#temporary character death lol

[raymurata]

So who's your most problematic one?

Okay. So I've done Alec, Kelp, and Oak, so really the only one left is Tarlyn, who I honestly think is indeed my most problematic guy (gender neutral)

First of all, he's dead. Best get this out of the way. He is doomed by the narrative and bitches would die mad about it.

Then, let's talk about "guy (gender neutral)". He's an nb amab character who never questioned his gender and therefore used he/him all his life, so basically we're all misgendering him somehow so this is problematic.

His whole story is dark and edgy and awfully problematic. This sad wet rag of a boy covered in glitter never had a break; he was tormented by his mother his whole life and he never stopped loving her.

And that's not even touching on his actions yet. This anxious pixie nightmare boy is a spoiled LIL BITCH who thinks (or at least acts) like he's larger than life and better than everyone because that's the only way he can cope with his loneliness, looking at everyone as if they are beneath him. He is an arrogant bastard who genuinely thinks his nobility means he is entitled to his luxury, and that his intelligence makes him superior, and that his command of magic makes him deserving of accolades and applause and praise. But that's just to cover up his abysmal lack of self esteem, his vulnerability and his need for connection.

He is never nice to other people unless they're of higher status than him, or important in some way, otherwise he is either catty and rude or just uninterested and aloof. He unknowingly yearns for someone to love him (granted, abuse has made him incapable of identifying, let alone giving love), but whenever someone is nice in any way, he can't believe it is real and reads it as interest, as them wanting something in return. He reduces everyone into shrewd social-climbers in his eyes (thus insulting them) bc that's what his family is.

He insults his servants, he wears blood jewelry (and a bunch of it), he is vain and petty and snobbish and finicky, he uses magic to spy on people, he never prepared a single meal in his entire 150 years of life, he was over 100 years old when he started questioning whether it was really true that short-lived races are inferior to elves. He is a poor little meow meow born and raised and abused by multimillionaire right wing conservatives. My boy Tarlyn would vocally defend Trump in a modern au, what more do you need me to say? He is Problematic.

He spends a lot of time overthinking and questioning his family in his mind, but he never actually does anything to change shit.

Negative intervention wizard all the way. He doesn't start bullying anyone, but his friends do and they count on his magic to execute it, and he delivers. He was witness to {redacted}, designed a destructive magical item to be used by foot soldiers in an attack against the neighbouring nation, witnessed workers being gravely injured in his family's mines, and possibly even more! What other shit will we discover Tarlyn did?? The horrors are not over yet weeee!

And then, to escape all this shit, this extremely romantic asexual bitch (who needs to like someone to enjoy sex with them) seeks out sex with randos!! Because he is so lonely and he copies his jackass friends and his jackass brother and he is a people pleaser and he doesn't know how to set boundaries.... But he is so intelligent he convinces himself love is not real (he's never fucking seen it! Only in fiction! So it must!!! Be!!! Fake!!!!) and that he does want sex, when in reality he wants kisses and cuddles.... And he keeps getting in (or remaining in) these situations where he just proves it to himself that people only want to use him/his body/his magic/his position (whether that's true or not, he always manages to see it that way), thus confirming his cynical expectations and keeping himself miserable.

And that's not mentioning {redacted}.

Tarlyn wins my Problematic OC of the Decade Award!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉

[cuubism]

Rock Paper Scissors

Dreamling | Pre-Slash | 5.7k | AO3

Dream suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead." "Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me." "I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds." "Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

Hob gets challenged to a duel. Too bad his opponent has it out for Dream, and has no intention of playing fair.

--

the first fic I ever started writing for Dreamling a year and a half ago, then forgot about! 😂 then randomly decided to finish.

--

“ROBERT GADLING,” yelled an individual Hob had never met before in his life, “I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

Hob squinted at him. Said individual was standing across the darkened street, dressed strangely in a white tunic flecked with gold. Then again, Hob’s barometer for strange was a bit different than what was normal, so who was he to say, really.

“What?” he said.

Suddenly this person was much closer to him. Hob flinched back, but couldn’t move much, close as he was to the pub door. “We have business,” hissed his pale-suited challenger. It was a masculine figure, blond hair swished to one side, eyes like fire. 

Hob wasn’t impressed. He’d seen worse. Better, too.

“Listen, mate,” he said, “I don’t really have time for this. I’ve already got something on the books tonight. Come back tomorrow.”

He started to walk through the doorway, but the… creature?—he didn’t think it was human—grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We have business,” it repeated.

Hob tried to shake off its hand, but its grip was like hot iron. It seared through his jacket and burned his skin. 

“What business?” he snapped. “I’m certain we’ve never met before, and my memory is actually pretty good, long as it is.”

The creature smiled, more like a baring of teeth. “You have courted those who have harmed me—and my ilk.”

“Not clearing it up at all.”

There was a sound like the swishing of a thousand ghosts, and then Dream was beside him.

Dream. How strange, still, to have a name, a history—well, sort of—to put to the face he’d circled back to over and over again for all these years. The name cut his friend into sharp relief—Hob’s shadow, finally united with the being who cast it. 

Where the pale stranger burned white-hot, Dream emanated cold. Hob had always found his friend’s cold aura strangely comforting. It didn’t feel dangerous and biting like the winter wind. Instead, it was the cold of lake water when one dove deep enough, a subtle and quiet draw to the otherworldly. 

Well. Usually it didn’t feel dangerous. Right now, it felt positively hypothermic.

Dream’s presence chilled the air until the stranger was forced to yank his hand away from Hob’s arm, shaking it out with a hiss. Hob’s breath fogged the air in front of his face, never mind that it was summer.

“Phaethon,” Dream hissed on one long, cold breath. “You are not wanted here.”

Phaethon pulled himself up haughtily. “I can go as I please. Night, or no night.”

“You may test that theory if you wish.”

Phaethon faltered, just a bit, before recovering himself. “I am here only to deliver a message. I challenge you, Robert Gadling, to a duel.” His blazing eyes flickered over to Hob, then back to Dream. “I did not believe you were one to violate the old rules of challenge, Lord of Dreams.” 

He bowed slightly. It felt mocking, which rankled Hob, who’d otherwise been keeping his cool. 

“Are you going to explain what this is about?” he said, for the third time. “I don’t appreciate being accused of things I haven’t done.”

Instead of answering, Phaethon said, “I’ve uncovered your history. There’s quite a lot of it, isn’t there? I wager it could make quite a bit of trouble for you, having all of that information turned over to certain parties. Human authorities. Occultists. Vampire hunters, they’ll love you–”

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob snapped.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, we can do that, or, you can choose to face me directly.”

“What do you seek to gain from the challenge?” demanded Dream. He seemed to know more about what was going on here than Hob, which wasn’t comforting. Hob didn’t particularly want to get drawn into some kind of immortal creature game with obscure rules he’d end up tripping over.

Phaethon’s grin emerged one tooth at a time. “I want… your dreams.”

Hob probably should have been more troubled by this. Instead, he just frowned in confusion. “Not sure that’s in your power, mate. You’re aware who you’re talking to?”

He didn’t need to gesture to Dream looming over his shoulder.

“If you agree to the terms,” said Phaethon, a hiss like lava dripping over stone, “then the magic will bind us.” 

Dream didn’t contradict him, but his anger cooled the air until Hob felt like he was standing atop a glacier.

“I think I’ll pass,” Hob told Phaethon. “Feel free to try to reveal me. I’m good at disappearing.” 

He turned to go—

“Lord Morpheus.” Phaethon turned the beam of his gaze on him, sunlight ricocheting off ice. “Will you stand in his stead?”

Hob grit his teeth and, against his better judgment, turned back around. “Don’t bring him into this. Look, if I win your challenge, what do I get in return?”

“You may request whatever you like,” said Dream. “Such are the terms of the agreement.”

“Fine. If I win, then I want this: you never speak to or of me again. That means no threatening me, no using me to threaten anyone else, no telling anyone about me—nothing. Got it?” God, Hob just wanted to go inside and have a beer.

Phaethon gave him a little bow. “Fair enough. I accept the terms of this challenge.” 

Dream seemed aggravated; a trickle of energy, like black lightning, scurried up the back of his neck and disappeared into his hair. But he didn’t intervene.

Hob and Phaethon shook on it. Then Phaethon retreated into the shadows again, calling, “Tomorrow at midnight, Robert Gadling. I will see you then.” Then his eyes blinked out and he was gone.

Hob shuddered. Good riddance. He rather preferred his eldritch creature to that one, thanks very much.

“What was that?” he said.

Dream’s presence was warming again by small degrees. The atmosphere was now more like an industrial freezer than Antarctica. “A minor demigod.”

“Oh, minor. Alright then.” 

“They are occupied by petty troubles,” said Dream.

Hob looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but elected not to comment. 

“Come on,” he said instead, leading the way back toward the pub. “We’re supposed to be having an easy night of it, dammit!” He wasn’t about to let some minor demigod ruin his night. He never knew how many of them he would get with his friend.

Dream’s gaze lingered on the spot where Phaethon had disappeared, but eventually, like the sweeping of a long coat tail, he followed.

---

"So, a duel," Hob remarked as they sat down across from each other in the pub booth. "I admit, I haven't dueled anyone in a few centuries, but I can't imagine it'll be—”

"It is not what you are thinking of," Dream interrupted. He had folded himself into the booth seat like a stick insect trying to cram itself in a jar. It was an absurd image, the long black coat, the spindly arms on the tabletop. "It is not a fight of the physical form. It is a battle of the mind and will."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"In such a challenge—” Dream began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a waitress, there to take their order.

"So, what can I get for you chaps?" she said brightly.

The idea of Dream being a chap was so hilarious Hob had to stifle a laugh. Yeah, maybe he wasn't taking the whole duel thing seriously enough. Oh well.

Hob ordered a beer and a plate of chips. When Dream showed no sign of speaking, he ordered for him, too.

“You can order whatever you like,” Hob told him, when the waitress had gone. “It is my pub and all.”

Dream picked up the laminated menu gingerly. It wobbled in his hands. He looked down at it with a flat expression.

Hob realized belatedly that he probably didn’t know what to order. How much had pub food changed since— God, 1910 or so? And it wasn’t like his friend would have had much time to peruse menus since, what with all he’d been up to.

“Just try the chips,” Hob said, taking the menu away from him. “We’ll see how far that gets you.” 

"I have no need of human food," Dream said, folding his hands back on the table.

“Sure, and I technically don’t need my left leg, either, but I do rather like having it.”

“You say strange things,” Dream murmured. “As I was telling you. In such a challenge—” 

The waitress returned with their drinks. Dream glowered at her. Hob thanked her brightly.

"So, you were saying?" he said, sipping his beer. "In such a challenge…?"

"In such a challenge—”

The waitress arrived again with their chips. Dream slammed his hands on the table, shaking the chips in their basket and making the waitress jump. 

"Sorry," Hob apologized, "we've had a bit of a day." Wasn't it always.

"In such a challenge," Dream continued when she had gone, in a tone that suggested he would not be stopped this time, "one must suggest a mind-form, which one's opponent will attempt to surmount and defeat. Then you attempt to defeat their new form, and so on until one challenger is victorious. It is… a predictive game, of sorts. If one can predict what one's opponent’s moves might be, one can choose forms to foil them. This can easily become complicated."

"So, it's like chess," Hob summarized.

Dream stiffened, lips pressing into an offended line. "It is not so simple as chess."

"Checkers?"

"It will not help you to think of it so." Dream took a chip and bit into it in irritation. "You just— oh." He stared at the chip. "These are quite pleasant."

"Can never go wrong with a good chip," said Hob, then furrowed his brows. "Haven't you had them in dreams before or something?"

"Presumably. It has been at least a century." 

Ah, yeah. That. "Well, they're frying them in veg oil instead of lard nowadays anyway. Kind of a different experience." 

Dream stared at him as if Hob made no sense whatsoever.

"Anyway," Hob continued, "am I even going to be able to create these mind-forms? I'm not exactly an otherworldly being." 

"The power is in you, though it may be more challenging to harness. And easier to let slip from your grasp. It is imagination, after all. Humans are good at imagination, though perhaps not so good at holding onto it."

"Hmm." Hob munched on a chip. "Okay. I'll work on my imagination." After seven hundred years or so of life, it was possibly a tool that needed some sharpening. 

"I admit it offends me greatly that Phaethon would presume to ask a human to fight in this way," said Dream. He suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead."

"Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me."

"I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds."

"Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

"Do not joke," Dream growled. Actually, he never truly growled. It was more like his voice dropped into a lower register than usual. Which was saying something. Hob interpreted it as a growl, though. "Do not joke when your existence is at stake. Your immortality cannot protect you from this." 

"Are you saying I'd be unmade if I lost?" Hob asked. It was a concerning thought, to say the least. It had been a long time since he'd had to concern himself with his own mortality.

Dream’s tongue ran over his lower lip. "Potentially. The terms of the fight do not state so, but I do not know how such a duel will affect a human. The strain of it may simply tear you to shreds. It nearly drained me, the last time I fought."

"Wait, you had a fight like this? Recently?"

Dream tilted his head, gaze paling in confusion. "I told you that I went to Hell to retrieve my helm." 

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me you had to mind-battle– who'd you mind-battle anyway?"

"The demon chose Lucifer Morningstar as his representative." Dream’s lip curled in distaste. "Hence, the near loss."

Hob looked at him in concern. "Are you alright, though?"

"Of course I am all right." He spoke it as two words, like the phrase had never before graced his tongue. Hob wanted to let out a long-suffering sigh, but managed to restrain himself. "I am Dream of the Endless."

"Mmhmm. Yep. Okay."

"You do not have to worry about me," Dream said stiffly, parroting Hob's words from before.

Hob thought that was evidently untrue, but decided not to mention the century of imprisonment or the multiple near-death experiences— could he die? Maybe it was more like multiple near-misses with eternal agony— since then. To preserve the relative peace of the moment. 

"So how'd you beat the devil, then?" he asked.

"I had everything to lose. Lucifer had nothing to lose, and only a paltry amusement to gain."

Was that an answer? Hob wasn't sure. 

"Okay," he said. "Well, I do have all of my dreams to lose, apparently. Plenty of incentive to win."

Ice crystallized along the rim of Dream’s glass, spreading from where his fingers pressed. “You speak as if you think I would ever allow this to happen.”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “I thought the magic was binding?”

“Only by honor.”

“And so… what would happen if you violated that honor?”

The words trickled out of Dream reluctantly. “One’s word would not be trusted again.”

“Right. Exactly. I can’t let you do that, love. There’s a whole eternity of words needing to be trusted after this.” It was tempting, honestly, to let his more powerful friend step in and handle this—especially as Hob still hadn’t gleaned what the hell he’d even done to piss off Phaethon—but ultimately, it wouldn’t be right. He’d never used Dream as a clean-up tool for any of his problems in the past, and he wasn’t about to start just because he now knew he was the Lord of Dreams.

Dream’s expression darkened further. He truly was capable of embodying shadow when he was annoyed; Hob didn’t know how he hadn’t figured out the extent of his supernaturalness sooner, honestly. “You would not let.”

“Hey. Come on. I’ve solved plenty of my own problems, haven’t I? Have a little faith.” Hob kind of wanted to pat his hand, but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “You don’t think I can win a duel against this Phaethon guy?” 

Dream seemed uncertain about it, and Hob couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Sure, he wasn’t a supernatural entity, but Hob had gotten himself out of a fair number of scrapes, and without the help of any Endless, thanks very much! 

“His rancor disturbs me,” Dream said at last. “I do not know what you have done to offend him.”

“Nor I. Never met the guy.”

Dream seemed lost in contemplation. Hob let him, and kept eating the chips.

Eventually, Dream said, “Even if this loss did come to pass… you would always have a place in the Dreaming.”

Hob’s breathing stuttered. “With you?” he said, sounding much smaller than he’d expected. It was… an ill-considered response, to say the least. 

Dream shifted in his seat. “I am the Dreaming,” he said. “It is part of me, and I it.”

“I see,” said Hob. But the thought kept turning within him.

---

No more was said on the matter until their beers were drunk and their chips polished off and they were strolling out the door of the pub. 

As they crossed the threshold, Hob was struck by a realization. He slapped Dream on the breast of his coat, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm an idiot! Of course it's not like chess. It's metaphysical rock-paper-scissors!"

"Are you intoxicated?" Dream asked wearily.

"Nope. Just happy to have my old friend around again."

Dream’s form, unbreakable as the darkness between stars, stuttered. Behind him, his shadow wavered.

Then he swept away, leaving Hob to catch up. 

---

They met again on the field of battle, so to speak.

Phaethon was there before them, melodramatic in his white-and-gold cape. Not as melodramatic as Dream, though, whose eyeliner seemed darker than usual, somehow, and whose cloak swept all the way to the ground, pooling more like liquid than fabric. He was very displeased about these events, Hob could tell.

Hob shook Phaethon’s hand formally. Once again, the touch burned him, but he resisted the urge to shake his hand out in pain. Then they stood across from each other. Hob wished he had a sword, but that was not this game.

"As the challenged party, you commence the duel," Dream told him, standing not far from Hob’s side as Phaethon paced before them, grinning. "You may choose your form and begin."

Hob had thought long and hard about how he would start. He didn't want to go too big, else the fight escalate beyond his control. Obviously, he didn't want to pick something weak either.

What was out there that had tormented mankind, sowing destruction, breeding fear and illness and death, while barely reaching higher than an ankle? 

Hob had lived through it. The choice was obvious.

"I am a plague rat," he started, and saw Dream’s eyebrows twitch. Impressed. Ha! "Hiding in shadows. Letting sickness into our food, homes, blood."

He saw the rats in his mind. Scurrying through tunnels, climbing into grain stores, unaware of what they carried. A seething mass of tails and slick fur and beady eyes, churning, churning, churning. 

Phaethon curled in on himself, limbs creaking, boils popping on his skin and pus leaking from his eyes. Hob flinched at the reminder of those times. Horrible, horrible times.

Mentally, Hob prepared for the counterattack. Paper beats rock. What beats rat? Dog beats rat. Cat beats rat. Famine, extermination fumes, plague doctors, modern medicine—

"I," Phaethon ground out, through the contortions of his body, "am a flood."

Oof. Good one.

"A swelling, raging river, decimating any town in my path. Washing rats down to their deaths." 

A phantom wave smacked Hob in the face and hurled him to the ground. It crashed over him, gallons and gallons of water, surging up his nose, into his eyes, down his throat. He choked on it. He drowned in it. Debris in the floodwaters bruised him till he felt like a branch spinning out in the current, rather than a human.

Then. He managed to take in a breath.

He staggered to his feet.

Dream was standing a step closer, like he'd lurched forward, but he forced himself back into stillness.

"I," Hob said on a gasping breath, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, "am a drought." Phaethon had taken it to another level? Fine. Hob would go scorched earth. "Whisking away all your water. Turning everything into dust."

Phaethon choked, throat suddenly dry. His eyes went bloodshot. His skin flaked and peeled, his lips bled. He clutched at his stomach as it heaved for water.

He could go rain again, Hob thought. Or ice age. Asteroid. Biblical flood—does that count if he already did a regular flood?

"I am famine," said Phaethon, when he'd recovered himself, though he was still rasping. "I wither crops without water. I starve everything that walks."

Hob's stomach caved in on itself. He fell to his knees, retching nothing but bile. His mind flashed back to his decades on the streets, so long without food he'd thought his stomach would start eating itself—and then it had. 

His arms shook. His body felt thin and liable to crack. 

"I," he croaked, still on all fours, "am an oasis. Rising from the desert, real, not a mirage. Offering reprieve." 

Too late, he realized this might restore his opponent. 

But instead, Phaethon creased and cracked, like he was the famine, persecuted by salvation. He clasped his stomach as if it was overfull; water poured from his mouth.

Water filled Hob's mouth, too, but it restored him. He climbed back to his feet.

Dream was definitely closer now. He wasn't imagining it. Still, he didn't intervene.

Phaethon was visibly weakened, but still he said, "I am selfishness. Infighting over limited resources. Society destroying its oasis."

Hob's limbs were torn in opposite directions. He yelled, but the invisible hands on him didn't let up, yanking at him like he was the final piece of food before everlasting deprivation. He pulled at them, but it was no use.

One of his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop, and he bit down on his tongue so as not to scream. Blood exploded in his mouth.

"I am generosity!" he yelled, blood dripping over his lips. "I am brother sharing with brother. Stranger sharing with stranger."

Dream was looking at him now like he didn't know what to make of him. Phaethon, too, was staring at him, but with a look of disgust. 

"High-minded idealist, are you?" he sneered. "What the hell is generosity going to—”

His expression broke in half. His hands shook; he picked at his nail beds until they peeled and started bleeding. His lip wavered and his eyes beaded with tears.

Hob didn't know what was happening to him.

"Shame," Dream breathed from behind him. "So clever, Hob."

Hob hadn't actually known what generosity would do, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

"I," croaked Phaethon, through tears, "am memory. History and anger curdled to a resentment which no generosity can overcome."

He felt Dream’s eyes on him, as he no doubt feared the anger, the resentment he so believed that Hob held over his absence would surge forth again. But it did not, for Hob had never been angry with Dream. Angry with himself, yes, and that he felt acutely, along with the fear and hurt of Dream walking away, the stewing guilt of it.

Memory held more than anger. Mostly, for Hob, it held grief. Grief for his friend who'd been imprisoned for so long, while Hob went about his life, imagining him lonely, isolated perhaps, but never knowing the truth. Grief for himself, too, for he knew that to always blame himself for Dream’s behavior had also been unfair. 

Tears slipped from his eyes. He looked over at Dream, who was still watching him warily.

Memory had far too many facets for Phaethon to use it as an effective weapon.

"I am forgiveness," Hob said, closing his eyes against a fresh welling of tears. He didn't know who he was forgiving. Himself, or Dream, who still seemed to need absolution from Hob, no matter how Hob told him he didn’t.

"I am hatred!" Phaethon snarled. His voice had gone animalistic in a last ditch effort to come out on top. But forgiveness clanged around him, pulling tears from his eyes, undermining his viciousness. "I am division even forgiveness cannot mend."

Just like that, he opened up the path for Hob to take his king. Checkmate. Game over. Rock paper scissors shoot.

"I am love," Hob said quietly, even as a sob caught in his throat as the memory of all the hate he'd witnessed in his life, the hate he'd participated in, and the fear, long-held, that even Dream might hate him, for his wrongs, or for overstepping, pulsed back to the forefront. He could never hate Dream, though. No matter what.

"Love can be easily destroyed," snapped Phaethon, but he was wavering. 

"But it always comes back," said Hob. Unwitting, he looked over his shoulder at Dream.

His friend was already looking directly at him. That tinge of red, so terrible and familiar now, was back along his eyes. He didn't speak, not to Hob. Hob followed his gaze as he looked over Hob's shoulder and spoke to Phaethon.

"Do you have a counter?"

"Love?" Phaethon laughed hysterically. "You brought love to a duel?"

"I believe Hob brings love everywhere he goes," said Dream, and Hob whipped back around to look at him, eyes wide. The tiniest smile was dancing on Dream’s lips.

Then a blade erupted from Hob's chest.

Blood sprayed. His heart stopped beating—actually stopped, he felt it. The sword had pierced right through it. He scrabbled for it with clumsy hands, but the blade shiiiinged back out before he could grab it. 

Blood spattered Dream’s face. Those pretty lips parted, eyes widened, the lordly bearing wiped from his expression leaving only a person, shocked and wounded. Hob would never forget that look of startled horror for as long as he lived. 

Which wasn't looking to be that long.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring from his chest. No use trying to stop it. It would mend itself, in time, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the instinctive rush of fear. He was dying. He was dying.

He fell on his side. Blood soaked his shirt. All told, it took maybe ten seconds after getting speared like a wild hog—

—for the world to completely blink out.

---

Hob's chest ached like a bitch when he woke. 

He was still on the ground, bloody mud around him, soaking his clothes. Oh. That was mud made from his blood. How horrifying. 

He opened his eyes in time to see Dream lifting Phaethon from the ground by his neck. His hand was a vice grip and Phaethon choked, scrabbling at his fingers for breath.

"TREACHERY," Dream snarled, louder than Hob had ever heard him. His voice boomed across the empty park. "I will unmake you."

"I'm not one of your creatures, you can do nothing to me," said Phaethon, but his assuredness flickered.

Dream’s being was a black hole eating light. "Watch it happen."

Hob coughed, dirt trapped in his throat, and shoved himself up on his forearms. Dream froze, and turned slowly to look at him, Phaethon still clasped in his hand like he weighed nothing. Dream’s attention was like being in the path of a comet.

"Hob," he said. "Are you alright?"

Hob knew, in that moment, that if he asked Dream to spare Phaethon from whatever fate he had in mind for him, he would comply. And what power that was. Hob didn't want to be the one doling out mercy or punishment, like a judge at the gates of Hell. But damn if it wasn't a thrill to have Dream look at him like that.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, with a bloody grin. "I'm Hob Gadling."

Dream smiled too, a ferocious smile, like that of a wolf.

Hob didn't tell him to spare Phaethon.

Apparently, they both had some savagery in them.

---

"So why did he kill me?" Hob asked later, when he'd showered all the blood off—God he loved modern showers—and they were both sitting at the kitchen table in his flat, drinking tea. Well, Hob was drinking tea. Dream was just kind of staring at it. "I mean, the cost of losing wasn't even that high. Not on his end, anyway."

"He was not interested in you at all," said Dream, still not looking at him. "I dragged the truth from him while you were… gone. This was all a ploy to get to me. To hurt me—indirectly, of course. Such a lower being could never hurt me directly."

"Wait." Hob tried to grapple with this. "You— are you saying I was like a kidnapped princess?" 

Dream frowned. "If you insist. The point is, he did not plan to let you walk away. By winning, or by killing you, whichever he could accomplish." 

"Damn. Maybe I should have let you fight for me."

"No. You represented yourself admirably. More than admirably. You won the challenge, fairly, and did not try to kill your opponent to do it." 

Praise from Dream always hit Hob somewhere deep. Possibly because Dream only said such things when he meant them. Possibly just because it was Dream saying them.

“Well, thanks for handling him in the end,” Hob said, instead of voicing that sentiment.

Dream nodded solemnly. “I would not allow such harm to befall you without interfering,” he said.

Hob took a sip of his tea to avoid showing how he felt about that quite so obviously on his face.

“Why did he want to hurt you, then?” he asked instead.

“He is the child of a sun deity,” said Dream.

“And… that… means…?”

“Sunlight chases away dreams. We are natural enemies.”

Hob frowned. “What about daydreams?” 

“Daydreams may take place during the daytime, but they exist in the darkness of the inner mind,” said Dream.

“Ahhhh.” Hob nodded sagely. Yeah, sure, that made sense. One hundred percent. Absolutely. “I don’t know, I feel like some dreams can survive in the daylight. Thrive, even.”

“Perhaps next time I have an altercation with a sun deity, I will call upon you,” Dream said, a bite of sarcasm in it. “To see if you can banish them with this mindset.”

“Don’t give me that cheek,” Hob admonished. Dream’s mouth popped open in offense, but Hob plowed on, “Just have an open mind about it, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you guys are in a symbiotic relationship or something, instead of enemies. You help people see what could be possible, and they balance it with reality.”

Dream was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I do not think approaching them in this manner will serve me well, at the moment.”

“Maybe not if they’re going around attacking you,” Hob conceded, and Dream cracked a small smile.

Sun deities, Hob thought. Really, life was full of such strange and interesting things.

“So when you went to Hell,” Hob started. Dream tilted his head, but didn’t seem thrown by the change in subject. “What did you wager in exchange for your helm? The game makes you wager something, right?”

“It was the demon who chose the other side of the wager,” said Dream. “He demanded I remain in Hell and serve him for eternity, if I lost.”

Hob was glad he’d put down his tea, as he’d probably have dropped it. “What? Was the helm really worth that risk?”

Dream leaned back in his chair, lips pressed tight in offense. Or maybe hurt. “I am nothing without my tools of office,” he said.

“That is not true,” said Hob, surprised by his own vehemence. Nothing? He thought he was nothing?

“I could not have restored the Dreaming without them,” Dream insisted.

“Okay, fine. They’re important for your job. But that doesn’t mean you’re nothing without them.” Hob went to lay his hand over Dream’s on the table, hesitated, then decided, fuck it. Dream started when their skin touched, but didn’t move away. Hob repeated his words, with even more emphasis this time. “You’re not nothing.”

Dream met his gaze, challenging. Hob didn’t back down.

“As you wish,” Dream finally said. Which wasn’t actually an agreement. “I can concede that the ruby breaking was ultimately beneficial to my power. But the helm is my symbol of office. To leave it in the possession of a demon is a continual humiliation to my realm and station.”

“Okay, I’m hearing you,” Hob said. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dream should be able to get his helm back. But he didn’t want Dream to risk horrible punishment for the sake of his pride. Better to slink away alive to try again another day, or so Hob felt. That wasn’t Dream, though.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said. “Even if you lost your helm and everything, and everyone in Hell thought you were pathetic—which, by the way, not sure Hell’s opinion is worth much anyway? but that aside—I’d still rather have you here than the alternative.” He threw Dream a smile, hoping he didn’t take offense to the idea that he could possibly be pathetic. “It wasn’t ‘The King of Dreams and Nightmares, et cetera’ that I missed for all those years, you know?”

“You did not know who I was, then,” Dream pointed out, but he seemed contemplative.

“I liked who I did know,” Hob said. “My friend.”

“Your friend,” repeated Dream slowly. Finally, he did pick up his tea, and took a sip. “A powerful title indeed, if you would have me when it is the only one I carry.”

“If you say so,” Hob said, which brought a small smile to Dream’s lips. If Dream wanted to think of it as a title akin to his kingship and endlessness and whatnot, then Hob would bestow it on him with gladness, and with a warm sense of honor that nestled right in his heart.

“It is…” Dream added, at length, “a meaningful title. To me.”

Rare, those expressions of feeling from Dream. Hob couldn’t help but to bask in them like a cat in a sunbeam. He remembered how Dream had looked at him during the duel. Love always comes back. Worth it, all the strife, to see Dream look at him like that, he thought.

“You defended me,” Dream said. “To prevent me taking the duel in your place. To protect me when it was not warranted.”

Wasn’t warranted. Hob really wished Dream would just learn to let Hob care for him.

"Would have even if I'd known it was you he truly wanted," he said. “I missed my friend for long enough. Wasn’t going to let something happen again when I could get in the way of it.”

“Your friend,” Dream said again. As if savoring the words. His lips tipped up again in a small smile. One just for himself.

Hob squeezed his hand on the table. A grounding touch, a reminder. “And don’t forget it.”

Dream turned his hand over on the table, and squeezed back.

[ghostthemighty]

i am still thinking about that light fades to rain but swapped thing that i talked about a while ago. so uh OFA! katsuki coming back to see izuku's dead body which of course just like canon izuku starts to lose control of OFA just a reminder izuku pretty much has the combination of both his mom and dad's quirk though i also sometimes imagine it would be similar to canon katsuki's quirk

[cheetahsprints]

Prompt #15: Ring

Inspired by this post

• Sonadow Prompt Fills •

• Ambience Music •

*

Shadow slapped the inhibitor ring onto Sonic’s left wrist. Sonic blinked at it. He gave Shadow a questioning look, uncertain if he could find his voice at the moment.

“Keep it as a reminder,” Shadow said. The solemn, intense look on his handsome face electrified Sonic directly through his soul.

Sonic untied his bandana and wrapped it around Shadow’s neck. Shadow closed his eyes and seemed to marginally relax at the brush of Sonic’s hands on his fur. Sonic demanded, “None of that. You bring this back to me, got it?”

“I can’t make that promise.” Then, he rocketed in the opposite direction to sabotage the mother ship’s engine and inner workings.

Sonic went to the control room and used the passcode he had discovered to gain access. He watched the screen as the other ships rammed into each other or self-destructed due to his instructions. The ship he was on rocked and threw Sonic around, telling him that Shadow had succeeded. Sonic never had a doubt.

He had to leave -

Cyborg guardians caught up with him. Sonic put his all into the fight. It seemed that Shadow’s limiter had no effect on him, and he concluded it must be tied to his signature or something. He attempted to give them the slip to no avail. Unfortunately, his foes got the better of him. Everything went dark.

Shadow punched and blasted his way to the control room, his power a bit more wild with the lack of a single inhibitor ring. It wasn’t unmanageable, though. He touched the bandana around his neck, and it helped to ground him. He saw Sonic lying prone by the console, and panic made his chest cold. He rushed to his side, but he didn’t get a chance to check his pulse.

The ship was going down. They were thrown to the opposite wall. Shadow used his body to shield Sonic from the debris that came loose and rained on them. He summoned his Chaos power and punched a hole through the floor. He scooped Sonic with one arm and jumped out.

Shadow wrapped his arms around Sonic, one hand pressing down on his quills as he held him as tight and close as possible. They careened down like a meteor into the water. It took a few seconds to recover. Shadow grabbed Sonic again and though his muscles ached more than they had in a long time, he swam them one-armed to the shore. He laid Sonic carefully on his back.

“Heroic imbecile,” Shadow mumbled. He listened for his heartbeat.

Nothing.

Shadow shook him.

He continued to be unresponsive, of course. Shadow stood and screamed wordlessly in the direction of the extraterrestrial invaders. Unbridled rage pulsed through him, so strong it seemed like it might vibrate his bones into pieces.

Titanic reptilian monstrosities stomped through the ocean, sending large waves rippling across the water. A few spaceships still wobbled weakly behind them.

Shadow pawed at the tears on his cheeks. He tore off the rest of his inhibitor rings, pulled out the Chaos Emerald stashed in his quills and warped, popping to his cave beyond the forest.

Unbeknownst to Sonic and his team, he had amassed seven Emeralds. He wasn’t sure exactly what their combined power would do, but they called to him, pulsing through his being, like an alluring song. He grabbed them all and returned to the beach, all in less than the blink of an eye.

He stepped next to Sonic’s motionless form and stared, almost trying to revive him by sheer willpower. He nearly wanted to leave the planet to its doom, but he couldn’t… he had promised Maria. Though Sonic was gone, he would’ve counted on Shadow to finish the job if he had merely been incapacitated.

He called upon the power of the Chaos Emeralds and transformed. He didn’t notice a surge of light strike Sonic and form a bright dome over him before he rose into the air and shot off at full speed.

He didn’t slow down until he had gone directly through the chest and heart of one of the gigantic lizards. It collapsed into the water, and Shadow paused in the air as dark yellowish blood dripped off him.

He flew forward and delivered a devastating punch to the side of another’s head. It stumbled. However, it turned toward him and opened its maw. He could probably survive the impact of its bite and shoot through its skull…

A golden comet slammed into the other side of the head. Time seemed to slow again as Super Sonic’s cinnabar eyes met Shadow’s shocked gaze. Sonic grinned. Shadow had heard of Sonic powering up in the past, but he hadn’t seen it. He was pretty and Shadow found it difficult to look away.

“Couldn’t wait to get the party started without me, huh?”

Together, in their super forms, they made short work of the remaining invaders. When the last one was falling toward them, Sonic rushed to his side and offered his hand. Shadow grabbed it, and they teleported out of the way. Shadow reinstated his inhibitor rings quickly, except for the one attached to Sonic. If he concentrated, he could feel his life force through its contact.

As their endurance to hold the boosts waned, they both collapsed face-down on the beach. The Emeralds reappeared from whatever pocket dimension they resided during the transformation and clattered around the pair. Some minutes later, Sonic kicked him in the hip. He groaned and lifted himself up to spit out sand and blood.

He pushed Sonic’s face into the ground and bit his ear. Sonic managed to twist around to sink his teeth into Shadow’s forearm while pushing on his face. Despite how wrung out they both were, the pair rolled wildly and tussled for a moment, kicking, punching, and nipping without inflicting any real harm.

“This would have been over sooner if you told me about the Chaos Emeralds, you know,” Sonic griped when he finally gave up trying to win the impromptu wrestling match. He panted and shook sand out of his quills.

“I thought we had it handled, but you went and died on me,” Shadow accused in return. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“I - wait. I - really?”

Shadow nodded. Sonic inhaled sharply and smoothed his quills as he swatted that new information back and forth in his mind like a cat with a ball of yarn. He noticed that Shadow’s eyes were mildly bloodshot, his cheeks tear-streaked, and his hands had the slightest tremor. The normally aloof guy was… for his measure, deeply upset. There was something beautiful in a haunting way at that unintentional glimpse of vulnerability.

“Oh… Whoa, aw man. Well. What’s done is done, Shadow.” He tried to hand him the ring back, but Shadow waved him away. On himself, Sonic locked it back in place. “In that case you can keep the scarf too. Dye it red or black if you want, I don’t care. Wanna get chili dogs or whatever?”

Sonic expected him to disappear as usual, but Shadow shocked him.

“Why not.”

He could've sworn there was almost the twitch of a smile on his muzzle. He quickly patted Shadow on the shoulder and broke into a run before he could react.

As they waited on their orders, Sonic and Shadow calmly sat across from the other at the table, fingertips touching on the center. Sonic felt cradled in the warmth of his affection for the other, but he didn’t have the urge to express it all over him. It seemed like something was simply understood between them, draped with a closeness and importance to each other that no one else could match.

“I can’t believe you put a ring on it already,” Sonic remarked out of nowhere after a while, when food had been eaten, examining the gleaming accessory that now adorned his wrist.

Shadow jumped across the table with a guttural snarl, tackling him for the idiotic joke. Sonic just laughed happily as Shadow pinned him to the floor. He bit into his cheek and Shadow recoiled mostly in surprise. Sonic slipped free to run, but Shadow was close behind, giving chase.

*

[some-october-in-the-future]

Geraskier Fic Rec May 2023

Hello lovely people! I've decided to start my fic rec lists with some Witcher fic focusing on Geralt/Jaskier (Geraskier). I started reading Geraskier fic about three years ago and I'll probably never get tired of this pairing. The below list are some of my favorite fics I've stumbled upon throughout my time in the fandom - I hope you enjoy them! If there are any you think should be added (or you just have good recs) please feel free to send them my way, I'm always looking for new fic! And if you decide to read any of these, please heed the tags on ao3; some deal with topics not everyone wants to read about.

(The first two are probably my favorite Geraskier fics ever)

(if you like any of these let me know let's geek out together)

A Blessing, A Curse by aileenrose, E, 12.6k

"For a while, Jaskier doesn’t know he’s cursed. It feels like free will, going back down that mountain, just as dangerous down as the way up, and alone this time, too. The descent is fast, maybe even reckless, but Jaskier’s feeling numb and out-of-sorts anyways, Geralt’s words simmering in his mind, and at the time it doesn’t feel like he’s being pulled on by anything but his own desire to get away."

Based off a post that Geralt's words on the mountain are granted by the djinn.

one foot in sea by theundiagnosable, E, 23.5k

“Well, that’s a separate issue entirely, isn’t it?” Jaskier says, clearly enthused by being taken on. “I’m opposed to marriage on principle. Would you like to know why?”

“No,” says Geralt.

“I’ll tell you why,” says Jaskier.

to render it transparent by theundiagnosable, E, 24k

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

another dawn by alittlebitmaybe, T, 8k

“Well, we’ll have all the time in the world to make it official, right after we check out this—what was it?”

Geralt side eyes him. “Abandoned cottage. Disappearances. Strange sightings.”

“Right, yes, after we deal with this mysterious hut deep in the woods. No problem. Days and weeks and years aplenty after that."

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) by xdandelionxbloomx, M, 7.5k

Somewhere, deep in a forest, a man drags himself from his grave by sheer power of will. He lies gasping on the forest floor and does not know who or what he is. The world is wide and wonderful, though, and there is so much to see.

Or, Jaskier is so stubborn that he literally comes back from the dead.

Shadowplay by sospes, M, 26.5k

Geralt returns to Oxenfurt on a bright May morning to find flowers laid outside Jaskier's rooms and a fresh grave in the cemetery.

Except, as Geralt is about to learn, in Jaskier's world things are never quite what they seem.

Bad Moon Rising by sharkhette, Not Rated, 9k

Jaskier had never expected it would be Geralt trying to kill him. Sure, the witcher liked to threaten as much, but they both knew he'd never make good on it. They were friends, whatever Geralt said.

But friends didn't try to rip each other's throats out with their teeth.

Or, Geralt returns from a hunt acting strange.

Valley of Plenty by aileenrose, E, 40.6k

Geralt's brother has died, and now he is raising a child on his own. The last thing he needs is an annoying sous-chef who won't leave him alone.

Or, a variously loose and faithful adaptation of the classic rom-com No Reservations.

The god of scraped knees. by spqr, M, 8k

Jaskier’s been pretending to be human for so long now that he hardly remembers what it feels like to be a sorcerer. He doesn’t want to remember what it feels like to be a sorcerer. But people still murmur his name with reverence in certain dim halls; Dandelion, Dandelion, destroyer of worlds. 

Lessons in Losing by didoandis, E, 11k

“We met five years ago or thereabouts,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. “You came up to me in a tavern near Posada, decided I would be good song material, and we’ve travelled together, off and on, ever since.”

“Huh,” Jaskier says.

“You remember?” Geralt tries to keep the note of hope out of his voice, and doubts he’s been successful.

“Not in the slightest,” Jaskier says cheerfully. “But I must admit it sounds like something I’d do.”

When Jaskier forgets their life together, Geralt learns an unexpected lesson.

[i-eat-worlds]

Wow Birthday Whump Day 11: Alt. Forced to Hurt a Loved One

this one is kind of a stretch but I couldn’t get my brain to work for the most of the alts or the originals so I hope you enjoy more medwhump.

Content: temporary character death, resuscitation, angst, medical whump, caffeine od ment.

Sil paused on stairs, taking a moment to catch his breath. His head was still throbbing from where he’d hit the ground after Electraz had hit him with an electrical blast.

It’d been stupid, really, leaving cover like he had to get to the car a couple seconds sooner. It was an unnecessary risk, and he’d paid for it.

At least the drive back had been short, just a couple miles to the hotel. Of course, when they’d arrived, the elevator had been out of service, and so he’d had to take the stairs. Not that he minded the stairs, but the blast must’ve taken a lot out of him. It was only another flight. He could make it.

Pressing a hand against his chest, he continued up the stairs. It felt like that one time he’d downed twelve espressos consecutively on a dare, all weird and fluttery. Afterwards, his hands had been shaking so much that he hadn’t been able to hold a pencil still. Between the dressing down he’d gotten from the medical officer and the time he’d spent camped out on the toilet, he’d learned his lesson.

Below him, he heard the sound of the door closing as Joseph entered the stairwell. He groaned internally at that, trying to pick up the pace. The lecture was coming, he was well aware of that, but it’d be great if he’d gotten to lay down first and rest a little bit before then.

He fumbled with the door key, clumsily sliding the card into the door several times until it finally beeped. His room was pretty cramped, but he found himself not minding, since it made the bed that much closer. The pain in his chest was building, and Sil found himself easily falling into the mattress.

His clothes were definitely still dirty, and between the mission and the walk of stairs, he was soaked in sweat, but it didn't matter. There was a feeling of doom building his chest, disturbing enough that he considered yelling out for Joseph. As much as he hated his protective, mother bear attitude and cross looks, he would come, and he would help. He needed help, he should…

Darkness came before he could get any further than that.

***

Joseph huffed as he entered the stairwell, letting the door slam shut behind him. The mission had gone on far longer than it should’ve, and now he had to drag his tired ass up the stairs because the elevator was down. To make things worse, the newbie had left his gear in a disgusting pile, meaning Joseph had to go up to his room and tell him to tidy his shit up. It was as if the universe was playing some cruel joke to delay his return to bed for as long as possible.

He was halfway up the stairs when he realized that the odd weight on his left thigh were his shears. For a brief second, he contemplated just keeping them on him, but he wasn’t that stupid. If he didn’t put them away, he’d never see them again. Grumbling, he continued up the stairs, electing to go get Sil and then go back down to the garage. That way, he’d be able to make sure that Sil put his stuff away properly.

Quietly, he padded down the hall, careful not to wake any of the other guests. The carpet was a bland, vaguely green beige color that Joseph thought looked like vomit. Excellent design choice. He knocked on the door, waited a second to let Sil scramble around and get decent, and then entered.

The first thing that he noticed was that the lights were off. Had Sil already gone to bed?

“Wakey, wakey,” he called, flipping the lights on as he walked towards the bed.

Sil was splayed out on the covers, head tilted to the side, feet hanging off the bed. “Sil?” He tried again, tone more urgent. There was no response.

“Sil, you with me?” He said again, one hand digging for his phone while the other squeezed his shoulder tightly. “Sil!”

Nothing.

Automatically, his thumb tapped out INSUPA’s emergency number. His eyes flickered to Sil’s chest while he slid two fingers under his jaw.

No pulse. Not breathing.

Fuck.

The phone rang on speaker while he scooped Sil up and laid him down on the oor. At least Sil had the decency to be small.

“INSUPA Emergency Line. Please state your identication code,” a robotic voice chirped.

“One-four-eight. Bravo-Zulu. Codename: Exhale,” he yelled at the phone while he cut off Sil’s shirt, shears quickly tearing through the fabric. There was a thin, red, angry mark across his upper chest, a telltale power entry burn. Great.

Not wasting any more time, he interlocked his fingers and started pressing hard and fast in the center of his chest, counting to thirty. “Record your message after the beep,” the voice prompted.

“Exhale speaking, room 318, Holiday Inn. Racer is down, suspected powered impact,” he rattled off, doing his best to keep count. The moment he was done speaking, he moved up to Sil’s head.

“Message sent,” the voice said while Joseph pinched Sil’s nose shut, tilted his head back and forced air into his lungs. Two breaths later, he switched back to compressions, willing a teammate to walk through the door already. “State additional queries.”

“EMS to current location,” he said, trying to keep his voice at a semi-reasonable volume.

“Request sent: EMS to 247 Merchant’s Lane, room 318,” the voice echoed. He switched back to breaths, ignoring the dread that flared in his chest at the blue tinge of Sil’s lips and the far-gone look in his eyes.

Like before, he went back over to compressions. He could feel Sil’s ribs breaking under the pressure, but he kept going. Two more cycles passed before, finally, the sound of the door flew open, footsteps storming into the room. It was Eric, followed by Avia. He stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the scene for a moment before jumping into action.

“Help’s on the way?” Eric asked, and Josephed nodded. “Avia, AED.”

“Where-”

Joseph cut her off mid sentence. “Elevator lobby, by the ice machine.” “On it!” They bolted out the door.

Eric dropped to his knees across from Joseph, Sil’s lifeless body between them.

“Switch.” Joseph called, queuing Eric. There were several seconds of quiet while he leaned over and exhaled into Sil’s mouth, watching his chest rise. Eric took over, leaning over his chest and taking over from Joseph. “I was four cycles in. Been about two minutes. Didn’t see him go down. EMS is en route.”

Eric’s brow creased, but before he could respond, Avia returned, Teri and Aarav hot on her heels. They both stepped to the side to let her through, Aarav’s jaw dropping open in shock.

She quickly powered it on, handed the included mask to Joseph, and started sticking the pads to Sil’s chest. Eric kept working compressing while they nimbly worked around to get the pads on, then connected them to the machine.

“Analyzing rhythm, do not touch the victim,” it said, in a voice that somehow sounded far kinder than INSUPA’s answering machine. The word “clear” echoed around the room as the three of them lifted their hands up. A beat passed while the machine worked. “Shock advised. Charging.”

Eric fit several more compressions in while it charged. “Press flashing button to deliver shock. Do not touch the victim.”

“Clear,” everyone said again, pulling their hands back and away. As soon as Avia was sure everyone was out of the way, they pushed the button. Sil’s body jerked as the current passed through him.

“Resume compressions,” it instructed.

Joseph watched Eric’s hands carefully, making sure they were deep enough, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. He should’ve caught this. He should’ve noticed that Sil had been hit, noticed that he wasn’t feeling well, and asked him about it. It was inexcusable.

They switched out again, Eric scooting down by Sil’s head after Joseph had taken over. He could feel Sil’s ribs under his hands, broken from his actions. Even though he knew it was necessary, it didn’t feel good. Five more sets, another shock, and another switch later, a knock came at the door. “EMS! Did somebody call for a person who collapsed?”

Teri opened it as fast as she could, letting the medics inside. There was a fourry of motion, Joseph explaining what had happened and what he’d done in response while they attached him to their debrillator and took over compressions. The energy in the room was tense, Eric and Avia backing away to give them room to work.

Joseph’s brow furrowed, unhappy with the sudden resistance he felt while bagging Sil. He tugged on his jaw, trying to position it better, when he saw Sil’s eyelids briey open and then fall closed. “I saw an eye utter, rhythm check.”

The medic paused compressions, and they all looked towards the monitor. His Ps, Qs, Rs, Ss, and Ts were all in order, a beautiful sinus rhythm. The other medic reached for his neck. “I’ve got a pulse,” they announced. That made Joseph briefly hopeful, and he quickly beat it away with a stick. He was too well acquainted with Murphy’s Law for that. His eyes flicked to Sil’s chest to check.

Please be breathing. Please be breathing.

It rose and fell under its power. Far too slowly, but it moved. Sil was alive.

Barely.

But Sil was alive.

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps@rainydaywhump@painful-pooch@rainbowsandwhumperflies@snaillamp @whumperofworlds

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 31: Betrayal

Continuation of Day 29

Read it on Ao3

- First & the Chain

- Summary: The heroes are forced to fight First

CW for temporary character deaths (two to be exact), blood and injury, and possession

-----------------------

Sky awakens to the sound of someone crying out.

He shoots upward, eyes wide, searching in the darkness for the disturbance. It is difficult to make out anything for a few long moments. His vision is blurred with the remnants of the deep slumber he had been drifting in, mind fuzzy with the pulsing panic of adrenaline. But then he turns toward where Time had lain down hours ago, a short ways from the others, and his heart stutters.

The hero is no longer sleeping peacefully on his bed mat. It lies in a crumpled mess of strewn blankets. And not far from it, Time has fallen flat on his back, arms spread out on either side of him. When Sky leans forward, he can make out what looks like a dagger embedded in the palm of each hand. The hero struggles against them, breath ragged with pain, eye bright. 

He casts Sky a look that screams to run, to get far away. But Sky isn’t about to. Especially once his gaze drags upward to take in this new attacker.

A familiar figure looms just above Time, tall and lean and gripping a gleaming sword in his hand. His blonde hair is illuminated by the crimson glow of the fire, turning it the golden color of a rupee. His blue eyes are as dark as the night sky, glinting with a look Sky has never seen within them before. His prized red cape drapes over his shoulder to flow out behind him, softly lifted by the breeze. 

Sky gasps. 

“First?”

He croaks the name, almost unable to bring himself to speak it.

Those eyes flit to him, lips curving in a grin that looks nothing like the smiles Sky usually sees on his friend’s face. 

(His brother’s face. His predecessor’s face.)

“Surprised, Knight of Skyloft?”

Sky pushes off his blankets, rising slowly. He feels as though he is moving through mud, trying and failing to comprehend what is happening. 

First had shown up several months ago, stumbling into their camp severely wounded, weak, and confused. He was a hero, he had explained while Hyrule and Warriors had bandaged and healed his many injuries. The first of them all. After dying in a brutal war in his own time the Shadow had dragged him back to the land of the living.

“He meant to use me,” First had said, eyes flashing with bitter hatred. “He attempted to invade my mind to make me his pawn. That way, through me he could do all of you in.”

But Hylia had protected him, strengthened his mind and body long enough for him to escape, and make it here — to where his spirit had led his failing feet.

Since then, First had remained with them, healing and getting to know them. The heroes had come to trust him and he them. And Sky, Sky had been the closest to him of them all. 

At last, he had someone with which to share the burden of being one of the first. At last, he had a mentor of his own, someone he shared a connection with like Legend and Hyrule or Twilight and Wild and Time. 

And when he had broken down one night beneath the weight of the curse, First had comforted him, holding him close as he sobbed years worth of pain into his worn cape.

So, reconciling that man with a kind heart and a brave soul, reconciling someone he had come to admire with this…this monster is incredibly difficult.

“What are you doing?” He chokes, fists clenching at his sides. 

First grins. In the dim glow of a crescent moon Sky can just make out a dark trail of blood trickling from his lips down to his chin. 

“I am erasing you all from history. Just as he wanted me to.”

Sky’s hands itch for a weapon and he hates himself for it. 

“The Shadow?”

“No.”

First lifts his sword. Time drags in a gasp, still struggling vainly, weakly against the bloodied knives pinning him and First’s foot pressing against his chest. Eyes wide, Sky snatches the Master Sword up from her place beside his bed mat and lunges.

He is too late.

First utters one word, one name Sky never thought he would have to hear again. 

“Demise.”

And he plunges his sword into Time’s chest. 

The hero gives a choked cry, blood bubbling from his lips. And abruptly, goes still. 

Everyone is awake now, rubbing sleep from their eyes, asking questions in the slurred voices of those still half-asleep. 

But Sky can’t reply to any of them. He stands there, sword in hand, mouth open in disbelief, tears beginning to well in his eyes. And Time gazes back. His stare is empty. His chest doesn’t rise or fall.

When First yanks his weapon out of him with a sickening sound, the hero doesn’t even twitch. 

Sky blinks rapidly, fury and pain tearing his insides apart.

“Time!”

Wind’s heartbroken cry rends the air. Running footsteps sound and suddenly the heroes are all rushing forward, falling to their knees beside their fallen leader. 

“He’s not gone,” the sailor chokes, even as Warriors’ trembling fingers find Time’s wrist, shoulders hunching with a brokenness Sky has never witnessed in the knight before. Even as Twilight looks up at First, face deathly pale and rage in his eyes.  

“He can’t be.”

“He’s gone, sailor.” Warriors puts his arms around Wind, holding him close as he cries. “Sprite’s gone.”

“What’re we gonna tell Malon?” It’s Legend now, defeat practically emanating from him. Though he is trying to restrain himself, his eyes are red-rimmed and brimming over with tears.

A laugh rings out over the clearing, splitting through the thick haze of grief and anger and paralyzing disbelief. Though it emanates from First, it sounds nothing at all like him.

“Cry over him,” he growls. “Weep and wail like wandering wraiths. It won’t bring him back to you.”

“You did this.” Wild’s voice trembles with the weight of his anger. He rises, hands clenched into fists “Why? We trusted you, protected you, healed you. You’re our brother! A fellow hero! And-and yet…you kill him just like that?!”

First chuckles. Blood travels down his cheek in a grim line, strangely reminiscent of a tear trail.

“I killed him because it is what Demise wishes for me to do. Please, do not misunderstand. I have no desires of my own. Only his.”

Legend’s eyes narrow. “So what? You want us to believe this isn’t your fault? That – I don’t know – you’re still dead? Nothing more than a corpse for him to use?”

Twilight makes a choked noise. “He’s not dead. This…this Demise is inside of him. Inside his mind.” 

He raises his eyes to First again and another emotion has joined the anger in their stormy gray depths. Sky can’t identify it. He can hardly bring his thoughts into submission as it is. Can hardly comprehend anything past the fury and sorrow breaking his heart into a million pieces. 

“Isn’t he?” The rancher asks. “He’s possessed you? Made you his puppet?”

First’s eyes glint in the darkness. “Ah, you have seen it before, haven’t you, Hero of Twilight? It was Zelda, wasn’t it? Your precious princess. Have you told your friends how you had to plunge your sword into her?”

Sky’s eyes widen as a sudden realization hits him.

First is stalling, they all know it, waiting for the best moment to take them all out. But if he is telling the truth about Demise possessing him there might be a way to protect his brothers from a terrible fate. He looks down at the Master Sword, heart in his throat. 

There might be a way to set First free.

“We don’t care what rancher did or didn’t do,” Wild snaps. “We care about what we just saw you do.” He draws a dagger from his belt and jabs it in First’s direction. His hand trembles. “You killed Time. You took him from us. I won’t let you touch anyone else.”

“Neither will I.”

Sky rushes forward just as First raises his sword, ready to strike Wild down. His weapon collides with First’s, sending searing pain through Sky’s palm.

Sorry, Fi. But I have to do this. 

The hero’s eyes blow wide in surprise, then narrow. He laughs, darkly.

“Ah, you’re a quick one. I should have expected as much.” He parries Sky’s next blow, movements smooth and swift. “However, you cannot raise that against me. I am a hero remember? The pain will overcome you before you manage to land even a strike on my skin.”

Sky grits his teeth, lunging again, every swipe deadly and vicious. The hilt burns into his flesh and the acrid scent of it burning reaches his nose. He does his best to ignore it. 

The others drag themselves up now, grabbing weapons and tools, and wiping away tears. They rush forward, determination in their movements, anger in their eyes. 

There will be time for grief later. Now is the time to fight. For their lives. For the life Time lost. 

First is every bit as fast and skilled as Sky had thought he was. But even he cannot hold out forever, especially not against multiple opponents. Opponents as experienced as him and one hundred times more driven.

He just has to bide his time, Sky thinks as First just barely dodges a skyward strike and nearly ends up skewered on Twilight’s sword. And endure the pain as best he can. An opening will present itself. Sooner rather than later, more than likely. It doesn’t take an experienced eye to tell that the hero is losing his advantage and fast.

And when finally, he stumbles, trying to evade a well-timed attack by Wind, and loses his balance Sky is ready for him.

Agony splitting through his hand, vision bleeding white, he brings the sword down. It goes against everything within him. His very soul cries out against it. But he solidifies the sight of Time lying limp and lifeless in his mind, and forces his arms to move.

With deadly accuracy, the Master Sword pierces First’s shoulder through.

First screams, a wretched sound that echoes in Sky’s ears and bounces around in his skull. Back arching, body trembling, his eyes go an unsettling pupil-less black. And in the next moment a cloud of smothering, soul-crushing darkness flees his body.

Sky leaps back just in time to evade its reach. It soars upward to dissipate into the sky. 

The hero goes still. Everything is quiet, save for the sounds of the heroes sheathing their weapons. Slowly, Sky steps forward. Grasping the hilt, he drags the Master Sword out of his brother, feeling horribly ill. 

I’m so sorry.

No sooner is the blade free, than First awakens with a gasp. Blue eyes flit about, searching for answers where there are none. Calloused hands grapple for purchase as he shoves himself upward. No one dares stop him, though Sky can’t help rushing to his side when he lets out a low groan. 

“What…” First glances at him, then at the other heroes, who gaze down upon him with broken expressions. “What happened?” 

His gaze lands on Time’s body, still lying there spread out like a fallen star, basking in a pool of blood and he chokes, face going white.

“What did I do?”

It’s a whisper, broken beyond belief. Sky closes his eyes. Reaching out, he lays a hand on the knight’s shoulder. He is trembling, violently, breath coming in haggard gasps.

“It wasn’t you,” Sky says with all the strength he can conjure. It isn’t much, but he believes it nonetheless. This is his brother, sitting before him, his true brother. And that cursed god had used him like a lifeless pawn.

“Demise possessed you,” Twilight pipes up. His voice is hoarse and there are tears in his eyes. But there is conviction in them too, now. None of them can deny what has happened. None of them can stand to pin the guilt on someone whose own hands had betrayed his very spirit.

Sky knows for a fact many of them have seen things like this before. And while he himself hasn’t, he has witnessed Demise’s cruelty and power. What horrors First must have endured at his hand to break him so completely… He doesn’t even want to imagine it.

“I killed him.” First’s voice is dull now, almost eerily emotionless. “Did I not? Though it was Demise who held my mind and soul captive, it was I who did the deed. That cannot be denied.”

“H-he used you,” Wind hiccups. “You…you can’t blame your-yourself.”

“Sprite wouldn’t want you to.” Warriors says it so low Sky can hardly catch the words. But First hears them. He looks up at the captain, expression a mask that is rapidly breaking.

“You do not deserve such pain.” Gently, he nudges Sky’s hand off and rises on shaky legs. “None of you do.”

“He’s dead, though,” Legend mumbles. There is no bite in his tone. Only sorrow. “Sorry, but nothing you do can change that.”

First smiles, small and sad. “That is not necessarily true.”

He walks to Time’s side and kneels down, heedless of the blood that seeps into his trousers. Slowly, he reaches out and lays a hand on the hero’s shoulder. Beneath his palm golden light begins to glow.

“I know a spell. I can bring him back.”

Hyrule raises his head, frowning. “But the only spells that can bring…bring back the dead are – ” His eyes widen. “First, no!”

The hero closes his eyes, that horrible smile still lifting his lips. 

“Forgive me.”

The glow grows until it is blinding. Sky pushes through it anyway, panic eating away at him. Hyrule doesn’t even have to speak the words. He knows enough about magic to know nothing that deals in life and death ever ends well.

Just as he reaches his side, First crumples.

…and Time begins to breathe.

Sky falls to his knees. The others are talking in panicked tones around him, but he can’t hear their words. All he hears is an incessant ringing, mingled with the sound of his own breathing, too loud, much too loud. All he feels is First’s body, limp in his hands as he lifts it from the ground. 

Why? He asks, in the form of the tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks, in the shaking of his hands, the defeated exhaustion creeping in to pull him down, down, down. We could’ve figured out another way. Why?

But even as he thinks it he knows. There was no other way. Fairies and potions are powerful. They cannot, however, revive the dead. Once your heart stops beating it is over. All that is left is to start over again or embrace endless rest.

Time would still be dead if not for First’s sacrifice. Sky only wishes that one brother had not been traded for another.

If he had been faster, stronger, perhaps he could have prevented all of this. But it is over now. Nothing more can be done.

So, as the sun peeks out over the horizon, Sky buries his face in First’s cape, just as he did what feels like an eternity ago. And he sobs. Sobs out the fury that eats him alive. Sobs out the anguish that tears him apart. 

He doesn’t see it when First begins to glow. It is not until a voice murmurs on the wings of the wind that he looks up, breath hitching.

“Your time is not yet finished, hero. Rise and embrace those who call you one of their own.”

And in the next moment, First drags in a strangled gasp.

He blinks his eyes open, staring up at Sky with a dazed expression and Sky stares back. Then, Legend shouts, “hey, he’s alive!” and his world bursts back into light and color.

“You’re alive,” he chokes, and pulls the hero into a hug. 

First goes rigid for a moment, then practically melts into him, releasing a shaky sigh.

“I am,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

[lover-of-mine]

It's funny that every comment on the trapped fic saying they were worried for a second there has me giggling because my automatic reaction is "oh but I would never actually kill one of them" and then I remember the breakdown fic and have to add a permanently to the thought.

[clickerflight]

3 for you, 12 for kai, 28 for joanna

Thank you for the ask, my friend!

3: What are your favorite tropes?

That's a bit hard. I like a lot of whump tropes. I like stories with the slow revealing of what a whumpee went through, I love hair pulling, can't get enough of betrayal (especially when the villain is disturbed by it as well) and I love whumper turned whumpee. There's something so sweet about the whumper becoming intimately familiar with what they put Whumpee through and regretting it. There are certainly more that I love, though I cannot think of all of them right now.

12: What is your least favorite punishment?

Kai wrinkled his nose. "Wasn't really punishment, was it? I guess I was punished sometimes for struggling too much, but I stopped that pretty quickly and the deaths never got any more merciful.

"Still, I think the worst time was..... well, guess you could say I was drawn and quartered in my second month there. That's where most of the blood in the office came from. Leshy was having a particularly bad day, I think. He wouldn't stop laughing. I think.... before I died I remember seeing him waving at me with my own arm."

28: Have you ever gone too far? If so, what did you do when that happened?

Joanna stares at you, a reporter without a face, it seemed, a cruel smile on your lips. She looked down at the cuffs around her wrists and her prisoner's outfit. "I guess I have," she murmured. "And I.... doubled down, I suppose. I've never been good at taking a step back and.... well, you see where that's gotten me.

[james-a-b]

"What do I do?" Aziraphale asked helplessly, his hands wandering between Crowley's wound and his face, where Aziraphale brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"You live," Crowley said softly, looking up at him. "You live, Angel. 'S all I want from you."

Aziraphale sobbed. "I've never done that without you," He said, but Crowley's eyes had already gone cold and distant.

[polonium-snap]

Fic rec for your bkdkbk post-canon woes

Now that MHA is over I've been satisfying my bkdkbk needs with fics like one does, so I made this fic rec of the best fanfics I've read over the past few months. Unintentionally most of them are rated E, idk why, if you want more fics, feel free to check my ao3 bookmarks, I have over 1000 bkdk fics bookmarked

DISCLAIMER: Please check the tags and warnings thoroughly before reading any of the fics here

Multichapter:

You Gave Me Purpose, Kacchan by wowschreave | Rated T | Post-canon

The first in what I call the "Post-canon holy trinity" I've already talked about this one so much but I'll do it again because this is THE post-canon fic, plus it has amazing, beautiful, wonder-who-made-this-masterpiece ART lol

promises kept by gabstar | Rated E | Post-canon | BKDK

The second instalment of the Post-canon trinity, starring co-depended BKDK which is one of my favorite flavors

Count to Infinity by socksasgloves | Rated T | Post-canon | BKDK

The completion of the holy trinity with more Post-canon goodness because it's what I crave on a cold night

The night we decided to be brave by Albipepo | Rated E | BKDKBK | Accidental parents

I love this one so much, I hated both of them for being stupid half of the time but it's so so worth it

i'm not myself when i'm without you by YunaTuna | Rated M (but I would rate it E) | Possesive BKDK

This one is so interesting and dark, I'm obsessed with possessive Deku and this hits all the right marks and more

And the world went still by Saiyasha | Rated E | BKDK | (temporary) Mayor Character Death | Established relationship

GUT-WRENCHING, this one hits so hard, I nearly died, but it thankfully has a happy ending

Kacchan vs the Internet by palavering | Rated T | Soc Med

This one is not complete but read it read it please it's so good, and the social media aspect is so peak, like I can rave for hours on how well the author uses CSS

Baby Bottles and Blushing Faces by derDschungelderRosen | Rated T

Baby Project is a classic but I adore this take on the idea so much, plus it's hilarious

keep the rain by gheemin | Rated T | Post-canon

I adore how introspective this one is, it also overwhelmed me with feels

Fake it, 'till you make it. by Princess_ofPizza | Rated M| Charades

Drinking games are always bad ideas, unless you're bkdk in which case carry on

Inhibitionless by Sonday | Rated E | Quirk shenanigans

Horny quirks are the best

You Had Me From the Start by bellbloom | Rated E| BKDK| Artist x Bartender AU

As an artist myself Artist!Izuku scratches an itch I didn't know I had

A Starving Artist's Success by StevieBanks | Rated M | BKDK | Artist x Fashion designer AU

Which is why I have two fics with artist Deku, also kind of a meet-cute

Unraveled by omicroncet | Rated M | BKDK |

Three words; sleep deprived Izuku

One-shots:

love in the making by Kacchdeku | Rated G | Post-Canon | BKDK

Third-wheel Kota is the best

Sturdy Heart by lurethegalaxy | Rated T | Post-canon| Established Relationship

Angsty but so so so good

pacemaker by passengerside | Rated T | Post-war | Canon-compliant

The pacemaker scene has me dead, ascending, AND there's art?!!

The Eight Years Between by Loriqod | Rated T | Post-canon | Established relationship

I love when fics fill in the gaps of the canon content

Embers by UglyGreenJacket | Rated T | Post-canon | angst with a happy ending | Established relationship

My poor baby Izuku needs a hug, thankfully Katsuki is there to give it to him

king of hearts by nikkiRA | Rated E | Quirk shenanigans

This quirk is so creative and cute and I love that it also includes their other classmates reactions

crepe date by isidium | Rated T | Fluff

'Cause we all think about that one crepe comment Izuku made one (1) time and so does Katsuki

chasing the rabbit by mimiwrites | Rated T | Amnesia

Even more Quirk shenanigans because those are always so fun

love is a labour (i'll slave til the end) by nikkiRA| Rated E| Omegaverse| DKBK

I love LOVE Omega! Katsuki and you can take him from my cold dead hands

Talk After Talk by beanbeanrose | Rated T | Post-war

This is just them talking but i love it so much

GG by MajestyTime | Rated T | Crack treated seriously

This one is all over the place but in a good way, it played off as a laugh but it has a very interesting what-if scenario

If I'm Being Honest by Queen_of_the_Otakus | Rated M | Truth serum (kinda)

Forced truth situations are so funny because it's never that deep but everyone still freaks out

Thanks for reading!!! Hope you guys like the fics I chose

[spitdrunken]

Adami (Homicipher MC) x Reader, vaguely implied Scarletella x Reader (but don’t read it for that, lol, it’s very minor), lore and ending spoilers. Notes: Headcanon-heavy, post-maingame story, canon-typical horror themes, temporary character death, implied gore.

The Other World takes after its master.

That doesn’t mean their temperament becomes law in the ever-changing maze of rooms and hallways. It’s only a suggestion, a push that will transform certain inclinations into preferences. If one has desires strong enough in an opposite direction, they can still do whatever they want. But while Mr. Scarletella ruled and influenced the Other World, consent was a surprisingly important factor in the world’s dealings. Being told ‘no’ was enough to send away a good chunk of its inhabitants, though they might turn pushy or become disgruntled.

All of this related to the way Mr. Scarletella himself functioned as an apparition. He could only take someone’s soul, could only hurt someone, if they gave him their name. Agreement was key and this rippled into other aspects of the Other World.

But now, Adami is the one who, after having turned Mr. Scarletella into her servant, is the one most in control of the realm. The changes aren’t as noticeable at first. However, as she loses more and more of her humanity, more and more of her memories, she begins to act solely bashed on her whims, her violent impulses shining through on more than one occasion. She’s not violent all the time. There are moments, though, flashes of utter loss of contact with the world around her where she destroys everything in her path. All the while, her crimson companion only aids her.

In turn, the inhabitants of the Other World grow more volatile, too. They’ve gained the capacity to lie and a stronger inclination towards direct violence. Simply taking what they want becomes the norm, although it doesn’t mean that everyone acts in this manner. Mr. Crawling, who frequently accompanies Adami as well, is someone who remains mild-mannered in the vast majority of situations. Where they’d once been terrifying and unfamiliar to her, the monsters there now either listen to or avoid her like the plague. She never has to fear, can walk around without ever needing to hide. The Other World, once dangerous at every turn, has become her home.

To you, an unsuspecting human dragged in by her grief, all of these machinations and baselines of the past are of no consequence. When you first encounter Adami (Or ‘Ms. Crowbar’, as you call her) does not seem all that different from the other monsters you’ve encountered. She’s unnerving, but not exactly scary.

Ms. Crowbar wears a simple raincoat, suspiciously clean, with strands of silver hair poking past the hood pulled over her head. Gloves hide her hands, though her legs are blotchy in colour like one giant dark-tinged bruise. Her face is as white as the raincoat she’s wearing, an entirely unnatural shade. Her eyes are slightly too big for her face, her lips practically melting into the white of her face. More than anything, her appearance veers into the uncanny valley. And, of course, she’s always carrying her crowbar around with her, either held upright or dragged carelessly behind her, metal scraping over concrete and banging into every loose rock it can find.

During your first meetings, it’s perhaps Mr. Scarletella who puts you more on edge. His aura is definitely the more imposing one of the two. He towers over you, the deadest gaze you’ve ever seen pinning you into place. Absentmindedly, he smiles at nothing at all. That isn’t even mentioning the way he colours the whole world around him. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before down here. The natural conclusion is that he must be someone especially powerful, a monster to look out for. But, as you quickly discover, he’s always looking at Ms. Crowbar. His eyes only move when she moves, his feet only take another step as soon as she does. He never reaches out without her command. Whether by choice or through force, he is entirely her puppet. She is the one you need to look out for.

As for how that first meeting went… Perhaps you’d been chased by something. What exactly it had been, you’d had no idea. It would’ve been too large of a risk to look over your shoulder when you were certainly running for your life. One moment, you had been in a quiet room. The next, the quick pounding of footsteps was catching up to you, and you’d dashed through door after door on pure survival instinct. With burning lungs and aching muscles, you’d slammed a door and shoved a lock into place. Resting your sweaty back against it, you slid down to your knees. If this isn’t enough to stop them, you’d be as good as dead. You can’t run anymore. You squeeze your eyes shut, cupping your hands over your mouth to muffle the noises of your desperate gasps for air. You await the worst, but nothing happens.

When you finally do open your eyes, that’s when you see the pair of them. Ms. Crowbar looks at you with an unreadable expression and a slight tilt of her head. Her crimson pupils seem to glow in the dark. Besides her, Mr. Scarletella, still and unmoving as a corpse. You have no idea what to think. She takes a step towards you. The first one is slow, though she speeds up afterwards. The woman leans forward and holds out her hand for you to take.

Maybe… She’s actually nice? Or, maybe, she’ll just bash your skull in with the crowbar she’s holding in her other hand. Either way, something about the whole situation makes your skin crawl. Her eyes narrow at your hesitation. She is already retracting her hand when you make up your mind, and grab it while forcing a wobbly smile on your features. You mumble out a ‘thank you’ with your parched throat. Her cold fingers intertwine with yours.

Ms. Crowbar pulls you up with a truly surprising amount of strength for her small stature. You’re yanked to your feet with such force that you’re practically lifted off the ground and barrel into her, eliciting a yelp from the woman. Without thinking, and in order to prevent yourself from falling, you wrap both of your arms around her, one of your legs hooked around hers. It’s like you’re clinging on to her for dear life. Well, not like. You are. Mr. Scarletella’s eyes are burning holes into the side of your head. The hairs at the back of your neck as static, rapidly increasing in volume, creeps at the edges of your hearing.

As you loosen your grip and move to pull away, sputtering out a long string of apologies in every language you can think of, she laughs. It’s a high-pitched giggle, the kind that’s straight out of a horror movie. Her crowbar falls to the ground with a clatter. In a flash, you’re pulled against her even tighter as she pulls you against her body, returning your ‘hug’. You swear you can hear your ribs creaking. Your eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of your head, and you can hardly breathe. The static quiets down. Even after patting her back a couple of times, she holds on for a good few seconds longer. You don’t know whether you should be uncomfortable or entirely relieved.

When she releases her grip on you, you drop back down to the floor. She’d held you so tightly your feet hadn’t been touching concrete anymore. Ms. Crowbar is still smiling. Her entire body sways slightly back and forth. The crowbar is back in her hand.

“Human cute,” she says, though you don’t have the knowledge to understand her garbled language yet. To you, it sounds like nonsense noise. “Me teach you language. Not lots. Little.” She’d grow bored and lose track of things before managing to teach you a lot, anyway.

Much like others had once done for her, she teaches you some basic vocabulary. To be completely honest, she lists everything slightly too fast for you to remember all of it once. Regardless, she teaches you the words for ‘you’ and ‘human’ and ‘me’, as well as pointing at the walls and the floor. After that, she plops down next to you and makes Mr. Scarletella act as, essentially, a mannequin for the next segment. In accordance with her commands, he’ll lower her his head, stick out an arm or a leg, or spread his fingers, all in order to teach you more of the language. His face contorts into all different kinds of expressions, too. The look in his eyes does not once change and he follows all of her instructions without any hesitation. Rather than just focusing on Ms. Crowbar, his eyes occasionally dart to you too as you copy and sound out the words.

It ends as quickly as it all started. She decided to help you on impulse, and it’s also on impulse that she leaves. Your head is left spinning with the new amount of knowledge you’ve been taught, though the prospect of wandering treacherous halls alone after having found some company is even worse. …You’ll try to look for an exit. What else can you do? Being able to make yourself understandable, limited as your means might be, is at least an improvement. You don’t see Ms. Crowbar often. Occasionally, she’ll pop up and you exchange a few words. You’re eager to show your improvement in the language, thanks to some others who did not immediately try to kill you.

(One time, you’d cracked open a door and peered in. Every entrance requires a degree of caution, you think. Ms. Crowbar and Mr. Scarletella had been there, their backs turned towards you. Her crowbar had been raised. Then, she lowered it and hit the crumpled mass on the floor in front of her again, and again, and again, and again. The sickening crunch of every impact made bile rise in your throat. Just as you’d let the door fall shut as quietly as possible, Mr. Scarletella had turned to face you. But they hadn’t followed.)

It takes a while for you to see her again, after that. Bit by bit you make progress through the confusing world, though sheer luck doesn’t seem capable of protecting you much longer. Eventually, you’re cornered, already mentally speaking your last words, when a familiar crimson sheen falls over the world around you. Ms. Crowbar’s weapon connects with the monster’s skull, and it falls to the side. Though the sound isn’t any less disgusting, you can’t help the relief that floods your body.

For a moment, she simply stares at you, red eyes slightly too wide and crowbar raised. The moment passes and she relaxes. She lowers the blood-stained weapon. “Hello,” she says, smiling at you once again. “Other attack. Me kill. Not attack me… Lots time.”

If there are any words in the Other World’s language you know how to say, it’s these. “Thank you!” You exclaim. The smile on your face is nowhere near as forced as when you’d first encountered her. Ms. Crowbar is unnerving. She’s violent, too, clearly. But that isn’t all she is. She’s never been anything but nice to you.

She opens her arms. It takes you second to register that she probably wants a hug. On still-trembling legs, you do exactly that. Ms. Crowbar hums happily before her crowbar taps on your back then drags down along your spine, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. You move to let her go, but she takes hold of your wrist.

“Me teach you language. Me teach you attack.” She turns her head around to look at Mr. Scarletella, ever the silent observer around you, and they exchange a wordless look. Then, she releases you.

A weapon materialises in your hands, appearing out of thin air. You don’t know what to call it. It’s long and blade-liked, allowing you to keep your distance while still being able to attack. Slowly, painfully slowly, Ms. Crowbar lifts her crowbar above her head and lowers it in your general direction. It clicks. As soon as you lift your blade up and block the movement with a dull clang, she grins. The words that pass her lips, although you don’t know what they mean, are spoken in a cloying, slightly demeaning, tone that indicates praise.

Rinse and repeat. Her movements grow faster and more varied as she tries to surprise you. It doesn’t take long before you can’t keep up at all anymore, though you’re eager to learn how to defend yourself even a little. You grow used to the weight of the weapon in your hand. Although you definitely have a few bruises blossoming on your skin, you don’t think you’re completely helpless, either.

(You don’t think either of them agree, though. You’re a cute little plaything to them, perhaps. At some point, Ms. Crowbar had pointed at Mr. Scarletella and ordered you to attack. You’d hesitated. His smile had widened, just a little. He’d disappeared and reappeared right in front of you. A clear invitation. …You hadn’t expected your blade to slice clean through him. The force of your swing sends you nearly topping to the ground and her laughter rings out in the empty room. Your face burns with embarrassment. The only thing that had prevented you from falling flat on your face had been Mr. Scarletella’s umbrella, its inflexible form hooking around you.)

Eventually, Ms. Crowbar grows bored of your training. While you’re panting, she isn’t winded at all. In front of your face, she holds up three fingers.

“Me attack. You run.” She tells you. But you haven’t been taught the word for ‘run’. Why would you assume that this would be any different than what you’ve been doing for a while now? Maybe she’s just telling you to prepare for a particularly strong blow. You ready yourself. When she’s only holding up a single finger, she smiles in a way that exposes teeth. “You want attack? I see. Funny.”

You didn’t stand a chance. You didn’t even see her hand drop to her side before her crowbar had effortlessly smashed into your skull, the world around you exploding into a maddening array of pure agony. Your body flies halfway across the room. Vaguely, you wonder how you’re still breathing. You can’t see anything out of your right eye. Something wet and warm slides down your neck. Ms. Crowbar stands over you, weapon raised. Static fills your ears as your vision flickers out.

As soon as you regain consciousness, you wish you’d never come to again. Your head is pounding, your vision is blurry. Your lips are cracked and your tongue is sticking to the roof of your mouth. Your arms ache. Dried blood covers the side of your face and neck. Your eyes are struggling to focus and, as soon as you get up, you nearly fall right back down again. Your skin looks blotchy. To put it simply, you feel and look like shit. You can’t even remember how you’ve ended up like this. But you grab your weapon, try to remember and trudge onwards. You can’t remember what you are moving towards.

It takes you a little while to stumble across Ms. Crowbar again, though you have no idea how long it’s exactly taken. Everything has become so… Difficult. You hate being here, hate being alone. You don’t know what’s going on anymore. You can hardly recall your own name, much less why seeing her is tying your stomach up in knots. Hasn’t she always been nice to you? When she opens her arms for you, as she usually does, your arms tremble when you return the hug and tears drip down your face. Over shoulder, you make eye-contact with Mr. Scarletella.

“Sad?” He asks, voice too even to sound truly concerned. But you don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak before. Ms. Crowbar wriggles against you, staring at your face for a moment as she catches sight of your tears. She extends her arm, hand dropping on the top of your head as she pets your hair. A little too roughly, for your liking. She leans forward, lips brushing against yours in a quick peck. With a short burst of static, Mr. Scarletella is leaning over the both of you, too. When he reaches out, you feel nothing touching you except for a vague tingling sensation.

“You weak. You cute.” Ms. Crowbar says, every word clearly and slowly enunciated as if she’s speaking to a child. You sniffle. “Me help you. You not worry.” Her cold hand closes around your wrist. “Go with, go with.” She tugs you along, deeper into the maze, her companion walking right besides you. You have no idea where you’re going. But, you suppose, when you were walking alone, you hadn’t either.

[headlines-headlines]

REST & RECOVERY.

𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐨 𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐟! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

★ 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲! You were almost too used to seeing Tanjiro in a battered state, suppressing your feelings every time the slayer was sent on a mission. Enduring constant sleepless nights, praying he'd make it back in one piece. Just how oblivious was he to your aching heart? Is there a way Tanjiro could ever make it up to you?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! female bodied reader, very slightly tsun reader (i can’t help itt), smut (dur), recovering tanjiro, sneaky sex, lovemakinggg, piningggg, slight angst, pet name use, raw sex. All characters are of the appropriate age in this work.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.5k (why am I allergic to writing short fics...)

𝐚/𝐧: call me butter cuz i'm on a rollllll. lol, tried adding more feelings to this one, sooo enjoy!! ;) (divider: @cafekitsune)

Kneeling on the cool wooden walkway outside the Butterfly Mansion, your hands scrubbed at the stubborn stains that clung to soaking garments. You let your thoughts pass peacefully, slipping into a tranquil daze as you focused on the task at hand, dutifully completing your chores whilst the other attendants worked within the Mansion.

It was another quiet, sunny afternoon, with the sounds of cooking, cleaning, and light chatter echoing around the estate. Views of the lush greenery in the courtyard welcomed a serene atmosphere, a stark contrast to the bickering and yelling that normally surrounded you when your slayer friends were all under the same roof. The lively trio you knew and loved were away on another mission, their longest one yet, and the uncertainty of their well-being lightly tugged at your heartstrings— a sensation you were no stranger to at this point. Each mission was riskier than the last, the boys sporting insane injuries upon their return, nearly fatal each time. Especially Tanjiro, his protective and righteous nature always causing him to suffer the brunt of whatever attacks were thrown towards his teammates.

You quickly shook your head, clearing your mind of the incoming gruesome images, and just decided to enjoy the temporary quiet in the meantime, knowing they would soon return. Hopefully safe and sound. Although, deep down, you knew the chances of a bloody aftermath were too high to ignore.

The soft sounds of splashing water and foaming soap filled your ears, slowly drawing you back into the present, until you could sense a commotion drawing near.

A panicked, frenzy of clashing voices grabbed your attention, sending you scrambling to your feet, almost knocking over the bucket full of laundry and water. It seemed as if a small mob was forming just behind the other side of the gate, forcing the kakushi from inside the manor to hurriedly rush past you and towards the source of all the racket. You were hearing buzzwords like 'medic!', 'help!', 'quickly!', being shouted full of urgency and alarm.

'What on earth was happening??' You thought to yourself, stunned as you watched the fearsome scene unfold before your eyes. The gates were flung open, numerous kakushi shouldering the weight of badly injured swordsmen, bringing them into the estate.

Your stomach sunk, seeing your friends' faces scrunched up in agony, expressions of pain and exhaustion written all over them. Your eyes landed on a familiar redhead, with his sister's arms wrapped around his midsection, guiding his battered body towards the mansion with the help of other kakushi.

'Tanjiro!' You screamed internally, a hand raised to cover your mouth, which hung open in shock. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest at the sight of him. He was definitely alive, but it seemed as if the beatings he had received had left him on right on death's doorstep. To your horror, the other two of the trio, Zenitsu and Inosuke, looked equally wounded. Dried and smeared blood, deep scratches, broken bones, darkening bruises, it was all too much to witness. You could never get used to seeing them like this, it was so frightening each time.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you flew off the walkway, rushing towards the swordsmen. Your sandals hit the ground as you ran, kicking up dirt in its wake. A barely conscious Tanjiro lifted his head ever so slightly to watch as your figure approached him, cracking a pained smile at the sight of you.

His vision was blurry as ever, but it was hard to ignore the aura of worry and panic that surrounded you, his dear friend. He hated having to return to you in such a state, however he knew this result came with the territory of being a demon slayer.

"[F/n]..., I'm back," his hoarse, broken voice greeted you. "We did it." Those few words, full of grief-stricken triumph, were the most he could muster as he started to slip in and out of consciousness.

"Tanjiro! Oh Gods...," jumbled speech tumbled past your lips. Your hands immediately came up to touch him, but stopped short of his torn jacket, afraid to make contact. You glanced at Nezuko, her sorrowful eyes meeting your own. You took a moment to look at the rest of her. Although her injuries were nearly healed, you could see the remnants of a fierce battle in the state of her clothing. A bloodied, ruined yukata, disheveled hair, and light scratches slowly dissolving into her skin. Tears pricked at your eyes, welling up and blurring your vision. But you held them back, assuming the position of the kakushi at Tanjiro's side, shouldering his weight and trudging towards the infirmary together.

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

The past few weeks were trying, filled with suturing, bandaging, and administering healing balms to the injured boys, making sure they were on the path to a full recovery. As a non-combative slayer in the Butterfly Mansion, your role was mostly dedicated to research and drug experimentation alongside the insect Hashira Shinobu. However, in cases like these, medical aid was another duty you were expected to carry out, luckily for you, it was one of your strong suits.

There was almost no end to the bloodied sheets and tools, but alas, you knew you needed to be the one to do the job. But to the boys' dismay, after providing them with their much needed medical care, you would swiftly exit as quickly as you entered. You no longer lingered around to chat, becoming less and less fond of being faced with evidence of their impending ruin. Graphic imagery was not something you could easily stomach, despite all your experience, and the jarring feeling of knowing your loved ones may one day be ripped away from you—again, hardened your heart into stone.

Your growing distance did not go unnoticed, especially not by Tanjiro. He started to pick up on your curt responses whenever you were around long enough to talk. Not even humoring the bickering sessions that Zenitsu or Inosuke would engage in, like you usually would. Now avoiding his eyes, a notable difference compared to the times you would gaze at him with such tenderness. His warmth seemed to hit a wall with you, unable to reach. It deeply saddened him, the thick scent of sorrow following you everywhere you went. He couldn't help but feel, guilty, hoping he wasn't burdening you with the traumatic aftermath of his battles. He was at a standstill, unable to figure out what he could do to make it up to you. He missed your affection more than you knew, and was going to earn it back. Some way, somehow.

Deep orange hues of a setting sun streamed in through the windows, illuminating the infirmary with a warm glow as the three men lay sleeping in their beds, quiet snores reverberating in the room. They had been healing quite well, gaining back their energy little by little, however, the strength of the medicinal teas and serums they were frequently ordered to ingest could easily knock out an adult horse.

"Thanks Aoi," you whispered, grabbing the pail of water and clean rags from your friend. Your voices were hushed as to not wake up the sleeping swordsmen.

"No problem. But let me know if you need any help, okay? You don't have to do this all by yourself y'know...," Aoi replied, a look of concern gracing her features.

"It's alright. Wouldn't be the first time," You laughed dryly, shooting her a half-hearted smile, as to not worry her any further.

"Okay, if you say so," she said softly, a bittersweet tone in her voice as she left you to work.

Turning to face your sleeping friends, you sighed as you quietly pulled up a chair next to their beds, rags and pail in hand. You started with Zenitsu, moving his blonde locks away from his forehead to run a cool, damp rag across his face, wiping away sweat and bringing down his temperature. You moved his blanket down to reach his neck, and any exposed skin around the chest area of his sleepwear, then folded the cloth into a neat rectangle to place above his brow. The same routine was repeated for Inosuke, moving his mask further away from his pillow to give you some space to work. Last was Tanjiro. Hesitantly, you approached his bed and sat in your chair next to him.

Solemnly, you watched how his chest rose and fell, a peaceful expression on his face as he slept, hinting nothing of the horrors he had seen not too long ago. His deep crimson hair framed his handsome features, luring you in to brush any wayward strands from his face. It would be an understatement to say you missed him while he was away. It was a little unfair to the other two, but Tanjiro's presence was special to you. His ability to ease your mind and comfort you so willingly whenever you needed him, drew the two of you closer. Whether it was engaging in playful banter, or sharing a long conversation to alleviate the stress of your day-to-day duties, you could always count on the redhead to brighten your day. It surprised you a little— just how quick he could coax you out of your reserved demeanor. A hand on your shoulder or a warm hug immediately melting your stern exterior. But you no longer allowed yourself to openly indulge, only yielding when you were alone or he was asleep, unable to question your behavior.

Bringing the dampened cloth to his face, you gingerly wiped his skin. Your touches were gentle, afraid to hurt him any further, as if he would break if you pressed hard enough. You admired his unwavering strength and resilience, but it never failed to leave a bitter taste in your mouth, knowing how much he had to endure. But without skipping a beat, he'd always come back to you, facing everyone with the same warm smile and firm optimism.

As you cleaned him, your mind wandered to your past conversations, eventually bringing you back to your most recent chat, occurring the night before he left.

★ ★ ★

It was pretty late, and Tanjiro happened to be awake, unable to sleep after much tossing and turning. Certain things had been weighing heavily on his mind, so he figured it would help to sit outside for a bit. Enjoying some fresh air and admiring the nighttime view of the estate would surely do him some good.

On the other hand, after working tirelessly for several hours on a new concoction in the butterfly lab, you decided to call it a night, making a few stops on the way back to your room. That's when you had found him outside, a scolding already waiting for him on the tip of your tongue.

But as sharp as ever, Tanjiro had already sensed your presence, turning to greet you.

"Oh! Hello [F/n]," He softly called out to you with a smile. "Couldn't sleep either?"

After seeing him in such a relaxed state, you bit back the fierce lecture you intended to give him, instead opting to park next to him with a sigh. He wasn't disturbing anyone, so you would just let him be for now.

"I was stuck in the lab all day. But unlike someone, I was actually heading to bed just now," you chided, giving a playful roll of your eyes.

He chuckled a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement at your faux attitude. He never took your sternness personally, knowing there was a sweet side of you hidden just beyond the surface.

"Well I'm glad you decided to join me, it's always nice to see you," he replied warmly, keeping his eyes locked with yours. You ignored the blush threatening to creep up your cheeks. It's like he knew exactly what to say to make you feel all flustered and clammy.

"Yeah yeah, It's nice seeing you too," you murmured, breaking his strong gaze to focus on something else, like the way his sleep shirt lightly billowed in the cool night air. "But seriously, why are you out here so late? You know lights out was a while ago, right?"

"Yeah, I know," he began, his tone taking a more somber turn. "If I'm being honest, ...I've been struggling to sleep for a while. After each mission, it's gotten harder to shake some of the things I've seen." His brow was furrowed in deep thought, and you could practically see the images flickering through his brain of past encounters with demons.

Your heart faltered a bit. You knew killing such unsightly creatures must've taken an enormous toll on him. His mental fortitude was unlike anything you’ve ever seen, however, his tattered body and soul after each mission couldn’t be ignored.

Scooting a little closer, you reached out and placed a light hand on his shoulder, in an effort to comfort him.

“I’m sorry to hear that Tanjiro… I wish you would’ve let me know sooner,” you said, patting his shoulder & looking back into his eyes with all the sincerity you could muster.

“I know I probably can’t help with the mental part of your missions, but it’s my job to make sure you recover physically too. And that includes sleeping properly. If there’s anything, and I mean anything you need from me, don’t hesitate to let me know… because I do… care about you and whatnot…” you stated, trailing off a little towards the end. However, you maintained an expression of deep concern and seriousness, hoping your words reached him. You wanted him to understand you would be there for him no matter what. Not just as another member of the corps, but as his friend.

Tanjiro’s eyes widened for a moment, mouth slightly agape from processing your words. But without skipping a beat, a look of genuine happiness washed over his face. His gentle smile returned, and his hand came up to softly pat the top of your head.

“I appreciate that, [F/n]. I’m glad to have a wonderful friend like you by my side,” He replied, gently smoothing your strands. He watched a look of relief brighten up your beautiful features. In truth, he held back the urge to state that he did need something from you. More than just your medical care and aid. He knew that deep down, he wanted a place in your heart. Even though the trials and tribulations of being a demon slayer often broke it. But he held his tongue, knowing he would be asking for too much. He could not guarantee you the love you deserved, much less his own life after each mission. But it was why he fought so hard each time, to protect the ones he loved. To protect you.

Meanwhile, you were tempted to swat his hands away from your scalp. But you had to admit, it felt pretty nice. You secretly relished in the moments where Tanjiro would dote on you, as an affectionate older brother would. Not that you would ever tell him such a thing.

“Of course. Anytime,” you replied.

You both sat there for a moment, gazes turning back to the pretty moonlight illuminating the courtyard. Not realizing how close the two of you had become. Physically.

Tanjiro’s arm had wrapped around your back in a side embrace, a hand cupping your right arm comfortably. You leaned on his chest, his shoulder supporting your head. You nestled more into the heat of his body, soothed by the light drum of his heartbeat. And you both stayed like that for a while. Not speaking, simply enjoying each other’s company.

It didn’t occur that you should be leaving, until your eyes snapped open, the muted hues from the approaching sunrise invading your vision.

Did you doze off? Goodness, for how long?? You could feel Tanjiro’s cheek & chin basically forming an imprint atop your head from the weight of his body. His arms totally enveloped your figure in a bear-hug embrace. Was he always this heavy? Or was it because he was so… close?

At least he smelled good. Really good too. Smoky undertones, with notes of light wisteria emanated from him and clung to his night shirt. And just when did you wrap your arms around his waist, cuddling him so tightly? It was certainly too late— er, rather too early to be out here. You both should’ve been on your way to bed by now.

Hastily unwrapping your body from his grasp, you happened to wake up the also snoozing Tanjiro, who reluctantly came to after feeling the loss of your body heat. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he noticed your frazzled state.

“Mmh… [F/n]? What’re you—“

“Uh— I should go.” You blurted out, face exploding with heat at the realization of you spending most of the night with him. A little disoriented, you quickly rose to your feet, smoothed a hand over your clothes, and shot him a quick ‘goodbye!’ before speeding off in the direction of your room.

Tanjiro watched you leave, quite abruptly in fact, and couldn’t help but laugh softly to himself, the scent of embarrassment right on your tail.

★ ★ ★

You had just finished wiping down the three young men in the infirmary room, and was now in the process of gathering your things to leave, when the sound of rustling sheets caught your attention. You quickly glanced in the direction of the noise, only to be met with the familiar sleeping faces of the injured men.

A sigh of relief escaped you and you turned back around, continuing to place all used cloths into the bucket.

“[F/n]..?”

Tanjiro’s voice, laced with raspiness from his slumber, called out your name.

You chose not to engage, turning on your heel to leave, before he called out to you again.

“[F/n], wait— don’t leave. Please.” He pleaded softly, his voice dropping in volume. He just wanted a little more of your time. He regret that he couldn’t prolong your tender touch, aware that it was you who cared for him a few minutes ago.

Facing him, you could see the heavy disappointment pooling in his eyes, and consequently, averted yours. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer him, and instead, waited for him to speak.

He arose from his cot slowly, his feet meeting the cool wooden floor before he fully stood, lightly stretching his limbs with a yawn. His sleeping shirt was left atop his sheets, allowing you to see his broad chest and abdomen— peppered with long-faded bruises and scar tissue resembling the shape of slashes. His battle scars. His pajama pants hung loosely around his hips, encouraging your eyes to follow the path where his skin dipped underneath, the defined shape of a v protruding from—

‘What am I doing? I should wrap this up quick so I can go’

You dismissed any wayward thoughts crossing your mind, ignoring the creaking of the floorboards as he made his way over to you.

“[F/n]…”

Gods, he needed to stop saying your name like that. Softening his voice to damn near a whisper, trying to coax you out of your hiding place, as if you were a stray kitten.

You kept your eyes trained on the skin of his chest, which was a foot or two away from your face now.

“Are you… upset with me?” Tanjiro looked down to find you refusing to meet his eyes, reaching forward when a few strands of hair fell in front of your face as you looked down at your socks.

You paused for a moment, chewing your bottom lip, trying to gather your thoughts. He was standing so close, and you imagined how mortifying it would be if he saw your quickly reddening face. You almost didn’t register the swipe of his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear.

“No, Tanjiro. I just— I don’t think we should talk… well, not about this, not here…,” your thoughts came out jumbled, and you were suddenly having such a hard time speaking.

Without much of a response, the redhead took your hand in his, and started off in a random direction away from the infirmary, tugging you along with him.

“Woah—! Can you slow down?”

He didn’t answer. His grip was firm and unchanging, and you found yourself being yanked in the direction of a supply closet, to then be pulled inside with him.

In total darkness, there were sounds of a door clicking shut and some shuffling, before the cord to a lamp was pulled, illuminating the confined space.

You’ve only been in this closet maybe a handful of times? Just to quickly grab medical supplies, cleaning materials, and other miscellaneous items that lined the shelves on the wall— in instances where you couldn’t make it to the larger ones. You kept your trips short due to the the restricted amount of space in the room, which could probably only hold around 5-6 people (un)comfortably. Needless to say, the proximity between the two of you shrunk further than what it was in the infirmary.

“…Tanji—”

“Why have you been avoiding me, [F/n]?” Tanjiro placed both of his hands on your shoulders.

For a second, you thought he was going to rattle you back and forth like a snow globe. Or even gift you with one of his famous headbutts. However, he held a serious expression, eyes scanning your face for signs of an answer, any indication of what was brewing inside that head of yours. With his sense of smell, he could pick up on inklings of several emotions. Anger. Hurt. Sadness. Even guilt. As well as something else he couldn’t quite place a finger on, its depth was strange and confusing. 

You snapped your head up to meet him,  a look of incredulity as clear as day. There was no way he could be so clueless.

"Are you kidding me?" You hissed, narrowing your eyes at him. "Am I just supposed to sit by and watch you get killed?"

Tanjiro had to admit, he was a little taken aback. He was moreso expecting you to lash out about something he may have said or done, much less a fear of something so gruesome. You watched his shoulders fall a bit, concern now paintings features. Not waiting for a response, you continued.

"I'm not sure I can do this anymore... watching you all suffer like that… so often...," you struggled to finish, taking a step back. Your throat closed up each time you attempted to swallow the lump lodged in it. Several memories of the boys returning within an inch of their lives, flooded your mind. Burning tears welled up quickly, and you forcefully blinked them back. 

"I don't know how much more I can take...," your voice cracked. Hot, fat droplets began to roll down the curve of your cheeks, streaking your face with tears. 

You felt strong arms gently pulling you into his chest, and wrapping around your back. Your face was pressed to his warm skin, tears staining the area.

"Oh [F/n]... I'm so sorry... I didn't know." He consoled you while you quietly sniffled, trying to hold back the overwhelming emotions crashing over you in waves. His hands rubbed giant circles around your back, coming up to cradle your head. "I didn't know you were suffering so much, and all alone..."

"What would I do? If you never came back?...How am I supposed to move on?"  You hiccuped, your words muffled the way you hid your face so deeply, flushed with embarrassment.

"It's okay," He whispered into your hair, lightly rocking you from side to side. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I'm sorry I've made you worry so much, love." 

You pulled back a bit, craning your head up to examine his features. He gazed upon you with such heartfelt concern, that you had no other option but to let your hardened exterior melt away once more.

"You promise?" You repeated. One of his hands came up to swipe away drying tears with his thumb, holding your face in his palm. The other was placed at the small of your back.

"I promise."

Your eyes trailed from his burgundy orbs to his warm smile, and down to the taut chest with your now-dry tears displayed.

His thumb inched closer to your puffy lips, smoothing over your bottom lip, eyes trained on your little pout. Everything about you was undeniably beautiful. His heart soon became heavy. He couldn't believe he was the source of so much of your pain, and better yet, failed to notice your suffering. His pretty companion. Tanjiro intended to rectify the situation in any way he could.

The complicated scent his nose was picking up on earlier had grown tremendously, now a bit more recognizable. You were sexually frustrated in a way, with all these negative feelings suppressing any urge you had to express romance, affection, or anything similar. He would take care of that. He would take care of you.

"Can I make it up to you, [F/n]?" He breathed, his eyes low. It was more of a suggestion than a question, as he leaned in, taking note of the way your eyes had already fluttered closed, anticipating the touch of his lips.

"Ye— mmph!" Your reply was cut short with the soft collision of his lips on yours. You couldn't deny the way you wanted him, locking lips in a rhythmic fashion, and following his lead. The kiss was romantic, passionate, with feelings of warmth and desperation seeping through. His rough hands trailed down to grab the flesh of your ass, palming and squeezing it. You let soft, wanton moans slip past your mouth, and he swallowed them all, tongue now hotly wrestling with yours. 

His hand trailed back upwards to undo the knot in the back of your apron, pulling away to slip it off, then reattaching his lips to yours.

The apron lay discarded on the floor as you continued to lock lips with the redhead, pants and heated breaths now filling the small space.

Pulling away, Tanjiro admired the way you looked. So soft and sweet, he wanted to shower you in affection. He knew it wouldn't make up for the pain you've experienced, however he was determined to try. He placed a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, hands caressing the sides of your face, then holding the first button of your jacket between his fingers.

"Can I?" The request came. He needed to know you were okay with this, and if you'd allow him to take care of you in any way he could.

"Yeah," you nodded, a little bashfully. You couldn't really look him in the eyes while he unbuttoned your uniform jacket, revealing the bindings you wore underneath, holding your breasts.

Tanjiro smiled softly, finding your slight embarrassment to be endearing.

"You know, every inch of you is beautiful," he began, as your eyes rose to meet his. "I'd like to prove it to you, if you'd let me."

Hands trailed up your waist, cupping your tits through the fabric, squeezing and slipping underneath to meet skin. He pulled you in more, with a hand returning to the small of your back, and the other pawing at your breast, finding the nipple and lightly tweaking it. Chaste, warm kisses trailed from your jawline down to your collarbone, and you felt yourself arching into him, melting under his touch. You allowed his hands to roam freely, slipping off your bindings, and holding your tits in place for his mouth to latch on.

The temperature in the closet soared, and you felt as if most of it was condensed within your body, the way Tanjiro's touches lit you on fire. You were struggling to keep quiet, even more so when you felt the rough pads of his fingers slip past the waistband of your skirt and panties, finding your clit.

"Oh... fuckkk," you drawled, feeling his fingers rubbing circles on your sensitive nub. His breath fanned your neck as he pressed his body to yours, fingers keeping a steady pace. Your hips had a mind of their own, bucking into his hand a few times, whines and gasps falling past your lips. Jolts of electrifying pleasure shot through you, and you could feel yourself coating his fingers with your slick the more he rubbed your pussy.

"Pleasepleaseplease..." you begged, rocking your hips more into his hand while he held you in place. You were almost there.

"That's it, keep going my love," Tanjiro doted on you, encouraging you to chase your high under him.

The tightness in the pit of your abdomen grew, your cunt spasming around him. You couldn't hold back much longer.

"C-cummingg, i'm cumminggg," you whined, eyes fluttering as you let the tension snap, creaming on his fingers.

Tanjiro felt you coming undone, rubbing your wetness around the opening of your entrance. He used the lubrication to push in a middle finger into your heat, feeling how you tightened around the intrusion.

"Good girl, you can give me another one right?" he praised you.

You groaned at the feeling of being stretched open with only a single finger, an orgasm softening the sensation. Curling it, his finger rubbed against your plush walls, soon being joined by another, then another, making it a tight fit. Your head lolled back, the sounds of your sopping wet cunt filling your ears. You lifted a leg around his hip, for easier access, as he steadily pumped in and out. His eyes were trained on you, watching your expression as you mindlessly ground into his hand more, still recovering from when you first came. You were already reaching your next peak rapidly, struggling to catch your breath.

"Hnghh... Again... it's gonna– i'm gonna-!" Your words melted into gibberish as you found yourself cumming again, quiet, broken cries of Tanjiro's name on your tongue.

He shuddered, feeling how you twitched underneath him. His cock was straining freely in his pants, pressed against against your hip. He wasn't wearing any undergarments to catch the weeping drops of precum you elicited from him.

Picking your head up, you gazed at him with a hazy look in your eyes, cheeks rosy with an afterglow. He wanted to picture you like this forever, a beauty nestled in his arms.

Hooking his thumb under his waistband, Tanjiro pushed down his night pants with ease, letting his member spring free. You glanced down to see his cock bobbing heavily, droplets slick on his tip. His hand reached to grab underneath your knee, holding your leg up to his hip for support.

"You think you can guide me in, my pretty girl?" He sighed, the length of his cock resting underneath your slightly ajar panties.

You bit your lip and nodded, reaching for him. Your hand wrapped around the girth of his cock, giving it a test stroke. You felt how hot it was, and how you couldn't fit it all in your hand, even if you tried. You imagined how it would feel inside you.

Tanjiro focused on keeping his composure, trying not to buck into your warm hand, but how could he? The girl of his dreams was stroking his dick, and all he wanted to do was let you keep going. But instead, Tanjiro reached underneath that uniform skirt, and pulled your panties to the side, letting you insert him in. His free hand returned to holding the plush of your ass.

Using his tip to gather some wetness, you rubbed his dick on your slit, then pressed the head into you. A shaky groan left his throat, Tanjiro's eyes locked on where he disappeared under your skirt. Fitting him inside was a team effort, as there was no way you could get him inside on your own, even as wet as you were.

The redhead used his pelvis to push inch after inch into your heat, cock twitching the deeper he sunk in. The slow stretch burned, and tears threatened to prick the corners of your eyes.

Tanjiro leaned forwards to press a kiss to your forehead, comforting you through the initial pain.

"You're doing so well, pretty girl, just a little more for me, okay?" He cooed, his breaths becoming labored at your temple.

You could only mewl in response, wrapping your arms around his neck, squeezing your eyes shut, and letting the sensation of his cock filling you up overtake you. He was impossibly deep, sliding against places you could never reach with just your fingers. Your pussy tightened around him further, bullying his still-weeping cock into wanting to cream your walls.

"S-so tight, g-gonna start moving now," Tanjiro gave a quick thrust, fully bottoming out, letting out a sultry moan at your ear. You were basically incoherent, his name a repeated mantra at your lips. He pulled his hips back, dragging his cock out, to then plunge back in, almost knocking the air out of you. His thrusts were hard and deep, passion embedded within each one. He ground his hips into yours, keeping a steady pace... he was going to savor this. He could feel his tip hitting a spongy surface, bumping at the entrance of your womb every so often, and directed his thrusts into that very spot.

Your stifled moans clashed and melded in the space, the two of you drowning in pleasure together. It felt as if no one in this world existed but the both of you in this very moment.

Tanjiro picked up the pace, leaning you back a little to reach further inside, as much as he could, the sound of skin-slapping and squelching in his ears. His deep grunts and sighs continued, each time he pounded into you.

" 's too muchh, I can'tt" you droned, feeling yet another coil twist aggressively in the pit of your belly, threatening to snap at any moment. Your standing leg grew tired, overexertion settling into your side.

"You're almost there, you can do it my love," Tanjiro whispered, intending on making you cream on his cock again, and again. Pounding into you a few more times, he felt the siren's call of your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him, then wildly spasming. You leaked all over him, soaking the front of his pants.

"Such a good girl for me, aren't you?" He mumbled, watching your mouth fall open, eyes roll upwards, and your body shuddering underneath him.

He fucked you through your orgasm, slowing the pace once you started to come to. He let his cock drag out of you, still painfully hard. He hadn't yet finished, his dick begging for release, but he ignored it just a little longer. Fortunately though, his stamina was excellent, one of the many pros of being an experienced swordsman.

Once your eyes met his, albeit with a fucked-out expression all over your face, Tanjiro gave you a request.

"Do you think you can jump up here?" He motioned carrying something with the hand not holding your spasming thigh. "I promise i'll catch you," he cracked an amused smile at your look of disbelief.

"O-oh okay, but I don't wanna hurt you," You hesitated. You were met with a simple shake of his head, and Tanjiro tapped the side of your thigh, signaling that he stood firm on his decision. You took a deep breath, tightening your arms around his neck, and leapt up, using the last of the strength in your trembling legs.

He caught you with ease, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly, and placing his hands under your ass, giving it a light squeeze.

"See? Nothing to worry about princess," he chuckled. A small whinny of protest left your throat as he reached back under your skirt to move your panties out the way. However, he wasn't careful and ended up tearing through the bottom of the underwear's fabric, with a quick ripping noise audible in the space.

Tanjiro's eyes widened, immediately meeting yours. The look of pure shock was actually a little funny, and you giggled when he sheepishly mumbled a 'sorry', placing his face in the crook of your neck.

A hand held your ass, and the other placed his cock back at your entrance, and you braced yourself for the brief stretch as he sunk you back down onto him. A strangled moan left you, and you clenched around him, letting yourself feel him drag your cunt up and down the length of his member.

Up and down, up and down, Tanjiro hands gripped the fat of your ass, bouncing you on his dick, returning to the quick pace he once had. You were leaking profusely, dripping from his dick to his balls, wetting the top of his pants even more.

Despite trying to keep it down, the sound of skin slapping echoed each time he slammed you down on his dick, the both of your hushed cries and broken grunts and moans filling the atmosphere.

Tanjiro finally felt himself nearing his peak, with your ass bouncing & clapping so well on him, sending him barreling towards his release.

"Fuck, I-I think i'm close," he groaned, his dick pulsing heavily inside you. You could feel how it throbbed harshly, bumping at your g-spot, bullying your poor cunt. She was about to come undone as well.

Tanjiro slammed your hips into his a few more times before lifting you up, shooting warm spurts of his seed all over your orgasming cunt. Quiet, breathy moans of your name fell from his lips over and over, burying it into your neck he as he rubbed his cock through your folds, smearing his seed across your cunt.

He held you for a couple more seconds, pressing slow open-mouthed kisses to your throat while coming down from his high. You sucked in deep breaths, feeling your body begin to relax after experiencing wave after wave of pleasure. You were definitely at your limit. But you couldn’t be more content, after making amends with the boy your heart yearned for.

Placing you down gently, Tanjiro made sure to keep a steady hand at your waist, guiding you.

“We should probably get ourselves cleaned up. Okay, my love?”

® 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬-𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐃𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦. 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

[miviaceleste]

A Blackrock Story: A Boy with Turquoise Eyes

Happy 12th Anniversary to Blackrock Chronicle!

This comic ended up being 47 pages long (when I first sketched it, it was only 20 pages long). Since I can only upload 30 images in a post, I had to combine 2 pages into 1 image so hopefully it's still visually fine and not annoying to scroll through!

I wrote this mini-story more than 10 years ago, so I figured it was time to finally make it into a comic (after editing the writing a lot because I became a much better writer since lol).

Be aware of the TWs, and I hope you enjoy this comic!

TW: Violence || Blood || Injuries/Scars/Burn Marks || Kidnapping || (Temporary) Death || Loss of Limb / Amputation

Thank you all for reading one of my most insane projects ever!

Now, here’s another long story:

About 8 years ago, my life became so busy that to stay on top of my studies and activities, I stopped watching a lot of YouTubers, including the Yogscast.

I’ve grown up throughout the years. I had to stop acting like a kid to figure out what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I’m still an artist today, but I haven’t drawn in this way for about 3 years to pursue my real passion. I love to draw, but I didn’t have the time or inspiration to make something grand.

About 3 months ago, I suddenly got curious about how all those YouTubers I stopped watching were doing, so I checked out their channels and watched a video or two before moving on. When I got to the Yogscast channel, on the other hand, I quickly fell in love with the new content and with everyone again.

It was insane to see how immediately my love for them came back. In 3 months, I’ve watched so many videos and streams/VODs. It’s all so comforting, funny, and uplifting. Clearly, I missed so much content in the past 8 years, but at least I don’t have to worry about running out of things to watch for a while.

What made me most happy was that despite changing a lot, I never stopped being that kid who laughed at the Yogscast’s shenanigans. It just goes to show that no matter how much the world tries to push you around, you never lose that sense of joy you had as a child.

Now, about Rythian:

Since I started watching the Yogscast in 2011, Rythian has always been my favorite. I loved his series so much, especially with how he got into character to give us an immersive experience. It was an escape for me as a kid. When difficult moments were thrown at me, I watched Rythian’s series to find a sense of comfort.

So when I started watching his and Zoey’s Blackrock series, my mind was blown. The storytelling, acting, humor, and drama of the series were so immersive and touching that my creativity exploded.

I mainly use art to express myself and my interests because I struggle to talk about it. But funny enough, Blackrock was the only interest of mine that got me to not draw, but to write. I wrote a lot of short stories about the series—even how I envisioned the series would end. I was so inspired to create all the time from this series.

And what’s crazy is that at the beginning of this summer, I found all of those written drafts and notes from when I was a kid. I kept them all for 10+ years and found a very loose (and not that good) draft of this comic and I felt really inspired to finish it.

It was roughly when I was first watching Blackrock too when I realized that I can be creative in the future. The Yogscast helped me understand that I can do whatever I want for the rest of my life. If they could do it, then why can’t I?

What’s also wonderful is that even after so many years, Rythian never stopped being my favorite. When I started watching the main channel again a few months ago, I immediately found myself rooting for him whenever he was in the group videos. I just remembered how much happiness he brought me when I was younger and it makes me so happy that I still get so much joy whenever I hear his voice.

While working on this comic, I watched all of Kirbycraft and caught up on Kirby Farm. I can’t help but smile the whole time Rythian, Briony, and Kirsty interact with one another. The dynamic of these three brings me so much laughter and comfort. A part of me is upset that I didn’t get back to watching everyone when Kirbycraft was still live, but better late than never, right?

I also originally started this comic without the intention of posting it. But then I figured, Hey, it’d be great to share it with everyone who’s also been impacted by this series and the Yogscast in general, so I made this blog to post it here. Honestly, I’m not sure when the next time I’ll be able to draw is (who knew building a career takes away a lot of your energy and time?). But I think that’s what’s so wonderful about my love for Yogscast and particularly Blackrock: I didn’t make this comic for the likes or views. It was just because I wanted to, and I’m so happy to see there are so many people on here who feel the same love for them as I do.

This series and the people who made it, along with the people who supported it and loved it and continued to love it, impacted me for the better. I learned so many years ago that I can be creative for a living, and have been working hard towards doing that since.

Happy 12th Anniversary to the Blackrock Chronicle. To Rythian and Zoey who put a smile on this kid’s face even during the toughest of times.

And to the Yogscast, thank you for being there for me when I needed you all the most and for still being here when I came back. Your ability to inspire me and make me laugh never disappeared throughout the years I was gone, and I’m ready to laugh some more.

[daz4i]

also like this reeeeally depends on the story, the context, the usual tone of it etc. a character being subjected to smth that'll psychologically scar them IS incredibly dark within a story that's usually light and comedic. and even in stories that are generally heavy, death can be a kinder ending for many characters

on the flip side, when handled in a certain way, death isn't dark at all? it depends on the context too, like anything else. an arc about a character, for example, coming to terms with their grief over their parent dying in a mundane and not gory way, isn't particularly dark. it can even be wholesome

i'm sorry but if your definition of "dark" begins and ends at death then you have an extremely narrow view of fiction. you should probably read(/watch/play/listen to) more stories before engaging in these arguments in fandom spaces tbh. you don't sound as smart as you think you do

hate when people are like "this story/arc isn't dark, no one even died" as if death is the darkest thing that can happen in fiction

[tangents-within-tangents]

Thoughts on Echo as amputee/disability representation

First and foremost, I am not disabled or an amputee and I don’t claim to speak for those communities (and if I was I couldn't speak for everyone). What little I do know mostly comes from this youtube channel (@oakwyrm), this post, and other research I’ve done for my writing (and like one amputee I kinda knew in passing). By all means correct me and add to the conversation, I just have some thoughts I want to share because I haven’t really seen this discussed anywhere

Overview

So Echo is interesting. He is a triple amputee which is pretty rare in media. His disabilities come from extremely traumatic circumstances: injured in a near-death experience, imprisoned and dehumanized as an experiment with no autonomy over what happened to his body.

There are a few moments in the shows where Echo is treated… questionably. Like this bit where Rex uses him as an example of the Separatists' evils to convince the locals to fight back:

To be fair, yeah Echo’s treatment does prove that the Techno Union is not neutral like they claim. The modifications that everyone is gasping in horror at here obviously weren’t made with comfort and accessibility in mind, nor with Echo’s consent. But you still just want to be sure that “They took away his freedom, his humanity, they tried to turn him into a machine” is about using him as a living computer, not the fact that he is missing limbs. 

The Batch is also pretty insensitive toward him and his trauma imo, which is weird considering they've supposedly also faced discrimination for their mutations

Disabled people do have to deal with stuff like this in this day and age so I guess it can speak to those experiences. I think especially him being mistaken as a droid (and Hunter going along with it (bruh)) might resonate with some people. 

Aside from that stuff, Echo isn't really treated any differently as a character/person which is really good (as low of a bar as that is).

We get this moment in CW where Echo contemplates that yeah things are gonna be different now

While also (imo at least) showing that he is still the same person regardless, evidenced by the fact that he just echoed Rex :,) I also think it's significant that he joins the Bad Batch on his own terms and we're given a really emotional scene to specifically show that he's not just like 'lumped in with the other misfits' but that it is his choice to go where he feels his place is.

A lot of people, myself included, are disappointed that TBB didn't have more time to explore Echo's PTSD, but I think the one panic attack scene we did get is really good. Even thought it's minor it at least is an appropriate reaction from a guy who was medically tortured (which is more than I've come to expect from Star Wars shows lol)

And it's really sweet to see Omega showing Echo some empathy and consideration.

It would have been nice to see more of his adjustment period, and other side effects like chronic pain and maintenance, but there’s a lot of daily life stuff the show never had time for (i.e. we don’t know if he removed his prosthetics to sleep, but we also never saw him sleep anyway). His disabilities might take on a background role (much like the character himself sadly) but for the most part they aren’t invisible or erased, nor do they define his character and arc.

Physical Appearance

Okay this one is bit dicey, bc on the one hand, yes complaints that Echo’s paleness (most likely caused by burns from the explosion or chemical burns from the cryo-chamber) is whitewashing are totally valid. But I also think you can draw comparisons to real life conditions that affect pigmentation/complexion (like you know burns). So while I understand why a lot of fanart will depict him with his original skin tone and with hair, consider that there are real people who have to live with temporary or permanent changes to their appearance, and the idea of “fixing" him by making him look more like his old self can be problematic.

It's also interesting to note that Echo could act as a reversal of the 'disabled/disfigured = evil' trope. He's pale and bald and wears black and red, which is so often visually associated with villains, but we all know Echo is the bestest boy™

The Headpiece

Echo’s headpiece is interesting because within the show we don’t actually ever learn much about it (idk if there is more info in books or whatever bc i don’t have them so?). He didn’t have it in CW so we know it didn’t come from the Techno Union and therefore Echo probably had more choice with it. We don’t know its exact purpose but it’s most likely related to his scomping abilities. When he is hacking with his scomp in CW, before he has his headpiece, it’s clearly very mentally straining:

We don’t see him struggling like this in TBB once he does have it (though that could be bc he got more used to it over time). There doesn't seem to be much of an impact when he removes his headpiece in s3 ep14-15, except that he gets stuck in the ports every time he uses his scomp which is not something we’ve seen before: 

There might not be an exact real-world equivalent, but the headpiece is some kind of accessibility aid. It means that someone specifically designed a device to help him adapt to the changes the Techno Union made, as well as a helmet that integrates it. It’s removable and visually very present, much like a cochlear implant would be. (A lot of people actually headcanon it to act partially as a hearing aid, since it makes sense that Echo’s hearing would have been damaged in the explosion, but there isn't really any indication of this in canon.) The headpiece is never really acknowledged in the show, but I think that's a good thing. It's something he needs/wants and it just exists, completely normalized, and that's pretty cool 👍

Legs

Sigh... So from the very first episode of TBB I was really disappointed that the animation team or whoever completely visually erased Echo’s prosthetic legs (I think we all were, honestly, if fanart is anything to go by). It’s one thing when he’s in armor because he would probably want to protect his prosthetics, but we literally see him in his blacks and there is no indication whatsoever that he lost his legs even though it was not left up for debate at all in CW:

Like ??????!?

This is just really strange to me! Idk what went on behind the scenes with this decision but I don’t really see why it would be that much harder to animate or anything since it’s 3D and they've done it before. We do see some pretty sophisticated cybernetic technology in Star Wars canon that mimics real limbs:

But Luke’s fancy hand is technically 20ish years from now, so Anakin and Maul are more of a representation of what level we could expect here

So yeah, for no apparent reason, his leg amputation is effectively, visually and narratively nonexistent. Which is not great 👎

Arm!

The scomp on the other hand (uh lol!) is the complete opposite and I kinda love it!

At first I, like many others, thought it was a bit odd that they didn’t give Echo a prosthetic arm. Losing hands is basically a Star Wars tradition at this point, so robotic arms/hands are well established within the worldbuilding: 

We aren’t necessarily given a canon reason for why Echo doesn't get a cybernetic arm (again unless it's in some lore book I haven’t read, sorry). General fanon explanations I’ve seen are that he either couldn’t because the Techno Union wired the scomp too far into his nervous system, and/or the resources to give him one were deemed too expensive for a clone (what about his legs tho?), or that he chose not to, usually because he thought the scomping was useful. 

Regardless, I actually really love this choice (and it's the whole reason I made this post), because here's the thing: There’s a lot of problematic tropes out there that either erase/cure disabilities or compensate them with perks (like how pretty much any blind character is actually not blind by some sort of magic power). With amputees that is done with robotic arms. The character is still an amputee or course, and there is still value in that representation, if this story from Mark Hamill that makes me tear up is anything to go by:

but for the most part these characters function like anyone else, just with a limb that looks a little different. It’s no more than a video game skin, an able-bodied actor with a green screen glove. It “cures” the disability, or it actually makes the character even stronger than usual: 

It usually makes sense within the world of the story, but the reason it’s not so great in my opinion is that in the real world we just do not have technology anywhere close to that yet. Prosthetics can more or less replace any mobility from lost legs, but not for all the complexities of a hand (and even if they could the average person wouldn’t be able to afford it).

So

I think it's actually really super cool that Echo’s scomp bypasses the canonically-established amputee erasure and functions much like a stump would irl. He integrates it into his movements and everyday life and it’s (as far as I know) a lot closer to an everyday amputee’s experience. 

It doesn’t define his character, it doesn’t hold him back, he lives a full life, the other’s don’t treat him any differently, and he’s still a total karking badass 

The only additional thing is that he sometimes uses it as a weapon (which given his story, I think it’s cool to see him taking back autonomy in a way, and we only see that like twice)

And also the scomping, which could be seen as the 'added/compensating superpower' trope. But narratively it's no different than if he was plugging in with a hacking gadget of some kind (he didn't necessarily "need" to lose his arm for it) and it’s not like Echo is completely defined by this skill. Personally, I think it's well worth the positives of him actually having a visible and realistically impactful amputation. 

I see a lot of posts or comments out there that say stuff like “how come Echo doesn’t get a hand?” or fanworks that do give him one and I just think it’s a bit of a shame. If he did get a robotic hand, it just would have disappeared the same way his legs and Anakin’s arm did (aside from that one time he got yoinked by a magnet). When Echo did “get a hand” in the last two episodes there were comments like “yay he finally got a hand! but it doesn’t even work” but I was actually so relieved that it didn’t! Bc for one thing that wouldn’t make any sense, he grabbed it off a droid, it wasn’t designed to implement with his scomp, that would be really complicated. But more importantly because it again refused to erase/cure his disability! It functioned like a real-world cosmetic prosthetic (useless beyond appearance) which is exactly what he needed it for, so that he could blend in better with his disguise.

And he continually took it off throughout the episode and ditched it at the end. He only used it for the necessity of a stealth mission, he doesn’t feel the need to visually “fit in” in his daily life. 

And, last but very much not least, he made a dad joke and from my intel that is very accurate representation!

TLDR: Echo’s scomp is actually really cool from an amputee representation perspective, especially within Star Wars, and I think that deserves some appreciation