At first, the dreams were frequent, almost nightmarish in a way. Your death a fresh wound in his now empty heart, Law often woke in sweats every night. Sometimes he dreamt that you were alive, an apparition only Law could see and everyone thought he was crazy. You never spoke in those dreams. Other times brought him back to your death, how he missed being able to save you, missed hearing your last words. Your last breath. The worst ones were when he’d find himself back on that damned snowy island, body small and weak and cold-and so so utterly useless as he watches you lay in the bloodied snow surrounded by black feathers, eyes closed with a content expression.

At the time, he thought those were the worst. Time moved on, as did he, physically, at least. The days turned to weeks and weeks to months and Law found his dreams of you dwindling from every night to every couple of nights to a couple of weeks until it seemed that he only saw you in his dreams once in a few months. It was for the best, really. He had a crew to lead, pirates to take down, and a goal to accomplish. Things he’ll have to do without you from now on.

Law had thought it was over, no more dreams of you to keep him up at night, no distractions. 

And like everything that Law experiences, he was wrong. 

-----------

It was different, the dream. He hadn’t realized it was a dream at first, though there were signs he should’ve noticed. The unnaturally lit room, the washed yet bright colors, and the way the room’s layout and furniture never stayed consistent. Those were easy to ignore when he saw you, sitting so calm and at ease, chatting with the crew like you had never left. 

Law stumbles into the room, staring at you with wide eyes. You looked as young as he remembered when he first met you. You were even wearing the outfit before they got you your boilersuit. Law doesn’t approach, he can’t . He thought you were…? Were what? He doesn’t remember. Someone pops up from behind him.

“Captain!” Law looks at Penguin from the corner of his eyes. 

“Look at this,” Penguin shuffles to stand before Law, holding something in his hands. “It’s her new bounty!” Penguin announces, showing the piece of paper excitedly. Law blinks. Did you get a new bounty? Golden eyes scan the writing, an approving smirk on his lips. Your picture was the same, though Law's attention was on your new bounty. It wasn’t much, but it was certainly more than the previous.

“Or, at least, it could have been.” The smirk falls. What? Suddenly, both Penguin and the bounty disappear, though Law doesn't question it. Law glances at you, still chatting with Ikkaku(was Hakugan always sitting with them?), and you’ve yet to notice him. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off you. Something’s wrong and he doesn’t know what but he feels like if he lets you out of his sight then you’ll disappear forever, which would be silly because you’re sitting right in front of him -

“Captain, guess what I’ve got!” Shachi exclaims, blocking you from sight. Law is miffed that his view of you is obstructed but peers down at what Shachi is trying to show him. Law blinks. It was a bounty poster. Your bounty poster.

“Penguin already showed me this.” Law says unamused, looking at Shachi who only shakes his head in response.

“No, no, that was an old one.” Shachi corrects, straightening the poster and Law takes another glance. Wasn’t the other one fairly new? Why would you have another one already?

Law freezes, his brows furrowing at the poster. His eyes flicker from your new picture to your new bounty. Never mind the much, much higher bounty(two hundred million berries??), it was your picture that confused Law. You looked older, more mature. Your hair had grown a lot longer, and you had that piercing you said you’ve always wanted. Your cheeks were slimmer, eyes sparkling with a sense of maturity and wisdom, and if the picture wasn't wearing your signature mischievous expression that Law knew so well, he wouldn't have known it was you. You didn’t look like the young girl he had picked up from that island way back when. 

“Shachi,” Law starts, not taking his eyes off the poster. “What is this?” 

“Well, had she lived, this is what could’ve happened.” Law’s gaze snaps to Shachi, who, like Penguin, vanished into nothingness along with the bounty poster.

Law frowns. Something was definitely wrong. ‘Had she lived?’ But she was right there -

Law’s eyes snap back to where you were sitting, and he lets out a sigh of relief. You were talking to Bepo now(weren’t you sitting on the other side earlier?) and Law chides himself for listening to Penguin and Shachi’s weird talk. He makes to approach, but when he blinks he finds himself in bed.

Law lays there, heart thumping in anticipation as his mind races at the thought of you. He needs to congratulate you on your new bounty. He sits up, a hint of a smile on his face as he thinks about seeing you again, and wow he was so weird for thinking that something had happened to you-and then reality hits him as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

Oh.

It was a dream.

He stares at your bounty poster, your real bounty poster, that he had on his wall. It’s old by a couple of years but it’s not like you’ll get an updated one. They probably don’t even print your bounty anymore. There’s no need to, anyway.

It hurt to look at, a reminder of what he had lost. How he failed you. But despite that, Law can't bring himself to get rid of it. Not when it's one of the only things he has left of you.

Not when it's the only way to remember how you looked, your features would be lost to time otherwise.

Bare feet meet cold flooring as Law swallows the bitter disappointment and anguish, standing to his feet. 

That… was new. And it felt so real. Law sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. He rubs his face, his groans muffled by his hands. He thought he was done with these dreams of you, and now he’s dreaming that you’re still alive and well as if nothing happened and it’s making him so goddamn hopeful and-

It’s a cruel joke, that’s what it is.

A cruel, fucking joke.

Law resumes his day as if nothing happened, and it isn’t another few months when the dream and hurt have faded that it repeats all over again.

-----------

Like Cora-san, you crept into his heart, easily breaking down the walls he had meticulously built over the years, revealing the traumatized little boy who never truly escaped the horrors of Flevance. Of Minion Island. Made him feel loved, even if he didn’t realize it right away.

And just like Cora-san, you’re taken from him far too early.

-----------

Law wakes up in his bed, staring at his familiar ceiling. Nothing unusual. He blinks and Law finds himself in his office, already dressed for the day. It’s fine, he tells himself. The days blur together sometimes. He takes a seat, there’s paperwork to be done and he’s been putting it off in favor of the alliance. A tattooed hand reaches for his pen but stops midway, brows furrowing. That… doesn’t make sense. Before he can ponder any longer about the oddity of the situation, someone bursts into his office.

“Didn’t I tell you idiots to knock beforehand?” Law scowls, hating the interruption. Golden eyes flicker to the door, glaring at the offender before faltering at their alarmed demeanor. 

“Captain!” Bepo cries out dramatically, winded from running to Law’s office. A furry paw grasps the door frame as the polar bear mink attempts to catch his breath. Law stiffens when Bepo utters your name. “She-She’s here! On the deck!” 

Law stands, and he doesn’t question how he’s somehow immediately on the deck, the bright sun shining down on him, yet he felt no warmth. He ignores it in favor of seeing you after so long. Law doesn’t actually believe it, because, well, you’re dead. He saw your lifeless self with his own two eyes, held you with his own hands, Law knows you're gone. Had he been a second faster, had he been stronger, maybe he could’ve done something and you’d still be with him today.

Maybe he could have said goodbye.

And so, while Law does not believe that you have risen from the afterlife in some way, he can’t take any chances. Not when he could finally hear your voice utter his name once more. Or watch the way your eyes light up when you see him. Law will take looking like a fool if it means having you back.

He huffs like he ran a mile to get to the deck, breath hitching when he sees you. You’re leaning against the railing, looking out into the sea, like you always do when the Polar Tang surfaces. And then you notice him, posture straightening as you make your way to him, eyes beaming at the sight of him, lips upturned into that beautiful and breathtaking grin of yours. Law’s chest tightens, feeling heavy and all of a sudden he can’t breathe , and everything hurts . His eyes shut, mouth agape as he gasps for breath. A hand shoots to clutch at his chest, as if it would will the air into his lungs and hedoesn’tknowwhattodonothingismakingsense-

“You okay?” Law looks up, realizing he was hunched over. He takes a moment, his breathing returning to normal. His hand drops to his side as he stands upright, refusing to take his eyes off you. He was fine. He always is when you’re with him. Law gazes down at you(did you always look this young?), not quite believing his eyes. Years have passed and you don’t look like you’ve aged a single day. You’re staring at him with that observant look, like he was the one who needed to be taken care of. Comforted. Law swallows the lump in his throat. There are so many things he wants to say. To ask.

“You’re dead.” Is what he ends up blurting out. That’s… not any of the things that he wanted to say. But you’re not offended, you never are. You simply blink at him, laughing that little laugh of yours(and it’s music to his ears if he’s honest) before responding.

“Well, I’m right here, aren’t I?” And you’re right, as always. But Law doesn’t realize your lips don’t quite match up with your words. “I’ve been here the whole time.” 

“Where?” He asks, because there’s no way he’s spent these past years thinking you were dead when you were right here the whole time . You tilt your head at his question, deciding on an answer. 

“I stayed at a previous island,” And Law frowns. It’s not an acceptable answer, you can’t just leave (or, well, stay behind) and not say anything . “I needed some time to myself.” 

“Why… why did you make everyone believe you were dead? It’s been years.” Law was confused. Everything you were saying made no sense. It wasn’t like you to do any of these things. 

You shrug.

“It wasn’t my intention but… it just happened.” He doesn’t care anymore. What matters is that you’re back. And for good. Law reaches to touch your face.

“Don’t do it again, alright? I-”

Law shakes awake. It’s dark, but he could see bits of the rising sun shining through the ship’s porthole. Law’s breathing is heavy. Right. You were back. Somewhere. Law should… he should go find you. Reprimand you for abandoning your crew. For abandoning him. He sighs, pushing the covers off of himself. Law freezes. This was not his bed. The faint sound of snoring makes Law’s gaze snap up. His blood runs cold.

Law was losing it. He dashes out of the room, not particularly caring if he woke any of them. He finds refuge in the bathroom-the only place of privacy on this goddamn ship. Shaking hands grip the edge of the sink as Law attempts to steel himself, staring at his reflection. He was pale, sweating and panting like he’d seen a ghost-a thought he scoffs at. He needs to focus. Doflamingo is right there , and he cannot afford any distractions right now. Trafalgar Law does not have such luxuries.

“Fuck this…” Law rubs his face, hands gripping his dark hair and the urge to scream, to just laugh at his own naivety and stupidity is strong. Yet he holds himself back. It was his fault, after all. Believing in an idiotic dream such as that -that you just… let everyone think you were dead for years while you lived some boring, mundane life on some remote island. 

It was stupid. This was stupid. 

He was stupid. 

…

You’re never coming back.

-----------

It’s hard. 

It’s hard knowing you’ll never get to experience what he has, to see what he has seen, to meet the people who helped him like you had wanted to all those years ago. And you did, whether you knew it or not-he regrets never telling you, never giving you his thanks. 

Sometimes, when it’s late into the night and Law has no work, no strategizing, no idiotic Straw Hat to distract annoy him, Law’s thoughts drift to you. To Cora-san. And he’s grateful to the both of you, really. Would the both of you be proud? Honestly, Law doesn’t know what either of you saw in him, to love him so deeply to the point of laying your lives for him, and he doesn’t know if he ever will. 

“Don’t ever attach a reason to the love you’ve received!!!”

Law smiles at that, maybe he doesn’t need to know the reason, if there ever was one. 

-----------

And now Law knows better, that it’s just a dream when he sees you. He wonders if he’s used to it by now, or if his mind is simply tired of the meltdowns he has every time he wakes up. It was like losing you all over again. And again. And again . 

Knowing better, Law doesn’t dare move. The moment he moves, Law wakes up and he’s forced back into the reality where you don’t exist. He wants this to last. There are things he wants to tell you, even if it’s not really you. So much has happened since you left( since you last visited his dreams ) and with every fiber in his being Law wishes you had been there to see it. See how far he’s come, how much he’s grown, how much he loves you . 

And so, he stands there, gazing at you with a longing that only intensifies as time passes. And you stare back, studying him like you always did-a supporting smile, and kind, understanding eyes. You were so young back then, all of them were, young and reckless rookies from the North Blue. 

At one point, Law had entertained the idea, only briefly, if he had said no. Left you on your home island, heading to the Grand Line without you. Maybe you’d still be alive. Coming home from work to your family. Would you have gotten married? Have children? Grow old? Perhaps you’d have joined a different pirate crew, you always gravitated towards adventure after all. But such thoughts were useless, so he paid them no mind, tucking them somewhere deep inside. 

Law calls out your name, voice soft and tender and so uncharacteristic of him but you don’t notice, or maybe you’re used to it, maybe he’s always spoken that way with you. You tilt your head, a sign you were listening. There’s a void of white surrounding the two of you, but the background doesn’t matter, not when you’re the most important thing here. 

“I missed you,” He murmurs, resisting the urge to just reach out and touch you. You never get too close in these dreams. Never say his name, not even his title, always referring to him as ‘you.’ 

“It’s been so long.” Too long , he thinks. So much time has passed. He’s sure you’d make fun of the way he ended up growing out his goatee and sideburns, or how he’s no longer that stupid teenager with voice cracks. You’d gawk at how much taller he’s gotten, how many tattoos he’s marked himself with, and in return, he wonders what kind of woman you’d have grown to be. 

Would you have grown your hair out? Cut it shorter? Law had always scoffed at the fact you could never decide. Piercing? Sure. Another one? Maybe not. Actually, maybe yes. Did you really want a tattoo or was it because you walked by the shop? Ah, that was a cute hairclip but you already have so many… With a dejected look, you depart from it(Law bought it for you as soon as you left the shop).

“Has it?” You reply, as if unaware of the future snatched away from you.

And the conversation continues, Law tells you of his journey, keeping out the grotesque parts of course. You listen like you’ve always done, and he rambles on, watching your reaction. You smile and nod your head at his words but you don’t react quite like he expects you to. Like how you would, if it was really you. And Law’s jaw clenches. Because you’re just a memory at this point. His memory. 

You can lie and lie and lie about how you’re still alive, still breathing, that you’ll be back soon, and that you’re simply away on some island or on some fetch quest of his but what you can’t do is tell him the truth-that you’re dead and gone, buried six feet under( with his own hands ), and that you’ll never, ever come back. 

Not like how he wants.

Your lies are the truth he wants but the truth he gets is nothing but his empty heart, your empty corpse, and an empty future without you by his side.

His memory of you can’t possibly comprehend the future you’ll never experience. Nor can it tell him the things that the real you never said. Not truthfully, anyway. 

Law stops talking, too caught up in his thoughts-too distraught at the fact that he’s in a dream chasing a memory of you like some goddamn addict and it’s so fucking pathetic because why can’t he just move on and every time he thinks he’ll be okay you come back and feed him those sweet, sweet lies and-

“Law, stop it.” He feels your hands(but there is no warmth) reach to cup his cheeks and he automatically bows down slightly to accommodate your shorter frame. 

This is new. You’ve never… you’ve never called his name before, much less cross the invisible barrier between you. And you’re looking at him with so much love and concern and it makes Law momentarily forget that everything is just a dream and suddenly it’s all too much- everything is too much and he just. Collapses.

His face twists into despair, gasping as he falls to his knees. His hand grabs ahold of your shirt with a vice-like grip like he’s trying to keep you from leaving again. 

“Please don’t leave. Just stay. Stay with me.” He pleads, and nothing can stop the words from pouring out. Nothing to stop his grief. He doesn’t even know when he’s started crying.

“I don’t want to go back. Not without you. Come back with me. Please.” He begs and begs and begs but he already knows that no amount of begging could ever release you from death’s embrace. 

“You know I can’t do that.” You kneel down in front of him but his grip doesn’t relent. He doesn’t want to let go. He can’t . Why can’t you just lie? Lie to him that you’ll go with him, to your crew, to your home. That you’ll continue to go on adventures with him, make up for the lost time until the both of you are old and wrinkled, and maybe you’ll settle on some remote island and live out the rest of your days.

“I love you,” He chokes out, and it’s embarrassing and humiliating because now he’s so much older than you than he was before and he’s stuck confessing to a memory of you when so many years have already passed and it’s just so, so pathetic , but it isn’t enough to stop him. “I love you so much it hurts-and I miss you, I miss you being in my life.” 

“I’ll do anything so just-just come back .” Law wants to touch you, hold your hand, pull you close and never let go but he’s afraid to push his luck when he’s already lucky to have you calling his name and be as close as you were.

“Let’s get married,” He blurts out. “I-we don’t have to be pirates anymore, there’s an island I’ve been to and I think you’d love it there. The people are nice and I’d like you to meet some of them and-and it’d be safe there .” He rambles reasons because there would be no Marines, no pirates, no danger. And even if there was, Law would be by your side. He can protect you this time.

He’ll give up his dreams for you. But what he doesn’t realize, is that you are the dream he has to give up.

He sits there hunched over and on his knees, clutching to the front of your shirt like it was a lifeline. It’s quiet, save for his sobbing. You don’t say anything, nor do you move to touch him, to hold him, to comfort him like you would have. Law glances up at you, vision blurry but still able to see your beautiful face as clear as day. His peripherals take note of your white shirt, the white void, and the unnatural white light that envelopes you. And if Law was some poet, he would sing about the symbolism of it all, but he’s not. It was just a dream.

“I’m sorry,” You break the silence, placing a gentle hand on his fist. “I wish I could-”

“But you can , just-just leave with me and we’ll, and we’ll be fine.” He interrupts, unable- unwilling to hear your rejection. 

You just sigh, like when you were sick of Penguin and Shachi’s shit, but the kind look doesn’t waver from your eyes. 

“I’ll be with you,” And Law almost perks up at that. “Just… not in the way you want.”

Law knows this, but it still hurts. He says nothing, instead trying to cherish this pitiful delusion with you. Silence surrounds the two of you, but instead of being comforting like it normally was, it is deafening. 

“Is this it? The last time I’ll get to see you?” Law asks, a sense of finality looming over the tender moment. 

You hum in thought. “Do you want it to?”

Law doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want it to, he wants to keep seeing you, doesn’t want to say goodbye but he honestly doesn’t know if he could do this anymore. 

The chance to say anything is taken from him, his body pulling him from the dream.

Law wakes up peacefully. There's no false hope, nor is there any cold revelation. He's already aware of the dream and what lies within, and he takes a moment to process it fully before it disappears to the back of his mind. His heart was heavy but a part of him also felt at peace, weirdly enough. He lets out a shaky sigh, a hand rising to rub at his face only to find it stained with tears. He frowns, wiping away at them before rolling over and burying his face into the sheets. 

It was fine.

He’ll be fine.

He’ll get to say his goodbyes next time, if there is one.

[moonyasnow]

Moony's TWST Vampire AU

Part 7: Diasomnia

Heartslabyul Savannaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia (you are here) Extras

(listen I know what a massive contrast this is— it's just the only official art which shows the entire Dorm together)

Special warning for this part! It WILL contain Book 7 spoilers! Such as: Lilia's past, Malleus' parents, Sebek's grandfather, and some Silver stuff

This is NOT ORGANIZED lmao Literally just unfiltered thoughts and ideas, with some short writing snippets only sneaking in by accident. Literal brainrot stuff

Also some thoughts will absolutely be longer than others I wrote most of this in like 5 hours in one sitting

It will be in 8 parts. First the dorms, and then a final one for my thoughts on some side-characters' places in this AU

Basic Rules of the Vampire AU:

A vampire is unkillable until they turn someone. As such, vampires are rare, and usually created on accident.

Vampires can't die of starvation. They can sure try, and by god will it hurt, but it can't kill them.

Vampires can drink liquids that aren't blood, though they get no nutrients from it, but they cannot ingest food. If they try to eat normal food, they just throw it up, their bodies rejecting it entirely.

They can drink any blood that is not from another vampire.

Malleus

Malleus was one of the rare few to be BORN a vampire. It is theorized that his family is the one which all current vampires can trace their affliction back to. Though older than all turned vampires in this AU, with the exception of Lilia, he is still considered quite young as far as pureblooded vampires go. Millenia before modern times, there were many born vampire families, though they have all since perished. It just so happens that the Draconia bloodline had some unique power which made them able to grant some small part of their powers to others— hence why the turned vampires stemming from the Draconia bloodline are some of the few traces left of the race of born vampires as a whole.

Him being a pureblooded vampire, and the last of his ancient kind— which humans, through witch-hunts and crusades and pogroms, hunted to near-extinction— means that he is assured to be the last. For even if, by some miracle, he produces an heir— which would have to be with a human, as all turned vampires are well and truly dead, yet a human and vampire having a child is still difficult— that child would still only ever be half.

It is…a crushing weight, to have to live with.

An unspeakable sorrow, so much bigger than one vampire's, never mind a human's, life. An entire history, come to an end. Lost forever to the hands of time.

And Malleus isn't ready to face it. So he studies. He travels across the globe to any ancient settings he can find with any hint of having been touched by his kind. All in order to gain more information to compile. To be closer to the faceless kin he has lost. Chasing the ghosts of ancestors whose names he will never know, or if he does, never be able to properly pronounce, for their names were from long-since dead languages whom no one could possibly pronounce accurately, the modern equivalents having changed far too much to still sound the same.

He cannot stop to ask himself 'why'.

Because if he does, if he questions if his work matters, he will question if anything matters.

He grew up with Lilia's tales of his mother, of his father, his grandmother, grandfather… Tales of them are all he has. While he doesn't need to fear Lilia reaching the end of his un-life naturally in this AU, he is still aware the day could come.

Ironically for the man with the longest life left to live, he is the one who spends the most time running from oblivion.

On a more neutral note, as a born vampire, his taste in blood is a lot pickier than that of a turned vampire. Unlike turned vampires, who can subsist on basically any kind of blood, Malleus has to drink the blood of mortals. And even amongst them, he has a preference for blood type.

Lilia

Lilia is one of the oldest vampire-spawn in the world. Perhaps the oldest. He is almost two millennia old at this point. And he watched the last Draconia fall seven centuries ago. He was turned by Malleus' mother, Maleanor.

Though in a way, because of it, Lilia blames himself for her death. Maleanor could be killed because she had turned Lilia. Pureblooded vampires can still be killed after they have turned someone. Because it is, in essence, giving away a part of their power to another. If that turned vampire dies, all that power returns to the born vampire. But the same is also true in reverse— at least to some extent.

So, while he isn't as powerful as a born vampire like Malleus, he is very close to it.

With Lillia being so close to many mortals' stereotyped view of vampires, he often 'jokes' about being a vampire with people he runs into at the concerts he goes to.

He's the one of the 'old vampire guard' to be the most open to potentially positive interaction with mortals. It took time, especially considering mortals in the past hunted his closest friends and their families to their deaths. It took raising Malleus, and later Silver, for him to realize— as he, through them, realized just how innocent children are, and their parents' actions have nothing to do with them— that the current generation of mortals shouldn't be blamed for what their ancestors did.

As the mass hysteric fear of vampires has long since died out, and the vampires known to be living in the Coral Sea aren't viewed with as much hostility as vampires were back in in his day, he has hope that things can change.

And speaking of the old days...

Back when he was a fledgling, it was considered a massive honor to be a turned vampire. That meant you were considered someone trusted by a born vampire— born vampires had naturally risen to the top of the hierarchy at the time due to their sheer power when compared to other species of fae. Because a born vampire turning you still meant that you now had the power to kill them. It was a mark of close frienship, that the born vampire trusted you enough to share their power and near immortality with you, and to be vulnerable because of you.

There was no such thing as 'accidentally created' turned vampires, as born vampires possessed much greater control of their venom.

Also! Vampires are just one species of fae, which in this AU I have decided are rolled together of the in-game races which Malleus and his mother and grandmother, Baul and Raverne were.

Other types of fae, like the fairies who take over the NRC Greenhouse in the Fairy Gala event, as well as the dwarves from RSA, are still fae, but not vampires.

Silver

Silver is the last in an old lineage of vampire hunters. Think, the Belmonts, from the Castlevania series.

The lineage was believed to have been wiped out when Malleus' mother died, taking all known members of the family with her before she succumbed.

He's around 5 years younger than Sebek, at least physically speaking. Because, just like the 'didn't drink the last drop of poison' metaphor I used in Idia's part, Silver was somehow grazed by a vampire as a baby.

But instead of doing what it did to either Idia or Ortho, it just put him in the same death-like sleep as Ortho, however for much, much longer; hundreds of years. Though as he was a baby, he never noticed any of that time passing. And as stated in Ortho's part, as turning children just isn't done, no one is sure why such strange things do happen in the rare cases it's attempted.

And miraculously enough, he somehow managed to fight off the sickness that would have turned him.

It's unclear if this means he's now immune to whatever pathogen turns one into a vampire or not. Silver hopes that isn't the case; he wants to become a vampire when he's fully grown, so that he can have more time to spend with his family, who are all vampires— not to mention more power to protect them.

Lilia wants to continue the tradition from his youth, of turned vampires being highly respected due to the close bond with a born vampire— Briar Valley's rulers— that it implies.

Sebek

Sebek is one of the few half-vampires to ever exist.

Or, well, his mother is a half-vampire. He is thus 1/3d vampire. In terms of power, it's about on-par with a turned vampire.

But he, Sebek, of the once proud Zigvolt vampire lineage, is nothing like those fledglings. He was born a vampire, after all.

The day Silver is turned is one he fears subconsciously. For what would it mean, for a mere human, to come to be considered on par with the great Lilia? Sebek obviously knows Lilia wasn't born a vampire— he was turned. But he is old…ancient, even. He was there with the Draconias during the fall of their society. Not to mention And in a way…him not being a born vampire, yet still having so much status in what remain of the vampire courts of old, gives him hope that he, too, might one day be considered great. Not a 'half-spawn', who, he once heard his mother recount from the words of his great-grandfather, 'doomed the race.'

Oh yeah Baul is Sebek's mother's grandfather in this AU. Baul's child had Sebek's mother with a human, and she, in turn, had Sebek with a human father. I had to make it fit with the timeline while also keeping Baul as fully vampire. I don't make the rules (I literally do—)

But at that point, if his mother HAD had a child with another born vampire— before all but Malleus remained— it would probably have ended with a lot of inbreeding to try to keep their vampire blood 'pure'.

"Perhaps," Lilia had once suggested to him, "the born vampires of old's unwillingness to have children with humans is part of the reason why they have been all but wiped out. You only exist because you mother, and your mother's parent, made an exception to that widely excepted rule."

Sebek wasn't— and still isn't— quite ready to accept that yet. He grew up glorifying the old days of vampire-kind, rather than Malleus who simply wished to collect and preserve any knowledge left behind to know something, anything, of his ancestors. Sebek idealized it as what he should be.

[linkemon]

Qurrel headcanons 1

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

Warning: Slight spoilers for Fontaine storyline.

Lyney

✧ This was definitely one of the most emotional arguments you've ever had in your life. When Lyney was brought before the court of Fontaine, you were sure of his innocence. You believed in him deeply and you knew he was grateful for that. That's why it hurt all the more when suddenly, sitting in the audience, you heard that he belongs to Fatui. It was like a knife in the back.

✧ He knew perfectly well that this organization led to the deaths of your loved ones. You mentioned it more than once and he never dared to utter a word. During the break from the trial, he tried to explain himself to you but it ended up with the two of you shouting and saying bitter words. You weren't as understanding as Aether. After all, you've known each other for so long...

✧ You needed a lot of time to cool down and think it over. Lyney tried to give you space but he's also a stubborn man. He took care to write down all the good things he had done so far to save your country and gave it back to you in the form of a letter. Maybe this will change your mind that not all Fatuis are the same. He wishes he'd told you everything right away but he doubt you'd want to hang out with him if he'd confessed so early in your relationship. He wanted too much to keep your relationship. Now he patiently waits for your forgiveness.

Lynette

✧ Your first quarrel actually happened the day you met. It was one of Lynette and her brother's first successful shows. She wasn't very professional back then. When you showed up with all your rational thinking, she had a heartfelt desire to strangle you. Who goes to magic shows and expects reality instead of magic? After all, that's not what it's all about...

✧ When right after the final applause you started asking aloud pertinent questions about the tricks they did then and enumerating what you noticed in the tricks, she couldn't stand it. She led you quietly to the back room when no one was watching.

✧ She's the type of person who doesn't raise her voice during an argument. Instead, she gives you a cold stare. That's why she only said a few sentences and you had the feeling that you would be dead just from staring. You accused her of cheating people and she accused you that it was not the same as magic shows and that you should not spoil the fun for others.

✧ She was sure she wouldn't see you again after that performance. To her surprise, you reappeared. Lyney seemed interested in your insights about their show. He wanted to hear them away from the audience to enhance the performances. So Lynette, albeit reluctantly, accepted that she wasn't going to get rid of you that easily. She must have seen you. Of course, it was always necessary to grunt something at you. It has become a kind of tradition.

✧ It took some time for you to realize that magic shows are not the same as lies. Lynette definitely didn't expect an apology from you one night after the show when she received a huge bouquet of flowers. You have never argued again since then.

Freminet

✧ This boy can't argue. Literally. Maybe it's because of his taciturnity or maybe just his personality. He bends very easily to your suggestions. So much so that sometimes you have to remind yourself how easy it is to influence him and convince him to do things he doesn't necessarily want to do.

✧ The only times you argue (although it's not the perfect word) are when Freminet really needs to get out of his comfort zone. He never screams, never makes a scene and is never emotional. Usually his cheeks turn red and he shyly suggests that he'd better stay at home. This is his equivalent of arguing. If it really is something excessive, you usually let it go but when it comes to ordinary life situations, you try to force him. His siblings strongly support it. You don't want shyness to take over his life completly.

✧ Freminet is very apologetic. Even for things that didn't offend you in any way. If he doesn't do it with words, he does it with gifts. Flowers from the bottom of the sea, a pretty pebble from the coast, screws from a shipwreck... He feels the need to give you little things as a form of apology for moments when he can be very stubborn in his closure to new and unknown parts of life.

Navia

✧ Navia doesn't like arguments very much. Maybe at most about what she should bake now. She tries to avoid conflicts with you as much as possible. Therefore, your first and most important quarrel took place some time after her father's death. This topic was very touchy for her.

✧ The woman wanted to discover the truth about her parent's death at all costs. Despite threats and information that she could become next target. You were very worried about her safety. Of course, she can take care of herself but the camouflaged attempt on her life tipped the scales. You couldn't look her in the eye because all you could think about was that she might never open them again and it was close to death.

✧ Navia is the type of person who is not afraid to cry and express emotions. That's why she shed a lot of tears during the argument with you. You rarely hear her broken voice and it hurt a lot. She understood your point but she wasn't going to change her mind because of the danger. She made it clear to you that she would do things her way and that was it.

✧ You didn't wait too long to reconcile. Neither of you likes to be in this unpleasant state. Especially since Navia's life was on the line and no one would want to disappear from this world in anger. None of you are afraid to openly admit your mistakes and apologize, which is why the case went wild and fast like a storm.

[that-house]

Hey so what are the magical girls like in your setting? Are their powers radiation based? What's their aesthetic?

this gets a little into spoiler territory but it's impossible to adequately describe the full extent of their deal without doing so, so:

magical girls get their power from their godhead shards, pieces of a dead goddess (the first magical girl) that are grafted onto their souls

the main benefit this confers is ontological invincibility: while in combat they automatically and unconsciously eliminate timelines in which their primary goal isn't achieved. the catch is that it can only do one thing at once: like, they can guarantee an attack will hit, guarantee their own safety, or protect bystanders with this power, but not all three at the same time. (i could go into more detail about this but i don't want to get bogged down in the metaphysics involved because there's still more to talk about)

they usually don't need to focus on staying safe, because they're almost entirely immortal. they don't age and can regenerate from damn near anything. for a magical girl, being atomized is at most an annoyance. they do, however, feel pain, which is their primary weakness: when winnowing away timelines with that ontological invincibility, the "path of least resistance" is whatever hurts them the most

the only real threat to a magical girl are other magical girls (given that the magical girls as an organization keep splintering off into opposing groups, that comes up decently often). besides that, a lot of the series is just concerned with how our protagonists cope with the horrors of suffering in humanity's stead (9 times out of 10 the answer is toxic lesbian sex dynamics)

the Generic Magical Girl Powers are strength, speed, durability, regeneration, and flight, but each one also gets their own Soul Weapon which grants a unique power. for example:

Heather's huge fucking ōdachi, Unyielding Dawn, lets her create invulnerable force fields

Lucy ends up with Perfect Serpent, a set of throwing knives that she hates, because the only thing they do is let her turn invisible and she wanted a fucking beam attack

meanwhile Lena, the leader of the Maniac Girls (one of those hostile splinter groups) has a mace called Death Halo that lets her control fire, turn into fire, and teleport between any two flames

VENUS II CAELESTIS: THE EVERFLAME (one of the Venus Bodies, more on them later some time) wields Fusion Chrysalis which summons a "small" and "dim" sun that warps space and gets bigger and brighter the closer you get to it, until it's just a real-ass copy of Earth's sun within 100 feet and then you die

aesthetically speaking, their magical girl outfits and Soul Weapons are made of the bones of that dead goddess projecting themselves into reality. the outfits have all those tropey frills and such that you'd expect but in a bleached monochrome.

the magical girls of Viscera Star are locked into a nightmare war that never ends, and for all their power they're still deeply and horribly human, with all that that entails.

[dvasva]

Tbh? I think the radiant emperor duology deserves more critique than it gets in its tag, so after stewing it over for a couple weeks and also discussing it with my friend, I have decided to do it myself.

So. Spoilers for She Who Became the Sun and He Who Drowned The World ahead.

First off, so nobody accuses me of hating the series, I liked the series. I'd say I'd give the first book a 4.5/5, I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I like both books. I truthfully skipped the fisting scene, it triggered some dysphoria that I wasn't comfortable with personally but I don't have problem with it existing in the book, it's good where it is, no changes.

No, my critiques come mostly from the second book, hwdts. Which sucks because I absolutely loved Baoxiang in it, it's a well known fact that my ideal type is pretty, really mean, characters. ('What about Madam Zhang?!!!???!? Shes mean and pretty!!' I hear you ask. Give it a second cause i will get to my beloved madam zhang) So, my critiques are mostly organized as 'The first part I didn't like in Hwdtw that signals the thing that became my biggest issue, the bits in the middle that i did like along with the bits that I felt didn't really work well, and Act 3 which is where my issues really were exacerbated.'

By the end of book one, I had a general annoyance but acceptance that Ma Xiuying was a bit of a weak character, and not weak as in 'dang shes a woman and cant fight' or any other sexist way you may interpret that, but weak as in structurally, she didn't really have as much depth as other characters. I thought she didn't have as much time put into her character as others. And yeah you could have a million character analysis essays over Ma and her place in the story and etc, but for me, her setup for the next book as potentially having conflict with Zhu or her own morals was the most interesting part of Ma. In general I think a lot of people tend to overlook this flaw partly because Ma is a cis lesbian character and the main 'love interest' in a book that is usually marketed to people as sapphic, which yeah there is certainly a sapphic relationship in the book but I think saying it's a major part of the book is really giving the relationship a load bearing wall ot isn't strong enough to carry. The Radiant Emperor Duology is not a romance, first and foremost. To describe it as a wlw romance is gonna leave people who read ot specifically for that reason kinda dissappointed by the end of book 2.

My big critiques didn't start until book two, and a particular scene, though. Ma, at the start of book two, was generally filling the niche of 'nagging wife' to zhu, which yknow, is a fine place to start from. I was a little disappointed there was no further discussion of Ma's disapproval of the morality of Zhu's actions, and in fact the dead child was pretty much entirely forgotten by Ma in favor of being Zhu's wife. Which, yknow, sure.

The Scene I had issue with happened (Spoilers once again) after Zhu finally captures Ouyang and imprisons him at her base of operations. Ma, dressed in her empressly regalia enters his room with the intention of being the bigger person. She walks in, looks at the stripped down and humiliated general who killed her father and famously is also really a women hater, and tells him she forgives him for killing her father. And then she gets upset and cries when the prideful general who hates women gives her a dressing down and taunts her and is like 'I'm glad I killed your father'? She nearly cries because Ouyang was mean to her (notably only cause he was mean to her and didn't gracefully accept her forgiveness, not because he killed ehr father) and runs off to Zhu. And Zhu responds with 'Wow, he's just a weirdo, everyone likes you and everyone in existance immediately knows you're a good person and you change people.' Which, my friend suggested before she finished the book, was a case of Zhu placating Ma and dismissing her feelings which would be an interesting dynamic.

Really my hangups with this scene come from multiple parts.

1. Ma' few character traits including being observant and reading people really well (a thing she's praised for in book 1) and having good social intuition are completely thrown out by her thinking being alone with ouyang and forgiving him would be a good idea and then her being shocked and upset when he spat on her forgiveness. And

2. Zhu's response is never once treated by the text as her dismissing Ma and placating her, and Zhu's statement despite never being shown to be true before and that moment being the first time it's ever mentioned, ends up becoming Chekov's moral purity by the end of the book, where the plot hinges on Ma being able to magically heal a damaged character's mind enough for Zhu to win in the end. Which I will get back to. There's a lot of other stuff happening between here and the end.

So, before I get back to Ma and her role in the story, I'll address some other bits from after this scene. Both problems and things I enjoyed generally.

Madam Zhang and her parallels to Baoxiang and her being the absolute queen of dissociating really was interesting (before act 3). She was a very compelling character who I completely understood and felt positively about. She had a way more interesting relationship with gender imo than Ma did, especially in book 2. I didn't really like that she was overwhelmingly shown having sexual villence done to her, that felt weirdly like a punishment. But, I did like her a whole bunch, and I liked the look we got into her head. She was probably my second, maybe third, favorite character in the whole book until Act 3.

I really, really liked Ouyangs dynamic and relationship with Zhu. The weird sexual tension between them, their weird kinda nonsexual but also kinda very sexual S&M relationship. It was somehow the most sensual, sexual part of a book that featured Madam Zhang having sex with multiple people, and Zhu going down on Ma, and a lot of other mentions of sex or scenes involving sex. Tbh I feel like, in a way, Ma was left to the sidelines for most of the book because Ouyang became the primary 'love' interest for a hot second there and the only reason Ma could get her spot back was Ouyang and Zbu's separation. Also, from what I've seen when people talk about this book, they always kinda try to express Zhu and Ouyang's dynamic as very nonsexual and nonromantic, as platonic mostly. And there is no inherent superiority of romantic over platonic, but I think to insist that it is only platonic, and not a strange swirl of romantic, platonic, sexual, frustration and relief, and a swirl of familiarity and vulnerability all wrapped into one, is doing the dynamic a bit of a disservice. And ther is, imo, very clearly a subtle hint of romantic intent and interest on Ouyang's part before he realizes Zhu has a body he hates.

Which is also another point I didn't like. Ouyang and Zhu's relationship end felt off. The entire bit with the pirates felt off, but especially how Ouyang found out about Zbu's body, and how Zhu reacted. I think Ouyang finding out second hand, from a combination of being suspicious and from Jiang saying it, was a poor way for that to be revealed. I think there was a better way for that to happen that woyld have felt more like a betrayl to zhu than this did. The fact that Zhu and Ouyang were so in tune and could see each other perfectly, but this one thing was a blind spot for both of them because of how unaffected by gender Zhu was compared to how overaffected by gender Ouyang was is a really interesting thing to explore, an interesting disconnect between two character's whose entire basis for their relationship is 'like recognizes like'. I think Zhu seeing it as a betrayl would have been more impactful if she had presented this informatuon to Ouyang herself and been rejected than how it went down. And, I think her not realizing Ouyang would be disgusted that he felt connected and felt a sameness to someone with a body he found grotesque and that he feared would have been more interesting for zhu, who views herself outside of womanhood and didnt really think that other people would not see her outside of womanhood, if she was the one who told ouyang herself.

Also, less importantly, think going into Ouyangs annoyance that zhu kept moving his target further away was a good move but it wasn't expanded on as much for my taste. I also really liked it when (spoiler) Xu Da dies, and that entire part despite some minir bits, was extremely good in that Zhu finally has tasted loss. She had, up until that point, been riding a wave of positivity, she was the underdog who won over and over again despite all the odds and despite her own reckless choices. So I did appreciate that everything went wrong for her at least once. that would have been, imo if other things were changed, a good place to end a book two in a three book series. Which will make sense as to why I mention it im a bit.

I also didn't like how Ma was nonexistant unless the plot was like 'ok we need to remind people that Ma exists.'

And there's of course other stuff but those are the main points of acts 1 and 2 that i wasn't fond of or that i liked.

Act 3 is a wholely different behemoth which can be encapsulated with 'I wish it was longer but also different' (courtesy of the convo my friend and I had).

My friend and I both agreed that we liked this kind of courtly drama game it was playing. My friend doesn't tend to like the structure or writing style of a lot of the chinese wuxia, danmei, or courtly drama translated books i read, so it was nice to know that the genre content isn't the issue for her there.

The biggest problems I had with the ending though was 1. I think Baoxiang and Ma had an interesting dynamic despite it being really rushed and how distasteful I found the entire concept of Ma being such a good wholesome goody good good person that she could change Baoxiang, quiet his demons and fix him in some way. That was annoying in an otherwise interesting dynamic. And 2. I think Madam Zhang's character traits and cleverness and all that were wiped away to make her inexplicably jealous of Ma in a way that I don't think fit her character and just served to fit a trope of jealous empress who hates the favored concubine.

So, here's my major proposed changes.

1. Ma gets sent to Khanbaliq extremely early on. Like, act one maybe after ouyang is captured early. This serves three purposes. A. Ma has something to do and is more present in the story. this could be a good xhance to let her actually feel frustrated or upset at Zhu in some tangible way that needs to be resolved or talked thru eventually. B. she gets more time to build a relationship with Baoxiang, whose entire defeat hinges on him having a strong connection with her. and C. Her absence in the other parts of the book feel less like she's being ignored or forgotten. It makes Zhu's lack of haste more than just a way to annoy Ouyang, and turns it into an interesting moral choice. Should she rush to Khanbaliq to save Ma or trust that Ma will be ok in favor of gaining power? Her lack of haste means Ouyang leaves, depressed, and she loses Xu Da, all while she doesn't even have the assurance that Ma is ok, she is truly at her lowest point with nobody with her. If Ma is in Khanbaliq and that's explored, then Zhu and Ouyang can also explore their dynamic without Ma feeling a bit like she is battling for Zhu's attention.

2. Madam Zhang is suspicious of Ma, or feels actually tangibly threatened by Ma. In act 3, Madam Zhang's anger towards Ma feels really out of place. She got exactly what she wants, she is empress, her emperor isn't interested in removing her from her position and her position isn't threatened by anyone. Baoxiang won't get rid of her, he won't demote her, he has shown zero sign of ever even considering it. So, why is Madam Zhang jealous of Ma? Imo, especially since she very clearly has dissociated into oblivion and has no love or affection for anyone anymore, and no real desire or motivation to secure her position further aside from maybe producing an heir to make sure shes taken care of after Baoxiang dies, there's no reason for her to be inextricably jealous of Ma. It kinda just erases all of Madam Zhang's political savvy and cunning into jealous, petty woman, and that sucks. If she was suspicious of Ma's intention, or Baoxiang genuinely expressed spmething that actively threatened her position, her hatred of Ma would make sense, but instead she hates Ma cause Ma is ugly and spends every night with Baoxiang. She hated rice buckets concubine cause that concubine used a lot of funds and competition genuinely made her position less stable. She needs better motivation for hating Ma.

3. As I mentioned earlier, Zhu needs to be the one to tell Ouyang that she does not have a dick. That's just all around better, it feels more like a betrayl to bare your secrets and be rejected, etc etc.

4. The duology should have been a trilogy, with book 3 starting when Zhu is at her lowest, ouyang is dead, ma is in khanbaliq, Xu Da is dead, a new guy is the emperor. This is where a book three should have started. in a series that has so many important characters, i feel like it needs more space. she's in a 10 gallon tank when really she needs a 30 gallon tank. Lots of it, especially towards the end of book 2, felt rushed and the extra book will absolutely push that back a bit and make it less rushed.

Anyways that's my critique of The Radiant emperor duology. Once Again, I liked the series, its one of my favorites i've read all year. I don't dislike it, and having a critique or opinion about something doesnt mean I didn't like the book or understand the book (because obviously if i understood it i would understand why its flawless). I liked it, there are things I wish were different, that's it.

[slytheringlambert91]

Doomed by the Narrative

Jason messed up on a mission, and like his usual dramatic self, blows it a little out of proportion and panics.

AKA 2800 words of Jason spiraling

TW: panic attack, dissociation, mild suicidal thoughts? (There’s a bit where he thinks he’s better off dead)

If there’s something else let me know

Fic below the cut, and here’s the link on ao3:

The wind sweeps through Jason’s hair, his helmet behind him on the roof. Gotham has an over abundance of gargoyles, some which are still stable enough to hold his weight. The ledge he’s in is small—more suited to teenaged him, but this was his favorite roof.

It’s tall, positioned where you can see most of the city.

He breathes deeply, head braced against the gargoyle behind him—looking at where stars /should/ be—arms resting on his knees.

He’d fucked up tonight.

He’d fucked up massively.

Dick almost died because of him.

/Damian/ almost died because of him

/Tick

Tick

Tick

The sound echoes in Jason’s head, his bones, his very being.

Why tonight, why this mission?

He should move, do something. Maybe warn the others?

He’s supposed to be clearing the warehouse with Dick and Damian, he should warn them, get them out. But he can’t move, he’s frozen, his mouth won’t form the warning.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Something slams into him, right before heat sears through him.

Dick’s groaning on top of him, taking most of the heat of the fire.

How did he let this happen?

He’ll never be allowed back now.

The bomb was far enough away to not kill them, but it still sucked ass.

He drags Dick up, tosses him at Bruce, and runs./

He can’t help but draw similarities to his favorite tragedies.

Running away, never looking back like Orpheus saving his wife.

There’s more, Jason’s mind is racing between the self deprecating thoughts and the analogies.

But the height of his perch, the way the gentle breeze brushes through his hair, brings him out of his spiral briefly. He can almost pretend it’s Bruce, running his fingers through Jason’s hair, soothing him after a nightmare.

That’s his Achilles Heel, his weakness: the way he craves the comfort of a family he drove away.

Gotham’s air could never be considered fresh, too smoggy, too polluted, but it’s home.

It’s /his/ home.

His home, which he may have to say goodbye to.

Everything he’s been working towards with the Bats, gone.

Gone in a single instant.

All because Jason froze.

It was a damn warehouse, they were locked in, and there was the ticking of a bomb.

A sick parody of his death.

Except

This time he wasn’t alone.

There’s no way they’ll invite him back now.

He’d tried.

He’d tried /so hard/

And it wasn’t enough.

Bruce doesn’t want him, won’t want him, /can’t/ want him.

He’s a danger, why would any father want him around their kids? Even his own father shouldn’t want that..

Jason can’t even keep his head in the field. All the work he’s done to reclaim his trauma, to prove he’s /better/ than that, failed.

Looks like he’s a long way from Prometheus, he’s never been able to reclaim his fire.

He’s still fucked up, still useless.

All it took was a ticking noise and a warehouse.

The circumstances were vastly different.

There were no chains, no joker, no /crowbar/—barring the one strapped to his back, now laying next to his helmet. Hell, he even had company! He wasn’t facing it alone, and yet he still froze.

Boots thump against the ground—clearly intentional, it’s the Bat after all—accompanied by the quiet swish of a long cape.

Of course, there are other bats with capes: Red Robin and Robin, Spoiler and Black Bat, pretty much everyone but him and Dick.

But with the weight behind the drop, and the fact that Batman’s cape has a distinctive sound—if you know what to listen for—all leads to it being the big Bat.

Exactly the person who’s arrival he was dreading.

He knew it was inevitable. Hell, he wasn’t even hiding, or running. He just wished it wasn’t the case. He’d wondered if Bruce would give him a day or two, wanting to be with his real children, to reassure himself they survived despite Jason’s fuck-up.

“Hood.” Bruce growls. His voice is low and dark, only spelling out the anger hiding beneath.

“I know. I fucked up, it was dangerous and reckless and I endangered everyone. If I say I’m sorry,” he’s not really, is he? Can you be sorry if it’s something you can’t control? “Will you spare me the lecture?”

He knows the lecture is coming, almost nothing is a big enough excuse to get out of the lectures. He may be resigned to it, but he’d like to at least pretend he’s not used to it.

It’s all he gets now.

/“Jason, you’re being reckless”

“You’re dangerous”

“You lack control”/

And on and on and on

He’s /sick/ of it. Yet he can’t yell, or fight, and god knows he can’t /leave/.

He can’t force himself to give this up, he can’t leave his family. Even if they don’t want him. Even if he’ll never be a true member again.

But was he ever?

He was never truly accepted. Not by Dick, not by society. Who knows if Bruce actually wanted him there or was pitying him.

He’s just the /poor, starving street rat.

“Are you ok?” Bruce’s low voice shocks him out of his thoughts again.

“I…am uninjured.”

Is he ok?

He’s not totally present, he wouldn’t know.

Or rather, he’s /too present/, and yet disconnected from his feelings.

His mind’s spinning, it’s racing and it won’t stop.

But there’s no emotion tied to the thoughts.

How can there be?

He’s been waiting for this moment since he started reintegrating back into the family. The moment where they kick him to the curb, tell him he’s not worth it and he never was.

He could still leave, he has his grapple. He could jump off, run away /again/.

He could stand and fight. Turn around, close the distance, and scream at Bruce until he’s hoarse, or it escalates to something physical.

His heart stutters at the thought.

He may love fighting, he relishes in seeing that vein pop out in Bruce’s forehead, the way his lips purse in displeasure, but he can’t do it tonight.

He can’t—

“—ood!” Apparently Bruce has been talking for a while. Interesting. “Jason!” That really startles Jason. Bruce has rarely ever broken his “no names in the field rule”.

Whatever it is must be important.

“Jaylad, I need you to answer me, son, I need you to breathe.”

Wait. That was him, wasn’t it? Bruce was calling to him? He was calling him son, breaking one of his most important rules, for /Jason/?

He turns his head, making eye contact with Bruce. He must’ve retracted the white lenses at some point.

“There you are lad,” Bruce’s voice is soft, he must’ve turned the voice modulator off at some point. “Can you come over here? I can’t get to you on that ledge.”

Bruce is crouching on the edge of the roof, arm outstretched to him.

“You with me, bud? I just need you to grab my hand.”

Jason can do that, right? That seems easy.

Bruce isn’t asking a lot.

Seems hard though. His limbs aren’t obeying him, he can’t raise his arm, can’t force himself to stand up.

He manages to shake his head ever so slightly, eyes pleading with Bruce to understand, to get what he’s saying without having to say anything.

“No? No what, Jay? Can’t move?”

Jason nods at that, trying again to force his arm to work.

“Ok, ok we can sit here a bit longer. How about you try taking some deep breaths for me? I’ll lead, just try and follow.”

Jason acknowledges Bruce the best he can, and his father starts the familiar breathing sequence.

Jason begins to feel his body again, he didn’t even realize when he stopped.

On his last exhale, he’s able to shift, bracing his hands against his knees and pushing up.

“There we go, chum. Take it slow, alright?”

Jason stands, keeping a hand braced on the gargoyle. For the first time in a very long time, his vision swims when he takes in the height.

“D’d?” His tongue feels heavy, mouth not quite cooperating enough to form all the sounds.

There’s a sharp inhale from the figure across from him. The swirling black against the—mostly—gray sky.

“I’m here, Jaylad, I’m here. You can do it, just come to me.”

His limbs are still sluggish, but he can do it, right? It’s just 2 steps. Two steps and he’ll be near Bruce, he’ll be with his dad.

But…

Does his father really want him there?

His thoughts keep coming back to that.

The endless circle of self doubt.

Everything about this situation points to Bruce caring about him. Wanting him back.

But does he actually?

Is this a ploy?

“Deep breaths, Jay, you can do it, I believe in you.”

Oh, his breathing sped up again, didn’t it?

Jason just needs to get to Bruce, take the two steps off the ledge and back into the roof.

He starts forward, breathing fast, heart pounding in his chest.

One step,

Just one more,

He stumbles and—

He falls.

Distantly, he can hear Bruce yell, see the black shape dive after him.

They say Icarus laughed as he fell.

Overcome with joy, with freedom, he laughed.

Jason…didn’t quite laugh, but how else can he explain the sense of calm, of peace settling over him.

This was always his favorite part of flying through Gotham, this falling.

The swoop of his stomach before he shot the grapple line.

He knows he should be grabbing the grapple, it should be instinctual.

It always has been. Until now.

What if this is how it’s meant to be?

Surely his family is better without him.

They made it through his death once, surely they could do it again.

He’s always been a Greek tragedy, doomed by the narrative, right there with Achilles, Patroclus, and all the other Greek heroes of old.

At least they were worth something, they were /good/ (mostly).

A force slams into him, knocking out whatever air was left in his lungs.

Bruce had caught him, Bruce knew what to do.

He was twisting them in the air, firing the grapple line in the same move.

The line pulls taut, yanking them upwards /hard/. He hears Bruce grunt at the impact on his shoulder.

It still wasn’t enough, they slam into the ground, with just enough momentum taken out if it so that the fall doesn’t seriously injure them.

Bruce takes the brunt of it, covering Jason with his body, his free arm covering Jason’s head.

Bruce groans, body twisting under Jason.

This is Jason’s fault.

Bruce is hurting because of him.

First Dick and Damian, now Bruce. Jason hurts everything and everyone around him.

He needs to leave. /Now/.

He shoves himself up, forcing heavy limbs to work, and stumbles off of Bruce.

He can hear the alarmed shout and Bruce scrambling to get up, but he doesn’t stop.

He /can’t/ stop.

He doesn’t make it far, his legs give out and he collapses back to the pavement. He can’t help the way he curls up, trying to force himself back to his feet and ultimately failing.

Heavy arms encircle him, propping him upright against a broad chest.

Bruce’s fingers find his hair, stroking through it soothingly. Jason’s muscles are tense, he sits rigidly in Bruce’s arms.

It shouldn’t be comfortable, and yet it is. It’s the most comfortable Jason’s felt in a /long/ time.

“I got you, you’re safe now. Everything we’ll be ok, we’re going to go home.”

Home.

Does he have a home? It sounds nice. He finds himself relaxing, slowly intending his muscles, breathing finally evening out.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jason is bundled into the Batmobile. Bruce never lets him go, setting the autopilot and then holding him tight the whole way back.

He’s starting to come back to himself when they pull into the cave. He can’t bring himself to worry about what that means, what his punishment will be for screwing the mission up and almost costing Dick and Damian’s lives.

Aforementioned brothers are pacing the cave when Bruce pulls him out of the car. Well, Damian is pacing and it looks like Dick is following him and trying to herd him upstairs.

“—just wait upstairs! B will bring Jason up eventually!”

Damian is ignoring Dick, and is the first to notice their arrival. The kid has one arm in a sling, and a couple visible cuts and bruises, but otherwise appears fine.

Dick is outwardly limping, his posture slumped as if compensating for broken ribs.

Jason can’t see the burns, but he knows they’re there. Because of him.

“You /both/ should be resting upstairs. It’s been a tough night.” Bruce cuts in from his position next to Jason. He’d been guiding Jason towards the med bay, keeping him close.

“C’mon, B, did you really think we’d listen? The only reason the others aren’t down here is because Alfred put his foot down.”

Bruce settles Jason on the cot, and Jason slumps forward to rest his head on Bruce’s chest. Now that the adrenaline has bled out of him, he’s just /tired/.

“Hey, Jaylad, just a little longer, ok? I need to get your armor off.” Jason grumbles his assent, but makes no move to help. Bruce finds the latches on his chest piece, jacket ditched a while ago—maybe in the car? Jason’s not quite sure—and slips it off. It’s followed by his guns, which are unloaded and put safely into his locker.

Bruce feels along his ribs and chest, asking Jason to take a couple breaths as he does so.

Jason follows all the orders mindlessly, anything to get him closer to sleeping.

Eventually, Bruce finishes his check up and hesitates, “I need to go change, lad, will you be alright here?”

“Mmph.”

There’s a sigh from above him, and Bruce’s fingers return to his hair.

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

Hands—Damian’s one good hand, both of Dick’s, he guesses—and towards the wall. He’s dimly aware of Bruce stepping away, and one of them helps him change out of his uniform pants and into sweats, leaving. When that’s done, Damian and Dick slip into place on the table next to him, holding him tight.

“Akhi?”

Jason hums his acknowledgment, but can’t bring himself to actually speak. He knows he should be embarrassed at showing this much weakness to his baby brother, but he can’t help it. He’s barely in control of his body, and he feels like Atlas, weighed down by an impossible burden.

Or maybe Sisyphus is the better analogy.

He’s been working nonstop to redeem himself, prove himself worthy, until his body gave out, like Sisyphus pushing the rock uphill for eternity, always a battle, a struggle, he can never win.

But maybe it’ll be different for Jason? Maybe this can change. Maybe he can accept help, maybe his family /does/ want him.

Dick’s fingers slide through his hair, Damian’s hand is at his back, rubbing soothing circles. One of them is humming, and he doesn’t know which.

Eventually—Jason’s unsure how much time has passed—Bruce shows back up in front of them, dressed in loose sweatpants and a soft t-shirt.

“Come on, Akhi, come with us.” Damian’s voice is soft and coaxing, he and Dick guide Jason off the table and towards the elevator. Bruce is close at their backs, and Jason leans heavily on Dick.

Jason is only dimly aware of being led through the manor, pausing briefly at the heavy oak door leading to Bruce’s room.

The rest of his siblings are all there, Tim, Steph, Cass, all curled up in the bed. Cass sits up and blinks owlishly, tilting her head as she takes in Jason’s body language. He fidgets under the scrutiny, and Damian still tugs him forward.

Cass’ face softens at whatever she sees, and reaches out her hand. He takes it, and they all climb in the bed.

After some maneuvering, and careful jostling of Tim and Steph, Jason is situated in the middle of the pile, with Bruce at his back holding him securely. Damian fits himself between Jason and Tim, and Dick between Damian and Tim.

This is even better than being held earlier, now there’s no hard armor digging into him.

He can hear soft murmuring, but surely it’s not important. Not when he’s so tired, and wholly safe for the first time in years.

Nothing is quite fixed, yet it feels like it might be able to be fixed.

Whatever happens later, right now Jason is safe.

Without anything else stopping him, Jason finally lets Morpheus pull him under, dropping into the comforting darkness.

[amberskyyking]

99% happy with my Bad Batch ending, but gonna have to fix the 1% myself. Cracks knuckles in malicious-canon-compliance

Tech is alive and I will die on that hill.

Implications Of Being Alive

SPOILERS FOR BB FINALE BELOW!!!

CX-2 had failed.

It knew its mission. It shook its head, its vision was compromised but it was still capable of identifying the enemy, even against the distorted blur left behind from the toxins and the toll of the battle below. But no matter. If Clone Force 99 wouldn’t be turned to their cause, they would be eliminated. It lined up the shot -

And was sent reeling as something struck it on the left, hard. The target was alerted, a new threat emerged, and it spun to retaliate a second too late. Cracking blue crashed into its chest and slammed it backwards against something solid.

There was smoke, buzzing, the smell of smoldering metal and charred flesh, and in the moments before the force of the electricity coursing through its biomechanics overwhelmed what was left of its physical body, it registered a face through the gaps of its helmet. Distinct. Battle worn. Familiar.

CX-2 shut down.

---

Why was CX-2 being activated?

Why was activation causing it pain?

CX-2 opened its eyes, but it didn’t drop from its stasis pod like usual. In fact there was nothing beneath its feet at all. It tried to wrench itself free but a sharp sensation tore through its body and it suppressed a weak organic gasp. Something was undoubtedly wrong. It took a breath that rattled in its chest.

Senses impaired. Functionality damaged. Mobility… Impossible, due to the presence of the shaft of an electro-spear protruding from the center of its chest. Bio-mechanic systems compromised too, then, and a sufficient enough explanation for the pain radiating through its organic parts.

Hemlock sure had a lot of experiments, A voice drifted its way. What do you think was the purpose of these ones? Stasis chambers, training room, clones in weird armor…

Whatever he intended to do with them, it was an obvious failure, Came a second voice, rigid and clipped. No data, no explanation, no survivors? There’s nothing here to salvage. Hemlocks work will simply die with him. We’re moving on.

Yes sir.

CX-2 must have been activated in error. Hemlock was dead. It had no mission.

A gray-clad officer let out an exasperated huff and turned her back on it as her troopers began their sweep. CX-2 gritted its teeth and strained to see more of the room, assess the situation, calculate its options. The room itself clearly lacked power and most of the valuable assets in it had been destroyed. Through the viewport below it could see TK troopers prodding at the bodies of the other CX’s and dead clone prisoners. The officer continued discussing something barely audible near the lift, but it couldn’t activate its helmet to listen in, and straining its ears was useless.

A trooper crossed into its vision, blocking its view. It scoffed beneath the helmet, and the trooper paused.

“Uhh… Officer Bragg? I think this one’s still alive.”

CX-2 narrowed its eyes. Alive was barely the proper terminology. CX-2 was active, perhaps, it had survived, but alive seemed rather generous. The word held many meanings and implications, only one of which could be applied to itself, the scientific definition, nothing more. It was a poor choice of words. There was little alive about CX-2. It had no mission, it had no feelings, it had no life.

“Are you sure?” The officer huffed. “Remove the helmet.”

After a moments hesitation the TK trooper reached up and fumbled for CX-2’s helmet, sliding it off its head, and CX-2 found itself staring at the surprised officer with empty stoicism.

“I’ll inform Governor Tarkin,” The officer nodded. “Perhaps some portion of Hemlock’s work won’t go to waste.”

---

There were no more stasis chambers for CX-2 to shut down in on command, but the imperials assigned it a single-bunk domicile aboard a Star Destroyer once its reconstruction was deemed acceptable. The medical droids never quite understood the complexities of its bio-mechanic enhancements. CX-2 resorted to working on itself when it wasn’t in self-induced stasis mode, assigned to a mission, or subjected to medical testing, and in time, it improved its own efficiency, accuracy, and stamina far past what Hemlock’s original design had allowed. Its results were indisputable. Despite the mysteries that remained of Hemlock’s work, its superiors were pleased.

Yet the enhancements came with its own set of curious drawbacks, and CX-2 had yet to discover the solution for them, which was unusual. Its malfunctions could typically be patched with specialized coding or tweaks to the inner workings of a particular system, yet once these began to manifest, there was nothing it had been able to find to neutralize them. The first incident came when it removed its prosthetic leg for maintenance and potential upgrade. The movements felt familiar, and as it implemented its ideas into the improved design it suddenly saw a flash in its mind of another scenario, another mechanical leg on a table, a different soldering iron in its hand, and a clone sitting across from it, looking sheepish.

I’m not surprised, It heard a voice coming from its own mouth. It has only been a couple of weeks. You’re going to need more time than that to grow accustomed to them, Echo, and seeing as you have insisted on taking wild risks this soon, an accident of this sort was inevitable.

The image dissolved and CX-2 sat frozen. It had been someone else before this, that much it knew, but before didn’t matter. There was CX-2, there were missions, there was the Empire. It was merely a tool, not a person.

It completed its work on the leg and attempted to push the strange scene to the back of its mind, though it couldn’t help but log that the clones name was Echo.

The next time it happened was, unfortunately, in the field. CX-2 usually worked alone but this time it had been assigned to a squad, sent to hunt down rebel insurgents in the Cadavine sector. The mission was supposed to have been a stealth operation, so when CX-2 found itself a visual on the rebel targets, it flashed a hand gesture to the TK-troopers below.

One of them looked at it blankly and shrugged.

Awww, I hate hand signals! A massive clone with a milky eye groaned overhead.

Perhaps it would help if you memorized them! CX-2 snapped back.

You memorize them!

I have!

CX-2 nearly fell from the snipers nest and had to stifle a gasp as the scene faded out. It’s systems, for a moment, had been overwhelmed by something on its organic side, and it took a moment to reset them before continuing the mission. The TK Troopers incompetence had bought them precious seconds, they were spotted, and there was no time to waste wondering about what it had seen. At least when the mission was over, it was still a success. All insurgents were eliminated.

After that, though, the malfunctions began to occur with greater frequently. CX-2 found itself unable to combat them with technical prowess or further enhancements - in fact, each time it made the attempt, it only seemed to instigate more incidences, more images to replay. Memories, it concluded, after working itself to a state of exhaustion one night when it should have been attempting to put itself into stasis. That was the pattern, they were all tiny memories of who it was before, of people it knew. Brothers.

Traitors.

They had opposed the Empire, each and every one of them, even itself. It wasn’t sure why. It didn’t matter. They had been enemies, it had hunted them, they were the ones who opposed it on Tantiss, who harbored the girl, who caused its failure that day even after it gave them all a chance to become like him. Hunter’s face was the one it had seen just before shutting down. If it couldn’t purge itself of the fragmented memories, it would at least lock them away under the weight of their betrayal, where they couldn’t affect any more of its missions. It wouldn’t fail on their behalf, not again.

CX-2 laid back, closed its eyes, and attempted to fall into a form of stasis. It didn’t have family. It didn’t have feelings, it wasn’t a person, it wasn’t even alive, was it? It merely existed…

…So why did it wake up with an all consuming pain in its chest when the little girl in its dream wrapped her arms around its waist and called it Tech?

I’ll be posting updates for this on A03!!!!! Find it/Subscribe here if you like, I don’t usually post full chapters to tumblr lol. But that man is alive and ima prove it’s possible!

[finishwhatyoustarted-event]

Finish What You Started 2024 - Event Rules

[ID copied from alt: Event Rules on a blue background. ⬒ No new projects ◨ Any medium and any fandom welcome ⬓ NSFW inclusive, warnings must be tagged ◧ Tag #FinishWhatYouStarted2024; boosting/retweeting starts March 15th ◼ Event ends April 30, 2024]

The goal of this event is to get things done that you’ve already started. We all have unfinished projects whose incomplete status haunts us. Those are what we want to tackle!

The structure is loose, as this is a multimedia event. While primarily aimed at writers, this event is open to any kind of creative fanwork. Fics, translations, podfics, fanart, animations, cosplay - if you started it and never got it done, it qualifies. There is no sign-up required. I will not assign beta readers for writers, but I can boost requests for those who want them! And I can boost messages of those who would like to beta read.

The mod is a danmei fan mainly, but your work can be any fandom. Maybe something you started before your current fandom excitement took over, or one you keep putting off in favor of compelling new ideas.

Feel free to pass this event info along! The more the merrier!

Further rules and clarifications:

Alt text is very encouraged, especially for boost posts or artwork!

If your work is NSFW, I will only boost it if it has appropriate content warnings. Spoilering images is recommended but not required as long as it’s tagged. Do not letter-swap or abbreviate content warnings. These are so people can mute them as needed. Example: "gore" not "g0re"

Remember Tumblr can mute phrases, but each warning should be its own tag as well as in the body.

Please use genderbend or genderswap for characters depicted not as canon genders. Example: "#NSFW #genderbend #gore”

Please use Omegaverse or A/O/B for that content. The original letter order is a slur against Aboriginal peoples and will not be tolerated here, even with the slashes. It, like other racial or identity-based slurs, fall under hate speech and are thus not permitted.

This account will post weekly morale-boosting messages and helpful resources. Every Friday, starting March 15th, will be Finished It Friday. All the completed works posted that week will be boosted together in a big thread, so we can celebrate your accomplishment!

Halfway-point check-in is April 1st. Final event deadline is April 30th. The last Finished It Friday is May 3rd.

FAQ:

Q: Are original works acceptable?

A: This is primarily a fanwork-focused event. If original work is the only WIP you have to work on, it's certainly fine to work on it during the time frame of the event. If it is posted publicly when finished, you may tag it for boosting.

Q: Are there any restrictions on topics?

A: No, so long as your event # post is properly & fully tagged for content (see rules about tagging above). "Dead Dove" topics are allowed. Some submissions will be 18+. For me, this is less about the content and more about finishing it. 

The usual restrictions based on laws and Community Guidelines of course apply, so you may need to tailor how you post to which event space your interacting with. Twitter, Tumblr, and Discord all have their own rules. There are also some topics that are in poor taste to make fanworks around. The event organizer and mods reserve the right to not boost your work if they decide it is rage-baiting or trolling. They are not responsible for negative reactions to your works. Please be respectful of those you share a digital space with. 

Keep in mind that when I link to your finished work during a Finished It Friday, it may reach a wider audience than you may be used to.

Q: Are there any restrictions on media that can be submitted?

A: Machine Generated or "AI" images and writing are not permitted. If you are found in violation of this rule, you will be removed from the event. All images, writing, or other works must be your own.

This is a positive, shared space. Do not belittle other creators' medium of choice. Please no fandom/character/ship/creator bashing, and don't berate artists or authors for not being done with something, even if they don't finish by the end of the event. Also, please don't passive-aggressively send this event to the author of an unfinished fic you want to see done faster. 😥 Be cool, respect each other, and keep any interpersonal disagreements to your own tumblrsphere.

All posts and boosts will be crossposted to the event Twitter (finishwatustart) and Discord. Expanded rules, explanations, and Dead Dove guidelines can also be found on the Discord. (invite link in pinned post) 

Fics can be posted to the AO3 collection (archiveofourown(dot)org /collections /FinishWhatYouStarted2024_Spring)

Work-in-progress posts should be tagged #FinishWhatYouStarted2024If you complete a wip within the event, tag it #IFinishedWhatIStarted2024 for boosting so we can all celebrate!

Find more information and community on the Discord, if you want! Joining the Discord is not required for the event. As always, if you have questions, don't hesitate to reach out!